“The pinot grigio seems pretty popular.”
“I’m ordering veal so we’ll need a red.”
He squints at me. “You a toff?”
Sensing our food will arrive cold and taste like old shoes if I say yes, I assert, “Me. No.”
He stares at my jacket, my tie, the blasted tie clip which winks aquamarine. Too late I realize I should have dressed more modestly. “You sound like one.”
“Raised with the bloody lot of them. Me father’s a flippin’ butler at a fancy ‘ouse.”
“Oy, that explains it then.” He licks the tip of his pencil and poises it over his pad once more. “So what will it be, mate?”
In my best cockney accent, I ask for the chianti.
Elizabeth watches the whole back and forth without saying a word. But when Smitty departs, her shoulders shake and a smile lights her lips. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
Her glance cuts to the couple sitting next to us who’re following our every word. “For dinner, of course.”
“You’re welcome.”
When the waiter returns with two glasses of chianti, I murder the pronunciation of the veal parmigiana and lasagna al forno.
Once he’s gone, she rests her chin on her hands and stares at me, stars glowing in her eyes. “I like it here, don’t you?”
“I adore the place.” I cup her cheek and lean in for a kiss, just as Smitty delivers our breadstick basket.
“Oh, sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to—well—you know.”
She smiles behind her napkin. Happy to see it, I sip the wine like it’s the finest vintage in the world.
“We’ll have to bring Andrew here some day.”
Not so sure about that, but I’m not about to disagree with her. Not when she’s so happy.
During dinner, we discuss our favorite literature. I expect her to say women’s fiction, but her favorite genre turns out to be thrillers. Who knew?
“And you?” she asks, sipping her wine. Since she’s breastfeeding Andrew, she’s allowing herself a small glass and no more.
By this time, the couple finished their meal and no one’s been seated next to us, so I’m more comfortable opening up to her. “Business periodicals.”
Her eyes widen. “You don’t read fiction?”
“No. I read journals, papers on economics, industry, wealth.”
“So before you developed this penchant for business periodicals, what did you do for fun?”
She’s making fun of me, but I’m enjoying the give and take. “During my free time, I rode horses. You may have noticed we have a horse barn at Winterleagh?”
Her cheeks pinken. Probably from memories of the time we fucked in the stable’s office. The last time we made love before she left me and I, maddened with grief, crashed my Jag into a tree. I shake my head in an attempt to vanish those memories. “And, I taught myself how to play the piano.”
She props her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her closed fists. “How did you do that?”
“There was an old beat up instrument in the staff room. I used to sneak down to the kitchen for cookies and treats. Our cook would indulge us children. I’ve always had an ear for music so one day I sat at the piano and picked out some notes. I tried to improve, but without formal instruction, there was only so much I could learn. When I went off to school, I demanded my studies include piano lessons. By the time I was ten I could play Mozart concertos.”
“I’d love to hear you play, Gabriel,” she says softly, like she knows how touchy the subject is to me.
My left hand can no longer reach for those difficult notes, not after my mother ordered my tutor to break all the bones in it. They healed but not perfectly. I shake my head. “I’ll never play again.”
“Why not? You enjoy music.”
I grab a breadstick, break it in half. “Because I can’t play the way I used to, the way I like to play.”
She reaches across the table and gathers my left hand in both of hers. Brings it to her lips, kisses each and every knuckle. “I’m so sorry they hurt you, Gabriel, but don’t you see? If you let them keep you from something you love, you’re letting them win.”
Rather than argue the point with her, I slide my hand from her grasp, reach for the menu. “So what would you like for dessert?”
While we enjoy the cannolis, I try to impress her with my business acumen. “Sometimes I write a business periodical as well.”
“I know.” She nods. “You’ve authored some fine papers on business.”
I’m surprised, to say the least. “You’ve read them?”
“Some, not all. The one you wrote at Oxford I couldn’t obtain.”
“I have a copy at the penthouse. I’d love your opinion on it.”
Her brows shoot up. “You would?”
“Yes.” Why does she sound so surprised? “You have a fine mind, Elizabeth.”
She twirls the glass and lets out a deep sigh. “Then why can’t you understand my need to work?”
I temple my hands above the table. Why indeed? The bone of our contention. The thing I must come to terms with if our marriage is to succeed. “Maybe it’s because I don’t understand it. I have the money, the means to give you everything you desire. If you’d like something to do, you could run my properties, manage Winterleagh Castle.”
“But all that is yours, not mine.”
“It is ours, by virtue of the fact you’re married to me.”
“And it could all be taken away in the blink of an eye if you desired it.”
“I will never walk away from you. Never.”
The corners of her lips downturn into a smile so sad it breaks my heart. She doesn’t believe me. What can I do to make her understand?
“You see, Gabriel.” Without looking up, she draws little swirls on the tablecloth. “I’ve always been able to trust my abilities, my work ethic. If I work hard enough, I’ll succeed.”
“You’ll succeed at whatever you do, Elizabeth. You’re highly intelligent.”
“If you understand that, why can’t you give me the freedom to work? Why won’t you accept it?”
And we’re right back where we were, going around in circles. Why does the thought of her working rattle me so? Why can’t I see things from her point of view? Why can’t I accept what she wants? I want her home caring for our son, loving me. That much I know. I also realize that we won’t reconcile until I come to terms with her decision to work. I reach out and hold her hand. “I don’t want to lose you.”
The sparkle dies in her eyes. No wonder. I didn’t answer her question, but countered with a need of my own.
After I pay for our meal, we stroll out, almost strangers again, to where the car waits for us. The date has not gone as well as I’d like, and it’s all my bloody fault. Once we’re settled in the car, I grab a hold her hand and kiss it. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“I don’t think you enjoyed yourself. Not as much as you wished anyway.”
She shakes her head. “I never thought it would be easy. It’s a beginning, Gabriel. And for that, I’m grateful.”
I pull her into me, attempt a kiss, but she slides a hand between my mouth and hers.
“Not now.”
What is this? A new rule she’s inflicting on me? The no-sex rule is bad enough, but no kissing as well? Wait. She said ‘Not now,’ implying a later. “When then?”
“At Brianna’s door. You can kiss me goodnight then. I want a first date type of kiss.” I must have made a face, because she laughs. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve never done a first date.”
“How can that be? You’ve dated women before me.”
I rake a hand through my hair trying to think of a way to make what I’m about to say sound less disreputable. “I never had to work for it. Girls, women always fell for me.” Glancing down, I wipe nonexistent lint from my jacket. “All I had to do was crook a finger and . . .”
“They slid right over your
cock.”
I glance at her, no doubt with a sheepish grin. “Pretty much.”
She barks out a laugh. “God, Storm. What a life you’ve led. Well tonight, you’re going to experience a first date kind of a kiss. Sweet, loving, tender. That’s what I want.”
She’s smiling again. By God, I don’t care if it sounds silly. I’m going to give her the best first date kiss she’s ever known.
Like a perfect gentleman, I walk her to Bri’s door. She inserts the key Bri’s apparently given her into the lock. And then she turns and looks expectantly up at me.
Before we left for our date, I made sure no guards would be keeping watch in the hallway and the cameras were turned off. So nobody’s here but us.
Her mouth curves up in a soft smile.
I crook a finger underneath her chin, raise it “You’re beautiful.”
Confusion clouds her eyes. “Am I?”
“Yes!” How can she still not believe it after all the times I’ve told her?
She’s trembling. And all I want to do is take her right against the wall and bury myself in her. But I don’t. Because that’s not what she wants.
Instead, I cover her lips with my own, barely brushing hers with mine. Her lips are soft, giving. She tastes of wine and her own inimitable flavor. It’s been so long since we made love. Before my father’s funeral. And one kiss is not enough. I want more. “Open, love.”
She sighs and does as I ask. When she does, her taste, her scent are all too much for me, and the kiss goes incendiary. Can’t help it. My body craves her like a drug. There go my good intentions.
And there go hers as well. Her hands encircle my neck, and she pulls me down to her, her hips swaying against me. My hard and randy cock knows and responds to everything that is Elizabeth. Her scent, her taste, the very essence of her. I push her against the wall, raise her skirt, ready to pleasure her all the way to paradise. When she wiggles, I think she’s going along with my plan. But she’s pushing me back, wresting her lips from mine. “Stop. Stop, Gabriel.”
It takes a couple of seconds for her words to sink in. When they do, I step back, hating what I see. Two spots of red mark her cheeks. Her skirt’s rucked around her waist. She’s wearing dark hose beneath so at least she’s not bare arse. I breathe hard for a couple of seconds trying to get myself under control before I step away.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have . . .” There are no words I can find to chastise myself. She’d asked for a sweet first date kind of a kiss and I’d practically mauled her in an open hallway.
“Gabriel. Please. Don’t blame yourself. I got just as carried away.”
“Yes, but I should have tried harder. I should have given you what you wanted.” How could I have fucked up so badly? “I failed you.”
“Don’t do this to yourself.” She reaches out to cup my cheek. But I can’t stand the look of tenderness on her face. A look I don’t bloody well deserve.
“Excuse me.” I turn, and with her voice ringing in my ears, I eat up the stairs between Bree’s floor and mine and head for my bedroom to spend an endless night alone.
Chapter 5
______________
Elizabeth
SATURDAY MORNING, I’m standing by Bri’s kitchen counter, a fresh brewed cup of coffee in my hand when she strolls in. She looks like hell. Dark shadows under her eyes. Lips bitten raw. Even more alarming, bruises mar the delicate skin of her arms.
“Morning, Bri. Did you sleep well?”
She pours a cup of the brew, drops a dollop of milk into it, and sips. When the liquid hits her bruised mouth, she winces.
Ouch!
“Didn’t sleep at all. Too busy . . . entertaining to sleep.”
After Gabriel’s hurried departure last night, I’d showered and crawled into bed hoping to fall into a dreamless sleep. No such luck. The noises coming from her bedroom last night kept me up and, to tell the truth, alarmed me. The whop of a belt. Groans. Muffled screams. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but my room is right next to hers, so they’d been hard to miss. What on earth is she into?
Her kitchen contains a dinette table and two chairs. When she drops into one of them and leans back, she winces. “Bloody hell.”
Okay, now I’m officially worried. Rough sex is one thing, but she seems to have gone beyond that. “Are you all right?”
“No, ducks. I’m not. Todd got a little carried away last night. Totally my fault. I never used the safe word.”
Safe word. Only one context I know of uses that term. “Didn’t know you were into BDSM.”
“Light bondage. And I only do it once in a while.”
“Didn’t sound that light.” She’d been beaten, and from the look of her this morning, her lover had done quite a number on her. I’m all for consenting adults indulging in whatever they like, but I truly don’t understand the need to be struck. But then I’m not Bri.
“Sorry if I kept you awake.”
“You didn’t.” I lie. Don’t want her to feel bad. “I was up doing some research on the internet. I’m applying for the dual degree program at King’s College and my school back home. The application is a bear.” This last part is true, but then I’d only done the research because I couldn’t fall asleep.
“Good for you.” She takes another sip of the coffee with the same results. Seeming to give up, she pushes away the cup. “And how’s Gabe taking that decision?” She licks her lips, probably trying to soothe the sore.
“He encouraged me to apply. I think he sees it as a way to keep my mind occupied. A job, however, is a whole another story. He doesn’t approve of me working, especially with Sebastian Payne as my boss.”
“Can’t blame him. Sebastian’s a player. Gabe was the same. Before he met you, of course. Now he barely spares a glance for another woman.”
I twirl the handle of my now empty coffee cup.
“What’s wrong?”
Maybe this is the wrong time to bring this up. But she knows Gabriel better than anyone else, except for probably Jake. And he’s not around to ask. “I’ve never understood why.”
“Why what?”
“Why Gabriel wants me. He’s dated women more beautiful than me, probably more intelligent as well. And yet, he’s fixated on me.” I hate feeling this insecure, but I need to understand Gabriel’s attraction to me.
Bri covers my hand with her own. “He loves you, Elizabeth. Can’t you see that?”
“No. I guess I can’t.”
“Then he hasn’t done a good job of telling you or showing you.” She doesn’t sound at all like her usual self. Her joie de vivre’s gone missing.
I shrug. “Or I haven’t done a good job of believing it either. It takes two, Brianna.” Why can’t I accept he loves me? Because I still don’t trust he’s speaking the truth? Or something else? Do I believe myself not worthy of being loved. Except for Casey, I never allowed any other man to get close. Am I so afraid of being hurt, I push men away? Is that what I’m doing with Gabriel?
“Look. I know it’s been hard with everything he’s done. But he’s always been the protector, the one who cares for those he loves. It’s embedded in his DNA, handed down through an entire line of ancestors. Give him a second chance to prove himself.”
“I want to, but . . .”
“He gets carried away. I know. But can you blame him, after everything he’s gone through? He wants to make sure you don’t get hurt.”
“And yet, even though I was guarded day and night, I was hurt.” I hold up my injured hand. The red’s faded to a bright pink, but I think a scar will remain as a reminder of that awful night.
Reaching out, she pats my arm. “They’ll find out who did it, and then you can rest. We can all rest.” She’s saying the last more to herself than to me. She’s got to be in pain. Not only has she just buried her father, but she found out he was a murderer. No wonder she’s acting so out of character.
“I hope so. For all our sakes.” I whirl my coffee cup around some more
. “I just wish there was some give to Gabriel.”
“He’ll never stop trying to protect you. But maybe you can compromise? Think about what you want and discuss it with him.”
I take in a breath, let it out. “A compromise.” Guess that’s the best I can hope for, because she’s right. I’ll have a guard around me. For the rest of my life. Can I live with that? For his peace of mind? For Andrew’s sake? I don’t know. I truly don’t.
She twitches a delicate blonde brow. “He means well, but he can be such a Neanderthal.”
“Yes,” I echo her grin. “I know.”
She tries to smile, but winces again. “Sorry, ducks. Not at my best this morning. I better go do something about it.”
“What?”
“There’s this darling spa not too far from here. They’re very good at putting me back to rights. By this evening, you won’t spot a single bruise on me, you’ll see.”
And with that she wanders off to her room, presumably to shower and dress.
At mid morning, I climb the stairs to feed Andrew. Nanny and I have worked out an alternating schedule where she takes the first feeding of the day and I take the next. That framework gives us time to get whatever we need accomplished. After I put Andrew down for a nap, I’m pleasantly surprised to run into Edward.
“Oh, hello,” he says.
“Edward! Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Came up for the dinner tonight.” The dinner Gabriel asked me to play hostess to welcome Edward home.
“Of course. I just thought . . .”
“I’d be staying somewhere else. Gabe asked me to stay here. Am I not welcome? Should I find another place to lay my weary head?” His accent reminds me of Gabriel’s, but with his dark hair and dark eyes, he looks just like his mother. Jarring, to say the least.
“No. Of course not. Don’t be silly. Besides you don’t need my approval to stay here.”
“Of course, I do. You’re Gabe’s wife.”
“But I’m not . . . “ Oh, geez. Maybe nobody clued him in to the state of things. “I moved in with Bri.”
For a second his eyes widen, but then his gaze warms with kindness as it settles on me. “Have you, love?”
Storm Redemption Page 3
