He picked up the half-empty cabernet sauvignon bottle. “Apparently the wine didn’t go to waste.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I wasn’t aware that’s what I was doing.”
“Couldn’t you have called?”
Paul sighed. He’d stayed out on purpose tonight because it was getting so he couldn’t bear being in the same room with Gabrielle and keeping his hands off her. He wanted to explore the satin texture of her skin, to set her flesh on fire. He wanted those velvet brown eyes to smolder with the heat of his touch. If he’d had any idea she was sitting in front of a fire waiting for him with wine and food, he’d probably have stayed out the rest of the night. His good intentions had withstood about all the temptation they could handle. Even now his fingers trembled from his effort at restraint. He wanted badly to caress the lines of tension on her face until they eased.
He sighed again and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he said, “Okay. I guess we’d better talk this out.”
“Please, don’t do me any favors,” she said sarcastically. He winced under the direct hit.
“I’m sorry if you went to all this trouble for me, but you didn’t mention you were going to do it,” he said reasonably.
She shot him a look of pure disgust. “It was supposed to be a surprise. You’ve come home every night since I’ve been here. You have been downstairs hammering or sawing or painting by no later than five-thirty. You’ve stayed at it until midnight. How was I supposed to know that tonight would be the one night in a month you’d find something better to do?”
Paul couldn’t think of a single adequate response for her logic. Feeling a nagging hunch that he was playing dirty, he tried putting her on the defensive. “We’re roommates, Gaby. We both agreed it was for the best right now. I shouldn’t have to check in with you.”
She stared at him, absorbing the low blow. “I’m not crazy about the definition of our relationship, but don’t even roommates deserve consideration?”
Her chin was tilted defiantly, but there were huge tears clinging to the corners of her eyes. She looked so forlorn that he muttered a curse and went to her. Overcome with guilt, he took her chin in his hand and met her gaze.
“Of course they do. And I am very sorry I spoiled your evening.”
Suddenly her bottom lip quivered and one tear rolled freely down her cheek. Paul thought he could bear anything but her crying, especially when he felt responsible for her pain.
To prevent a second tear from following the first and then a third and on and on until his own heart broke, a kiss seemed to be the only answer. He seized it far too readily.
Just one, he promised himself as his mouth claimed hers, slowly savoring the touch of velvet against fire.
Just a fleeting taste of her lips, he vowed again, his tongue discovering the salt of tears and the tang of wine.
Just a brief offering of warmth and tenderness and understanding. Just to keep her from crying. Just between friends.
Of course, it wasn’t enough.
CHAPTER EIGHT
For a man who was all hard angles and gruffness, Paul seduced with surprising gentleness, Gabrielle decided as he kissed away her tears. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been these slow, tender caresses that melted every last bit of icy anger and left her gasping for more. The persuasive, eager touch of his lips, so long in coming, was like a taste of heaven. She wanted to linger there forever, surrounded by this astonishing sense of contentment.
“Gaby,” he murmured, breaking away far too soon, just when she was getting used to the sensuous warmth of his mouth. “We can’t do this.”
“We can,” she said, pressing her mouth against his to assure his silence. Her tongue declared a daring assault on his firmly closed lips, until they parted on a groan of pure pleasure. Desire welled inside her, filling her with an aching sense of need. The faint scent of sawdust and paint and masculinity seduced as effectively as any heady man’s cologne of musk or spice. This powerful attraction between them was no longer something to talk about or even think about. It was time to feel, to let their emotions lead them for once.
Though Gabrielle had never been more certain about her own desires, more ready to listen to her heart, Paul fought this latest kiss. Her own senses heightened, she recognized his struggle to do the right thing in the tense set of his shoulders, his rigid stance. The marines would have approved of that stance. She could imagine the desperate, rational argument being waged in his head as his skin burned beneath her touch. That kind of determined logic required bold tactics. A shudder swept through him as she slid her hands beneath his shirt.
“Gaby, no.” This time the protest was breathless and far less emphatic.
She lifted her confident gaze to meet his troubled expression and smiled. “Yes.”
“You’ve had the better part of a bottle of wine. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
She experimented with proving otherwise. She pressed her body closer to his, trailing kisses along the side of his neck, then running her tongue along the shell of his ear. A soft but distinct moan of pleasure rumbled deep in his throat. She grinned in satisfaction. “Oh, really?” she said demurely.
He scowled at her. “I was not referring to your technique.”
“That’s nice,” she said, beginning to unbutton his shirt. Now that she was getting the hang of this, she was thoroughly enjoying it. He grabbed her hands.
“Gaby! Enough!”
She stared into eyes that glittered dangerously. “Okay.”
He regarded her suspiciously, then nodded and released her. Her gaze never left his as she reached out and ran one finger lazily along the zipper of his jeans. After his first startled gasp, his jaw clenched and he swallowed convulsively. The determined look in his eyes wavered. His body’s response beneath
