One Night with Gael (Rival Brothers 2)

Gael was a little surprised that she hadn’t immediately jumped at the mention of his name, and that she wasn’t preening at the thought of being pursued as he’d pursued her. Most women would find that a compliment. But what shocked him more was that she’d cut through everything he’d said and singled out the slight trip in his voice triggered by what he’d witnessed after her audition that afternoon.

It wasn’t a flaw he wanted to dwell on. This wasn’t personal. It was business.

The reminder, and the fact that he’d been in this alley too long, tautened his voice. ‘It’s not productive to dwell on the cadence of my speech, Miss Beckett. You have my word that I mean you no harm.’ His gaze dropped to her hand. ‘My advice, though, would be to see to that wound before it gets infected. I can help. Then we can talk. I don’t want anything more from you.’

A slight frown marred her forehead before she looked over his shoulder at the limo. His driver stood to attention next to the back door and inclined his head at her. Her frown cleared.

Pressing home the advantage the sight his burly bodyguard and driver provided, Gael continued. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, you now have no means of reaching your destination tonight or contacting anyone for help?’

‘I’m far from as helpless are you’re making me sound, Mr Aguilar,’ she muttered, although her voice lacked conviction.

He remained silent, gave her time to arrive at the conclusion he needed. After a minute she held out her hand.

He handed her his card and she stared down at it. If she recognised the information there she gave no indication. She looked from him to the car, then at the card, and back to him.

‘You have a first aid kit in your car?’ she enquired, quietly but firmly.

He probably did, but he shrugged. ‘Possibly. I’ve never had occasion to use one. But my hotel is fifteen minutes away. We can get you cleaned up more efficiently there.’

She immediately shook her head. ‘No, sorry—that won’t work for me. That Narnia thing again, you know...?’

Gael stopped himself from growling his frustration. Never had he had to work this hard to get traction with a member of the opposite sex. Had he been in a better mood he would have been vastly amused. He shoved both hands into his pockets and thought fast.

‘I was supposed to attend a dinner party tonight, with thirty other guests, on the Upper East Side. I pulled out because of the prospect of a business meeting with you. We will go there. Is that enough reassurance for you?’

She stared back at him, her injured fist slowly curling. Gael knew the abrasion would be causing her discomfort by now.

‘Maybe...but how do I know the party is real and not some made-up fantasy?’

He compressed his lips before reaching for his phone. A few clicks and Pietro Vitale’s face filled his screen.

‘Gael, your presence has been missed. I’ve tried not to be insulted by a few of my female guests complaining that the party isn’t the same without you,’ his friend complained.

Gael’s gaze shifted from the screen to Goldie. Her mouth was set in a firm, mildly disapproving line. He angled the screen towards her and addressed Pietro. ‘I can remedy that, provided I can bring a guest?’

‘Of course, amico. More is merrier, sí? Also, the sooner, the better. Arrivederci!’

The Italian signed off.

‘Will that suffice or do I need to request a police escort as well?’ he drawled.

Goldie slowly shrugged. ‘This is fine.’

Gael exhaled, a curious tension leaving his body as he nodded. ‘Then come.’

Her eyes widened a fraction at his curt command, but she fell into step beside him. She summoned a tiny smile for his driver as he opened the back door for her. When she stooped to enter Gael forced his gaze from lingering on her rounded backside and shapely legs.

He entered after her and settled back in his seat. When she slid as far away from him as possible he experienced that mild irritation again. Considering what he’d witnessed in the auditorium this afternoon, her stand-offish behaviour was getting old.

‘We’ve established that I’m not about to force myself on you, Miss Beckett, so perhaps you could drop the terrified lamb routine?’

‘I’m not a lamb,’ she snapped. ‘And this isn’t a routine.’

‘Are you saying you’re always this suspicious of everyone?’

‘I’m suspicious of men who come out of nowhere and accost me in dark alleys—and, yes, men who are possibly wolves dressed in lambs’ clothing.’

‘And yet here you are,’ he said.