13. Riley
THIRTEEN
I”m sitting here tryingto play it cool, but inside I am very much not cool. Not at all. Quite the opposite, much to my embarrassment. For starters, it”s hot as balls out here, even though it”s close to nine in the morning. Even though I”m barely wearing any real clothing, I”m sweating. And my face feels like it”s burst into flames, probably because Gabriel keeps shooting me knowing glances with those dark eyes of his.
As if he”s recalling every second of our kiss.
As if he knows what I did last night after that kiss.
A horrifying thought comes to mind, and I blurt it without thinking, without immediately recalling that I searched for a surveillance device in my room and found nothing. ”Do you have cameras?”
His dark brows knit together. ”Like, for taking pictures? I”m not much of a photographer, but I think I have one around here somewhere. Why? Do you need one? Is it for your article? Won”t the paper assign a photographer for your story?”
”No, silly. Surveillance cameras.”
His frown doesn”t fade. ”Well, sure, I have cameras around the perimeter and at the door, for security. Everyone around here does. You never know who might be a criminal.”
Oh, that”s rich. A snort leaks out of my nose. ”No, indoors, silly. Do you have cameras inside the room, so you can spy on your guests?”
He tips his head back and laughs for several seconds, a sound so wonderful that I want to smile but maintain my scowl for appearances” sake. ”Riley, what kind of monster do you think I am?”
I know what kind of monster he is, and it terrifies me. He”s a criminal, and possibly the worst kind: one who moves seamlessly between the lawless underworld and polite society.
This fact also turns me on, but I”m trying to shove those thoughts aside. ”You probably keep cameras in the guest rooms so you can blackmail people. Get money out of them. Do your bidding.”
Or worse, he gets off by watching.
He clears his throat and looks around. It”s obvious that he”s trying not to laugh more.
”Okay, let”s unpack this. I don”t surveil people who stay here. I don”t video them, take photos, or keep records. Not because I haven”t thought of it—I”ll admit that I have, it would be quite helpful when dealing with some politicians, and probably lucrative—but because I rarely have anyone stay overnight in my home who isn”t family.”
”Really? How come?”
He shrugs. ”I like my privacy. My sister and her family are always welcome, and I love having them here. My mom, a cousin or two from New York, a few distant family members from Italy. They all stay occasionally when they”re in town, and I love having them. But other people? Not so much.”
His face contorts like he”s smelled something foul.
”Hmph.” I”m unconvinced. Because I”m here. Why am I here?
”Riley, the bigger question is, why are you asking? What have you been doing in your room? Why would you think I”d want to see what you”re doing in there?”
He licks his lips in a slow, sensual manner, and then raises the coffee cup to his mouth, all without taking his gaze off me. My face feels like it”s going to burst into flames. Damn him.
”Wouldn”t you like to find out?” I”m not usually a flirt, but something about Gabriel and his teasing makes me want to be more coy than Megan Fox.
”Actually, I very much would like to know how you spend your time alone. I suspect that it”s quite interesting.” His voice is low and gruff, and I practically stop breathing. A trickle of sweat runs down the back of my neck, and my biggest wish is to burrow into a glacier and never come out.
”I”m doing the interviewing here.” I sit up a little straighter.
”Not so fast. I have a question about Doyle that I neglected to ask you last night. I got sidetracked. Someone sidetracked me.”
I watch as he takes a biscotti between his thick, long fingers. All through the night, I thought about his hands. Fantasized about them doing wicked things to every part of my body.
Shaking my head to get the filthy fantasies out of my head, I shift uncomfortably in my seat. ”What”s that?”
He takes a slow bite of his moistened biscotti and chews slowly, then swallows. ”The unnamed inmate in your article that mentioned me. Who was that?”
I bite my lip. Unlike Doyle”s stripper girlfriend, the inmate only spoke to me, and I swore I”d keep his identity a secret. ”Can”t tell you.”
”How come? We”re friends, aren”t we?” Gabriel purrs. Oh, he is turning on the charm.
”I promised him that he”d stay anonymous. I don”t screw over my sources.”
”I see there”s honor among thieves and reporters.”
A chill goes through me. The inmate was serving five-to-seven in state prison for grand theft. I”d traveled an hour to interview him. Did Gabriel know who I”d talked to? Or did he really not know.
”Those are the rules, Gabriel.”
”You make the rules?” His dark eyes glitter, as if he”s relishing a challenge.
”In this case, yes.”
He nods slowly and smirks, looking more devilish than ever. Dammit, is that a dimple? ”I”ll let you take charge. For now. Listen, it”s nine, and I need to get into the gym. Are you coming?”
”To the gym? With you?” I blink. The last time I was in the gym was... I can”t remember.
He stands, grinning. ”I thought you wanted to shadow me for your article?”
I down my coffee. This man is clearly on some sort of power trip, and I can”t get tangled and twisted in his web. He seems to enjoy teasing me, and I can”t decide if it”s out of sport or something more carnal.
Probably out of sport. That kiss last night was likely some perverse game. For his amusement. To test me. But his desire seemed genuine, which is why I”m so confused by him.
”Let”s do it,” I chirp, hiding my reluctance.