30. Gabe
30
GABE
Call me crazy, but this wine cellar is one of the reasons I fell for this apartment. The space is straight out of my dreams. Modern and luxe with a tip of the hat to old-world elegance.
When I was young and still living under my parents’ roof, I came across a magazine that featured a big fancy house and inside was this amazing wine cellar full of bottles from around the world. The article talked about owners’ love of visiting new places and how wine was the ultimate souvenir of a life well-traveled.
Everything about the glossy photo gripped me by the throat. The rich woods and system of cubbies, the fancy light fixtures, the brick floor, and the cozy atmosphere.
As the oddball in a family from the middle of nowhere, getting out of farm country was extra appealing. Not just because everything was flat, sometimes hot, sometimes freezing, but always landlocked.
Getting away, traveling, and living the life no one else in my town would ever dream of was the ultimate goal. Collecting wines from around the world had seemed like stamps in a passport at the time.
A passport I didn’t even own yet and wouldn’t for another dozen years.
So when I saw this sleek space with the honed tile and beautiful wood shelves, I fell hard.
Wine, on the other hand, was an acquired taste.
I tend to prefer reds to whites. No surprise that Kingston is the same. But I bet he’s got a more refined palate, thanks to his upbringing.
I blow out a breath because it feels like he has so many of the things I’ve always envisioned for myself. But, by some cosmic roll of the dice, he was born to it and seemingly wants little to do with the life he was afforded.
Ten years ago, that would have made me angry and sour. Now, I’ve achieved everything I ever dreamed of as that eighteen-year-old from Nebraska.
I hear a soft footfall on the tile behind me.
“Holy shit.”
The hushed curse is a dead giveaway that King has joined me. But I would have known he was here without a word from him.
It’s the heat of his gaze on my back and the feeling of being watched that sends tingles through the pit of my stomach. The way his attention is so heavy over my body, almost like a weighted blanket.
Then it’s gone.
My heartbeat drums heavily through my veins, and I gently put the bottle of French Merlot back on the shelf.
I clear my throat because it feels dry and rough. “Cab or merlot?”
“Hmm... either.”
His voice is soft now, intimate in the small space, and it wraps around me like cashmere. There’s that hint of upper-crust accent and the almost casual surfer dude vibe that makes for an interesting combination.
“See anything you want?” I push to my feet and turn around.
He makes a contemplative humming sound as he steps forward. “Should we have champagne? You said something about a deal.”
His gaze flicks from the racks to me and holds. The tension between us snaps tight, and I try to remember what we’re talking about. A deal?
Oh, right.
My text earlier.
The reason I was up all night and wanted nothing more than to drop into bed. But I sensed King’s frustration from the three clipped words on my screen.
Look who’s alive.
He’s not wrong. I ghosted him hard. Wrapped up in my own turbulent feelings. Out of sorts with Alex so far away. At war with myself over the Cort acquisition.
Part of me felt guilty as I called everyone into the office for a late-night meeting, all while ignoring King’s texts. But there was a part that was absolutely sure time and distance were necessary.
A golden brow lifts as he awaits my answer.
“It’s not a done deal yet.”
He steps closer, only a few feet away now. An arm’s length. My pulse picks up speed, and my breathing does that weird, shallow, low-in-my-lungs thing.
Fuck, he’s beautiful.
There’s just no other way to say it. Golden skin, haunting eyes the color of sea foam. God, his cheekbones. But it’s his lips that have a lock down on my attention.
It’s his lips that leave me flustered. Daydreaming. And then cutting off all communication.
“So something else, then,” he says, and I swear he’s whispering.
Holy. Fuck. Yes.
Wait.
Does he mean... No. He’s glancing at the wine selection. Isn’t he? I narrow my eyes. Wait. Is he staring at my crotch?
I pull my shoulders back a fraction. Why? I have no idea.
He reaches for my belt buckle. My breath freezes in my lungs. I don’t dare move a muscle. Ohmygod, this is happening. Is this happening, or am I dreaming?
He reaches past me. I glance down and see those long fingers wrap around the neck of a bottle. It’s fucking indecent the way my mind substitutes my dick for that bottle.
Is time really slowing down, or is he just pulling the wine out all slow and seductive-like?
“I’ve heard good things about this one,” he murmurs, reading over the label.
My breath rushes out, embarrassingly harsh in the quiet space. I lick my lips and swallow back my lust. Why the hell does he smell so good?
“Yeah, ugh, I was saving that for a special day.” I reach for it, and our fingers brush. Electric sparks shoot up my arm, and my grip tightens so I don’t drop it. “I think this is it.”
I set the bottle on the shallow display shelf to my right, not trusting myself right now.
“Are you sure?” He jerks a thumb toward the floor-to-ceiling racks overflowing with wine behind him. “We can pick something else.”
“I’m sure.”
Somewhere in the last twenty-four hours, several wrinkles in my life ironed themselves out, and all the uncertainty I felt when I woke up next to Kingston after our movie marathon is gone now. For the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m on the right path.
Making peace with the past. Ready to really grab my future by the horns.
Or the hips. Whichever.
“Your dinner’s getting cold,” he says.
I don’t care. “That’s what microwaves are for.”
His light green eyes pin me where I stand, then narrow on my lips.
He’s thinking it.
About what it’d be like to kiss me. Awareness skitters up my spine, and heat scorches over my shoulders. I rock forward on my toes, closing the distance between us.
We’re almost equally matched in height, with him just an inch or so shorter. I’ve never noticed the difference until now. He always seems so much larger than life.
It’s my turn to take him in. Slowly. Thoroughly. The broad expanse of finely honed muscle, shoulders I want to sling an arm around. But it always comes back to his lips.
He’s unnaturally good-looking, which is probably why my threat radar sounded loudly the moment he showed up in the Hamptons. And there was a little bit of interest in his kiss, too, if I’m honest. The way he laid it on Katherine. It looks like he kisses with his whole body. Every ounce of him, melding and merging, pouring into his partner.
There’s a rough edge to him that’s delightfully different from the people I know. The people I’ve been with, men or women.
He masks it well, of course, under all that impeccable breeding and effervescent charm.
That turbulence must be what drives him to climb light poles and leap off buildings.
He mentioned getting together with friends that morning. But I haven’t had time or brain power to see if he posted anything online. “How’d your photoshoot go?”
He shrugs, and my focus zeroes in on all that shoulder muscle. Stacked. Carved. Curved beneath his shirt.
My fingers twitch against my thigh, wanting to trace that trap, learn the shape of his deltoid. Fuck. He’s a work of art, and it sends my brain into an anatomy-addled spiral.
“Good. Got some usable shots. Didn’t break anything.”
I glance down at his hands, hanging loosely at his sides. Does he injure himself often? He must. He’s a daredevil in disguise.
“I’m glad.”
“You are?”
I nod. “Of course.” I reach up, cupping the side of his neck. “Need you in fighting shape when Katherine gets back.”
He swallows, all the tight muscles in his neck rippling beneath my palm. Then, as if he needs to steady himself, he rests a hand on my waist. I hate the fabric separating our skin. Why don’t I walk around shirtless more often?
“Is that the only reason?”
I’m not Mr. Read-Between-The-Lines, but even I hear all the queries beneath that question mark.
“No.” I shake my head, closing the distance between us. I’m not going to elaborate when what I really want is to give us what we’ve both been looking forward to.
He sucks in a sharp breath, and his hand comes up between us, right over my heart. Anticipation crackles as I ease forward. His lashes lower, and my lust ratchets higher.
And then, just as his breath feathers against my lips, his fingers press into my chest, pushing me back. “We can’t.”