“You know me now. I get that you can’t make promises you can’t keep and I respect that. But I have enough skeletons in my past to sink a ship. Bad things that could hurt you.”
He shook his head slowly. “Your past isn’t so bad, Lex. So you were a rebellious teenager. Stop trying to push me away before I can invest anything in you.”
She should tell him. She knew she should.
He reached around and unhooked her bra. Stripped it from her and tossed it to the floor. “Baby steps,” he murmured, locking his gaze with hers. “That’s all I’m asking, Lex. Just small little steps.”
Her desire to trust him fully warred with her desire never to expose her biggest shame. Her blood pounded in her veins, felt as though it didn’t have enough room to move. Goddamn Jordan Lane. How was she supposed to open up, knowing Gabe’s ability to destroy her was far more powerful than Jordan’s had ever been?
How dare he take away her ability to dream?
She felt as though she was drowning with no way to surface. Caught in a riptide of wanting to believe that anything was possible. Furious she couldn’t make the jump. Not once in her life had she ever let herself want anything as much as she wanted what was in front of her right now. Not with Jordan. Not ever.
She did not want to lose Gabe.
Burying her rational mind in a hope that somehow this could work, she kissed him. Trusted him with her heart. And prayed he wouldn’t break it like every other man in her life had.
She undid the buttons of his shirt with unsteady hands. Yanked it free from his pants and went for his belt. “Alex,” he muttered hoarsely, as if to slow her down, but she shook him off, freed him from his jeans and sank down in front of him. She wanted him as blinded as she was. As out of control. Then there was only the sound of his labored breathing, the feel of his velvet hardness beneath her fingers, his thighs shaking under her, his guttural groan of approval as she sent him over the edge and took back the power she needed.
When a calm stillness had settled over the room, he scooped her up off the floor and carried her to the big shower. If he noticed she was trembling under his hands, coming apart at the seams, he didn’t say anything. He stripped her of her clothes, picked her up and sat down with her on the bench under the spray. She felt exposed, as mentally naked as she was physically as he washed her. When he was done, he kept her there until the connection between them and the heat of the water calmed her, and when she was quiet in his arms he wrapped her legs around him and took her with a slow, soulful possession that healed a part of her she hadn’t even known was broken.
In that moment, her face buried in his shoulder, she knew she was deeply, irrevocably in love with Gabe De Campo.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FLASHBULBS BOUNCED OFF the step-and-repeat banner at Zambia, De Campo’s hot new SoHo wine bar, as celebrity after celebrity arrived on a still-scorching summer night predicted to break heat records in the city. Alex had outdoor coolers blowing, but not even the heat could dampen the guests’ enthusiasm for De Campo’s big night. The buzz from Napa had trickled east and the inside scoop said the Devil’s Peak launch was not to be missed.
Lilly had pulled in some of her big-name athletes, Riccardo had tapped the racing crowd and, as luck would have it, there was an A-list Hollywood couple filming in town. Alex watched them work the cameras in front of the big De Campo logos and smiled to herself. The rumors that Davina Cole and David Murray’s on-screen romance was only half as tempestuous as their offscreen one looked to be true. Sparks were flying and high drama was in the air.
Matty helped Davina off the raised platform while David played to the cameras. Alex frowned. Did they know each other? How could she have missed that? Or maybe they didn’t and Matty was just being his usual flirtatious self. If there was a man in this world who could charm a Hollywood diva off a dais, date or no date, it was Matty.
She made a note of it as a future problem and disappeared inside. It would be at least an hour before that exploded and with most of the guests arrived, it was time to do the welcome toast.
Zambia was a modern dark-wood-and-exposed-brick masterpiece inside, designed by one of the city’s top architects. Thousands of bottles of wine lined the walls, highlighted by a massive glass jug-and-rope chandelier that cast a muted glow across the room. The perfect backdrop for the rich, beautiful vintages they were unveiling tonight.
She paused on the edge of the packed room. She liked to think the excessively alive, vibrant energy pulsing through her veins was due to the fantastic evening it was shaping up to be, but she was fairly certain it had more to do with the tall, dark hunk in a tux greeting guests near the entrance. Being with Gabe had added a whole new set of sensory perceptions to her toolbox. Everything felt richer, more layered when she was with him. It wasn’t just that he made a mean espresso in the morning; it was that it tasted better when she drank it with him.
Which she’d been doing a lot lately, she conceded. As in the last three mornings straight. And if that set off a panicky feeling that she had no idea what she was doing, that was to be expected. This was a whole new state of being she was experiencing—this complex set of stimuli Gabe engendered in her. One she was doing her best to master.
If she was honest—she never wanted it to end.
He must have felt her stare, because he looked up from his conversation and returned it. Electricity ratcheted through her as though she’d stuck her finger in a socket. Innate, all consuming, their connection had never been in question. But now it was more the kind of feel-it-down-to-your-toes, inescapable plunge that at times felt too intense to handle. She’d let him break her down. She had no choice but to go along for the ride.
Dipping her head, she wound her way through the crowd toward him. He ditched his conversation as she approached.
“You need to package that up and put it away for later,” he murmured, trailing his gaze over her.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she came back innocently. “Just enjoying the scenery.”
“I like how you enjoyed it this morning.”
His smooth-as-silk, lightly accented words slid over her like a caress. “You can like it again tonight,” she purred. “If I’m still standing.”
“You most definitely don’t need to be standing, cara.”
An allover body flush crept across her skin. She turned to him and lifted a brow. “I don’t do blushing, Gabriele. You need to package that up and keep it for later.”
His eyes glinted at her use of his full name, which she used when she wanted to make a point. “I’m flying back to San Francisco tomorrow.”
Her hand froze halfway to her face. She’d known this was coming. Knew she lived in New York and he lived in Napa and he had two wines to get out the door. So why did she feel so distinctly off balance? “You changed your flight?”
“The ad agency wants to run some concepts by me tomorrow.” His gaze settled on her face with a single-minded intensity. “Come with me. Hang out by the pool. You deserve a break after all this.”
His offer soothed the tiny fissure he’d opened up inside of her, but she shook her head because it was impossible. “I’ve been on the West Coast for weeks. I have a million things to wrap up from the event and three new business proposals sitting on my desk.”
“Emily can handle the event stuff. Bring the proposals with you.”
She bristled at his imperious tone. “We live on opposite coasts, Gabe. We’re going to have to negotiate.”
His eyes turned a stormy, ready-for-battle sea-green. “I’m all for negotiating, angel. How about one a.m., my place, in my—”
“Gabe.” She slid a wary glance around them. “We are so not talking about this now. Can you round up Riccardo and Antonio? It’s time to do the toast.”
He gave her a look that said they would definitely pick this conversation up later and turned to find them.
“Oh,” she added. “Tell Matty to keep his hands off Davina Cole, will you?”
He turned around. “He had them on her?”
“Yes. Tell him to take them off. There’s enough sparks flying without adding him into the fray.”
* * *
Lilly joined her by the bar as the De Campos made their opening remarks. “Is there ever a non-intense moment between you two?” she murmured.
Alex surveyed the man who was systematically destroying her defenses one by one and pursed her lips. “Few and far between. What’s up with Matty, by the way? He’s distinctly not Matty.”
Lilly shook her head. “Nobody knows. It’s the big mystery. He won’t talk about it.”
“It’s a woman,” Alex concluded. Preferably the gymnast or some other female who was not Davina Cole.
She focused on Antonio, always a loose cannon at the best of times, as he began his speech. Surprisingly, he seemed to be on his best behavior, lavishing praise on Gabe and the Napa operations. She studied him, trying to figure out whether he’d had a change of heart or was just acting for the crowd, but he appeared genuine. Her gaze flicked to Gabe. He looked as wary as she was. But the crowd was loving Antonio’s theatrics, eating it up. He might be a cranky old bastard, she acknowledged, but he could weave a spell when he wanted to.