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“Not anymore.” And then suddenly, she closes the space between me and her, a sweet floral scent teasing my nostrils as she presses herself to me, pushes to her toes and touches her lips to mine.
I take it from there, tangling my fingers in all those red curls with one hand, molding her closer with the other, and licking into her mouth. She doesn’t hold back. This woman, whose name I don’t even know, kisses the hell out of me, like I’m the last kiss she will ever experience, and then suddenly, our lips part and linger. Neither of us moves or speaks until she suddenly pulls back and looks at me with eyes I now know to be a stunning grass green. “I’m Abigail,” she says, and then she’s putting a step between us.
I let her simply because I want to know what she will do next. I want to see her, to drink her in, and feel her close again. “Thanks for waking me up, Gabe,” she says, and then she’s walking away.
What the hell?
“That’s it?” I call out.
She glances back at me. “Afraid so.” And then she rounds the corner.
Oh no. This is not over.
I start to pursue, but my damn phone rings, and with the small chance it’s my brother on his wedding night, I yank it from my pocket even as I keep walking and damn it, it’s Reid. I stop walking and hit “answer” to hear a crazy amount of static. “I can’t hear you,” I say, and then hear, “Taking off. Call you back. Not important.”
Fuck.
I shove my phone back in my pocket and start moving again because Abigail is fucking important. I’m back in the bar in thirty seconds, heading toward her table, and the minute I bring it into view, I curse. Abigail is gone. I cross the bar and exit to the street, looking left and right, but she’s nowhere. She’s really gone and I have no idea why, but it feels like I just lost someone I wasn’t supposed to lose. That woman wasn’t supposed to leave. I wasn’t supposed to let her go.
Chapter two
Gabe
Thoughts about Abigail keep me awake that night. She keeps me distracted and awake even through the New Year’s holiday. Women don’t distract me and they damn sure don’t keep me awake unless we’re fucking.
The problem is that she isn’t naked and she isn’t even in my damn bed. She’s gone and it’s pissing me off. I lay in my king-sized bed a few days later and feel alone when I normally feel pretty damn good in the giant-ass bed. I can stretch my legs. I can stroke my cock if I want to. I can do whatever the fuck I want, except apparently, Abigail. It’s not like she actually turned me down. It wasn’t like that. Shedidn’tturn me down. That kiss wasn’t a turndown. It was longing. It was exactly what she said: an awakening, and I want to be more than the kiss that started it. She’s divorced, burned and bruised if I’m accurate, and I want to lick every last ache she feels and make it better. I consider all the ways I might do that with great detail and when I wake up to an alarm and still alone in my bed, I’m angry with myself. I don’t get hung up on women for a reason. A really damn good reason thatdates back years and needs to stay in the past. Good riddance, Abigail. My hard-on and my fantasies are now gone.
An hour later, I’m dressed in a gray pin-striped suit, and already on my way to the office, stopping in the coffee shop for my usual triple venti latte, and playing the game I always play. I laugh. I smile. I make other people laugh and smile. No one needs to know what the hell is going on in my head, and when they’re thinking about themselves or a laugh I’ve given them, they aren’t analyzing me. I like it that way. I keep it that way.
I tip the barista twenty dollars because that’s also what I do. I tip big. I make people feel good even when I’m burning alive inside,especiallyon the days that I’m burning alive inside. And for a reason I can’t seem to explain, Abigail has sent me to that place, reminded me of the past. It’s a damn good thing that she’s gone. Really damn good that she’s gone. I don’t even like redheads. I don’t know why this woman has this power over me, but I don’t like it.
Twenty minutes later, I’m behind my desk and my assistant is standing in front of my desk, which isn’t unusual. However, I’m acutely aware of the fact that she’s thirty-something with red hair. “Don’t hate me,” she says. “I have a list of ten problems you have to deal with right now.”
“I live to beat a path through the hell,” I say, welcoming the distraction, ready to dive into my work. “Bring it on. What’s number one?”
“Your father called.”
“Considering my father’s a fraud, liar, and jerk who cheated on my mother and all but ruined this business, why do I care? He’s retired. Reid and I made sure of that.”
“Because when he calls, it’s trouble.”
“Move on to the next problem.”
“Number two. One of your father’s mistresses says she’s owed money and served you for that money, which I assume is whyyour father was calling.” She motions to a folder on the desk. “You were served. So was Reid. The board wasn’t. She also called and said she’s got intimate knowledge of things your father did while here at the firm that you might want to know about. She’s willing to help you.”
Help me. More like bribe me. “What else?” I say, because this is absolutely ridiculous and will go nowhere, and anyone involved knows that.
“I go on vacation tomorrow for a week. You remember that, right?”
“Yes. I bought the tickets to Italy for you and your sister, remember?”
“Yes, but at the time, Reid wasn’t going on his honeymoon and you hadn’t just forced your father out of the company.”
“I have Connie,” I say of Reid’s secretary. “It works. Go. Enjoy your trip. You deserve it after that hellish acquisition we did a few months ago.”
“You really are good to me,” she says.
“You slept here a couple of nights to finish that deal,” I remind her. “I owe you.”
