39. Gabe
39
GABE
“Can’t sleep?” Kingston asks, voice rough.
His soft footfalls draw my gaze to the stairs behind me. He wears the same pants he had on yesterday, chest gloriously bare. Small lights along the staircase backlight him with a honey glow.
I shake my head and glance out at the garden behind the brownstone we’ll be inhabiting for who knows how long. Thank heavens for this place. This is the safe haven away from the chaos we need.
I have no idea what time it is, but I encouraged him to head to bed ages ago. With half a dozen bedrooms to choose from and an incredible oval-shaped staircase leading to all of them, he has his pick. No need to use the elevator.
Outside, the inky darkness is both eerie and peaceful. The shadowy yard is wall-to-wall plants with strategically lit trees. A path meanders through the plot, and there’s a water feature at the back, peeking between the vegetation.
But I barely see any of it.
My whiskey glass ran empty a while ago.
My eyes are glazed over from lack of sleep. Too much staring into space and too little blinking, if I’m honest.
I texted and made calls for hours. Vic, then the head of maintenance, my team. I don’t want to be that guy , but I want to know when I can get back into my apartment. I like my routine. I like my stuff.
My mind is finally starting to downshift, but I doubt I could sleep if I tried.
King stops in front of the wall of glass, hands loose at his sides. His feet are bare, and although I’ve never had a foot fetish, right now, I’m digging this look.
The warm glow from the outdoor lighting plays over his muscles. His shoulders are a work of art. David has nothing on him. And I’ve felt those obliques up close. The gorgeous curve of his biceps.
Stop gawking.
Easier thought than done.
I drag my attention away and glance out at the vegetation. My goal was to make Kingston comfortable, but it occurred to me that Katherine would love this place. All these plants.
After living in the clouds for the last dozen years, being so close to the ground is unfamiliar. Even with the doors closed, it smells different down here. Earthy, sort of damp and magical. Does he smell it?
Maybe not. Living on a sailboat, he’s used to being at sea level.
King is quieter than usual and I’m not sure if it’s because of the elevator or our make-out session. Perhaps it’s both.
I’m not going to regret such an amazing connection.
And I’m not going to force him to open up. He’ll do it in his own time.
Even after everything that happened today, the quiet feels right. Companionable.
He turns as if sensing my feelings. His gaze flicks to the empty glass, then rakes me slowly from head to toe.
“Come on.” He holds out a hand to me.
“What?” I stare at his palm, my body coming alive at the memory of his touch. His kiss.
“You need rest.”
“I’m fine.” I shrug a shoulder as I give the line that I’ve repeated so many times. As if it doesn’t bother me that my dreams are tortured, my sleep is restless, and I take enough B12 to kill a horse.
“Yeah, you are. But you need rest, and so do I, and I can’t do that if you’re down here ruminating.”
Hearing such a complex word rolling off his tongue should not turn me on, but... it does. And he’s right. I could sit here all night reliving every minute we were stuck in that elevator. Driving myself mad with memories of his lips slamming into mine. Making up stories about Katherine and Alex and all the fun they’re having without us.
Night is fucking evil. And my demons know exactly how to hurt me.
He wiggles his fingers, waiting for me to take his hand.
I slide my palm against his, and his grip tightens. And just like that, the tables are turned. Now, he’s helping me . Tugging me to my feet.
There’s a charged moment when we’re toe-to-toe, still touching. Does he remember those heated moments? How good it felt when I straddled his lap and pulled him back from the darkness?
Anticipation sizzles between us, a lively current, whipping and snapping.
He said rest, but this doesn’t feel restful. It’s like a wave coming in. Swelling with hope.
But he lets my hand go and takes a step back. I feel the reluctance in his movement. What a pair we are. Me unable to sleep, and him terrified of elevators.
“I—” I stumble over my words. It’s hard to admit my vulnerabilities. But if he can do it, so can I. “I don’t sleep much.”
“I’ve noticed.” The corner of his mouth hitches up in a half smile that has me sharing more.
“It’s hard to turn my brain off. Sometimes I have nightmares.”
He nods and tucks his hands in his back pockets. “Okay.”
God, he’s handsome. My stomach clenches, aching and needy. But that’s the least remarkable thing about this moment. His relaxed posture invites me to say more. Or say less. He’s not rushing or pressing.
He’s just here, with me, waiting and content. One of the few people in the world who doesn’t feel entitled to a piece of me.
How fucking novel.
“Maybe we should watch a movie. Would that help?” he asks, throwing me back to the night we fell asleep on my sectional.
I shrug. “Maybe.”
I’ve tried everything, but honestly, the best sleep I’ve had in years has been this week when one of them is next to me.
He leads the way back to the bedroom he selected on the second floor. On the side of the bed nearest the door, the covers are thrown back. The slender lamp on the nightstand glows, waiting for his return. His shirt is draped over a chair in the corner.
“Which side do you want?” he asks easily, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
As if he’s not a born and bred billionaire and I’m not a self made man eight years older than him. As if we didn’t make out in an elevator only a few hours ago. As if there’s not enough tension crackling between us to power this block for a week.
But he was right the other day, too. We need to talk to Katherine. There’s a lot to discuss.
“I could...” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder, indicating the other bedrooms.
He glances past me and then looks me in the eye. “You sleep best when you’re next to someone, right?”
“I doubt I’d sleep well next to a serial killer.”
“Gabe—”
His hands move to the button of his pants.
“Yeah?”
There’s a soft snick as he undoes the zipper.
“Get in the bed.”
“You’re kinda hot when you’re bossy.” I stride around to the opposite side and peel off my shirt.
“You think so?” He shoves his pants down, then tosses them at the chair. In nothing but a pair of dark boxer briefs, he slides beneath the crisp white linens. Grabbing the remote, he clicks on the TV on the opposite wall and scrolls through endless streaming options.
“Is that what you’re so worried about? That Katherine won’t like you bossing her around in the bedroom?”
Stripping down to my boxers, I climb in next to him. There’s plenty of space between us in the king-sized bed.
“For the record, I don’t think she’d care. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I know.” After a moment, he asks, “What looks good?”
I settle against the pillows, and a bit of my anxiety slips away. “Anything.”
“Rom-com it is.”
I grunt, and he laughs. Rolling toward him, I reach for the remote. “Give me that.”
He snatches it out of reach, still laughing. “What? You said anything. This is anything.”
He waves a hand at the screen, where Richard Gere flashes his trademark smile.
“A classic. But too...”
“Sexy?” King fills in.
“Yeah.” That’s the last thing we need right now.
“Less sexy. Got it.” He flips the channel, and we settle on You’ve Got Mail .
I slide down, trying to convince my body that we at least know how to do this. Fall into slumber. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and hold for a count of four.
“Gabe—”
A strong hand rocks me awake, and my body comes online. It’s still dark out, quiet. But my heartbeat rages in my ears.
“You had a nightmare,” King whispers, hand running up and down my arm.
His touch soothes me and I relax against the bed, the tension easing slowly.
“Want to talk about it?” he asks.
“Can’t remember it.” At least not this one. But it’s probably not different from all the others. Unable to escape. Trapped. Normal people probably don’t dream of farm equipment trying to murder them.
He slides closer, his front to my back, and drapes an arm over my chest. The weight and warmth are so comforting.
“Is this okay?”
I nod.
“Words, Gabe.”
“It’s great.” Which is the understatement of the century.