“Yeah.” I nod. “I think I’m ready for anything with you, Gabe.”
He stares at me for so long, I almost can’t take the intensity of his gaze. Then he catches my face in both his hands and draws me toward him, slanting his mouth over mine in a brief, but achingly deep, kiss that arcs through every cell in my body like an electrical current.
“Let’s go get ‘em,” he says, and together we move into the center of the court.
24
~ Gabriel ~
We lost to a lucky free throw by Webber in the final seconds of the game.
Not that I actually care about the score or who won. The best part of the game was watching Evelyn play it. Seeing her not only step up to a challenge, but fearlessly conquer it. Hearing her laughing with my friends. Working together with her as part of a team, as partners.
That’s something I haven’t had in a very long time. And never like this.
It’s not anything I’ve been looking for, but I know at least enough to recognize something special when it’s right in front of me. And Evelyn Beckham is special. She’s all that and more, and I can’t pretend there is anything casual about the way I feel about her.
What I feel is powerful. It is complicated.
And it is real.
As real as it can be, so long as her well-being remains a part of my job description.
Bringing her into my world this weekend had been an idea borne of practicality—and genuine concern. Beck and Nick want security on her 24/7 now that it’s clear that someone has not only tampered with her vehicle, but with the boutique as well.
I couldn’t agree more. Evelyn’s round-the-clock protection is a plan I fully support and intend to carry out personally. I can’t think of anywhere she’ll be safer this weekend than in Inwood with me.
It’s the rest of the days ahead that bother me the most. Because while I’m confident that I can shield her from harm while we’re together, this arrangement will eventually have to come to an end. I don’t know how long I can continue to uphold my duty to her brother and Nick when it means denying Evelyn the truth. Not just about the potential threat to her safety, but about my current, covert role in her life.
And until that potential threat to her is resolved and eliminated, I’m not about to surrender my job to anyone else.
Even at the risk of her hating me for it one day.
Those thoughts weigh heavily on me as Evelyn eagerly agrees to dinner with my friends following the game. We’ve all hit the locker rooms for showers and a change of clothes, then the ten of us head out for one of the pubs on Broadway in Harlem, not far from the veterans center gymnasium.
Her easy camaraderie with everyone, especially the three women of the group, carries on over a round of burgers and beers. While Evelyn answers questions fromO’Connor, Jenkins, and Murphy about the fashion world and her work at L’Opale, I notice Webber and the other guys can hardly take their eyes off her.
Then again, neither can I.
Seated beside me at the long table, she rests her hand on my left thigh. Her warmth permeates the silicone and cushioned sleeve that covers my leg, that soft touch both a comfort and a temptation that has rendered me hard as stone. Each time she turns her head to glance at me, it’s all I can do not to pounce on her gorgeous mouth and kiss her senseless.
I hadn’t intended to share her with my friends for this long, but I can hardly regret the time when she’s clearly enjoying herself. That doesn’t keep me from signaling for the check as soon as we’ve all finished eating. I pass my card to the server and, over the protests of everyone at the table, tell the woman to charge the whole tab to me.
I’m not doing it to show off or to wave my fancy job in everyone’s face. But my motives are far from altruistic, either. I’m impatient to have Evelyn all to myself, and I’d rather not wait on my buddies to dissect the bill and pony up for their portions.
As the rest of the table grumbles and groans about the check, Evelyn bumps her shoulder against my arm, her pale green eyes glimmering in the low light of the bar. “So, is this our first official date?”
I stare at her. Since the rest of our time alone together has mainly consisted of long, sleepless hours spent naked in her bed, or hot, breathless minutes with her pinned beneath me on other flat surfaces, I realize that, shit, she’s right. This is the first time I’ve taken her out somewhere. Not that I could risk doing this on theUpper East Side or anywhere that we might run into her brother or someone else from Baine International.
I frown, wishing I’d done better for her tonight. “I’m sure this isn’t the kind of date you’re used to. I’m sorry about that.”
Her fine dark brows arch. “What kind of dates do you think I’m used to?”
I try to picture her with other men—men with intact bodies and bank accounts that could afford multimillion-dollar apartments and the elegant designer clothes that line her massive closet. I don’t want to see her with any other man, real or imagined, past or present. And trying to picture her with someone else only makes me feel even less deserving of her.
She’s out of my league by a long mile, something I’ve known from day one. But it’s easy to forget that when she’s looking at me like I’m the only man in the room.
Glancing away from her studying gaze, I pick up my mug and drain the flat mouthful of beer that’s gone warm at the bottom of it.
