Chapter 18 #2
for the meal. The chicken melted in her mouth, a chorus of flavors singing on her tongue. Apparently, this man could also
cook—another thing she hadn’t known.
“How’d you learn all this, anyway?” She savored a juicy bite. “I can barely make a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.”
He propped his chin on his fist. “My last girlfriend was a chef. Living with her taught me a thing or two.”
Aubrey set her wine down. “Oh. Sorry.” She hadn’t meant to bring up past heartbreaks. If they were, in fact, heartbreaks.
Which she suddenly itched to know.
“Don’t be,” he said. “Lena moved out a while ago. Nine months, now.”
“Oh. Was it . . . serious?”
“Probably not as much as she wanted it to be. She was always trying to get me to be more . . .” He took a deep breath. “Emotional.”
“You weren’t?”
He spun his wineglass in place. “I guess not in the way she wanted. It didn’t come to me naturally, with her.”
She weighed that. The alcohol had made her head sloshy and turned her vision fuzzy around the edges. Or maybe she was seeing more clearly than ever. “But with the right person . . . you are emotional?”
“I don’t know.” He smiled, the curve of his mouth freighted with significance. “What do you think?”
There was you. Your face, your hair, the slope of your mouth, your laugh, the way your eyes crinkled when I said something
that amused you.
Aubrey’s heart crowded her throat. “I think . . . yes. Definitely yes.”
He chuckled. The silence that followed stretched into something she could fall into.
“You know what?” she said. “This has been delicious, but I think I’m done eating.”
His smile wavered. “Oh. You’re going? So soon?”
“I didn’t say anything about going. Just that I’m done eating.”
Gallant held her eyes. She held his. When the silence swelled to a breaking point, he slid from his seat and came around the
table, his hand held out.
Aubrey took it. The napkin slipped from her lap with a sigh. She didn’t stop to see where it fell.
For a wild instant, she wondered if he would try for the bedroom. But he led her to the living room, instead, where he ignited
the gas fireplace and sat on his black leather couch, legs spread wide. He tugged her close, stationing her between his knees.
She stared down into eyes the color of Caribbean waters. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Gallant cocked his head. “For?”
She let out a laugh, thick enough to sound drunk. Which she probably was, now that she thought about it. “For getting you
so, so wrong. For dismissing you in high school. I’m sure I was part of the storm, but I didn’t mean to be.”
A beat passed. “The storm.”
“You know. From your letter. You said you have all this intensity inside you, bombarding you all the time. I never knew.”
He processed that, the interplay of emotion in his eyes so complex she couldn’t follow it. Finally, he gripped her hands and
tugged her down.
Aubrey settled astride his lap. He slid his hands up her thighs to her hips, his expression that of a man who knew he was
about to be thoroughly kissed.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Now you know.”
She hovered there, on some perilous brink, snared in eyes she’d met so many, many times before. But this was no longer Gallant
Nobel, captain of the football team. No, this was a man who’d scribed beautiful words for her. A man she’d somehow overlooked,
even though he’d been right in front of her.
She tipped forward, abuzz with heat and wine and feeling. Gallant angled his face up, his mouth finding hers, and Aubrey closed
her eyes. He tasted like thyme and chardonnay. She clutched at his shirt, pressing herself closer, allowing him to part her
lips with his tongue. One moment melted in the next.
He kissed her, slowly and thoroughly, his hands roaming from her hips to her back. After a few minutes, he gathered her and
swiveled, pressing her into the couch and settling on top. His kisses deepened, his tongue plundering her mouth as his hands
kneaded at her.
Aubrey’s world spun. She met his mounting urgency, careening too quickly for anything else.
And, for an incomparable moment, I could breathe again.
God, maybe he could breathe, but she couldn’t. She could only cling to him as her wine-soaked world whirled out of control.
Gallant released her mouth. He tongued a trail down her neck, making her shiver, then spoke heated words against her skin.
“Do you want to go the bedroom? I have condoms.”
She stilled, the spreading flame inside her slowing. “You . . . what?”
“I want you.” He nuzzled his way up again, his breath scorching her ear. “You’re so gorgeous I can hardly stand it.”
She blinked and edged back, fighting the wine’s influence long enough to bring his face into focus. One of his hands had found
its way up her shirt, and she tugged it away.
Condoms. Condoms? She couldn’t think. They’d had their first kiss all of . . . what, five minutes ago, and he was already
jumping to sex?
“What?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“I just . . .” Aubrey tried to keep her words from bleeding into one another. She really should’ve had one less glass of wine.
Or three. “I wasn’t trying to sleep with you. Not tonight, at least. We’re just at the beginning.”
Gallant stared. For a long time, he didn’t move, just exhaled slowly through his nose.
“What?” she said. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“No.” He pulled back. “No, of course not. Sorry. I just got excited. I liked that we were getting somewhere.”
That sobered her. She levered into a sit and straightened her clothes. “What do you mean, ‘getting somewhere’? I’m not some touchdown
you’re trying to score.”
He took her measure. “No, you’re absolutely right. You’re not. That was the wrong thing to say. That wasn’t what I meant at
all.”
Her shoulders eased a fraction. That sounded genuine enough.
“I’m sorry.” He scrubbed at his hair. “I just . . . got carried away. Because it’s so crazy to have you here. To kiss you.
Finally.”
Okay, maybe not the most eloquent apology in the world, but he’d probably spent hours honing those letters to perfection before
writing them down.
“It’s okay,” she said. “And I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. It’s just that I’m a five-date kind of girl. At least.”
Gallant’s brow creased. He had the grace not to ask what number they were on, though she could practically see him tallying
up the mental math.
Might as well cut him a break, since he’d apologized. “This is date three. I think we’re allowed to count the first one, even
if it wasn’t planned. You did rescue me off the sidewalk, after all.”
A smile flickered across his lips. “I do remember something like that, yes.” He leaned in and tucked her hair behind her ear.
The gesture was pure tenderness, and she smiled back.
“Why don’t I take you home?” he said.
Buttery warmth softened her insides. “Yeah. I’d appreciate that.”
“Just let me get my coat, okay?”
He disappeared into what Aubrey assumed was the bedroom. In his absence, she contemplated the glass-enclosed flames and, when
that failed to hold her attention, began to wander. Gallant hadn’t given her a tour of his home, but she doubted he’d mind
if she poked around.
She soon found herself in a hallway with a floor-length mirror at the end. She tracked her reflection’s approach, taking in
the cherry flush in her cheeks, the sway of her steps. She was clearly on the wrong side of sober, and would feel like hell
tomorrow.
Oh, well. No help for it now.
At the end of the hall lay the tidiest office she’d ever seen. On a desk by the far wall, double computer screens glowed.
She squinted at the display. It looked like . . . a letter?
Sparks fired in her chest. Was this where Gallant drafted his ideas before committing them to longhand? Could this be the
beginnings of letter number four?
She glanced over her shoulder, and, finding the hallway empty, started toward the computer. Just one tiny peek. If it had nothing to do with her, she’d leave it—
“Hey.”
She turned. Gallant filled the doorway, bundled into his peacoat and a camel-hued scarf. “What’re you doing in here?” Something
quavered in his voice.
“Nothing. Just exploring.” She retraced her steps and met him at the doorway.
His attention flickered over her shoulder, then back to her. A muscle flexed in his jaw.
“Sorry,” she said, laying a hand on the doorframe for balance. She really was drunk. “I probably should’ve asked, first.”
He searched her face, then blew out a breath. “It’s okay. I’ll show you around next time, all right?”
She cast a glance back at the monitors, but had no hope of deciphering the words from here. “Okay.” She let him lead her away.
In the car, Gallant’s smile resurfaced. “I hope I didn’t make you feel pressured,” he said. “Because I can wait. Five dates,
six, however many you want. How about seven? Eight?”
She couldn’t help but smile, relieved that he’d taken her refusal in stride. Some guys wouldn’t have. Most, actually.
In her driveway, Gallant kissed the back of her hand. “Next time, we’ll get dressed up and drive to Chicago, okay? There’s
this great little oyster bar I want to show you.”
“Chicago?” She quirked an eyebrow. “That’s a two-hour drive. Each way.”
“What, you can’t handle me for that long?”
A wry smile twisted her lips. She could. So far, their dates had always wrapped up before she’d had a chance to truly dig
in, and she relished the idea of changing that.
But she didn’t need to dress up and spend two dollars per bite in a fancy oyster restaurant to do it. The idea of spending six hours in his living room tempted her just as much.
“Come on,” Gallant crooned, clearly mistaking her silence for hesitation. “If you say yes, I’ll write you another letter.”
“Really?” Softness bloomed within her like a flower. “In that case, when can we go? Tomorrow? No, scratch that. How about
tonight?”
He laughed. “I’ve got some contracts to draw up tomorrow. And some listings to get done in the next few days. But let’s plan
for next Wednesday?”
She bit her lip. An entire week. But if he could be patient, so could she. “Next Wednesday. Sounds great.” She leaned in for
a kiss, then climbed out.
As the Tesla’s taillights painted ruby lines across the darkness, she thought of what she’d said. Five dates, but really,
she’d meant five letters. The first three had drawn her further and further into his orbit.
A couple more like tonight’s, and she wouldn’t be able to help but fall for him.