“Gabriel!”I leap off the elevator and into the penthouse. The rooms are eerily silent, but my mind is anything but.
Slipping behind the bluestone fireplace, I head straight down the hallway to his bedroom. I hear his voice before I even reach the door.
“In my room. Now!” I yell, rapping my fist against his door as I pass.
He emerges, confused—hair wild and sexy. “What’s going on, Elijah?”
“Get in here and close the door!” I snap, storming into my bedroom with him hot on my heels. I slam my palms against the windows. I am so pissed I could jump out of one. “Damn it,Gabriel!” I knock my forehead against the thick pane.
“What did I do?” he asks, all innocent. I catch his reflection in the glass—messy hair, parted lips.
This is where it gets dicey. Gabriel and I have never fought. Sure, we’ve had our share of disagreements, but never,neverhave they escalated into a shouting match.
I lower my voice and turn to face him just as he sends his hands sailing through his hair.
“Tell me about Meera.”
The heat from his body, mixed with the spicy scent of his cologne, washes over me as he steps closer. But I refuse to let it get to me. I pause, unlocking my jaw.
“I know you don’t fuck women...”
He chuckles, clearly not taking me seriously. “You mean you’re not a woman?”
That’s the one thing I love about Gabriel—he isn’t a serious person. By nature, he finds joy in just about everything. He’s a ball of sunshine who truly enjoys life to its fullest. His sexuality is the only thing he takes seriously. He wears his homosexuality with exuberant pride.
“This isn’t the time for jokes,” I snarl, hating that I have to dim the light from his otherwise bright spirit, even if it’s just for a moment. Those stormy gray eyes meet my accusatory stare. “Tell me. About. Meera.”
His eyes flicker at the mention of her name, just slightly, but it’s enough to confirm my suspicion.
He knows her.
“Mimi,” he corrects, looking away. “That’s what I knew her by. She was an artist, Elijah. An acquaintance of mine through the art community, if you really must know.”
It doesn’t escape me that he’s becoming defensive, but I don’t interrupt. I need to hear this.
“And it was a long time ago… before Ana was born.” He waves his arms as if it’s no big deal.
“Keep going,” I urge, refusing to let him off the hook.
Bowing his head and shoving his hands into his pockets, he blows out a deep breath. Gorgeous locks of hair fall across his face, shielding him from my view.
“As I said, I knew her as Mimi. She was eighteen when I first met her…” He looks up, brushing his hair away from his face. “…and she was pregnant.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, waiting him out. I know he has more to say… and he better goddamn say it.
“Ana is her child.”
And there it is. In typical Gabriel fashion, he skips over the whole story and just drops the punchline.
Exasperated, I lean into him, fighting to keep my voice controlled. “So, what you’re telling me is that you turned straight forafucking day”—there goes my control—“and Ana is biologically yours? Or…” I look him dead in the eyes. “I’m going to venture out here and guess… Alex is Ana’s father?”
A clipped nod confirms the latter.
I choke on a gasp and bring my hand to my throat. “Dios mío. Please tell me what you did was legal? Tell me that Ana is our legitimate daughter?”
Nervous fingers twist through thick locks of hair, his lips twitch, and his jaw quivers—a telltale sign that I’m not going to like what he has to say.
“It was illegally, legal,” he speaks through tight lips.
