Chapter 17
Gabriel
I’m barely in the front door of the house before Mrs. Neville pops into the foyer with a fierce frown.
“What did she do now?” I ask as I shrug out of my coat.
“Her who? The woman you treated like day-old luggage?” She folds her hands in front of her, giving the impression she’s ready to go to battle.
Men piss themselves when they see me coming, but my housekeeper merely frowns.
“I think the expression is day-old bread.” I put my coat away. “And I didn’t treat her like that.”
“I heard her talking to her friend, the one that’s moving in a few days. Did you even know about that? She’s losing her best friend in a few days, and then you go and throw her in the car and send her away.”
I roll my shoulders. “I sent her home.”
“Without you.”
I pause. “Is that what has her upset? I didn’t go with her?” I stand straighter.
“She didn’t say that exactly, but you’ve been gone almost a week. And she’s been rattling around this big house by herself. Then you come home, put her in a car and send her away.”
I fold my arms over my chest and give the best glower I can manage. “Did she tell you this?”
“She didn’t need to.”
I drop my arms. “You were eavesdropping again.”
“I was dusting.” She shrugs.
“Of course you were,” I say. “And where is she now?”
“She’s working in your office,” she answers sharply.
“My office? Why not her room or upstairs?”
“You can ask her after you apologize for being so cold to her.”
“It’s eight o’clock, isn’t your husband waiting for you?”
“He has his poker game tonight, but I do need to get going. I made you a plate, it’s in the oven.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Neville,” I say. “And thank you for watching over our guest.”
“Guest? Is that what you’re still calling her?” She shakes her head with a laugh. “Go talk to her. I’ll be back in the morning.”
I find the door to my office cracked open. I push it open enough to see her, sitting on my ox-blood leather couch with a file folder in her lap.
Her file.
I’ve stared down the barrel of a shotgun, had more than one knife fight not go my way in my lifetime, but seeing her with the evidence that I’d dug into her past—a past she’s made a steadfast effort to keep concealed—twists my insides.
“I know you’re there,” she says without looking up from the papers laid out in her lap. “It’s your office, you don’t need to hover outside.”
When I step inside, she lifts her head. Her cold stare washes over my face.
“Why are you in my office?” I shut the door behind me, flicking the lock to be certain we aren’t disturbed. Mrs. Neville is gone for the evening, but Roman can be unpredictable. I don’t need him wandering in and trying to insert himself.
She smiles and with a shrug says, “I wanted to snoop.”
“At least you’re being honest.” I make my way to the wet bar in the corner and pour a whiskey. If I’m going to go toe to toe with her after the way my day went, I’m going to need some help.
People think being a criminal is hard. Having to maneuver through the underworld of liars and cheats, always having to be one step ahead of your adversary.
But the real stress is working within the law.
Having spent the last twelve hours ironing out more plans for shipping hubs here in Chicago, and two more in New York, I’m fried.
“Seems fair, right? Since you’ve done your own share of it.” She taps her fingers on the papers.
I lean against the bar taking a long sip of the whiskey, enjoying the sting of it as it glides down my throat.
“Did you think I wouldn’t look into your background?”
Her eyes flicker to the glass in my hand. She straightens her posture.
“I guess not.”
“I caught you trying to scam my shop. I had you in my house. Why wouldn’t I want to know everything about who you are and who you were? You wouldn’t even give me your real name until I had my belt off.”
She presses her lips together into a thin white line.
“You never even asked me,” she says softly then looks away. “You could have asked.”
“Would you have told me? There’s a lot in those files.”
“I’ve known you for ten days, Gabriel. Why would I tell you anything? This isn’t some financial report, this is my life. The things that have happened to me are not for your entertainment.”
I throw back the rest of the whisky and put the glass down, harder than I intend. She stiffens when it bangs into the glass top.
There are things not in those files. It’s that knowledge that makes my blood heat.
“You think I was entertained?” I discard the idea of having another drink.
I want her comfortable. I want her secrets. All of them. That means giving her what she needs. Right now, she needs a safe place to put those thoughts, those secrets. And at the moment, she’s looking at me like I’ve betrayed her in some way.
This sinking feeling in my chest must be guilt. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like it, I can’t be sure. But one thing I know, I fucking hate it.
I take a step toward her, pressing my hands into the back of the chair. “Answer me, do you think I was entertained by what was in there?”
She curls her fingers until they’re scrunching up the folder at the edges.
“I don’t know.”
“Savannah.” I snap her name, bringing her eyes shooting up. “I needed to know who you were. That’s all.”
“Then why is it still here? On the top of your desk. I didn’t even have to open a drawer to find it. It was just there sitting front and center on your ink blotter.”
“I haven’t looked at it since the first time I read it. If it was on top of the desk, it was because I probably shifted stuff around when I was getting ready to leave for New York and it got moved. That’s all.”
“Well, now you know who I am.” She stands from the couch, brings the folder back to the desk and drops it. “A delinquent who spent three months in juvie and a failed foster kid no one could ever love.”
“Is that who you think you are?”
“You’re right.” She points a finger at me. Her jaw tightens, and every muscle in her neck constricts. “I’m also a petty thief and low-level con artist.”
She storms to the door, but I get to her first, grabbing her arms and spinning her to face me. While she doesn’t fight me, she won’t look at me, either.
That’s fine. I’ll wait.
For her, I’ll find the patience.
“Just let me go,” she says softly, barely trying to pry herself from my grip.
“Remind me, Savvy, what was the rule about talking badly about yourself.”
Her gaze darts up to me at that. I wait, gentling my hold on her. Even if she gets free of me, I’ll catch her again.
And again.
And again.
I’ll keep catching her until she realizes she can’t get away from me.
“Gabriel.”
“Remind me,” I insist, moving my hand to her throat and walking her back until she’s pressed against the door. “What’s the rule?”
Her heart hammers beneath my fingertips, steady and strong. She wets her lips.
“I’m not allowed to talk bad about myself. But I’m not, I’m just saying what the files said.”
“The files said you got a shit deal in life. That families who were more interested in a government check than in actually taking care of a child were put in charge of you. The files said you were failed. Not that you failed.”
She searches my face, as though she’s going to find a lie. I can’t blame her. She’s never been faced with the prospect of having someone on her side, without question, without fail. Even her friend, Cassie, disappears for months at a time.
“What is it going to take for you to understand that when I say you’re mine, I mean you are mine. Not for today, or tomorrow, but forever.”
She sucks in a breath. “That’s not how this works, Gabriel.”
“How what works?”
“You can’t just declare you own me forever.”
“There you go again, telling me I can’t do something.” I step into her, pressing my body flush with hers. “Now about the rule you broke.”
“You just want a reason to punish me.”
“You like when I punish you. Admit it.” I kiss her cheek, her chin, the tip of her nose. “Tell me.”
She moans when I run my tongue along the shell of her ear.
“I do,” she whispers like she’s confessing in the darkness of a confessional. Only, there isn’t a penance waiting for her that will absolve her for the things I’m going to do to her.
“You do what?” I nip her earlobe. “You like when I put you over my knee? You love it when I have my fingers shoved up your pussy and make you beg? You enjoy being on your knees for me, obeying me?”
A shiver courses through her body, and I squeeze her throat just enough to remind her I have her. I won’t let her fall.
“Yes,” she breathes, and I chuckle.
“Should I punish you tonight for snooping in my office? For saying that awful shit about yourself? Or should I remind you how beautiful you are while I’m eating your pussy until you scream my name?”
Another shiver, this time accompanied by another moan.
“You’re trying to distract me from being angry.”
“Who are you angry at?”
She lets out a deep sigh, rolling her head to the side as I kiss my way down her jawline.
“Both of us,” she admits.
“That’s okay, you can be mad at me. But I won’t let you be angry at yourself. The past is the past; you can’t change it. It made you who you are today.” I slide my hand down her body, breach the waistband of her jeans.
These damn things need to be banned. Maybe I’ll make her wear skirts when I’m home. Better yet, nothing at all. I can keep her chained to my bed. That way she can’t get herself into trouble, and I will always know where to find her.
Just as I brush my fingers across her clit, there’s a banging on the door. The door handle jiggles.
We freeze.
“Gabriel!”