Claiming What Is Mine (Wilde Boys Book 2) Page 7

  I level my index finger at Gabe in response to his words. “And what about you? Shouldn’t you be back at your place right now, working? Are Chet and Christy even back from their honeymoon? Don’t you have responsibilities of your own that need tending to?”

  Gabe comes to stand behind me and rubs my shoulders. “No, they won’t be back for another week. So, I asked Hank to come over and keep an eye on things.”

  I close my eyes and sigh as his strong hands melt the knots in my neck. “Wait. You left Hank in charge of the entire ranch? And that made sense in that little head of yours?”

  Gabe leans down to look me in the eye. “My little head?” His mouth forms the most devilish of grins. “No, Doll. I wasn’t thinking with my little head.”

  I playfully slap his hand. “Stop it. You know what I mean.”

  He winks. “I think I do, kitten.” Gabe straightens. “I might have been a little concerned, but Hank’s created a decent business for himself since he took over Christy’s old place. Maybe he’s an idiot savant or something. I mean, who hasn’t questioned his decisions at one time or another? But the man can fix anything with an engine. Add to that, the fact he hasn’t burned her place to the ground, and I figure he ought to be able to watch cows eat grass for a few hours. Regardless, it’s been a week since I saw your face. I needed a fix. So…the ranch be damned.”

  The thought of him needing me catches me by surprise.

  “Hey, is that my shirt?” Gabe points at my freshly stained t-shirt.

  “Hmmm?”

  He smiles. “It is, isn’t it? You’re wearing my t-shirt. The one we didn’t have time to look for because you had to sneak me out like I’d robbed the place.”

  “What? This old thing? I—I don’t know, I found it crumpled on the floor,” I say coyly.

  He takes a seat across from me. “Is that right? The stain is new. But I’m pretty damn sure that’s my shirt.”

  “Fine. It's your shirt and I'm sorry about the stain. ” I bite my bottom lip. “But it's not really my fault. See, I spilled coffee when I heard someone calling my name and asking for paper. Then I saw you and my brother about to kill each other in the driveway.”

  Gabe leans in, his eyes dancing with excitement. “Does it smell like me? Is that why you’re wearing it?”

  My cheeks burn. “No.” Not anymore. I’ve worn it to bed every night for the last week. Frankly, it’s starting to smell like a funky version of me. “Stop trying to change the subject,” I say, trying to change the subject.

  Gabe’s smile tells me he knows what I’m doing, but he’s choosing not to call me on it. “I thought we could drive down to Sterling for the afternoon. Grab a bite to eat, maybe do a little shopping. How’d that be?”

  “Shopping? What on Earth for?” I look down at my coffee-stained shirt and PJ bottoms. “I’m not even dressed.”

  “Exactly. It’s three in the afternoon on your day off, and you’re still in PJs. I thought you might enjoy an afternoon of pampering. You deserve it more than anyone.”

  I stare at Gabe in disbelief. “Are you being serious right now?”

  Without hesitating, Gabe answers, “One hundred percent.”

  “And how many other women have received similar offers from you?” My words are meant as a joke, but I worry I may not be strong enough for an honest answer.

  Without hesitating, he pulls one of those ready-made answers from his pocket. “Nah, this is a first for me. Besides, the only face I ever saw was yours.”

  I punch him in the shoulder. “Nice try.”

  Gabe recoils as if he’d been hit by Mike Tyson. “Come on now. You’d punch a man in my condition?”

  “Your condition? Isn’t it funny how your condition only flares up when it’s convenient for you?” I roll my eyes. “Give me a few minutes to change and do something with my hair, okay?”

  Gabe leans back in his chair, pleased with his victory. “Take your time, Doll.”

  The fitting room attendant eyes the mound of clothing draped over my arm. “How many items you got?” She asks because she’s supposed to. I really don’t think she could care less.

  “Umm…” I jostle the bundle and try to count hangars. “Seven?” There’s more like seven pounds of clothing in my arms, but the woman waves me past without missing a beat. I turn back to find Gabe lowering himself into a plush armchair.

  “I want pictures.” He lifts an eyebrow and I fight a blush as I duck down the hallway, avoiding eye contact with the attendant.

  The day has been good. Like, way better than I expected it to be. Gabe still knows exactly what to say to make me laugh. I haven’t seen the man in almost twenty years, but it’s like no time has passed at all. Like he’s still the most important thing in my life and I’m still the most important thing in his.

  I make a sound, half laugh, half sigh, as I hang my clothes on a hook in the changing room. History would argue that I never was the most important thing in his life, or else he would have listened to me way back when. Whatever. That was then, and this is now, and I agreed to cut the man some slack.

  I dig through the clothes, in search of the sundress Gabe picked out. It’s simple, but beautiful. He always did know exactly what I’d like. As I slip off my shoes, my phone buzzes with a text.

  Gabe: cough cough pictures cough cough

  I giggle as I tap out a reply. Me: yeah, yeah. I hear ya.

  My gaze darts to my reflection as I undress. In this lighting, with this mirror, I don’t look half-bad. I slip the sundress off the hangar and pull it on, then stand in the small room laughing at what I see in the mirror. I grab my phone and snap a shot.

  Me: Something’s not right… I attach the picture of me in a dress that must be three sizes too big. The thing hangs like a sack off my torso. One of the straps won’t stay on my shoulders, exposing the top of my bra and the swell of my breast.

  My phone vibrates.

  Gabe: Sold. I love it. Just try one thing, would ya? For me.

  Me: What’s up?

  Gabe: Slide the other strap off.

  I do as he asked, and the dress slides down, held up only by my chest, and barely at that. I can almost hear him chuckling in the waiting room as I step out of it. I glimpse myself in the mirror and on a whim, snap a picture of me in my bra and panties. Am I really about to send an almost naughty picture of myself to him? What has gotten in to me? Before I think better of it, I hit send.

  Me: Done.

  An eternity passes while I wait for his response and I pull up the pic and zoom in. What have I done? I mean, for one, we’re on what? Day one of dating? Except this is Gabe, so that’s not exactly true. But for two? I’m not a girl anymore and I don’t have the kind of body that deserves to be ogled through pictures on the internet. I can take it back, right? Please God, tell me I can take it back. I just about jump out of my skin when my phone buzzes again.

  Gabe: More.

  Me: I haven’t put on the next outfit yet.

  Gabe: Thank God.

  Gabe: Clothes be damned.

  Gabe: I want more

  Gabe: OF YOU

  A tinge of excitement settles into my belly as I read his words. If the man wants more, I’ll give him more. I slide my bra strap off my shoulder and push my breasts up, then snap a picture. Before I can think better of it, I hit send. My phone buzzes.

  Gabe: MORE

  I turn and look over my shoulder, make my best porn-star-surprised-by-her-own-ass face, snap a picture, and hit send.

  Gabe: KEEP EM COMING

  I slide my hand under the waistband of my underwear, take another picture and send it his way.

  Gabe: Looks like you might need some help…

  Gabe: Shall I join you?

  I take another picture, a closeup of me rolling my eyes. I hit send.

  A minute later, my phone buzzes with Gabe’s reply.

  Gabe: Sad face

  Pleased with myself, I hurry through trying on the rest of my clothes, happily taking pictures and s
ending them to Gabe. When I’m finally done, I head out to where he’s waiting and find him sitting with several different sizes of the white sundress in his lap.

  “Find the one in your size, because that’s a keeper,” he says.

  We finish the day hopping from store to store, spending way too much on clothes and shoes and anything else Gabe thinks will put a smile on my face.

  The sun is hidden by the cloudy, late afternoon sky as we walk to Gabe’s truck loaded with bags all of sizes and colors. My head rests on his shoulder and in this moment, I am happy. “This has been…sublime. Thank you.” Gabe smiles as he walks me to the passenger side and opens my door, such a gentleman. Before I climb into the cab, I turn to look him in the eyes, I want him to know how grateful I am for a day of being spoiled. I want him to know how much I appreciate it, how much I needed it, but I can’t find the words. Everything seems clumsy and hollow.

  I guess he sees the fight happening behind my eyes, and he responds perfectly. He smiles, playfully taps the end of my nose with his finger and says, “Wanna head into Denver tomorrow and do it all over again, Doll?”

  I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down as I stretch onto my toes to kiss him. “Thank you,” I say, and then I kiss him again. “Thank you…for today…for this…just, thank you.”

  The drive home is peaceful. Gabe holds my hand the entire time. He even goes so far as to reach over the wheel with his left hand, so he can adjust the radio when his favorite song comes on.

  The sound of gravel as we turn onto the driveway reminds me of the inevitable controversy awaiting, but to hell with that for now. I have precious little time left with this man and I want to make the most of it. I unbuckle my seatbelt and slide over to cuddle beside him.

  “Thank you again,” I whisper as we park.

  “My pleasure, beautiful.” Gabe wraps his arm around me. “It’s not too late to come back to my place, ya know?”

  I want to. My body is totally onboard with the idea. Wicked thoughts have danced through my mind all afternoon. “It’s…complicated…you know, with my folks. I mean, I realize I’m an adult and it’s none of their business, but I think it might be too much for Daddy’s heart, if I didn’t come home tonight.”

  Gabe sighs. “Totally understand.” He chuckles. “I worry about Jim’s heart too. Keeps me up some nights, ya know?”

  I rub his chest and am distracted by the feeling, so firm and masculine. “I’m sure you do,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  Gabe groans his approval of my hand on his body. His hand slides off my shoulder to my upper back, rubbing along the way. His touch is exactly what I need. So much so, that I forget we’re twenty feet away from the house where my parents are undoubtedly spying on us through a window.

  I kiss Gabe along his neck, from his collarbone up to his chiseled jaw. His stubble scratches my lips, but I don’t care, it’s all part of his masculinity and it’s intoxicating. Gabe lifts my chin and kisses me. His body pushes into mine, stretching me back across the bench seat while he repositions himself above me. He slides a strand of hair behind my ear and the sensation tickles my skin, causing me to gasp.

  “Did that tickle?” Gabe asks. “Here, let me help.” He kisses my neck and my ear as he cups my breast and I want more. I rub his cock through his jeans, and it strains for me. I’ve lost all sense of time and space. I want this man. I need him. If he takes my clothes off right now, I have no defense against him.

  And then…

  The porch light flips on, causing Gabe to stop the magical things he is doing. Damn my father. Reality ruins the moment, once again.

  I sit up. “I guess now that we know they’re watching, it sort of kills the mood, huh?”

  Gabe runs his hand through his hair. “Guess so.”

  I hastily button my shirt. “Rain check? Next time, maybe we try your place?”

  Gabe smiles. “Deal. Chet’s porch light is so far away, he couldn’t see anything even if he did flip it on.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gabe

  “Stupid, goddamned internet—what do you know anyway?” I smash the mouse button. Hard. Hopeful the internet will understand my frustration and take note of it. Why? Meredith is coming over for dinner tomorrow and I want to show her how capable I am at adulting. How? By making a fancy meal all on my own…obviously.

  The one wrinkle in my otherwise flawless plan? Besides chili, steak, or the occasional potluck stew, I don’t know shit about cooking a proper meal. I mean, I can make a great sandwich, but none of those options fit what I have in mind for our date. Chili is great, but it’s seasonal (and a little gas after we’ve eaten wouldn’t set the mood I’m hoping for). Steak and potatoes are a timeless treat, but I want Meredith to unbutton her jeans because she’s interested in a little sexy time, not because she ate too much.

  I thought it would be simple. A quick Google search for 'great dinner recipes'—pick one at random and run to the grocery for supplies. Boom. Masterpiece. Instead, with each recipe I got lost in the details. I found a couple ideas I thought would be perfect. One proclaimed to be the 'World’s Best Lasagna' and the other was 'Best Ever Garlic Bread.' Hell yeah, sign me up for both of those.

  Okay, if I stop to think about it now, maybe there were signs I was biting off more than I could chew. But it was probably around step three hundred forty-seven when I got really pissed—and that was just for the garlic bread. I mean seriously, mix the dry ingredients in one bowl before adding the wet ingredients? Don’t they all end up mixed together anyway? What the hell? None of it makes sense. Is there some grand conspiracy between the dish soap companies and the dishwasher association to convince people they must dirty every bowl they own just to cook a damned meal?

  I sit down with a beer to consider my options. I could order takeout. That’s probably what Meredith expects. Strike one. I could enlist Mom to help. Hell, it worked for Chet’s sorry ass when he wooed Christy. But that doesn’t feel authentic. How can I expect her to see how mature I am if my mother helps me cook dinner? Strike two. Beer number four settles my nerves enough to see what should have been obvious from the start.

  I’ll cheat.

  I can make the damn lasagna and garlic bread, but is it such a big deal if it isn’t one hundred percent from scratch? I’ll still score points with Mer if it’s only like, fifty percent from scratch, right? Or, worst case, twenty percent? Seems reasonable. I decide to seek Mom’s advice in the morning for a simpler, for beginners' recipe.

  With a grocery bag stuffed to the brim in each arm, I balance on one foot and kick the door closed with the other. I feel much better about tonight after working through the kinks of my plan with Mom. She gave me a straightforward any-fool-can-do-it-even-you-Gabe lasagna recipe and I opted for fresh from the freezer garlic bread. But…I’m adding in a garden salad, complete with farm fresh tomatoes and homemade goat cheese. It’s a decent compromise. Besides, showing that I know my own limitations is part of adulting too.

  I glance at the clock on the stove as I set the bags on the counter. Meredith is due to arrive at six which gives me a little more than four hours to make the house presentable, clean myself up, and prepare dinner. I question some of my purchases as I pull items from the crumpled paper bags. Was it temporary insanity? Did I succumb to a brief, yet powerful moment of hysteria while shopping? Why did I think table candles and holders were necessary? And what’s with this wire basket and decorative balls? No clue, but I’ve got some of each now.

  The next two hours pass in a blur of sweeping, and dusting, and fluffing of pillows and cushions, all in an effort to make the best impression possible. Meredith's view of this house will affect her view of me and I want my best foot forward. The stakes are high, and I’m playing for keeps. There’s no room for beer bottles sticking out from under the sofa or dust bunnies hanging from the ceiling. When I finally step back to survey the living room, accepting there’s no time to re-paint, I decide I’m satisfied with the look of the place and head upsta
irs to clean up.

  The shower is exactly what the doctor ordered. In addition to the dirt and grime from the ranch, it washes away a good deal of anxiety about tonight. I step onto the mat as I rub the towel through my hair, and catch a foggy glimpse of myself in the mirror. Standing here, still dripping with water, I turn my torso to one side and then the other, evaluating the beast staring back at me. A couple quick poses with flexed biceps and I can’t help but laugh at my stupidity. You are who you are man, and insecurity has never been a part of the equation. She’s gonna fall for you. How could she not?

  I go about my routine, making myself ready for the evening, and stop for one last look in the mirror before I shut the light off.

  I have to say, I’d fuck me…

  The doorbell rings as I slide the garlic bread into the oven. Shit. She’s early. I swipe the towel from the oven handle on my way to the door, stepping back as I pull it open.

  “Wow.” The path between my mouth and my brain is overwhelmed with thoughts fighting to get out. She looks amazing. I hadn’t realized until now, standing in her presence again, how much I missed the sight of her. How much better I am when I’m with her.

  Meredith smiles. “Wow, yourself. No shirt, huh? A bold choice.”

  I look down at my chest and abs and laugh. “There may have been a problem with the sauce and I figured, why risk ruining another shirt? So, I decided to hold off until I'd finished with the food prep and then, I guess I forgot.”

  Meredith squints one eye, giving me a skeptical look. “Uh huh.”

  “Anyway, please, come in.” She steps over the threshold and I swoop her up in a hug, her short stature causing her face to be buried in my chest. “It’s good to see you.” I release her from the embrace to kiss her.

  “Food prep? You mean like, taking the Chinese food out of the cartons and putting it onto plates or something, right?” She surveys the house as she walks through the foyer.

  “Ye of little faith.” I help her with her jacket and lay it across the back of a chair as I pull on my shirt and work at the buttons. “I hope you like lasagna.”