19. Gabriel
NINETEEN
There are no biggermotherfuckers in this world than politicians.
I”ve met the powerful gangsters in Italy. Drank Scotch with the most feared arms dealers in Russia. Hell, I”ve even broken bread with obscenely rich cartel leaders in South America.
But Florida politicians are in a league of their own. Entitled, corrupt, greedy—whatever dishonest adjective you throw at them, they”re it. Of course, someone like Riley might wonder if I”m just like them.
I can”t answer that, but I prefer to think of myself as a mercenary. Taking from the rich and giving to the poor, and all that. And I do give a lot to the indigent in this community. Not through parties like this—although I do that, as well. No, my money gets to people in back channel ways, anonymous and stealthy. Like the time I heard a thirteen-year-old was gunned down, another victim of gang violence. When I heard that his mother couldn”t pay for the funeral, I stepped in.
She never knew. No one did.
I”ve made my peace with my place in this fucked up world. Part of the deal is that I must attend events like this. Usually, I make an appearance, chat up a few people, then vanish.
It”s rare that I bring a date, which is why everyone in this place is staring at me and Riley. Well, and probably because Riley is so fucking stunning. Her blonde hair, her red lips...and that body.
God, I”d like to bend her over and fuck her right here in front of all these people. I”m a private man, but that”s what she”s doing to my brain—making me want to show the world she”s mine.
That”s a dangerous development.
I”m standing in line at the bar for our drinks and I glance over at her. She”s leaning against the column, studying the room with a smoldering stare that could melt the ice caps if she focused hard enough. That”s the other thing I appreciate about her: she”s sharp. It”s as if she”s taking a mental snapshot of everything in this room for future reference.
There”s also a vulnerability about her, though, like when she asked me not to touch her, for fear she”d be seen by her boss. It”s admirable how much she cares about shit like that. Of course I”ll respect her wishes; I wouldn”t dream of doing otherwise.
I stare at the bartender, who”s yukking it up with a woman at the head of the line. Christ, could this take any longer? I don”t want to leave Riley alone for too long. God knows which bottom feeder will try to hit on her.
As much as I want Riley—and make no mistake, tonight she”s going to end up in my bed—I still don”t fully trust her. Maybe it”s because she”s a reporter, or possibly it”s because of the timing of the Jack Fitzgerald news.
She denied knowing the guy, and seemed sincere. But people can be liars, and good ones. Just look around at all these politicians...
I finally get our drinks, a red wine for her and a Scotch for me. When I turn to head in her direction, I notice she”s talking to a man. I can only see the guy”s back, and his bald head. A pang of fierce, possessive jealousy strikes me like a lightning bolt, and I have to stop for a second to compose myself.
Where the fuck did that come from? I take a deep inhale, my nose assaulted with the scent of what smells like hundred dollar an ounce perfume. It”s as if steeling me from my own internal cues. When I get closer to Riley, I realize it”s her publisher. I swagger over and give her the wine glass.
”Cheers,” I say, clinking my glass to hers. Then I turn to Sam Groff, the Tribune publisher. I”ve known him for years. ”Sam, nice to see you again.”
”Gabriel, how the hell are you?” Sam looks from me to Riley, then back to me. ”You”re with her?”
”She”s with me. Following me around for a story. You should give her a raise, she”s quite persistent.”
Sam looks like he”s about to choke on his cocktail because he of all people knows I rarely give interviews and never allow reporters to write anything in depth about me. His reporters have been trying for years.
”Ms. Murphy, is this true?”
She smiles and nods, a lock of hair falling in her face. She glances at me, and her eyes flicker down my body, as if she”s objectifying me. As if I”m her possession. Holy fuck. I”m certain this is just a show for Sam, her way of signaling to him that she”s conquered me as a news story, but I want to groan, she looks so confident and sexy.
”Well, that”s gr-great.” He turns to me. ”She”s our best hire in years.”
”Agreed,” I say, grinning. I look at her and lick my bottom lip. Even in the low-lit room, I can see her eyes widen and a blush creep over her cheekbones.
”Well, I”ll let you, er, observe Gabriel, Miss Murphy.”
”See you Monday,” she trills, giving him a flirty little wave.
He walks quickly away.
”Best hire in years.” She snorts and takes a sip of her wine.
”That seems like a nice compliment.”
”He didn”t hire me, the city editor did. I met the dude once during orientation. I think he only remembered my name because he told me he went to school at Harvard.”
I adore her spunk. ”I thought he”d stay longer to chat. Wonder why he left.”
”Probably because he realized I”m here trying to do a job, not pick up an old, wealthy man.” Disgust is written all over her face.
”Did he try to hit on you?”
”Jesus, Gabriel, there”s no need to sound like you”re going to put a hit on him. He just came over and asked if I wanted a drink. Okay, and he looked at my ti?—”
”He what?” Now I”m furious. Sam”s an okay guy, I”ve never had a problem with him, but like everyone else in this city, he”s compromised and corrupt. Like the time I demanded he remove a full page ad from a developer so a friend of mine—another developer—could take the space in the paper.
”He looked at my tits. But, honestly, who hasn”t looked at them at this party tonight? This dress is so low cut that I might as well be wearing nothing at all. You shouldn”t be surprised.” She rolls her eyes.
I can”t help but laugh, and some of the fury ebbs away. Riley seems to do that to me. She”s not just beautiful, but genuinely funny. Sardonic and witty. There”s also something about her that is a calming presence, and I can”t put my finger on the entire package. This intrigues me.
She glances at her wine, its scarlet liquid mingling with the blood red hue of her lips. Her eyes take on a wicked gleam and she takes a sip, then cocks one eyebrow and a small smile plays on her lips.
”What?” I ask.
”I got the feeling from talking to the stylist that you gave him quite detailed instructions on how I should look. If you didn”t want anyone to look at my body, why did your designer offer me such salacious choices in dresses?”
I shrug and grin. She”s correct, of course. ”Because I”m the one who will end up looking at you the most tonight.”
”So, all of this”—she sweeps her hand down her body—”is for you?”
”Yes.”
If she”s shocked by my admission, she doesn”t show it.
We drink in silence, each of us watching the party. Occasionally, a false laugh will ring out from one of the nearby groups of people, and the sound feels like a knife in my ears. I”m surrounded by people I”ve known for years, people I went to high school and college with, but I”m not sure I truly have anything in common with them. That”s always been the curse of being a Greco in this city.
It occurs to me that this is a good time as any to get to know Riley better. The music isn”t that loud, and the conversation around us isn”t to a roar just yet, since people aren”t too drunk. Because once we get back to my house, there won”t be much talking. At least talking of the kind that can be done in public.
”You haven”t told me what you do in your spare evenings,” I say. It comes out as slightly more awkward than I intend, and I”m a little surprised. Normally I”m much smoother in conversation with women.
She squints a little and stares at me. ”That seems like something one would ask on a first date.”
Busted. ”I”m just trying to find out more information about you. Hell, you”re the most interesting person here.”
”Hardly.” She takes another gulp of her wine and continues, ”I”ve only been here in Tampa for a few months. I haven”t really developed any kind of nighttime routine. When I first got here, I”d drive over the bridge and go to the beach so I could watch the sunset almost every night. It seemed so decadent, going to the beach in January.”
I imagine Riley in a sundress, standing on the beach, the wind whipping the fabric around her bare legs, her blonde hair flying everywhere. ”And then what happened? Why did you stop?”
”I don”t know. I stopped going. Some people from the paper asked me to hang out. I started to go on dates. Honestly, the beach was much better than all of it.”
Another stab of jealousy hits me squarely in the chest. ”Real Floridians never go to the beach anyway.”
”I”ll probably never be a real Floridian. So, what do you do on weekends? Do you go to a lot of these events? I guess you”re probably a regular on the local party circuit. Or do you go on lots of dates, to sex clubs, or are you all business all the time? How do rich guys like you spend your time? Enlighten me.”
I sigh for dramatic effect. ”You really think highly of me, don”t you?”
She studies me for a moment, our eyes meeting. Again, the temperature between us rises, and I have the overwhelming urge to kiss her furiously.
”I don”t know what I think of you, Gabriel.”
I nod slowly. ”I don”t know what I think of you either, Riley.”
”I don”t trust you,” she finally says after a few seconds.
”I don”t trust you either.”
A genuine beautiful smile spreads on her face. ”Well, at least we”re starting this relationship on a rock-solid foundation.”
She lets out a laugh, and I won”t lie, it”s infectious. The absolute ridiculousness of the situation, this night, this life, hits me.
I lean in close to her ear. She”s so close, her lobe just inches from my lips, nestled against the curve of her neck. She smells like perfume and twenty-dollar-a-glass Cabernet and sheer, naked curiosity.
She smells like every delicious thing I”ve ever smelled in my life all wrapped up in one package, and I want to unwrap it. Savor it. Devour it.
I”m trying to respect her boundaries, that request to not touch her in public in front of her boss and the entire city. It”s so fucking difficult. But I”ll abide by her rules, for now.
”I do know one thing,” I say in a low voice.
”What”s that?”
”I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you until you can”t breathe. I want to kiss you until you beg me to stop. I want to kiss you until your lips bruise, and you won”t ever want to be kissed again.” My voice is hoarse, cracking even. It”s as if I”m exhibiting a vulnerability I didn”t know I had.
”Would it surprise you if I told you that I wanted the same thing?”
I lean back and study her. ”No. It wouldn”t surprise me at all.”
”Is that because no woman can resist you?” Her eyes are a challenge.
”Honestly? No. Plenty of women can resist me. Some women are turned off by my lifestyle and who I am, who my family is. It doesn”t surprise me with you, for a different reason. I think you”re looking for exactly what only I can give you.”
”What”s that?”
”The chance to come to terms with who you really are.”