The Secret Wedding Dress. Ally Blake
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woman.
A loud clearing of the throat sent them both looking to Paige’s friend.
Paige said, ‘Gabe Hamilton, this is my friend Mae. Her fiancé, Clint.’
Leaning across the table to shake hands with enthusiasm, Mae said, ‘I hear you’ve just flown in from overseas.’
When the table shook and Mae scrunched up her face, Gabe got the feeling she’d been duly kicked under the table. So Little Miss Cool had been talking about him to her friends, had she? Perhaps this would be easier than he thought. Though rather than that taking the edge off the challenge, the energy inside coiled tighter still.
He sourced a spare chair at the next table and dragged it over, sliding it next to Paige, who pretended she’d suddenly found a mark on her dinner plate fascinating.
‘Brazil,’ he said to Mae, pressing his toes into the floor as Paige sat straight as an arrow in the seat beside him. ‘I’m just back from Brazil.’
‘Seriously?’ said Mae. ‘Hear that, Paige? Gabe’s been to Brazil.’
Paige glared at her friend. ‘Thanks, Mae. I did hear.’
Mae leant her chin on her palm as she asked, ‘Back for good, then?’
‘Not,’ he said. Not that he was about to tell these nice people that given the choice he’d rather be neck deep in piranha-infested waters than stay in their home town. ‘Here on business for a few days.’
‘Pity,’ said Mae, while Paige said nothing. Those bedroom eyes of hers remained steadfastly elsewhere. Until Mae added, ‘Paige has a total thing for Brazil.’
‘Does she, now?’
At the low note that had crept into his voice, Paige’s eyes finally flickered to his. He smiled back, giving her a silent ‘hi’ with his eyes. She saw it too. Her eyes widened, all simmering heat trapped beneath the cool surface, and her chest rose and fell at the same time as his, as if she was breathing with him.
Gabe’s libido, which had been warming up nicely since the moment he’d spied her, went off like a rocket. He gripped the back of her chair, his thumb mere millimetres from the dip between her shoulders. When Paige breathed deep, arching away from his almost touch, her nostrils flaring, her throat working, he swore beneath his breath.
‘Why, yes,’ said Mae cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the sexual tension near pulsing between her tablemates. ‘In fact she’s spent the past few months trying to convince her boss she has to shoot their summer catalogue there.’
‘Really?’ Gabe said, dragging his gaze to her friend in an effort to keep himself decent. ‘So what kind of work does Paige do?’
‘I’m brand manager for a home-wares retailer,’ Paige shot back, a distinct huskiness now lighting her voice. Oh, yeah, this was going to be fun. ‘Most of next summer’s range is Brazilian. In feel if not in actuality.’ Then, as if the words were being pulled from her with pliers, ‘And what were you doing in Brazil?’
If he’d been in need of a bucket of water to cool the trouble brewing in his pants, Paige asking about his work was a fine alternative. He’d learned the hard way that the less people knew about his business, the better. What big information you have! All the better to screw you with, my dear. ‘This time around, coffee,’ he allowed. ‘You like coffee?’
‘Coffee?’ She blinked, the change of subject catching her off guard. She shifted till she was facing him a little more. Her eyes now flitting between his, the push and pull of attraction working up the same energy he’d felt at their first meeting. Then she slid her bottom lip between her teeth, leaving it moist and plump as she said, ‘Depends who’s making it.’
Gabe felt the ground beneath him dip and sway as it had in the lift and he gripped the back of her chair for dear life. Vertigo, he thought, definitely vertigo. Hitchcock had been a glutton for punishment to keep going back to his twitchy blondes. Yet Gabe made no move to leave, so what did that make him?
‘Why coffee?’ Mae asked.
‘Hmm?’
‘The reason you were in Brazil. Do you grow it? Pick it? Drink it? Brew it?’
Gabe paused again, calculating. But the deal was done. He’d gone over every full stop, met every employee, vetted every business practice to make sure the product line was legitimate and above reproach. And profitable, of course. Nothing, and nobody, could ruin it now.
‘I’m investing in it. Or in a mob called Bean There, to be more specific,’ he said.
But it was too late. Paige had sensed his hesitation and, for whatever reason, her knees slid away from his and back under the table. Hot and cold? The woman ran from fire to frost quicker than he could keep up.
At that point Gabe seriously considered cutting his losses. But at his heart Gabe was a shark. When he got his teeth in something it took a hell of a lot for him to let go. It was why he was the best at what he did, why he’d never met a deal he couldn’t close. She didn’t know it yet, but the longer she sat there shutting him out, the deeper she sank her hook beneath his ribs.
A voice from across the table said, ‘Oh, I love those places! Those little hole-in-the-wall joints, right? One guy and a coffee machine.’
‘That’s the ones.’
‘Ooh, how exciting,’ Mae said, ‘insider information! From our very own corporate pirate.’
Gabe flinched so hard he bit his tongue. It was as though the woman had the book on which buttons to press to make his jewels up and shrivel. ‘It’s common knowledge,’ he avowed, ‘so feel free to spread the word. The more money they make, the more steak dinners for me.’
Clearly the time had come to retreat and regroup. He pulled himself to standing.
‘Stay!’ said Mae.
‘Thanks, but no. Beauty sleep to catch up on.’
He looked to Paige to check if she was even half as moved by his imminent departure, only to find her sitting primly with her fingers clasped together as if she didn’t give a hoot. Yet her gaze had other ideas. Beginning somewhere in the region of his fly, it did a slow slide up his torso, pausing for the briefest moments on his chest, his neck, his mouth, before landing on his eyes.
‘Friday,’ he heard himself say in a voice that was pure testosterone. ‘Housewarming party at mine. You’re all welcome.’
‘We’ll be there,’ said Mae.
Gabe reached out to shake Mae’s hand. Then Clint’s. He saved Paige for last.
‘Paige,’ he said, and he lifted her hand into his. His dream had been wrong on that point at the very least. Her hand was as warm as if she’d been lying in the sun. As for her eyes … As if touching him had unleashed all that she’d been trying to hold back, desire flooded them, then exploded in his chest like a bonfire, before settling as a hot ache in his groin.
Damn.
She pulled her hand away. Her brow furrowing, as if she wasn’t sure what had just happened. He knew. And hell if he didn’t want more.
‘Friday,’ he said, waiting until she nodded. Then he shot the table a salute before walking away, his entire body coiled in discomfort, his field of vision a pinprick in a field of red mist as blood pounded through his body way too fast.
He headed back to his apartment. To his hard floor. The ache lingering deep in his gut. And this time as he stared at the ceiling in his big empty bedroom, sleep eluded him.
He wondered how his neighbour might react if he showed up at her door asking for a bed for the night, carrying his box of doughnuts and wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a smile. The only thing keeping him from finding out was her patent determination to remain cool. If he read her even slightly wrong, boxer shorts might be not quite enough protection.