So Irresistible (21 page)

 

 

She shouldn’t have brought Shane to her house, Gabriella realized as she finished showing him her spare bedroom, her hallway and bathroom, and—finally—her bedroom. Because as seen through Shane’s eyes, her home revealed
everything
about her.

Starting with the fact that, despite her rebellious behavior and her rift with her dad, maybe she
wasn’t
so different from Robert Grimani after all. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it—or to toe the line that had been laid out for her since birth, no questions asked. But the truth was, Gabriella realized now, her appreciation for old-fashioned furniture and fabrics revealed her authentic fondness for tradition. Her methodical Fiesta ware kitchen canisters, stacked neatly in size-ascending order on the counter, betrayed her genuine appreciation of order and control. Her spare bedroom exposed all the space she had for other people in her life; its tidy furnishings, her attempts to welcome them.

Her tchotchkes revealed the importance of her friends—after all, most of those items were souvenirs from her travels with them. Her throw pillows disclosed her yearning for comfort. Her myriad soft, cushy surfaces divulged her intrinsically sensual nature. Even if she’d wanted to hide herself, Gabriella realized, she couldn’t have. Not from Shane. Not after this.

Most damning of all was her collection of family photos. Those pictures were framed and propped on every table, framed and hung on every wall. But not in a haphazard way. Not at all.

Gabriella hadn’t realized it before tonight, but as she moved down the hallway with Shane, she did. Too late, as usual.

He grinned at a row of pictures. “Perfectly hung,” he observed, touching a frame. “Very evenly spaced, like a gallery.” Shane turned to her as she hugged her aprons. “All the turmoil at Campania must be agonizing for someone like you.”

Helplessly, Gabriella nodded. “It’s been tough.”

It hasn’t been helped by my secret saboteur, either
, she wanted to say.
Is it you? Are you the one gunning for Campania?

Looking opaque, Shane moved on. It felt as though he was studying her home. Analyzing it. Absorbing it. Absorbing
her
.

“It must have been hard to leave all this behind when you went to Astoria.” His gaze probed her. “Did you miss it?”

“Of course I did.” Straightening, Gabriella looked right back at him. “Don’t you miss your home? Wherever it is?”

His smile flashed. “You can’t miss what you never had.”

Oh
. Gabriella’s attempts to interrogate him fell flat, squashed by a sudden surge of empathy. “Not ever? Really?”

Shane looked away. “Do you need a signed affidavit from one of the foster homes? I’m telling you the truth. I was adopted into a wealthy family when I was fifteen, but until then—”

“Then you’re
not
a secret venture capitalist?” Gabriella pressed, remembering his earlier remarks about ramen and Tang. She still knew so little about him. “You
didn’t
make all your money by taking over small businesses and killing them?”

It was as near as she wanted to come to accusing him outright. But if
she
had to be so honest tonight, he did, too.

Shane frowned. “I have a trust fund. It’s pathetic compensation for the fact that my dad doesn’t give a shit who I really am or what I do with my life, but it’s something.”

It was a lot, judging by his apartment. Shane had told her he had several other living places too, all around the world.

No wonder he was so upset to think she’d only wanted him for his money—for an investment in her family’s pizzerias, Gabriella realized. Probably, in Shane’s life, people
had
wanted him only for his money and connections. Suddenly, everything made sense. Even better, everything Shane had said freed her.

She didn’t have to suspect him. What would Shane possibly stand to gain by sabotaging her family’s struggling pizzerias? He already had so much. He didn’t appear to want any more.

Except her
. Shane wanted her. And she wanted him.

She was a pizza-slinging Cinderella being courted by a Prince Charming who was willing to wield a mop to learn from her. She was Sleeping Beauty being awakened by every kind of kiss ever invented. Who wanted to waste time with suspicions?

Besides, she was terrible at subterfuge anyway.

“I’m sorry.” Contritely, Gabriella touched Shane’s arm. His biceps felt granitelike beneath her fingers. His body had stiffened into a rigid column of defensiveness. Because of her suspicions. “Let me make it up to you, okay? Please. Let me.”

Warily, Shane eyed her. “I told you, I don’t want pity.”

“You’ll want my apron fashion show.” Wiggling her eyebrows, Gabriella waved her remaining aprons. “It’s happening now.”

“Look, that sounds great, Gabby, but I—”

“Have I mentioned that I love it when you call me Gabby?”

“No.” Shane seemed guarded. “No one else does that.”

“That’s why I like it so much when
you
do it. It’s special.” She herded him down the hall into her bedroom, past the photos of her family and friends.
She
had so much, Gabriella knew. Shane didn’t. She didn’t pity him, exactly . . . but she did feel a tremendous amount of compassion for him. She wanted to help if she could. “My apron fashion show is special, too.”

With a shove, she situated Shane on the edge of her bed.

“Hang tight,” she commanded. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.” Shane looked bemused. “Waiting.”

“Oh, and take off your shoes.” Breathlessly, Gabriella doubled back, already on her way to her spare bedroom to change.

“My shoes? Why?”

“Because if you don’t, they’ll get my bedspread dirty.”

“Why would I be getting into your bed wearing shoes?”

“Because when you see me in my apron fashion show,” Gabriella explained, “you won’t be able to help ravishing me.”

He smiled. “You’re sexy wearing anything. And I
do
like the way you look in that one, I’ll admit.” Shane indicated the apron she’d slung on earlier, while they were in the kitchen. “After all those times getting busy at the pizzeria while you were in your whites, I think I’m developing an apron fetish.”

“If you haven’t, you will after tonight,” she promised.

At that, Shane’s eyes flared. He kicked off his shoes.

“That’s better.” Full of affection for him, Gabriella waved her armful of aprons. “You get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

 

 

Gabriella had the best intentions of treating Shane to an unforgettable impromptu apron fashion show, just as promised.

She did. Honestly. It wasn’t her fault that the show began and ended with the first ensemble—a waist-tied little ruffled number printed with virginal-looking vintage cherries, worn with a pair of red stilettos she smuggled out of her spare bedroom.

That was where she kept the infrequently worn pieces of her overflowing wardrobe. It was also where, tonight at least, she excitedly shucked her clothes and her inhibitions, all at once.

Because, all at once, it wasn’t enough that Shane wanted her. She wanted him to love her again, the way he had at the waterfront. She wanted him to feel her feelings for him and know that they, at least, were real and dependable—unlike his father.

What kind of man adopted a child and then shunted him off with a trust fund, not caring who he was or what he did?

Gabriella wanted to erase all the hurts Shane had experienced in the past. She wanted to love him. She did. But she was wary and independent and strong-minded, and she
wasn’t
the type of woman for eloquent speeches. Romantic declarations didn’t come easily to her.
This
did. This sexiness with Shane.

What she couldn’t say with words, Gabriella vowed to herself, she would say with a sexy fashion show—and with the inevitable romp in her bed that would follow. She didn’t know if she loved Shane. Not yet. She’d been too mistrustful for that.

But she did
want
him. And she intended to show it.

It wasn’t her fault she was too damn successful.

Wearing her cherry-print apron and heels, nude from the waist up except for her ever-present necklaces and a smile, Gabriella paused in the hall outside her bedroom. She breathed.

“Ready or not, here I come!” she called.

With a cheeky sashay, she entered her bedroom. She struck a pose in the doorway, suddenly wishing she’d brought a prop.

A feather duster, maybe?

No, that went with a French maid’s uniform.

A cocktail shaker? No, that wasn’t right, either.

A fan? Sunglasses? A mixing bowl and spoon? A hat?

For a full thirty seconds, Gabriella puzzled over it.

Then, giving up on a prop, she looked at Shane.

His naked body and huge erect penis were all the props she needed. Newly breathless, Gabriella smiled at him.

“If you like this,” she said, “wait till you see the prize of my collection.” Leaning away from the doorjamb, she strolled sexily toward Shane’s position on her bed. She lingered out of reach. “I saved the best for last. It’s a vintage design patterned on an apron Jane Wyatt once wore on TV. You know—”

On
Father Knows Best,
in all its kitschy glory
, she meant to say. But Shane beat her to the punch, wholly uninterested in nostalgia TV and its innumerable apron fashions.

“I like this one.” He was on Gabriella in a heartbeat, proving it by silencing her patter with a long, passionate kiss. When it was over, he held her cheek in his hand. “You look—”

“Ready to mix up trouble?” Brightly, Gabriella looked up at him. She seriously needed that mixing bowl prop. “With you?”

“—
incredible
, and you know it,” Shane breathed. He looked down at her, taking in her bare breasts, her hardened nipples, her scarcely long enough ruffled apron and heels. “Supersexy.”

“Really? You haven’t even seen the back yet.”

Deliberately, Gabriella flounced away. This apron, of course, was completely backless. She’d decided against a thong.

Shane’s long, low groan was ample reward for her show.

“You’re killing me,” he said. “But not for long.”

“Oh?” Pretending innocence, Gabriella turned around. Her derrière felt twice as naked because of her movements—because of the fresh air swirling against her exposed skin. Her nipples perked up with additional interest. “Why is that?”

“Because I’m going to give you what you want,” Shane said.

His next motion brought her down on the bed. With a surprised whoosh, Gabriella landed with him on top. Her extra soft bed linens billowed around them, cushioning their fall.

“Nice try,” she goaded. “But how do you know what I want?”

“I just do.” His smile flashed again. “Here it comes.”

He kissed her, and everything inside her lifted toward him. In a heartbeat, Gabriella felt desire engulf her, making her want Shane more than she would have believed possible a second ago. If touching him intoxicated her, then kissing him drugged her. She couldn’t get enough of his mouth, his lips, his tongue . . .

“See?” Cruelly, Shane levered upward. His eyes were dark, his voice hoarse, his body hard and strong. “You want that.”

Gabriella couldn’t deny it. Even now, she was straining to be closer to Shane. At some point, she’d wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. Her hands still stroked his back, searching for more . . .
more, more, more
. Her hips arched upward; even her toes sought his, rubbing against his big bare feet. Only her meager apron separated the rest of her from what she wanted.

“I want
you
,” she corrected, but what she really meant was . . .

“
I love you
,” Shane murmured, gazing down at her as he stroked her face, her hair, her breasts. She wasn’t sure why he’d said it or if he’d meant it, but there it was. “I need you.”

“I need you,” Gabriella echoed, realizing that it was true. She did need Shane. She needed his strength, his encouragement, his advice, and his help. “I need your mouth on me.”

Her last-second racy redirection didn’t change the facts, though. Even as Shane sat up to lazily straddle her, even as Gabriella toyed with the ruffle on her apron to deliberately tease him, she realized that she needed . . .
him
. Pretending this was all about sex between them wasn’t working anymore. It wasn’t.

Maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough. Maybe she was still confusing bed-quaking orgasms with true love. Maybe she needed . . .

“Kiss me,” Gabriella commanded, lifting her apron a few inches higher. She looked at Shane. “Kiss me . . . right here.”

His gaze went straight to her thighs and to all the hot, slippery-feeling, needful places between them, just the way she wanted. Just the way she’d demanded. Gabriella should have been satisfied—especially as Shane
very
willingly lowered his head.

But that wasn’t enough. She knew it, all the way through.

That didn’t mean she didn’t intend to deny it.

“Love me,” Gabriella gasped, nearly swept away by the pleasure of Shane’s mouth on her, his lips gentle, his tongue swirling, making her crazy and needful and lusty. “Yes!
Ah
. . .”

“
Mmm
,” he responded, suddenly managing to have his hands all over her, everywhere at the same time. He moaned, clenching her apron, reminding her of the dangerous game she’d begun.

Shane’s evident enjoyment almost tipped her over the edge right there. Gabriella clutched the bedclothes, desperate to keep her head. Suddenly, it seemed very important that she not lose control with Shane. That she remember . . .
something
.