14. Alexis
Alexis
I lean back against the plush pillows in Gabriel’s bed, trying to focus on the romance novel I’m reading. The small type swims before my eyes, and my head spins. I flip a page, but the words don’t register. My mind is too preoccupied with the kiss.
He kissed me.
Gabriel Thorne kissed me.
And it wasn’t just a brush of lips or an obligatory gesture to fulfill some unspoken marital duty. It was real. Intense. Hungry. And utterly unexpected.
I couldn’t have predicted that if I’d tried.
Any of it. The conversation. The kiss. The warmth.
The vulnerability in Gabriel’s words, in his gaze.
He looked at me like I was something precious.
He opened up so much, talked to me like I was someone he wanted to know deeply.
It felt like he was revealing a part of himself that he rarely shows to anyone.
And the way he kissed me…
I breathe out, letting the book fall on my stomach, splayed open. That kiss affected me. I feel like a spark has been ignited within me, sending warmth coursing through my veins. I replay the kiss over and over in my head, and the embers of that passion smolder in my chest.
I hear footsteps on the stairs, and a jolt of anticipation runs through me.
My pulse jumps. Every cell in my body wakes up, as if I’m about to be caught in the act of some crime.
Like it’s illegal for me to sit here and think about him.
Like he’ll know exactly what I was thinking about, just by looking at my face.
I sit up straight, propping myself against the headboard, and snatch up my book. My fingers flip it open to somewhere, anywhere, pretending to read, although my vision is hazy with nerves. I force my eyes to focus on the page, trying to look casual, just in case Gabriel is, in fact, a mind reader.
Of course, given the genre of this book, this might not be a safer option than obvious fantasizing. The romance is heating up. The leading man is leaning in, his lips almost brushing against the heroine’s. He whispers, “I’ve waited a long time for this.” And she tells him, “Me too.”
The door creaks open.
Gabriel steps into the bedroom, pausing just inside.
He hesitates as I look up, like he’s waiting for permission to enter his own bedroom. Our eyes lock. He watches me for a long moment with an intensity that makes my heart race.
“Hey,” he says. “You’re still awake.”
I nod. My throat feels tight, and I can’t seem to find my voice. I don’t trust myself to speak, anyway. I’m certain that I’d only be capable of garbled nonsense or a damning confession.
He bites his lip, working it between his teeth. His gaze is like a storm as he studies me. I hold my breath, my body stiff, wild energy coursing through me.
After a long stretch of quiet, he says, “I’m going to hop in the shower.”
“Okay,” I squeak out. He crosses the bedroom, his footsteps nearly silent on the plush carpet. I watch him, my heart racing, until he disappears into the en suite.
The door closes behind him, and a moment later, I hear the shower running.
A tremor runs through me as I picture him unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off his muscled shoulders.
I shake my head, trying to dispel those thoughts, but it’s no use—the thought of Gabriel in the shower, water cascading over his skin, only fuels the fire.
Oh my god. I shake my head, letting out a long breath. Get it together. Just… take a breath and read your book.
My eyes travel back to the page mechanically, following the command from the logical part of my brain. Even as I read, though, I can’t relax, can’t dispel the electricity from my limbs.
The book itself isn’t helping.
“I need you,” he tells her. “I can’t resist you.” She says, breathlessly, “Then don’t.” And he pushes her back onto the bed with a growl, tugging off her shirt, revealing the curves of her body. His hands are warm against her skin as he trails kisses down her neck, igniting a fire within her.
I close my legs together, flushed. Between the lingering memory of Gabriel’s lips on mine and the hot scene, I’m turned on, my imagination running wild. Heat blooms in my cheeks as I struggle to focus on the words.
His fingers catch in the hem of her skirt, and he slowly inches it up. She squirms in his grip, but he steadies her, taking control. His hands are warm against her skin, exploring her body, finding the most sensitive spots. “You’re more than ready for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs.
I can’t help but read his dialogue in Gabriel’s voice.
I picture Gabriel’s fingers brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, trailing tantalizingly close to where I crave him the most.
She whispers, “Please,” her voice trembling like fluttering wings. My mouth moves to form the outline of the word, please, please. She needs him. She needs that touch, that perfect, precise touch that will satisfy the desperate ache building in her core.
“Don’t worry,” he says. His eyes are piercing, intense, the steel gray of a sky before a storm. “I won’t make you wait too much longer.”
He captures her lips with his, his fingers still moving beneath her skirt. He’s hungry for her, and she can feel the urgency in every kiss, every touch.
I’m breathing harder, imagining what it would feel like if Gabriel did this to me. My pulse quickens as I picture Gabriel’s hands on my body, his lips exploring mine with that same fierce urgency.
He whispers sweet promises against the heroine’s lips, his voice low, lust dripping from every word. “I want to take my time with you,” he murmurs, his breath hot against her skin. “To savor every moment.”
Without warning, the mattress dips beside me.
My reverie is shattered in an instant, and I whip my head around as Gabriel settles onto the bed beside me.
I was so caught up in the book and my own fantasies that I didn’t even realize that he had emerged from the bathroom.
His hair is wet, and he’s wearing sweats but no shirt.
The scent of his shampoo fills the air, a musky, masculine aroma that heightens my awareness of him.
“What are you reading?”
Shit. I didn’t have time to hide the book. My cheeks flush as he leans over to see the cover.
“It’s… it’s stupid,” I stammer. “It’s a g-guilty pleasure—”
He grins at me, amused. “There’s no need to be guilty about the things that bring you pleasure. You’re a fan of romance novels?”
I swallow, nodding. “Um… yes. I’ve been reading them since I was in high school.”
“Interesting.” He leans back against the headboard, one arm draped casually across the top, and I can’t help but notice the way his muscles ripple beneath his skin. “Just any romance, or certain ones in particular?”
“Just about any romance. As long as I can connect to the characters.”
He reaches out to pluck the book from my hands, and I let out a squeak of horror as he turns it around, his gaze scanning the scene I was reading. He arches an eyebrow when he realizes what I was so engrossed in. He whistles quietly, clearly amused. “Connect to the characters, huh?”
I shuffle, embarrassed. He continues to read the spicy scene, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Stories like this are a bit of an outlet for me,” I admit, my face burning. “I haven’t exactly… I mean, I don’t have much to compare them to in real life.” I’m aware that I’m being vague, but I can’t quite make myself say it plainly.
Gabriel lowers the book, his gaze fixed on me, unreadable.
“I never really saw the point of dating, or hooking up, or any of it,” I go on, the words tumbling out to fill the silence.
“I knew I was destined for an arranged marriage from the time I was young. Getting attached to someone, just to have to let them go? It felt like a waste.” I swallow.
“So I never, uh, I’ve never…” God, why did I bring any of this up?
“I thought my husband would be my first,” I finish lamely, biting my lower lip.
The air between us is charged as the room goes quiet. Gabriel’s expression shifts, but I still can’t tell what he’s thinking. There’s a tightness to his jaw, though, that does nothing to help calm my racing heart.
He hands the book back to me, and as he does so, our fingers brush. He holds the contact longer than I expected. The touch sends a thrill through me, from my fingertips to my chest.
Gabriel’s gaze is intense, searching. It’s that same analytical stare that always makes me feel like he can see right through me. My pulse echoes in my ears, and I can barely breathe.
Then he blinks, giving himself a little shake as if trying to derail his own train of thought. He settles in under the sheets, leaning back against the pillows, and turns to face the opposite wall.
“Good night, Alexis,” he says quietly.
“Um. Good night.” I set the book gingerly on the side table, as if it’s rigged to explode. I switch off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. The silence stretches out as I lie back, painfully aware of Gabriel’s presence beside me.
The rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. The warmth of his bare skin. It would be so easy to shift and let my legs align with his, let our bodies press together, let my muscles melt into his.
I don’t. I lie there in silence, too self-conscious and keyed up to breathe properly. I’m afraid, I think, that if I relax, if I fall asleep, I’ll gravitate toward him without being able to stop myself. I can’t wake up wrapped around him, or I’ll just about die of embarrassment.
I can tell by the way he breathes that he’s still awake too.
There’s tension in his arms and his back.
In the faint light from the gauzy curtains—moonlight and the glow of the streetlamp at the corner of the block—I can see the outline of his broad shoulders, stiff and unyielding, as if he’s fighting some internal struggle of his own.
His voice breaks the stillness, a low murmur that’s barely audible. “You’re killing me. You know that?”
I catch my breath but don’t respond. After a few minutes, he seems to drift off. His breathing evens out, his body relaxing beside me.
I turn toward him. He’s inches from me, his proximity comforting and maddening at the same time. I let my eyes flutter shut, but it’s a long time before my heart slows enough for me to fall asleep.