Page 118 of Breaking Hollywood

“Yep. I’ll just grab your car keys.”

“No need. I’ve got a car waiting downstairs.”

“Oh. Well, okay. Lead the way then.”

He takes hold of my free hand, and he leads me and Gucci into the elevator.

A town car is waiting for us outside his building. The driver is standing by the car. He opens the door for us.

I get in first with Gucci, and then Gabe slides in next to me.

I fasten the seat belt through her harness and put my seat belt on. She climbs into my lap, and I stroke her head.

“So, where are we going?” I ask Gabe.

“Not far.” He smiles.

Twenty minutes later, in Beverly Glen, we pull up outside his field—or his piece of land, as I should probably call it.

“What are we doing here?” I ask him.

“Having breakfast.”

The driver opens the door, and Gabe takes his seat belt off and climbs out. I take my seat belt off and unclip Gucci. With her in my arms, I take the hand that Gabe offers to me.

“I’ll call you when I need you,” Gabe tells the driver.

Keeping hold of my hand, Gabe walks us across the field. We veer off a little to the left where there’s a big old oak tree. And underneath the oak tree, laid out, is a huge dark blue picnic blanket with a light-blue wooden block in the middle, like a makeshift table. On the table are plates and cutlery. Flowers in a small vase. Candles. Champagne glasses and a bottle of champagne in a wine bucket. And beside it is one of those old-fashioned wicker picnic baskets.

I turn to him, smiling from ear to ear. “You did this?”

“I paid for someone to do this, but, yeah. You like?”

“I love.” I reach up on my toes and kiss him. “It’s so romantic. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Neither did I.”

We sit on the blanket. Gucci sits next to me. Poor Gabe doesn’t look the most comfortable with his booted leg stretched out.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine. Just can’t wait to get this fucking thing off.”

“Not long now.”

“No. And then I can fuck my girl with all four working limbs.”

A thrill shoots through me at the thought.

“I’ve been more than satisfied with what you can do with three working limbs, so I can’t wait to see what you can do with four.”

“You won’t be able to walk straight for a week,” he says, the words a sexy growl.

I take him at his word because I know he means it. And I can’t freaking wait.

He opens the champagne with a pop that makes Gucci jump, so I stroke her to soothe her. Gabe pours the champagne into two glasses.

I pick mine up and hold it out. “Toast?”