Only that was foolish, because he obviously wasn’t looking for any of that. “Is the trip for pleasure or for work?” She should stop poking at the hornet’s nest and stay quiet. Any second he could realize who she was.
“A little of both. I’m in a wedding party.”
She swallowed. “Exciting.”
“Yeah. She’s—the bride—she’s like my sister.”
Evangeline couldn’t help but soften. Livvy and Gabe did seem to have a tighter bond than most employers and employees, but that was what happened when you grew up together. “I’m sure it’ll be romantic.” Personally, she’d been working like mad for the last three weeks to make her brother and Livvy’s day as special and romantic as possible.
It hadn’t been easy, especially with the curse... that is, the not-curse trying to screw everything up.
“You a romantic?”
She wished she could deny it, or rather, she wished it weren’t true. She loved romantic love. She dreamt of a man swinging her around in his arms and kissing her on her forehead and looking at her like he adored her.
She couldn’t say any of that, though, because strong women didn’t confess to being foolish romantics, right? And more than her love-starved heart, she wanted to be strong. So she shrugged. “I suppose. Are you not a romantic?” He was a flirt, for sure.
“No,” he said shortly.
Oh. She rolled her lips in to stop herself from bombarding him with a million questions about that flat denial.
He shifted, his knee bumping her again. “Wake me when we get home, will you?”
His home. Not theirs. “Certainly.”
“I like the way you talk sometimes,” he murmured, half asleep, and totally unaware of the way her heart exploded into confetti at that confession.
He didn’t like her. He liked things about her, and that wasn’t the same. And he didn’t really even like things about her, because he didn’t even know her.
She didn’t speak the rest of the way, taking comfort in the way he breathed even and deep in the back seat of her car.
This is mildly creepy.
Well, no shit, it was. She’d been obsessed with Gabe for years, especially after their run-in a few years ago, but she’d managed to limit her obsession to peeking in on his social media and scouring his website—activities that were slightly less weird than this.
Maybe just a different level of weird.
For sure, deliberately manipulating an app so she could get to know him was a whole new level of obsession.
But since he was asleep and because she was a creep, she took the long way to his house, through winding roads and a rural stretch where gardens were starting to peek up through the frozen ground. All too soon, she pulled up in front of his tidy little brick home.
She turned slightly, making sure nothing but her profile was in view. Not that it mattered. He was dead asleep. She cleared her throat. “Gabe?” Ugh, she loved the way his name sounded on her lips.
He didn’t move. In the light coming in from outside, she could see his long lashes resting on his high cheekbones. His chest moved up and down in a deep, steady rhythm.
Now is when you kidnap him,said the devil on her shoulder.Take him to your lair and do with him what you will.
Such a creep. “Gabe?” she said a little louder.
His only response was a snore.
She couldn’t let him stay in her car all night. He’d recognize her in the morning for sure. “Gabe!”
He snuffled and rolled his head one way, then the other. His shirt tugged at the buttons, revealing a tiny glimpse of a white ribbed fabric.
She stared at that little slice of cotton for far too long. An undershirt shouldn’t be sexy.
Except... what if it was a tank? And what if he took his shirt off and then he was just in that white ribbed tank, and maybe a little sweaty and there was a smear of dirt on his face and he was working on her car? And what if his muscles bulged when he leaned over and picked up a wrench?
