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Shit. Was there a possibility for round two? Well, not anymore, I tell myself. By going behind her back for Doug’s company, I pretty much sealed my fate. Any future nights with Ganriella aren’t going to happen. That look in her gorgeous caramel eyes tells me everything I need to know—she hates my guts.
I don’t let myself have regrets, but I’m beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t have interfered and, instead, allowed her to do her thing. But that’s not who I am or how I’ve become so damn successful. I love a good challenge and Gabriella practically threw the gauntlet down at my feet.
Once I arrive home, I pull my suit jacket off, toss my tie and unbutton my shirt. Maybe I should go for a run and work out this nagging in the back of my head that won’t seem to go away. That annoying little voice that keeps calling me a traitor.
The truth is I have no loyalty to Gabriella or her troublemaking family. Just because we had sex doesn’t mean I owe her anything. We’re both consenting adults and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. End of story.
Or, so I keep trying to tell myself.
Swearing under my breath, I strip out of the rest of my clothes, pull on a t-shirt, shorts and running shoes and go work off some of my stress. After a long run through Hudson Yards, I should feel better.
Over two hours later, I don’t feel any better. I spent part of the time sitting down at the pier, mulling over my thoughts, and the rest of the time running like a maniac. By the time I get back home, I’m a panting, sweaty mess. And still as confused as ever about what I’ve done. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I gulp it down. Then I crumple the plastic bottle up, toss it in the garbage can and tear off my sweat-soaked t-shirt. As I’m mopping it across my forehead, someone starts pounding on my door.
Not expecting anyone, I stalk across the warehouse and throw the door open. Surprise flits through me when I see Gabriella standing there. And, does she look pissed. Her eyes widen and slide down my naked chest. I can’t help but smirk.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I ask, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, ridiculously pleased to see her.
“You are a first-class asshole,” she announces, sending me a death-like glare and crossing her arms which only manage to lift her perfect breasts up higher, snagging my attention. “Up here, Mr. Rossi.”
The snap in her voice turns me on and I slowly drag my focus up, remembering how delicious those mounds of flesh tasted. I meet her gaze and my smirk turns into a full-blown grin because she’s all fire and brimstone. And it’s sexy as hell. I love the way her brown eyes flash and she takes her index finger and points at me like she needs to instill her point further. She doesn’t touch me, though, and I’m a little disappointed by that. Although if she poked me with that long fingernail of hers, she’d probably do it hard enough to break skin. Or, at the very least, leave a decent mark. Just like the ones she left on my back.
I shift, my shorts growing uncomfortably snug, and cross my arms. “You seem upset,” I comment, keeping my tone light and easygoing. Which, of course, only infuriates her more.
She snorts. “Upset doesn’t even begin to cut it.”
“Why don’t you come in and we can discuss—” But she’s already pushing past me, heels clicking angrily along the floor. When she spins to face me, it’s absolutely glorious. She looks all wild-eyed like some kind of avenging angel.
“You had no right to go behind my back and do that! I spoke to you in confidence and asked for your advice, trusting that you wouldn’t use it against me.”
“I don’t recall signing an NDA,” I drawl. Of course, that makes her even more angry.
Her eyes narrow and her small hands clench into tight, little fists. “This little stunt tells me everything I need to know about you,” she hisses. “And, clearly, you can’t be trusted.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, getting annoyed and worked up at the same time. Why is this all my fault? And why am I so damn attracted to this vixen? “If I recall correctly, you’re the one who invited me out and wanted my expert advice. So I gave it to you.”
Neither of us misses the double entendre. Because, yeah, I gave it to her good, all night long. Gabriella shakes her head and huffs out a breath.
“I trusted you,” she repeats.
“First mistake, Bri. You don’t trust anyone in the business world. You’ll end up disappointed. Probably bankrupt, too.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snaps. “You lost that privilege, Mr. Rossi.”
“Why did you run out?” I ask bluntly, unable to stop the question from leaving my mouth, wanting to get to the heart of the matter. Because it’s been bothering me more than I’d like to admit. Actually, it’s driving me fucking crazy. Normally, I have to shuffle women along and kick them out. I guess my ego is bruised. And, my stupid feelings are hurt, but I would never tell her that.
Her brow creases in confusion. “What?”
I’m not sure why my question throws her for a loop.
Moving closer, I hold her gaze, and ask again. “Why did you run out the other morning without so much as a goodbye or, hell, even a note.”
“I thought we were both under the impression that what happened between us—” She waves her hand back and forth. “—was a one-night stand.”
“It was,” I say between gritted teeth.
“Then why would I hang around? It’s not like I was expecting you to make me a farewell breakfast and then drive me home.” She tilts her head, studying me closely, expression unreadable. “Do you invite all your one-night stands to hang out the next morning?”
“No.” My voice is a low growl and I get what she’s saying. There’s no reason I should be pissed about what she did. In fact, I should be relieved.
