Swallowing, her eyes gritty, she nonetheless smiled. “We laughed so hard the night before. I can’t remember why, but I remember her laugh, the brightness and the life of it.”
“She sounds like a strong, amazing woman.”
“She was.”
Charlotte didn’t know why she was telling Gabriel all this. He was her boss. Who’d admitted to flirting with her and in whose kitchen she currently stood… in whose arms she stood. The instant she consciously thought about that, she became aware once again of exactly how big he was—all of it hard muscle and burning heat.
Gabriel was far, far stronger than Richard had ever been, and yet Charlotte wasn’t scared. Nervous, a thousand butterflies in her stomach now that she was focusing on his body, but not afraid. At least not at this precise instant when she felt so safe and protected. Right now, she could almost imagine stroking her hands up his chest to his shoulders, rising on tiptoe and kissing her way along the line of that jaw dark with stubble. It’d prickle against her lips, but then she’d reach his mouth and it’d be hot and wet and so good.
Pulse a staccato beat, she pushed away from him before the fantasy led her into making a humiliating mistake. “I’ll get the water ready,” she said, even though they didn’t need it yet.
Releasing her with a final stroke down her back that made her want to whimper and burrow into him, he said, “Even I can boil water,” and moved to fill the pot.
It was oddly intimate, watching him do something so unexpectedly domestic. Though of course, he brought that raw sense of contained power and prowling strength with him—it made him appear an intruder here, a dangerous creature playing at being tame. He must, she thought with a stab of pain that shredded the anger she’d tried to foster, really like this woman he wanted to impress. He’d made no such effort with the others.
She knew without asking that there’d be no red roses this time.
Blood leaden, she took the package of dry pasta and put it on the counter beside the cooktop. When Gabriel put the pot full of water on the cooktop, she stopped him from turning it on, her fingers brushing over the solid bones of his wrist.
“We should work on the sauce first since you’re new at it.” She curled her fingers into her hand, hoarding the lingering warmth of him.
“You mean it doesn’t come out of a jar?”
“Behave,” she said, not quite able to dig up a smile.
He reached across her back and to the upper cupboards, his arm brushing her shoulder. She wasn’t sure if he’d done it deliberately, but when he brushed his arm against her body as he brought a glass down, she knew it was all very much on purpose. For some reason, though he was seriously interested in another woman, he’d decided to continue messing with her.
Her cheeks grew hot, blood pulsing with temper. “There are glasses at the end of the counter.”
“Oops, I didn’t see,” he said and leaned his hip against the granite. “Want something to drink?”
“No.” She just wanted this done so she could leave while he no doubt hooked up with his new woman.
Going to the fridge, he grabbed a bottle of water for himself. “Hey, look what I have here. Orange-and-pineapple-juice mix.”
“Do you notice everything?” she asked, wanting to stab the tomato she’d picked up to chop.
Pouring her favorite blend of juice into a glass for her, he put down the bottle beside his water and said, “When it concerns you, yes.”
Charlotte felt her eyes narrow. Enough. She might be shy and tongue-tied when it came to any kind of flirtation, but this wasn’t flirtation on Gabriel’s part. It was a moment’s amusement. Because T-Rexes didn’t date mice. They stomped on them on their way to other, sexier pastures.
“Tell me about the woman you want to impress,” she said, slicing into the tomato with what she thought was commendable restraint. “Is it the model who called you up for the charity dinner?”
GABRIEL CONSIDERED HIS ANSWER. He could either continue to mislead Charlotte, or he could tell her the truth. The problem with the latter was that he didn’t know if she could handle the pressure of knowing he wanted her and only her. Hell, he’d restrain himself, hold back the full-on and relentless Bishop pursuit until she was more used to him, but she’d still be aware of his interest. It could ratchet up her nerves, make her pull away in panic.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said, the blade moving faster. “I’m prying, I’m sorry.” The apology was cool.
He smiled slowly at the first sign of real, deep-down temper he’d seen in Charlotte.
“She’s exactly your height,” he said, having come to one inescapable conclusion after weighing up all the facts: if he didn’t tell Charlotte the truth, she’d roadblock him every inch of the way. Unlike many of the women who came on to him, she didn’t see him as a trophy to bag and damn any other loyalty he might have. Charlotte Baird took promises seriously.
A startled look, the knife coming to a halt. “Really? I mean, you always date tall women.”
“I used to.” He tended to feel like a big ox around smaller women, but he’d changed his mind since meeting Charlotte. He was dead certain she could handle him—in bed and out of it. And he definitely wanted to handle her. Every small, perfectly formed part of her. “Then I met a woman with clear hazel eyes and soft blond hair I want to fist in one hand as she straddles my lap and lets me kiss her, my other hand unbuttoning her very sensible white work shirt… or her green cardigan.”