“My dad yelled, like he always did. My mom cowered. We all cowered.”
I can imagine the scene all too well. It’s not that much different from some moments in my childhood. Like Gabe’s father, my grandfather was an intolerant man.
“It wasn’t her fault we didn’t have the money. The fees made everything worse. Like we wereconstantly drowning. But she never stood up to my dad.”
I understand what he’s saying. The bank fees compounded the problem, and his mother never told the man she’d married to shove it. It sounds like his father never apologized for how he treated his family. Never tried to do better.
“Thank you for telling me. For trusting me,” I say. It feels good to be on the inside, to see into his past and help him carry those burdens.
It’s a miracle that Gabe didn’t turn out just like his dad. Calloused. Hardened. Intolerant.
But he’s putting in the work. He cares. About me. About Alex. About King. About the world beyond himself and those in his inner circle.
Cuddling in close, I soak in his goodness, accidentally rubbing against the erection blossoming in his pants.
“You’re torturing me on purpose.” The clouds vanish from his eyes, and the tension in his frame is replaced by something more erotic.
He grips me tighter, not exactly mad about the teasing. It certainly brightens his mood, which I’m glad for, even if I relish him telling me the truth about his past.
“I might be,” I agree.
“Minx.”
No one’s ever accused me of being too sexy and certainly not promiscuous. Before him, before the auction, I never felt desirable as a woman. Only as a status symbol, like a Chopard timepiece or a Bugatti. Well dressed, of course. Pampered and coiffed, absolutely.
Gabe makes me feel powerful. Alive. Confident.
“This no-touching rule... That only applies to you, right? As in, you can’t touch me, but I can touch you?” I could have so much fun with that.
His groan is somewhere between agony and a whimper, a delicious masculine sound that brands my soul. A giggle bubbles up my throat, and I nuzzle his cheek.
“I love you.” The words escape, real and tangible, unwilling to be held back any longer.
The hand on the outside of my thigh stops its lazy track up and down. I hold my breath. Is it too soon to admit those feelings?
“Say that again,” he commands.
I sit up so I can look him in the eye. His gorgeous baby blues are startling bright, and there’s an expectant half smile gracing his lips, as if he’s holding out on the full deal until he hears what he wants. There’s a little flutter in my chest that moves to my veins, lighting me up in a way I’ve never experienced.
This time, I say it slowly. Intentionally. “I love you.”
His gaze drops to my lips, and he’s silent for a long, heart-wrenching moment. “Really? You’re not just building me up to swipe the rug out from under me, right?”
The old me would be offended at the suggestion. Hell, the new meisoffended because I’ve done so much work and healing and changing and growing. But she gets it. This is a person who wasn’t loved unconditionally as a child. He was picked at, picked on, teased, and downright abused. And then, it happened again, by my own grandfather.
The boy was barely a man when that happened. Not much younger than I am now.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I promise.
He cups my cheek, then tips his forehead against mine. “I know. I’m sorry.”
He really does sound sorry. Gutted, even. Emotional, like he’s realizing exactly what those words mean. That I trust him. I don’t care about his company, his status, his wallet, or his stock portfolio, but about him.
All the feelings of the past two weeks crush together inside me, creating a giant ball of love, hope, and desire. I press a kiss to his lips, clinging to him, telling him without words that he can trust me, too.The little boy can trust me. That he doesn’t have to go through life alone.
Sinking his fingers into my hair, he kisses me back. Our breathing grows ragged as we strain against each other, trying to get closer. Hands roaming everywhere. Somehow, I end up straddling his lap. The zipper at the back of my dress gives, and his fingertips coast down my spine.
“King was right,” he says between kisses. “I am crazy about you. Tortured myself there for a bit. But he’s right. I love you. I’min lovewith you.”
