Two years ago, this dress had felt like a costume. Tonight it didn’t.
The buzzer rang at six fifty-eight. She pressed the intercom.
“Hello.”
“It’s Gabriel.”
“Come up, I’m on the fourth floor.”
She buzzed him in and hoped she looked more composed than she felt.
She opened the door and there he was, charcoal suit and white shirt, collar open, no tie. He’d shaved. The hallway smelled like cedar and clean soap, and her stomach flipped.
His gaze dropped to the neckline of her dress and stayed there.
“Tessa.” Her name came out like gravel. “Jesus.”
“Too much?”
“It’s a sin to cover that dress with a coat, but you’re going to need one.”
She laughed.
He stepped into the doorway, and she could feel the heat coming off him like summer pavement.
“What time is the reservation?” she asked.
“Eight.”
“Then we have a minute. Come in.”
He came in and looked at her living room like he was starving for more of her. He stopped at the photograph wall.
“That’s my mom,” she said. “In front of the house I bought her in Jersey.”
“You bought her a house, and you still live in an apartment.”
“She took care of me. Now I take care of her. I have a lot more years to get what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“Tonight, I want dinner.” She handed him her coat. “Help me cover this sin.”
He took the coat and helped her into it, his palms resting on her shoulders a beat longer than they needed to before he opened the door.
A black car waited at the curb, the driver standing by the door. Gabriel waved him off and opened the door himself.
“You hired a car?”
“It’s easier than parking.”
She slid onto the cool leather. Gabriel got in beside her, gave the driver an address in Tribeca, and the privacy screen rose between them and the front seat. His thigh pressed against hers from hip to knee.
“You’re enjoying this,” he said.
“I am.”
“Why?”
