“He was okay,” she said, unevenly, as he pushed forward a little. “Ambitious, though.”
“Why would your YouTube success have damaged his political aspirations?”
“I’m not serious enough,” she said, the words husky, pushed from her lips as he brought a hand around her front, brushing his fingers over her sex.
“Only a man with a monumentally fragile ego would have acted in such a way,” he said easily, the truth of that so obvious to him it demanded her acceptance. “You’re better off without him.”
“Yes,” she said on a rushed breath, as he cupped his other arm around her waist and pulled her back a little, wedging her legs apart with his knee.
Keeping his fingers on her sex, he pushed his pants down to his ankles and thrust into her from behind, burying himself so deep at this angle, brushing her clit as he drove into her hard and fast at first, then slow and languorously, wanting to prolong their pleasure. Her soapy hands came out of the water, bracing on the bench as he moved, his body owning hers, claiming it, making her his. He didn’t think about anything beyond this moment, and how good it felt to pleasure her; he didn’t think about what would happen next, nor about her idiot ex-boyfriend. He didn’t think; Gabe was only capable of feeling, and those feelings were threatening to overwhelm him.
“Am I dreaming?” The question was throaty, her voice raw from hours of screaming, the kind of cries she’d never known before, guttural noises that were dragged from the depths of her soul, enacted on her in a way that was wild and feral, that rang through the kitchen first, then the landing, where they’d made love on the floor, and finally in his bedroom, just next door to hers, huge and gothic, like something from a dark fairy tale, all ancient and forbidden, with ghosts lurking everywhere she looked. That only made the sex better, though, as though there was a primal element of fantasy in the very act of coming together. She stretched in his huge bed, no idea what time it was, and beyond caring.
Her body felt well-used, well-loved, well-everything.
She pushed up onto her elbow, regarding him thoughtfully, and not for the first time, felt a rush of relief. Relief that she was here, safe in his house, in his hands, his bed, but relief also that it was only temporary. There was such a darkness to Gabe, a swirling pit of darkness that she feared she would be swallowed by it whole if she weren’t careful.
Even now, his face was rigid, his eyes haunted as he stared up at the ceiling, his body – so beautiful and mesmerising – still, no longer shifting with the movements of sensual need.
She wasn’t intimidated by his darkness though. She understood it was separate to her, a facet of his being that was lodged deep within him, something that would remain when she’d left, that she had no power to shake. It wasn’t an anger with her, nor was it a rejection of her. It was, simply, him.
She lifted a finger and traced it over his nose, down to the tip, before finding the furrow above his lip and pressing into it. He turned slowly to face her, his eyes flickering from her brow to her chin, then landing on her eyes.
“Why are you like this?” She asked gently, almost certain he wouldn’t answer, but curious enough to pose the question regardless.
“Like what?” A gruff growl showed how closed off he was to her gentle line of enquiry.
She sighed, but accepted his refusal, understanding and respecting that he had boundaries he wasn’t prepared to have breached.
“So great in bed?” She teased.
His eyes flashed with surprise; he’d realised, then, what she was nudging at, but he let it go, as did she, inching closer to him, until she could rest her head in the crook of his arm. He smelled intoxicatingly male, musty and citrussy, so little sparks of need flew through her bloodstream, and she smiled like the cat who’d got the cream at the pleasure they’d already enjoyed.
“It takes two to tango.”
He had lost all concept of time. At some point, Isabella had fallen asleep, and he’d lain there, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to think, just existing in the moment, his body humming with pleasure after the way they’d spent the evening. But not thinking was an impossible task, and eventually he’d shifted her from his arm, gently placing her head on a pillow before pushing out of bed and dragging on a pair of jeans.
In the kitchen downstairs, memories were everywhere. He finished washing the dishes, images of the ways they’d made love flooding him as he worked. Pouring himself a scotch, he decided to read some papers in his office. Somehow, that felt safer than having stayed in his bed, his bedroom, where Isabella was now soundly sleeping, her naked body beautiful and soft beneath his sheets.
More thoughts he worked hard to push aside, focussing on the documents before him. As the sun began to rise over the valley, he pressed back in his chair and slept – just for an hour, just long enough for dreams of Christmasses past to torment him some more.
9
“THERE YOU ARE.” She smiled as she walked into his office, coffee cups in hand. His eyes lifted from his papers reluctantly, a familiar frown on his handsome face as he regarded her slowly.
Her heart, which had been skittering wildly in her breast since she’d woken up that morning, stilled, then kerthunked. He did not look happy to see her. Uncertainty tugged at her chest.
“Were you looking for me?” His frown deepened.
“Only to deliver this.” She
