Hidden Gabriel

by Pinder, Victoria

  Gabriel had woken early to work.

  Erica rubbed her chin. She decided to figure out where the back rooms might be. Gabriel had mentioned he was upgrading the staff locations, and there had to be an entryway. It was not like he walked through walls.

  She blinked. The diary had mentioned secret passageways, which reminded her she needed to go find that secret room. Her stomach rumbled, so she’d eat first.

  No. Erica shook off the numbing coldness. The man was an angel, and wouldn’t lock her up and leave the front door open. There had to be another door.

  Her body calmed down. She pictured his sexy, smoldering, dark eyes. In candlelight, his wide pupils reflected the flames. Who was this man who excited her? The perfect lover she’d be crazy to doubt or a man married to the crazy lady from the diary? Her body ached. She marched to the kitchen. He’d be innocent of his wife’s lies, and the diary could be washed away. Her heart stayed heavy. Erica hoped the thoughts of the woman would die already.

  She opened the fridge to decide what to do. It was a stupid diary and not Erica’s problem. Tiffany’s marital affair meant trouble in paradise, and Gabriel didn’t open up easy. Erica needed to pry him open to speak. Words took effort for him. Unlike her—she could talk to anyone for hours about nothing at all.

  The refrigerator held no appeal. She stopped and picked up a muffin on the table, which, though made the day before, still tasted good and edible. After a few bites, she took a deep breath, then clenched and unclenched her hands. Another one was missing, so Gabriel had eaten one too. Good. She’d make more. Every time she baked, everything else in her life became better.

  She went to the cupboard to get ingredients. Her mind cleared as she whisked batter for muffins. Then she kneaded the dough for bread and let go of everything else.

  Food gave life and substance, and deserved to be delectable. She lost herself in the mixing.

  The moment she finished, her smile grew wide. She’d do something else. Perhaps organize something. She headed out to the library, her every step echoing on the wood floor. She entered the cold lobby. Her body kept calling her back toward the warm apartment, yet her feet kept on their forward path. If Gabriel intended to fix this place, then she’d be useful.

  Tonight, she’d talk to Gabriel, with a scrumptious dinner to celebrate.

  With a watery smile, she walked behind the stairs to what looked like a filled-in wall that could have been a service entrance. The staff would have to get to the front desk somehow. The wall had strange paint. On a whim, she pushed forward, and the wall gave way easily.

  “Hello?” she called out.

  The whisper of a slight wind echoed in her ears, and dust blew into her face. She coughed.

  As per usual, Gabriel didn’t answer, but from the clean, bright floor, he’d been here. The wood was brand-new and buffed. He’d told the truth about what he did all day. The remodeling was so different. The lobby was dank and without life. In here, the cream walls and polished floor showed care. The dust must have been wood chips, which an open window would take out. Plus the floor didn’t creak with every step ahead. All in all, this work was superb.

  At the next room, her breath caught in her throat. The staff here would have a nicer work area than the people at her own restaurants. Everything was sterling silver and functional.

  Then something brushed against her back that sent goose bumps up her entire body. She turned around and stared into the next room in the distance.

  Chains. Saws. Axes. Metal slabs she couldn’t describe littered the room. She stepped back and flinched.

  After she turned around, she blinked. Nothing was behind her. What had brushed against her?

  Her throat constricted slightly. The man had a million tools, and the diary entry flashed through her mind. She stared at a red liquid oozing on the floor. The workbench next to the mess was chipped and of various colors. In a flash, she gulped for air. The diary had been full of lies. Yet Erica cringed and ran back to the apartment.

  She’d rather forget what she saw. She shook her head. The tools were for work, but her feet pounded into the floor in her mad dash.

  Back in the library, she tried to stop her frantic breathing. This made no sense. He couldn’t be whom that person in the diary claimed. He was fixing the house, as he said. But the wife had mentioned tools, hardness, and how he had pushed her down. She rubbed her forehead. She’d not believe Tiffany.

  Something cold and small touched Erica’s back, and the sensation of it brought everything she read to life. She turned around to grab at the air, but no one was there. A dull ache caught in her chest.

  A creak reverberated in the air. Erica twirled. She remembered how she told him to take her without permission. Even now her body hummed. She needed him to tell her that this place was safe.

  Erica let out a small scream. Then she told herself, “Too much alone time is making me crazy. Get going and go finish that cake and prepare dinner at cake for tonight. No need to act crazy.”

  Ghosts didn’t exist.

  There was a rational explanation for everything, and Gabriel was still her wounded angel. She’d figure the rest out. She rubbed her temples. In business, she’d been schooled in fearlessness. So why did Gabriel send her into hyperventilation? And what was with this creepy hotel? Something was off here.

  Back in the kitchen, she took flour out of the cabinet, and she chose to forget tonight for a while.

  Today, she’d bake cupcakes too.

  * * *

  A few hours later, she was relaxed. No more noises, and her mind hummed with life. She set up the cupcakes in the refrigerator and put a newly baked cake on the table. Everything in life had a purpose, and she’d find hers. There was a reason she’d ended up here, and she’d help Gabriel and herself figure everything out. For now, the food looked delicious, and the room smelled wonderful.

  Just because she stayed trapped in his house did not mean she needed to feed her fears. She had choices and refused to go crazy. She’d always been a fighter, despite what she’d been like the past few days.

  Now she ached and went to take a nap. In a few hours, she’d be fine and alert. The wind whipped past the windows, and she hadn’t blinked. Good.

  There was no such thing as ghosts.

  15

  Erica checked the fresh batter she whipped together on the counter. The yeast had risen slightly.

  Gabriel hadn’t come back. The man must be hungry.

  Tonight, she’d bake the fresh bread. Her nap had worked wonders on her spirit, and her body stayed tension free. She checked the oven, and the meaty lasagna smelled savory. Tonight’s meal had the heaviness of carbohydrates that had always fed her soul as a child. The tomato sauce smell went right through her nose and sang to her heart.

  The buzzing electrical noise in the wall ended. A smile grew on her face. She had forgotten she heard that sound sometimes.

  She gazed at herself in the glass and stared at the white flour on her body. A giggle escaped her mouth, and she shook her head. She needed a fast shower. The clothes she wore had various food-processing marks.

  Her eyebrows shot up. A nice outfit would keep her happy and help Gabriel notice her. She sniffed herself, but all that came through her nose was the smell of tomatoes. She ought to dab on vanilla, as she read that men find that smell the most exciting.

  She rushed into her room and hopped in the shower. She’d wash the food stains off in thirty seconds. She towel-dried her body, then ran to find a red dress. The label had made absolute sense the moment Erica stared at the beaded material. That many beads were expensive, but then, one-of-a-kind designers had no limits.

  Erica held the dress to her body. Her hips might be an issue. She tugged at the material and it hardly stretched. She didn’t need to wear this, but the style magazines all spoke highly of this designer. On her own, she’d never bother to go into a store to test. Erica bit her lower lip and wondered if she’d look good in it anyhow. The dress was two sizes too small.
In a flash, she made a choice and tried to squeeze into the dress. A fancy dress for dinner was a perk, and she needed a high moment to finish this lazy afternoon.

  To wiggle the thing past her hips, she squirmed.

  Slowly the material went up. Good. She reached behind her and closed the top button.

  The dress clung at her chest, but she managed to get the zipper up.

  First, she stared at in the mirror at her legs. The hem stopped halfway up her thighs instead of at her knees, as intended. She stepped closer to the mirror and peered at her body. Her breasts arched. And she gave herself a secret smile. She hadn’t worn red in ages. In Maine, she suddenly wore a South Beach outfit, complete with the leg length. She giggled. In Miami, she dressed the prude. Hopefully Gabriel liked her legs. Another laugh escaped her lips, and the dress almost ripped. She’d have to be more careful. Open-toe heels would complete her high-class pretense, so she found silver spikes.

  With one more glance in the mirror, she nodded. She looked great. She went back to the kitchen to check on the food.

  Yes. She had a hum in her step. Everything was perfect.

  The kitchen was still and undisturbed. Gabriel hadn’t returned yet.

  Outside, the gray skies indicated another storm. With a deep breath, she rushed and set the table. She laid down the last spoon and relaxed. The troubles of last night hadn’t mattered.

  She returned to the oven and took the lasagna out with a pair of gloves. With perfect timing, she placed it on the table as Gabriel walked inside from the back door.

  His blue jeans clung to his muscular body, and his blue T-shirt barely contained his rigid build and half showed his US Marine tattoo. She smiled brightly and leaned over to fix the plates. From the corner of her eyes, she caught him checking her out, and a warmth went up her entire body.

  His fiery gaze stared at her. He must like her outfit. She flipped her hair to the side and met his stare head on. Then her mouth fell open. He stared back with a grim face. His frown was colder than the snow. Unsure, she froze. “What’s wrong?”

  His eyes were dull and lifeless, and his arms were crossed. “Where did you get that dress?”

  What happened? She narrowed her eyes. “Where do you think? In the closet.”

  His voice was etched with anger, and she gulped. He took a step back. “I didn’t throw that away?”

  Something about the dress bothered him. She tried to understand. “Okay. Bad memories. I’ll go take it off.”

  She passed him to leave, but he held up his hands. A loud sigh escaped his lips. She kept her gaze down. She’d not touch him. But he stood so close, and his woodsy scent became a whiff of reality. He brushed her arm and quietly told her, “Wait. It’s not you. I shouldn’t be in a bad mood over a dress. You didn’t do anything.”

  “No. I didn’t.” Her shoulders relaxed. She dropped her guard and brushed against his arm. The last thing she’d ever do was hurt him. She gulped. “I can change if it makes you sad.”

  He shook his head. “Clothes don’t make a man sad, Erica. I was rude.”

  “Sit. I made us dinner.” She nodded, but her heart pounded near him. The heat turned a different temperature.

  “You look good.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. The fire inside her grew. She gave him a small smile, and her heart skipped. He led her inside and held a chair out for her. Then he waited. “And this kitchen smells appetizing, like tomatoes.”

  “And you’re forgiven.” Her smile grew larger, and she brushed his muscular arm to take her seat. “I hope you like lasagna.”

  “Sounds good.” He pushed in her chair, then took his seat. A sense of belonging overtook her fast, but she pushed the thought back. He picked up a fork and leaned closer to her. “I thought women knowing how to cook was some urban myth of lost generations.”

  “I had no choice. Cooking calms me.” She cleared her throat and stared into his smoldering brown eyes. “I checked out the work you’re doing in the back rooms.”

  His eyes brightened up like she had mentioned fireworks. And the pit in her stomach descended. He pushed for more. “And?”

  He sounded hopeful. Her face flushed, and she stared at her shoes. She had overreacted about the tools. She coughed. “The floor shone and didn’t creak.”

  He sat back in his chair. “That’s all?”

  Okay, she had misjudged. He stared at her like she had stolen Christmas from him. She chewed on her lips. She didn’t believe in ghosts. What happened made no sense. As she pursed her lips, she answered, “I didn’t get very far. You have a lot of tools.”

  His eyes widened with understanding and hope. With a nod, he admitted, “It’s true. The first room is messy. Once I’m done, I’ll take all that stuff out and buff that room. It became easier to leave my stuff there in the winter. What did you think of the kitchen?”

  Next time, she’d not get scared off. Her shoulders dropped, and she leaned closer to him. “I didn’t see it.”

  With a genuine smile, his eyes held a shimmer that somehow took them from smoldering to burning hot. He told her, “Oh. You’d like it, I think. I updated all the equipment to make it modern and efficient.”

  She stopped. “It wasn’t before?”

  “This place was falling apart.”

  With an honest smile, she tilted her head. “I’ll check it out tomorrow. I can tell you what I’d add in the kitchen.”

  “Expert opinions are welcome, and you are my favorite chef.”

  Laughter bubbled out, and she leaned closer to him. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  He winked at her, then leaned closer to whisper, “That’s good to hear. My work was off all day, and I’ve been in a foul mood.”

  “Why?” Had he seen strange things too?

  She caught how he blushed. Then he took her hand in his. Had he meant her? “I don’t sleep well, ever. Today dragged, but it’s getting better.”

  He had meant her, hadn’t he? She was sometimes dense. She scooted closer to him but kept her gaze on his chin. “I freaked out when I saw your tools. It was stupid of me, but being alone isn’t something I’m used to, at all. In Miami, it’s never this quiet.”

  He moved their handholding to his lap, then leaned closer. “Miami? You don’t have the accent.”

  Her shoulders relaxed, and she smiled up at him. “I grew up in Central Florida and then moved farther south. I travel to New York and Boston three times a year.”

  “Explains you better.” He nodded.

  Her eyebrows lifted. “How?”

  With a wink, he answered, “Miami people don’t drive in snow.”

  She tilted her head and then answered, “True.”

  He leaned on his arm for a minute. “Why did you even think that a factory in Maine was so important that you came in the middle of winter?”

  She let out a breath, happy to answer and talk. “I was heading to an investor’s winter ski resort to sign off that I’d open my factory here in Maine. If I avoided the blizzard, I’d have made it. A national company shut down operations a year ago and left the place abandoned. I didn’t care where the place was, as long as the equipment and workers could be found at a reasonable price. The price was too good to pass up. Now, though, I’ve likely lost that deal.”

  He massaged her palm. “Why?”

  Her gaze dropped, and her face heated. She leaned closer and told him her fear: “Because I’m probably assumed dead.”

  He didn’t deny it, but he patted her knee. “Don’t think about it. When the snow clears, I’ll get you out of here and we’ll clear it up. If it’s the old cupcake factory, I know the owner. We’ll straighten it out.”

  “You’re my angel, still.” She smiled. “I hope no one else wants the place.”

  “No one is going to come up to northern Maine in the middle of winter like you.” His eyes wrinkled with laughter. Then he shook his head. “You’re the only person who thinks that. He probably lowered the price to entice someone desperate and foolish.”
>
  “That would be me, then.” She held her breath for a minute before changing the topic. “Sometimes, I think a ghost lives in your house.”

  “Sometimes, I think so too.” He shook his head. “Ghosts aren’t real, but the demons in my past never stray from my mind.”

  Perhaps this wasn’t the time for that discussion. No need to bring up pain. She needed him to help mask her fears. With a smile, she reached to the side of her dress to unzip it. She’d let him see more of her for dessert. But it caught on her skin. She flinched. “Help me. Pull this hard.”

  He stifled the sexy groan of an almost laugh.

  She shook her head. “I was trying to be smooth.”

  His laugh broke free now, but his hands brushed against her back. “Let’s see.”

  “And I was trying to help you seduce me.” She turned around and gave him her back. “But I’d like to breathe. I put this on before eating the fattening food, and I’m bigger than your wife.”

  “You smile more too.” He stood behind her back, and his large hands rested on her hips. His hands could almost wrap around her entire waist, and she wasn’t tiny. The zipper still tugged her skin, but he held her closer to his warm, muscular body. The headiness took the pain away. Then he whispered, “If I can’t get the zipper, I’ll get scissors.”

  “Deal.” She nodded. But to stay brave, she closed her eyes while he tugged. His callused hands sent a heat wave through her.

  The dress hadn’t budged.

  This wasn’t sexy. She chewed on her lip and tried to pull at the dress. “Maybe I can wiggle it off.”

  “Let’s get you on the bed and get your body to relax.” He kissed her ear. “I can find the scissors, though.”

  “I don’t want sharp objects on my skin.” She twisted around in his arms and played with his belt loop to force him closer. His erection meant she hadn’t screwed up entirely. With a saucy wink, she added, “But that hard blade is more than welcome to try and break me.”