“No. Of course, not,” I reply, before I can stop myself. “After all, you don’t want to tarnish that Boy Scout honor of yours.”
His scowl deepens, turning almost savage. Yet his voice is utter calm. “Is that really what you think?”
He doesn’t wait for my answer. He steps forward, his muscled frame consuming the space that separates us while his hands reach out to me, both palms curving around the back of my neck, taking me into a hold that is possessive and hungered. His mouth claims mine—no permission, no apology. Only raw, consuming need.
A moan builds in my breast. When I part my lips to let it free, Gabe’s tongue sweeps into my mouth. His kiss is wild, hot. Obliterating everything in its path. Including my anger and doubts. I melt into the firmness of his body pressed against me. The hard ridge of his arousal makes the fire smoldering inside me erupt into a desire I’m not at all sure I can contain.
All I know is that I want more.
More of this kiss . . . and more of this man.
He growls against my lips, then breaks contact on ajagged curse. His hands slide away from my neck. As if he’s not yet ready to let me go, one thumb brushes over my wet bottom lip as he stares at me through darkened, stormy hazel eyes.
“Fuck.” He grits the word out harshly, drawing back and raking a hand through his short brown hair.
I stare helplessly, shocked with the depth and intensity of my need.
Gabe takes another step away from me, his face rigid, jaw clenched. Then he turns, his long stride carrying him to my closed office door. He pauses there, swiveling to give me one last look.
“Do us both a favor,” he tells me in a roughened voice as he grabs the handle. “Don’t ever talk to me about honor again.”
8
~ Gabriel ~
Two days later, as I sit in my office writing up notes from a security walk-through of a Baine property in SoHo, the memory of that kiss still smolders on my lips. And that’s nothing compared to the other parts of my anatomy that continue to crave Evelyn Beckham to the point of maddening distraction.
I can’t say I didn’t know the kiss was a mistake. I knew damn well it was, even as I reached for her and crushed my mouth against hers. Now, neither of us should have any doubt.
Honor, she said?
Christ.
I thought I had a little before I met her, but all it took to incinerate it was the feel of her hand against my cheek in the dark outside the boutique. Her tender, yet uninhibited, touch that night awakened more than theblunted nerve endings in my shrapnel-shattered face.
I tried to deny it—to myself, at least. But that lie blew apart as I stood in my shower that same night, stroking my cock under the hot spray while remembering the soft warmth of Evelyn’s fingertips on my skin, her bold green eyes conveying the invitation she didn’t seem quite ready to speak aloud.
And thank God for that.
If she had said anything—if she had tested me with anything more than that gentle touch—I would have made good on the threat I issued in her office the next day. The two of us, naked and sweaty, in the nearest location we had to go to make that happen.
The hell of it is, I still want that.
I want her like I haven’t wanted anyone in a long damn time.
Not simply lust. That much I could handle. That much I could extinguish elsewhere, with any of the nameless, faceless women who’ve served to numb me from all of my various pains since I returned home from the war.
Evelyn’s touch—and, now, that stupid, stolen kiss—has aroused a yearning in me that goes deeper than physical. And that makes her dangerous. Not only to the job that demands my attention and discipline, but to the friends whose trust I cannot—and will not—fail.
Since I’ve proven to myself that I can’t rely on honor, or even duty, to steer me in the right direction where she’s concerned, I’ve decided the best tactic is avoidance. Although I’m struggling with that too. I’ve avoided the urge to turn the internet inside out looking for intel on Evelyn’s life in the spotlight, if barely. But fortunately, no one other than me is privy to the numberof times I’ve checked L’Opale’s parking lot video feeds to look for her vehicle. I’ve lost count of how often I’ve reviewed the recorded footage, watching to confirm that she’s arrived and left safely from the shop.
Purely from a security monitoring standpoint, of course.
Fuck, the last person I’m going to convince of that is myself.
I shake my head and put my focus back where it belongs, on the report I want to have in Nick and Beck’s hands before the end of the day. I’ve been busting my ass, working a lot of overtime this week, trying to wrap my arms around my new role and responsibilities. Part of the job has been hiring added staff to the team here at Baine International’s headquarters.
One of those new recruits, a fellow veteran I met last year in physical therapy, knocks her left hand on my open door.
