My Gigolo (27 page)

Grinning, he knelt and lifted both her feet over the car’s threshold, then ran a hand up her calf and settled it on her knee. “He may not be for long. I don’t envy Phil having to drag him inside.”

She giggled, and he stared at her, enraptured. He’d never heard her giggle before. It was…adorable.

“I think Cher’s acting more drunk than she is so he’ll have to carry her inside, too.”

Still wide-eyed, he managed a small smile. “Maybe she’ll get what she wants after all.”

“Psht!” She waved her hand again, closing her eyes and tilting her head back against the headrest. “Even if he weren’t over the moon for that Amelia chick, he’d never take advantage of a drunk woman. Not his style. Too classy for that.”

Since he’d reached that conclusion on his own, he only nodded, patted her knee, and stood, making sure all appendages were inside the car before he shut the door. His smile fell back into an easy grin. He was simply too pleased with how the entire day had gone.

Imagine, a birthday party. And one where he didn’t have to jump out of the cake.

He settled into the driver’s seat and scooted it back a bit. Gabe had driven to the restaurant, and her legs, while the perfect length for staring at and caressing, were shorter than his. Supremely aware of his precious, if giggly, cargo, he looked both ways twice before pulling out of the parking lot.

“You know, I’ve never let anyone else drive my car before.” Her head lolled toward him, her dark eyes open and serious. “I’ve never sat in my own passenger seat. Is that weird?”

Surprised but pleased, he shrugged. “Depends on why. Are you worried about someone crashing your car, or is it just that you’re always the designated driver?”

Her forehead furrowed in deeper concentration than the question surely warranted. “I dunno, really. Maybe both. Maybe just the last.”

“I guess I’m honored in either case.”

This time she shrugged, though she nearly fell over with the motion. “I trust you. You haven’t screwed me yet.”

He snickered. She blushed.

“Screwed me over.
Over
.” When he snickered again, she slumped over the armrests between the seats and elbowed him. “Jerk. You know what I mean.”

Daring to take one hand from the wheel, he leaned just enough to put his arm around her for a short squeeze. When she shifted to lay her cheek down on his armrest, he grinned and let his fingers tangle in the curls at the base of her neck. It seemed so natural, so normal. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so…nonprofessional.

She was all but asleep when he pulled into her driveway, so he went around to her side of the car and lifted her out, cradling her close to his chest and feeling a dangerous case of the warm-fuzzies when she cuddled against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He thought about lying her down on the couch, but she looked so tuckered out that he didn’t have the heart for it. Instead, he carried her up the stairs, careful not to catch her feet in the wrought iron, and couldn’t resist a tiny brush of lips before putting her down.

Dark eyes opened and blinked up at him, muzzy with sleep and alcohol, and she smiled slowly. His heart turned over in his chest, and he winced against the near-pain. He loved her so much it hurt. Another cliché for the evening.

“Did you know that your eyes change color when you’re happy?”

He blinked. “Change color how?”

“Depends on what kind of happy you are.”

Shaking his head, he tugged off his shirt. He wanted a shower before settling down for the night, and he should probably slip Gabe into something more comfortable to sleep in. But he simply stood looking down at her, his shirt dangling from his fingers. She stared up at him, a little smile flirting with the corners of her mouth.

Finally, she blushed and dropped her gaze to his knees. “Make love to me?”

His body reacted instantly. She’d never used that particular euphemism before, and something about the shy request routed all of his blood to the least reasonable portion of his anatomy. “I should take a shower. And you’re falling asleep with your eyes open.”

Her lower lip pooched out the tiniest bit.

“Gabe, you’re drunk.”

The protruding lower lip wobbled. He really couldn’t think of the slightest reason to resist, other than that she’d asked him to make love to her. Did it mean anything?

She pulled off her shirt and threw it at him, and he gave up.

He hadn’t noticed her slip. Relief and his deep kiss rekindled the dizzy
sake
warmth that had fled in the face of her carelessness, and she felt like she was melting as he scooted her farther onto the bed and lay over her, still half-clothed. His hands stroked everywhere, strong and gentle, and somehow she was naked while he still wore his jeans.

“You are so beautiful, Gabe. I could look at you for the rest of my life.”

She groaned, his lips and fingertips lulling her skin even as they coaxed her heart to beat faster. He always knew just where to touch, just how much pressure. A flick of his tongue, and heat flared through her. A trace of his hand, and she whimpered with need. He didn’t even have to enter her to throw her over the edge, though the mere thought of him inside her brought about a need so great it clenched her stomach.

“Jack, please…”

But he took his time, tasting until she trembled, caressing until she cried out, murmuring wordless nothings until his rumbling tone turned her spine into mush and she could do nothing but arch against him in a silent plea. Finally, oh finally, he kicked off the rest of his clothes and lay against her, his heat against hers, his breath coming in warm gasps, his heart thundering almost as quickly as her own.

He paused and gazed down at her, his deep green eyes glowing with something she couldn’t bear to look at. Suddenly afraid even as her body yearned for him, she leaned up and kissed him so she could close her eyes. So he would close his.

Even his first thrust was slow and gentle, as if he savored every inch gained. She shuddered against him, wanting him to lose all restraint and thrust mindlessly, but guiltily unwilling to demand more. She didn’t really want a good screw. She wanted exactly what she’d so foolishly asked for. She wanted to make love.

His body flexed, drawing him out as achingly slowly as he had entered. Her hands tightened on his back, and she let herself love the shift of muscle, the satin of his skin, the perfect glide as he again thrust to his full length. Her back arched, and she moaned deep in her throat even as he groaned against her neck. Another almost lazy thrust, except there was nothing dilatory about the tremble of his body against hers or the incredible sensation as he pressed in farther still and held there. Pleasure that was almost pain burned through her, tearing a breathless gasp from her, and then he drew away only to do it again.

The world receded until only sweat and pleasure and this man remained. His thrusts gradually sped, though he seemed to take equal care in touching that same dangerous place inside her and holding until she shuddered with each pass. She couldn’t bear it. The precipice loomed closer with every patient stroke, a great void into which she wanted to fall,
needed
to fall, but she didn’t want to go alone. Not this time.

He murmured against her ear, against her lips, against the pulse throbbing frantically in her throat. She clutched him close, her legs around his waist and her fingers nearly clawing at his back. Her mouth sought his, and she sucked on his tongue, desperate not to leave him behind. He groaned and thrust harder, if not faster, and she cried out, throwing back her head.

“Jack! Please!”

Shuddering, he lost a bit of his restraint and shifted his grip on her to speed up. She felt the tension coiling in him and the answering rise in herself and rejoiced in it. This was what she wanted, what she had
always
wanted. Jack. The man she loved against all odds. The man she loved more than anything.

“God, Gabe, I love you…”

For a blissful moment, the words didn’t register. They were so near her own thoughts that it took her a second to grasp them.

I love you…

She froze, pain stabbing through her chest like an ice pick in her heart and sobering her in an instant. He paused mid-thrust, his body locking up as his wide eyes met hers. His face paled.

Swallowing hard, she blinked. “You what?”

His mouth worked silently for a moment before hesitant words finally fell out. “I…I didn’t mean…”

“You didn’t mean it?” She felt feverish, sweaty and chilled at the same time. “Good. Tell me you didn’t mean it.”

He flinched. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

Her eyes winced shut. “You
can’t
mean it.”

“Gabe…”

But she didn’t want to hear anymore. Another, more dangerous precipice loomed close at hand, and she squirmed under him, trying to get away. He tried to hold onto her, but sudden fury welled up in the icy void that had replaced passion, and she shoved him away until he pulled out and knelt between her knees. Scrambling and cursing, she stumbled off the edge of the bed with a sheet draped over her pertinent parts and leaned on the wall for support.

“Gabe, what—”

“Get out.”

He scooted off the bed and practically ran to her. She cringed back against the wall and hated herself for it. He would never hurt her. Physically, at least. The pain he had already inflicted was somehow worse.

“We need to talk about—”

“I said get out.”

He stood a few feet away, one hand out as if to soothe her, his face pale and dismayed and…and hurt. She closed her eyes and swallowed.

“It would never work. You have to leave now.”

“Gabe—”

“
Please
.”

She felt him step nearer, her nerve endings screaming with his proximity, so she pressed her cheek to the wall and clutched the sheet tighter. For a long, breathless moment, she thought he would reach out to her, take her in his arms, convince her everything would be all right. For a moment, she wished he would.

“Fine.”

Her eyes flew open, but he’d already turned away. She watched, mute, as he shoved clothes into his duffle bag with hard, angry jabs. As he pulled on his jeans without bothering with his boxers and his boots without socks. As he cast a furious glare around the room to see if he’d missed anything. As he sketched her a mocking bow and headed down the stairs. She listened as he stomped across the living room floor, then winced when he slammed the door behind him.

She never cried. Mike had told her several times that she hadn’t cried when their parents abandoned them. She knew she hadn’t cried when she found poor Aunt Tab dead. She hadn’t cried when her sister-mother married and became Mike Parker instead of the Mike Turner she knew and loved and needed.

But when she heard Jack’s SUV rev out of her driveway and squeal away into the night, she simply couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They spilled out in a scalding flood, her sobs nearly convulsive in their violence. Her knees buckled and she slid down the wall, wrapped her arms around her knees, and tried to hold herself together while the world fell apart.

Mike dropped the groceries onto the counter with a groan. She’d never figured out why she couldn’t make three trips like everyone else instead of loading herself up too much so she only had to make one. Her fingers throbbed, and she rubbed them to flesh out the creases left by the plastic bag handles digging into her skin.

Before she could completely work feeling back into her abused appendages, the phone rang. She reached for her cell, but it lay quiet in her pocket. Who would call the land line? Her mother-hen mind immediately counted her chicks. Lily and Ivy were at day camp, and Darren was at work. Had there been an accident?

She ran to the phone and snatched it up. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Parker?”

“Yes?”

“This is Phil, one of Gabe’s friends.”

Her hand gripped the receiver. “Is she all right? Where is she?”

“She’s fine.” The man cleared his throat. He didn’t sound like anything was fine. “Well, actually, she’s not. I’m…a little worried about her.”

She wanted to shout for him to just spit it out, but she couldn’t seem to find the words. “Phil? I remember Gabe talking about you. The best friend.”

A soft chuckle put her somewhat at ease. “I like to think so, yeah. Look, Mrs. Parker—”

“Call me Mike, and please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Mike, then.” He cleared his throat again. “Well, I don’t know how much you know about the company Gabe’s been keeping…”

“Jack?” Her nebulous worry focused. “What happened?”

He heaved a sigh—of relief or of dismay, she couldn’t tell. “Apparently, they had some sort of blow-up, and she ordered him out. She won’t even take his calls. And she’s doing that thing.”

Her eyes closed and her head bowed. She knew exactly what “thing” he meant. “What was the fight about?”

“I don’t know. She just says it’s over and she doesn’t want to talk about it. But Mrs.—Mike, she’s really down this time. She won’t go out anywhere with us, and she just kind of sits there at work. To be honest, she looks like someone died.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“About a week.”

“A
week
?”

Some of her anger must have come through in her voice, because he cleared his throat yet again. “I…kinda thought it would go away. She’s never been this sick over a guy before. Hell, she damn sure wasn’t like this when she dumped Eric.”

The last boyfriend. This was serious. “Look, try to get her talking. It won’t work, but I don’t want her pulling away completely because she thinks all sorts of things when she’s left to her own devices. I’ll…”

What? What could she possibly do? Just when she thought things might really work out for her lonely, awkward little sister, something always came up. What could she do to fix this? Should she do anything at all?

Inspiration struck. “I’ll call Jack and see what I can get out of him.”

“Good. I’ll try to make some headway with Gabe.”

“Keep me informed. And Phil?”

“Yeah?”