The Ground Rules Part 35

At my words, his calm expression disappears. He grabs my face. "Tell me you will do no such thing, Mirella," he pleads. "Promise me."

My breath catches. His reaction has taken me completely by surprise.

"I...I guess I won't. I promise," I stammer, a little rattled. "I think I've changed my mind."

"Good," he says, releasing my face. "I don't want you to look like everyone else."

"I didn't realize you were so attached to the gap, Weston," I joke.

"I am. I'm very attached. I like the gap. I'm hopelessly in love with the gap."

We both laugh, lightening the mood, and he nuzzles his face into the crook of my neck. The moment is just perfect.

"When...did you know...you wanted me?" he asks, his words tentative. "The day I made the proposal?"

"No," I reply, thinking back to that first meeting at the restaurant and how stunning he was, how beautiful his eyes were-I'd never wanted a man so much.

"When you pinned me down. When you told me all about myself. You barely knew me, but it seemed you knew me better than my own husband."

"Is that so?" he says, his eyes happy. "I did peg you quite well."

"You certainly did. It was so d.a.m.n hot."

He laughs. "Well, that wasn't my intention. I wasn't trying to excite you."

"Well, you did...in a big way."

"And I still do, I hope," he says, wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me to him. I can feel his erection against me.

I smile at him. "Wow, you're ready for round two already?"

He kisses my shoulder. "You bet."

"You think we have time?" I ask. "Our five minutes are already up."

"Plenty," he says, and his body is on mine before I can protest.

Chapter Eighteen.

You're not mine. You will never be.

"STOP HOGGING THE BLANKET," Gabe grumbles.

"I am not hogging the blanket," I snap. "You're just so big. You should get your own d.a.m.n blanket."

That's usually how it is on a Sat.u.r.day night-Gabe and I huddled together on the sofa in the bas.e.m.e.nt rec room, watching a movie and sharing a checkered fleece throw.

We should really get another throw.

But I think we like sharing.

Every once in a while...actually often, Gabe will slide his hand along my thigh under the throw.

That's the signal.

I usually shoot him a sly smile and make him work for it a little, but I'm always on board. But tonight, I'm still mad at him. I'm not sure if he even knows I'm upset with him, but I've been rejecting his advances for the last week or two.

And that's just not like me.

He sweeps his rough hand along the inside of my thigh-it feels nice. Part of me wants to, but the other part is still livid at him. I grab his hand and pull it away, not quite looking at him.

He's not happy.

"What is it with you these days?" he snaps. "You've pushed me away half a dozen times."

I don't want to talk about it. I know I'm being irrational and shouldn't even be mad at him. But I can't help it.

I get up from the couch, bowl of popcorn half-eaten, movie half-finished.

"I'm beat. I'm going to bed."

He grabs my wrist. "No, you're not. We need to talk."

I pull away from him and head up the stairs.

He follows me to the bedroom. "Talk to me," he pleads as we reach the top floor.

"I'm just tired," I fib as I step out of my yoga pants. "The movie was c.r.a.p."

"It was," he agrees, "but that's not the problem here. What's up with you?"

I slip on my silky, yellow summer nightie. "I told you," I snap. "I'm just tired."

"It's more than that." He scowls. "It's about him, isn't it?"

I face the wall door-length mirror, and unclasp my silver hoop earrings. Gabe stands behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. There's something sensual about our reflection-his large, dark presence against mine, small and light.

I do want him.

He drags his hand under the yellow silk of my slip. "Don't forget," he whispers against my ear, "I'm your husband. You're mine." He toys with the lace of my panties. "And I should get to make love to you more often than he does."

I can feel my resolve dissolving as he kisses my shoulder. I know I'm going to give in. But I want to talk to him first. I think he should know what's bothering me.

I turn to face him. "I'm mad at you," I finally confess.

He jerks away. "What the heck for?"

"The way you behaved at the planetarium," I explain. "You and Bridget were shameless."

He stares up at the ceiling. "Oh...come on."

"Weston and I were well-behaved. It's not that hard to show a little self-control."

"Well, you know me," he scoffs. "I'm not quite as reserved and tightly-wound as Mr. Stiff-Upper-Lip."

"Well, I didn't need to see you all over her," I insist. "It made me jealous. I don't like seeing you with her."

"Do you think I like seeing you with him?" he snaps. "It drove me insane...maybe that's why I was acting like that. I was trying to make you as jealous as I was."

I bite my lip. "That's quite juvenile, Gabe."

He wraps his arms around my waist again. "I know. It was childish. But it's because I love you so much. You know it's just s.e.x with her, right?"

I smile. "Yes."

"And it's just s.e.x with you and Weston too," he says with conviction.

And my heart sinks a little. The truth is I don't know what it is. All I know is...Gabe is the one I want to be with when I'm ninety and complaining about my aching knees over a cup of herbal tea.

Gabe is the one.

Another adventure. Another night full of surprises.

That's one of the many things I love about Weston-he always keeps me on my toes. Kathryn's e-mail was curt-she told me Weston's car would pick me up at five and asked me to bring a sweater. I wasn't told anything else. I wasn't sure what to wear, so I opted for a simple A-line, white, summer cotton dress.

My body is filled with excitement as I fidget on the sleek leather seat of Weston's town car. Edward's not driving fast enough tonight it seems-I can't wait to see Weston, hold his beautiful face in my hands, feel his body against mine.

"Do you have any idea what Weston has planned for us tonight?" I ask Edward, hoping to get some information. But I know Edward enough to know he's a vault when it comes to these things.

"I know where I'm taking you, but that's about it, Mirella."

"And where are you taking me?" I ask, my voice playful.

He laughs. "Loose lips sink ships, don't you know."

I sigh a little as I realize I'm not getting anything out of him. As I look out the window, I notice he's not taking me downtown as per usual-he's taking me north of the city.

I try to focus on the direction we're heading, but all I can think about is Weston. The last time we were together was so perfect-the s.e.x was out of this world. And I just haven't been able to stop thinking about all the sweet things he told me that night. I wish you were mine, he'd said before we'd made love.

A wicked itch I just can't seem to scratch, he'd said after. It was me who chose you...

The truth is, I've been driving myself absolutely insane, thinking about him, but I just can't seem to stop.

We finally reach our destination, and I realize I haven't even noticed how we got there. Edward drops me off in front of a tall, ultra-modern building. I wait for him to open my door since he always insists. At first, it felt odd every time he opened the car door for me, but now we've fallen into a routine, and it finally feels normal to me. He smiles at me as I step out. I smile back, a little nervous, my eyes pleading with him to tell me what the heck is going on.

"Just go to the lobby and introduce yourself to the concierge."

"Thank you, Edward." I look up at the building-sleek and mirrored, its shape curvy and almost seductive.

As I walk in, I take in the lobby, large and airy-stunning contemporary stainless steel water fountains greet me on either side. My gaze follows the streams of water falling into koi ponds filled with large red fish. I stop-it's so surprisingly beautiful-the odd combination of ultra-modernism and nature.

A woman at the desk with a short dark bob and cat-eye gla.s.ses smiles.

"h.e.l.lo," I say, my voice soft. "I'm Mirella Keates."

"Yes, I've been expecting you. Just give me one second, and I'll contact Mr. Hanson. Please take a seat."

I sit on the tufted black leather sofa. The gla.s.s coffee table is bare, but there are a few glossy magazines laid out on the side table-I don't think they've ever been touched. A gla.s.s bowl sits next to them, a goldfish swimming lazily in circles. The sight almost hypnotizes me-sometimes, this is exactly how I feel-like I'm swimming in circles.

A young woman smiles at me as she sits on one of the leather chairs across from me. She sets her shiny briefcase on the floor and leans down toward the coffee table. She touches it slightly, and a screen image appears. I'm amazed. Here I thought this was just another boring gla.s.s coffee table, but it has a secret ident.i.ty. She's checking the weather and looking up an address on Google Maps. I feel a little guilty spying, but then again, if she wanted privacy, she would have used her own tablet or laptop. This is so cool!

"So, what do you think?" a familiar voice asks.

I look up at Weston, who I hadn't even noticed standing beside me. He's looking as gorgeous as ever in fitted, beige khakis and a tight, plaid b.u.t.ton shirt, opened at the collar. And all those old familiar desires come to the surface again-so fast, it's like lightning.

"Hi," is all I manage to say as I stand up.

"So, what do you think of this place?" His face seems eager for my reaction.

"It's beautiful," I say. "I like the fish."

I'm still not sure where I am.

His wide s.e.xy smile does me in every time. He stands with his hands on his hips, looking at his surroundings, an expression of pride on his face. "This is The Onyx. They're all very similar, but this is my favorite."

And it finally occurs to me-this is one of Weston's loft condos, from the advertis.e.m.e.nt posters in his office, his pride and joy. "You do incredible work."

"You want me to show you around?" he asks, eager.

"Of course," I reply and take his hand. I can't wait. I'm so excited. The warmth of his skin on mine, no matter how small his touch is, drives me crazy. He leads me to the modern-looking elevators.

The interior is all shiny stainless steel, and the b.u.t.tons are aglow.

"We are riding green," he tell me as he pushes the P b.u.t.ton.

"Are we?" I ask, not sure what he's saying.

"This elevator is sustainable. It uses thirty to forty percent less energy."

"That's great," I say. "So this is one of your LEED certified, sustainable buildings?"