8. Gemma
As I glance in his direction, he directs his finger towards my dress.
“Ah.” I turn back to the water. He really meant it.
His soft footsteps sound behind me. Is he going through with the threat?
Elijah’s body brushes against my back as he reaches over my shoulder to grab the other glass before… stepping back.
Mesmerized, I follow his movements and watch him take a sip. His eyes never leave mine, dark and intense over the rim of the crystal tumbler. A bead of condensation trickles down the side, and he catches it with his tongue, his pink tip darting out to lick a slow, deliberate path along the curve of the glass.
How can he make everything so sexy?
Elijah sets his glass back down with a soft clink. Then, his fingers travel along the nape of my neck.
“You want to shower together?”
“No. No. You go first.”
He lets out a laugh and retreats towards a door on the other side, which gives me the perfect view of his back.
Tall and muscular, with thick arms and wide shoulders that fill the doorway to the bathroom. Right before he disappears, he sneaks a glance at me over his shoulder and winks.
I need to stop ogling him. He’s hot, and he knows it damn well.
A few minutes pass by before Elijah returns while I still nip at my water.
He gestures towards the bathroom. “You can freshen up now if you like. Everything you need should be there. If not, ask. I’ll be here.”
“Thanks.” I take another sip of my water before setting it down and making my way into the bathroom. As promised, everything that I could need is here. Towels, toothpaste, shampoo, and body wash.
I take a quick shower and brush my teeth before stepping out in a big loose shirt, which was placed right next to the sink. His lips curve up into a smile as he sees me.
“I like you in my shirt.”
“It’s soft.” I play with the hem of the shirt while tiptoeing in his direction.
In front of the bed, I pause. It’s big. Should I curl up next to him? Stick to my side?
“Come here.” He pulls the blanket aside, tapping the place right beside him.
Submitting to his request, I get on the bed, leaving some space between us.
However, he has other plans. Without warning, his arms wrap around me, pulling me to his body, my back against his chest.
It feels good. A satisfied sigh escapes my lips as I press myself further into him. Warm. Safe.
Staying was the right decision.
He nuzzles into my neck, his hand gliding up and down my side in a soothing caress. Safe and sated, my eyes drift shut.
The morning sun wakes me. For a moment, I’m disoriented. Then I feel the warmth of a body pressed against my back, an arm draped over my waist, and breath tickling the back of my neck. Elijah.
I sink back into the comfort of his arms. A delicious ache pulses between my thighs as my memories resurface. The raw passion in his voice when he whispered my name was like a reverent prayer. The way he touched, kissed, and held me. My cheeks flush at how thoroughly he ravished me.
He stirs behind me, tightening his grip. Is he awake? I hold my breath, waiting for him to wake, but his breathing evens out again.
I turn around to study his expression. My fingers trace the contours of his firm jaw, the stubble rough against my fingertips. Relaxed and peaceful.
Completely different to yesterday, where he had unleashed a fire within me, something Oliver never managed to do. Not once during our several years of marriage did I experience the bone-melting pleasure Elijah gave me last night.
He made me feel alive again. Desired and cherished.
Too cherished. He’s too good, and the only explanation for that is that he’s a playboy with regular one-night stands. He probably does this all the time—charming women off their feet, giving them a night they will never forget, and then moving on to the next. I’m just another notch on his bedpost. I shouldn’t interpret anything into this.
Again, Elijah shifts beside me. But his eyes remain closed.
I should leave now before he wakes. But I can’t tear myself away from him.
Maybe a few more minutes?
No. I can’t.
Careful not to disturb him, I slip out from under his arm, holding still until he settles back into sleep with a soft grunt. I drink in the sight of his bare, muscular chest and tousled black hair splayed across the pillow.
Let’s go.
The carpet muffles my footsteps as I slip back into the little black dress and pick up my heels.
I pause in the doorway for one last glance at Elijah. He seems peaceful like this, with the usual intensity in his brows softened by sleep.
“Thanks for the night, but we better forget each other. You’re not the relationship type,” I pause, “and I’m still too hurt.”
I tiptoe out into the hallway. The rest of the apartment is as sleek and minimal as the bedroom, with sharp lines and dark tones. What kind of man is he? His house seems very…. detached.
I hurry to the elevator, getting in as soon as it arrives with a ding. I hope that didn’t wake him, but it shouldn’t have. The bedroom is quite far.
Alone in the small space, I pace back and forth, my chest tightening with each step.
What have I done? I don’t know this man, yet I spent the night in his bed and loved every second. It was casual sex. We don’t know each other. The thought stings more than I expected.
Why am I so anxious about this? I’ve always prided myself on being levelheaded, yet Elijah turns me into an indecisive mess that can’t discern left from right.
Elijah. His lips, his hands... I even smell like him.
The tender way he held me afterward and traced patterns on my skin as I drifted off to sleep... It felt like something more than a casual hookup. At least to me.
Did I make a mistake by sleeping with him? Or by leaving? He seemed angry about it yesterday. But going back up is no longer an option. I might grab something from the bakery and say, ‘Hey, got croissants for us, not at all running away.’
Yeah, real smooth.
He’s probably happy I left and doesn’t have to deal with me.
At least I got amazing sex out of it.
The elevator halts, and I put on my heels before stepping out into the lobby with my head turned down. This moment makes the walk of shame feel particularly fitting. My heels click against the marble floor as I rush to get out.
“Ms.?” someone says behind me.
I keep walking.
“Ms. Gemma?”
I freeze in place. Did she say my name? Slowly, I turn to face the source of the voice and point at myself, tilting my head.
“Are you Gemma?” the receptionist asks.
“I am.”
“I have a message for you. From your husband.”
My brows furrow, and I step closer to her desk. It can’t be. “My husband? Oliver?”
Her composure falters as she glances at the note in her hands. “I apologize for the confusion, Ms. Aren’t you the lady who came down from M—” She clears her throat. “The penthouse floor?”
Does she mean Elijah, who apparently impersonates my husband now? I can’t even get rid of my current one, and now I have two? Brilliant. I give a slight nod, aware of how foolish I must appear standing and staring at her. “Uh… yes. I guess. If a man named Elijah lives there.”
“Then it is you.” She holds out a folded note. “Your husband called and told me to give you this message.”
“He called?” Did the elevator wake him after all?
The receptionist nods.
I take the note. “Thanks.” I begin to leave but then hesitate and turn back towards the receptionist. “Excuse me. When did he call?”
“I think 3 minutes ago.”
“And… by any chance… how long does it take to get down from the penthouse?”
“With the elevator?”
“Yes.”
“Around one minute.”
“I see. Thank you.”
“No problem. Have a good day, Ms.”
“Thanks.” So he was awake when I left the room. I step towards the exit while opening up the note. Does that mean… he heard what I said?
I stare at the note. He can’t be serious.
8 pm. River’s on Vandam Street.
I’ll be waiting for you, my gem.
Love, Elijah
My heart pounds. 8 pm. River’s on Vandam Street. He wants to see me again.
I sigh, running a hand through my tousled hair as I head for the exit. Part of me wants to crumple up this note and toss it away.
However, another part of me is wildly curious about his plans for tonight.
I stuff the note into my pocket and finally make my escape from the building.
Once outside, I flag down a taxi and slide into the back seat, telling the driver my address. As the taxi speeds through the city streets, my fingers tap out a message to Mary.
Gemma: Hey, are you home? I’m heading there now.
Mary: Yes.
How did her night go? I’ll ask her as soon as I’m home.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the seat. I can’t forget how he looked between my thighs or his sexy, irresistible smile. Did he brainwash me? Should I go or keep it as a memory?
The cab pulls up in front of my place, I pay, hop out, and make my way up to our apartment.
As I enter, unease settles in my gut. Mary sits on the couch, tissues scattered all around her and eyes rimmed red.
That’s not good.
Poor Mary never is lucky with guys. First, all the posh guys her mother tries to hook her up with, and now this. Even in High School when we became friends.
She sniffles, dabbing at her eyes with a crumpled tissue. Without a word, I sit down and pull her into a hug.
After a few moments, she takes a deep breath, and the words tumble out. “He ended it.”
“I’m so sorry.” I run my hand up and down her back.
A sob catches in her throat. “He left. After we...”
“What an ass. You deserve so much better. So much better.”
She shakes her head. “And then… I found a note.”
“What did it say?”
“That he’s sorry.” Another sob. “I should have known. When I asked to see him without the mask, he refused. But I was too blind. Too stupid.”
What a jerk. Not even man enough to tell her in person.
“You’re not stupid.” With my fingers, I brush stray hairs from her face that stick to the fresh tears running down her cheek. “You trusted him, that’s all. He’s the one who betrayed that trust, not you.”
“But why? Why did he do this? We talked for so long, I thought…” Her voice cracks. “I thought he cared.”
“I don’t know.” I rub soothing circles on her back as she cries. She clings to me, her tears soaking through my shirt. “Some people are cruel. It speaks volumes about him, not you.”
“But that’s it, isn’t it?” She pulls back. “Maybe I… maybe I’m not worth loving, not really. Not for who I am.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. Any man would be lucky to have you.”
“You have to say that. You’re my best friend.”
I tighten my arms around her. “It’s the truth.” It is, and I wish she would finally see that, too.
Once her sobs fade to sniffles again, she lifts her head. “What’s that?”
“What?” I follow her gaze and see the note from Elijah on the ground. Shit. It must have slipped out when I was rushing over to her. Not now. I can’t tell her about Elijah. She has enough to deal with.
“It’s nothing. It’s trash.” Leaning down, I grab the note and hide it in my fist.
Mary arches a brow, her lips twisting into a sly curve. “It doesn’t look like nothing. Come on, spill.”
“I don’t…”
“I could use a distraction right now.”
“I met someone last night.” Heat creeps into my cheeks as I think of Elijah again. His hands roaming my body, the things he said.
“What? Spill. Now.”
I sigh. “His name is Elijah, and he’s good-looking and sweet and... we... clicked.”
“Elijah?” She pauses. “Well? How was he?”
“He was...” What? Incredible? Mind-blowing? “Good.”
Understatement of the century. I can still feel the ghost of his touch, the echo of his groans in my ear. And the delicious ache between my thighs.
“Good?” Mary’s eyebrows rise in disbelief, still sniffling.
I giggle. “Okay, it was amazing. The best night of my life.”
“I knew you had a secret boyfriend. When do I get to meet him?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I bite down on my lip. “It was a one-time thing. I shouldn’t get my hopes up.”
“Don’t be silly. So, when are you seeing him again?”
At last, I hand her the note in silence. Mary reads it with a gasp, her eyes widening.
“He wants to see you? Tonight?” Mary claps her hands.
“I shouldn’t go.”
“You should definitely go.”
“I’m not sure.” Perhaps it’s best to keep it a one-night stand.
“The old Gem wouldn’t have hesitated.”
She’s right. But… “Don’t you think it’s too soon? After Oliver...”
“No, it’s not.” Mary squeezes my hand. “At least think about it?”
“I’ll think about it.”
This time, Mary pulls me into a hug, her arms squeezing tight around my shoulders.
I lean back to study her face, noting the forced cheerfulness that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I should stay here with her and not go on the date.
“So, what are you going to wear?” She shifts on the sofa.
I roll my eyes, feeling a blush creep into my cheeks. “I don’t know. What does one wear on a second date?”
Mary taps her chin. “Something sexy, but not too sexy. You want to leave some mystery but also give him a glimpse of what’s to come.”
I laugh. “I think he already knows what’s there to come.”
“True, but still. What about the backless dress you have? The red one?”
The red one.