Later that afternoon, I’m in my home office, torturing myself with videos of Lorelei. At this point, I think I’ve watched every performance and every press interview Lorelei has done in college. The more I watch, the more amazed I am. She’s so graceful on the ice and so poised before the camera. She has a maturity that I’ve never seen in someone her age before. We’d talked so much about her figure skating career, but she’d never mentioned that she’s on track to go to the Olympics in two years. No wonder she pushes herself so hard.
Forcing myself away from the computer, I wander through my house. It feels so empty without Lorelei here. When I walk into my bedroom, I’m hit with her clean, vanilla scent. My cock hardens as I look at the rumpled sheets and remember in vivid detail our night together. I’m struck again by the realization that I’ve never felt about anyone the way I do about her. I’ve had my share of hook-ups in the past, but I’ve never been in a relationship, never wanted one.
Lorelei has me rethinking my solitary life. Having her in my home didn’t feel like an intrusion, it feltright, like she was always meant to be here. But could we make this work? Would she want to make it work? I’m so much older than her, and she has a promising future in figure skating. I can’t take that away from her.
Let her decide what she wants,a voice in my head whispers. It sounds suspiciously like my mom’s voice. She always told me I was too controlling, that I needed to relax my vice grip on life. It’s easier said than done, but as I spent more time with Lorelei, I’d felt myself doing exactly that.
With my mind made up, I grab my keys and phone and head for the front door, not even bothering with a jacket. But as I open the door, I’m met with the last thing I expected to see.
“Lorelei,” I say, stunned.
“Gabriel Stewart, I have something to say to you, and you’re going to listen,” she says, her features set in a determined expression I recognize from her pre-competition press interviews.
“Come in,” I say, stepping back.
She moves past me and goes into the living room. She’s getting better with her crutches, and her natural grace is starting to show through in her movements. I follow her, unable to keep my eyes from roaming her body. It’s only been a few hours since I last saw her, but it feels like it’s been weeks.
“Lorelei,” I begin as we sit across from each other. I know if I sit next to her, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself, and the things I want to tell her are too important to risk becoming distracted.
“No,” she interrupts, and I’m both surprised and aroused by the fierceness in her tone. “It’s my turn now, you can listen first.”
“Okay.”
“Gabriel, I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling, but I can’t get on that plane tomorrow without telling you how I feel. I’ll regret it forever if I don’t.”
I’m waiting with bated breath for what she’s going to say. Does she regret what happened between us? Or could she possibly want more?”
Her words come in a rush. “Last night was the most special night of my life. I may not be as experienced as you, but I know there’s a connection between us. I don’t care about the age difference or that you’re my sister’s professor. I don’t care that we live on opposite sides of the country. I want you. Everything else can be worked out.”
When she finally stops to catch her breath, it’s all I can do to keep myself from pulling her into my arms, but she deserves the words.
“I want you too, baby. I was coming to tell you, but you beat me to it. I’ve been going in circles all day, but the bottom line is you’re right. We do have something special here, and I can’t let you go.”
With that, I do go to her and pull her up until she’s pressed against me. “We’ll figure it out. You’re mine, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you.”
“Yes, Sir,” she says against my lips.
Chapter 11
Lorelei
I’m so happy Gabriel’s come around. When I’d returned to Cara’s apartment Saturday afternoon, I immediately called Cara. Despite her shock at my revelation, she encouraged me to take a chance and tell Gabe how I feel. I was worried she’d be furious that I’d confessed to him what we’d done, but it turns out she hadn’t done any better at keeping our secret.
I rescheduled my flight back to school since I didn’t have class on Mondays and I’m off the ice anyway. My ankle is still uncomfortable, but not painful anymore. I can’t deny that I’m anxious for my next appointment with the trainer to see when I can get back on the ice, but I’ve got at least another week of recuperating. Gabe has taken to carrying me around the house so I don’t have to use the crutches. I know he’s using it as an excuse to hold me, but I can’t say I mind it.
It’s Saturday night; we played a little game earlier where we tried to find something neither one of us has done, and we settled on making chicken soup from scratch. I’m chopping carrots while he’s slicing an onion and the stock is boiling on the stove, making his cozy house smell scrumptious.
I can hardly contain how happy I am. Gabriel Stewart is no longer my high school crush or some mythical genius that I used to idolize. He’s a man with troubles and doubts, a caring heart, and a huge…
I stop chopping the carrot, realizing that I love him. The words almost slip out, but I don’t want to burden him. He’s just coming to terms with trying a relationship, and I don’t want to jinx anything. I just want to be with him.
He catches my look, and his deep green eyes darken. He looks down at his hands. “Damn onion.”
He rinses his hands in the sink, and before they’re even dry, he reaches for me, pulling me close for a kiss. It’s soul stirring, panty soaking, and passionate, and after a few moments of his tongue invading my mouth, I push aside my cutting board and haul myself up onto the counter. I need his hands on me and to feel his hard body pressed to mine.
With a laugh, he presses against me. I wrap my legs around his waist and bury my face in his neck, breathing in his cologne. Sexy, but familiar now, and homey, too.
“Couch,” I say, not wanting to spare the extra seconds it will take to get to the bedroom.
