by T. M. Cromer
Grey joined them at Gabriel’s invitation.
“I wanted to confirm everything’s set for the office party next Friday, Grey. Is there anything else I need to approve?”
“Nope. Got it all covered.”
Margie frowned. Gabriel hadn’t mentioned he was having an office party. “Is it strictly for your employees?” she asked.
“No. Their spouses and significant others as well.” He gave her a wide grin. “Do you want to be my significant other, Margaret?”
She smiled her agreement, but she couldn’t help the small, niggling thought: Why hadn’t he thought to invite her before now? Was he embarrassed to have a single mom with only a high school diploma as his date in a roomful of his degreed peers?
After a few minutes, Grey jumped up to handle a kitchen emergency, leaving the two of them alone.
“What is it, Margaret?”
She glanced up from attacking her salad. “What do you mean?”
“Ever since I mentioned the party, you became noticeably withdrawn. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She hoped like hell the heat building in her cheeks didn’t mark her for the liar she was, but his raised brow and compressed lips told her it did.
“Try again.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the party sooner?”
He seemed taken aback by the question. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to go if we’re being honest. You turned me down when I invited you to the New Year’s party, and—”
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I would still have liked to be asked. I thought we were… were…”
“Were what, Margaret? More than the ‘occasional lovers’ title you seem to fancy?”
The hard edge in his voice startled her, and she was at a loss to understand why he was upset.
“Sorry.” He shook his head and rubbed his neck. “I don’t know why I’m being pissy suddenly.”
“It’s been a stressful day,” she replied.
“I had every intention of cajoling you into going, love,” he said in a softer, more moderate tone. “I simply forgot to ask with everything happening lately. It popped up in my reminders today, so I wanted to cement the menu with Grey.”
“It’s okay.”
“Margaret, look at me.” His soft, compelling voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket, swaddling her in a wealth of confusing feelings. How he managed to melt her anger or soothe her reservations every time was a mystery. He reached for her hand and waited patiently until she placed hers in his. “I would be honored if you’d be my date for the office party. Please, say you’ll go with me.”
It was impossible to say no to him or be hurt for more than a millisecond when those seductive silvery eyes and his full, smiling mouth made mush of her insides. She sipped her water to hydrate her parched throat. “Yes, but you’ll have to help me decide what to wear. I don’t want to embarrass you with my meager wardrobe.”
“You couldn’t embarrass me even if you were wearing a sack, but I’m happy to help. It gives me a chance to poke through your unmentionables.”
She laughed at his exaggerated leer. “I need help with the dress, you perv, not the underwear. I won’t be wearing any.”
He straightened in his chair and sent her a searing look. “Don’t tease me, Margaret. I’ll drag you into Grey’s office faster than you can blink.”
“Promises, promises.” Her voice hitched from the thrilling idea of them doing the deed in such a public place.
“Let’s go.” He shoved his chair back with a speed that left her gaping, and reached for her hand.
“Are we really doing this?” Margie found herself giggling all the way down the corridor to the office.
“You can’t challenge a man with ‘promises, promises’ and not have him take action.”
A surge of excitement raced through her veins, sparking a fire within. Other than in Gabriel’s office a time or two, they’d had to keep their sexual encounters confined to her bedroom or his home because of the children. But Margie loved that he was always ready and wanted her whenever or wherever they were.
Looking back, Scott had never been the adventurous type, and everything sexual in nature had been after the kids were asleep. The only exception was a little make-out session on the couch in the early days of their marriage.
When Grey passed them in the hall, he gave them a curious look but didn’t say a word when Gabriel told him he needed privacy for a few minutes.
“He totally knows what we’re going to do,” Margie said with a snorting laugh.
“Most likely.”
Gabriel locked the door behind them and pressed her against the wood panel. When his lips were a mere inch from hers, he said, “Let’s make good on that promise.”
Don was a master hacker. He’d needed to be, in order to cover his tracks up for past incidents. Currently, his eyes were fixed on the monitor as Gabriel James hammered into Margie against the office door of his brother’s restaurant.
As Don watched them, his emotions went beyond fury to a strange, icy calm. His face felt numb, and he became clinical in his observations. Zooming in, he took special note of Margie’s face. Her flushed cheeks and fevered eyes spoke of intense pleasure. Don couldn’t help but be turned on, watching as she panted little mewling sounds of enjoyment.
Soon enough, he’d bring her to that level of excitement. For months now, he’d studied Gabriel’s techniques, and he was an apt pupil. All that remained was to show Margie what he could do for her. To her.
The space he’d fixed for her was ready. He’d arranged everything down to the last pillow and even replicated her vanity with the makeup and perfume she favored. When she saw what he’d done to make her happy, she’d shower him with all her love.
Admittedly, he’d screwed up today. He’d thought she’d spend the morning with Gabriel and give him time to savor being alone in her room, surrounded by her things. Still, he’d have taken advantage of her return had the police not been in the immediate vicinity. He made a mental note to download a police scanner app if one was available.
Gabriel’s hips pumped faster, and Margaret’s head dropped back, her mouth open in pleasured wonder even as her eyes closed in bliss. Don knew the moment the orgasm hit her, because her body shuddered and she bit Gabriel’s shoulder through the material of his shirt to temper her cry.
Don wished she’d have taken longer to come because now he was left to fantasize about the two of them together and finish his masturbating alone. Staring down at his hard dick, he stroked faster, imagining Margie’s long, graceful fingers wrapped around him. Her mouth encircling his cock as he thrust so deeply she gagged and teared up from his forcefulness.
Soon.
Chapter 22
The party was in full swing, and Margie wished she hadn’t come. She’d suspected she’d feel like an idiot, surrounded by Harvard Law School grads and the like. Being right sucked.
A heavy dose of social anxiety laced with self-doubt made her wonder what the hell Gabriel saw in her. For God’s sake, she was a part-time cartoonist who drew caricatures of her children for a practically obsolete newspaper. With circulation down due to online articles, she was hanging on to her job by a thread.
She’d been cornered by a handsy, elderly client of Gabriel’s, and she had no idea how to extract herself from her current situation without major insult. The man’s pinching prowess would give a lobster envy.
Across the room, his wife—a tall, anorexic-looking redhead with gravity-defying breasts—flirted with Gabriel, touching him at every turn. If ever two people were made for each other, it was the pinching wonder and his Jessica Rabbit bride.
Perhaps she should talk to Gabriel about finding a better class of clientele?
Speak of the devil.
Gabriel caught Margie’s eye and winked. Seemed they were on the same wavelength. His soft smile turned to a dark frown as Handsy McHandserson not so subtly pinched her ass. If he weren’t an important client,
she’d have dumped her drink over his head and cooled off his needle dick.
Gordie appeared from nowhere and ushered Margie to safety. “Sorry about that, babe. Gabe should’ve never left you alone with that fucking pervert.” The edge of anger in his voice made her feel marginally better.
As Gordie escorted her to the spread of hors d’oeuvres, she lost sight of Gabriel and Red. Margie picked at a few things here or there to curb her gnawing hunger, but because most everyone was guzzling booze and ignoring the food, she felt gauche by shoving the mini-quiches in her face.
“Eat up. Gabriel paid enough for this shindig,” Grey said from beside her. “Besides, I’m starting to get a complex.”
She tried some type of smoked salmon delight.
“Goodgodthisisgood!” she mumbled around the mouthful of deliciousness, returning his happy grin.
Grey kissed her temple as Gordie laughed. “Thank you, Margie. You’re one-hundred percent authentic, and we adore you.”
Uncomfortable with the praise, she avoided looking at him and cast a glance around the room.
Gabriel was nowhere to be seen.
A feeling of dread struck her right in the solar plexus when she realized Red was missing, too. And hadn’t she been in this situation before with Scott on more than one occasion?
“I’ll go find them,” Gordie said, apparently able to read her mind. “I’m sure Gabe is dealing with a crisis, and the perv’s drunk-ass wife has fallen asleep in an office somewhere.”
“I trust Gabriel,” Margie assured him. “You don’t have to bother him if he’s busy.”
“Dance with me?” Grey held out a hand as the music kicked up and a fun, fast-paced song came on.
Margie drained her champagne glass and gave it to Gordie. She flared her eyes wide. “Why not?”
“That’s the spirit.” Gordie grinned and gave her a gentle shove toward Grey.
Twenty minutes later, after three more dance partners, Gabriel showed up. He’d discarded his tie and jacket, and a whole lot of tension if his beaming countenance was a clue.
“Sorry, Bert. The lady promised this dance to me,” he said, cutting off a toupée-wearing, octogenarian whose dentures were too big for his mouth.
Margie didn’t want to deny him, but she didn’t think she had another butt wiggle in her. “My feet—oh!”
He pulled her close and nipped her earlobe. “Wait for it.”
The music shifted to a sultry, soulful tune. The singer’s raspy-voice wrapped around Margie, and the lyrics spoke straight to her soul. Lost in the music, she wanted to melt into Gabriel. To soak up every ounce of the magic of the moment.
As he spun her in a slow circle, she caught a glimpse of Gordie on a stool in the corner of the room. He was crooning into the mic, his eyes closed as he strummed an acoustic guitar.
She turned stunned eyes up to Gabriel, who laughed at her dumbfounded expression.
“Yeah, it’s one he wrote. Gordie’s more than a rockstar. He’s a fucking artist.”
“I’ll say,” she breathed.
Gordon sang of love and missed chances. His haunting words reached in and squeezed Margie’s heart.
“It’s beautiful.” She did nothing to disguise her awe.
“He doesn’t show this side of himself often.” Gabriel’s arms tightened, and he leaned down to kiss her. A semi-tame kiss, bordering on passionate with a promise of more when they were alone. “I think he’s showing off for you. I may have to kick his ass later.”
Margie laughed, but the joy of the moment was lost the second Red staggered up to them. Her dress was askew, and her hair was falling out of the carefully crafted creation she’d sported when she arrived tonight. Scarlet lipstick was mostly worn off, but what remained had bled above and below her puffy lips. Filler injections or kissing, it was difficult to tell which created the pouty look. Once, she would’ve been a stunning woman, but excess and hard living seemed to have taken their toll. When she smiled seductively at Gabriel, her face was grotesque and reminiscent of the Joker.
“Dance with me, baby. You owe me for before.”
His face hardened, and Margie could feel the stiffness in his shoulders underneath her palms.
“I’m dancing with my girlfriend,” he informed Red coldly.
“Girlfriend?” Red let loose a bawdy laugh resembling a braying jackass. “You couldn’t remember her name in your office ten minutes ago.”
Every cell in Margie’s body seized, and as her arms fell from Gabriel’s neck, she noticed a scarlet lipstick smudge on his collar. Her brain blanked then shot into overdrive, connecting all the dots. That’s what had been bothering her about Red’s appearance. She looked like she’d been royally fucked. The smell of sex wafted off her, creating a nauseating stench when combined with the overpowering, rose-heavy fragrance of her perfume.
Margie’s gaze ping-ponged between them.
Red was insinuating she and Gabriel had been intimate in his office, and Margie couldn’t keep out the doubts banging on the door to her mind. The evidence on his shirt was incriminating, and it was no secret he liked to get off in office settings. Hell, he’d bent her over his desk a time or two, not to mention the quickie at Grey’s restaurant last week.
“I’ll let you clear this up. I need another drink.” Stomach like lead, she backed away.
He shot her a sharp look. “Margaret.”
“I know she’s McHandserson’s wife.” With a tight smile, she held up a hand. “Do what you need to.”
“McHandserson?” The light of laughter entered his eyes.
But Margie didn’t feel like sharing the joke. She pivoted on her heel and headed to where Grey’s bartender had set up shop. The smoked salmon and mini-quiche were threatening a return trip up her esophagus.
“Are you going to talk to me, or are you going to stew the rest of the ride home?”
“I’m tired, Gabriel.”
Margaret was lying. Her whole energy was wrong, and Gabriel could practically feel the anger thrumming through her veins.
A disbelieving snort worked its way up and out of him.
When Margaret didn’t turn at the sound, he knew she was well and truly pissed. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the formula on exactly why either—Sylvia Slater, the busty redhead with the morals of an alley cat.
Her husband, Bob, had set him up, and when Gabriel went into his office to retrieve the file his client insisted he had to have right then, Sylvia had followed. The fact the husband and wife were swingers was no surprise to anyone who’d met them, but Gabriel didn’t realize they’d take it as far as to sexually assault him at his own party.
“Whatever Sylvia implied, it didn’t happen.”
This time Margaret’s disbelieving snort echoed in the quiet car interior.
“You don’t believe me,” he stated flatly.
She shifted in her seat and glared. “No, Gabriel, I don’t.”
His throat dried up, but he kept his expression bland in the face of her attack.
“You both disappeared for well over twenty minutes, and when you returned, it was sans a coat and tie. She looked like she was rode hard and put up wet.” She flicked his shirt opening. “Oh, and by the way, you have a scarlet lipstick smear on your collar. So there is that.”
He didn’t need to look at her to see the accusation radiating from her furious sapphire eyes. He could feel the burning intensity from his side of the vehicle.
“Circumstantial evidence, Margaret.”
“And your preference for doing it on every surface of your office?”
“Only with you.”
“You’re telling me you’ve never had sex with any other woman in there?”
A telling flush started in his chest, crawled up his neck, and took up residence on his cheeks.
“Yeah, I thought so.” She faced the passenger window again.
“It doesn’t mean I had sex with Sylvia tonight because I’ve done it in my office prior to my relationship w
ith you.”
She remained eerily still and silent until he pulled into his driveway. When she would’ve opened the door, he hit the lock to keep her in place.
“Open the door, Gabriel,” she gritted out.
“I want to talk this out.”
“Open the door!”
“Margaret, please listen to me.”
“If you don’t open this fucking door right now, I swear to God—”
Gabriel released the locks with a heavy sigh and a matching heavy heart.
Like a racehorse out of the gate, Margaret bolted from the car and across the lawn to her house. He watched until she was safely inside. He knew James would be there to greet her, but he wanted to be the one to make sure her home was secure and there were no unwanted visitors lurking in her closet, for his own peace of mind.
Gabriel closed his eyes and rested his head back on the seat. Perhaps he was destined to have rocky relationships. Yes, he knew he was attractive, but with a handsome face came unwanted advances. Because he was a man, women seemed to think he had no moral compass. And though he’d never given any of the previous women in his life cause for suspicion, it had always been present in every affair.
Always before, he’d bailed when things turned ugly. This time, he didn’t want to. This time, he needed Margaret to see her false accusations for what they were.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, wallowing in woes, but a ding indicated an incoming text.
James.
“What the hell did you do to my sister? She’s spitting nails.”
Did he bother trying to explain by text?
“Come for a beer, and I’ll tell you.”
He chuckled at James’s response.
“Yeah, give me five. I have to sneak out of the house because if my sister knows I’m consorting with the enemy, I’m toast.”
As he opened the door to step out, the overhead light caught a sequin on Margaret’s forgotten shoes. The sight of the heels pissed him off. He’d fully intended to have her wear them when they made love tonight. Seeing her in them and nothing else had been a fantasy since she stepped out her door, looking like a wet dream, earlier.
