“You have Anya to thank for your breakthrough?”
Charlotte felt her shoulders shake. “God, yes.” Apparently all that aggravation had been worth it. “Every time I cook now, I feel like I’ve reclaimed another tiny part of myself.”
Biting into another segment of apple, Gabriel said, “You ever thought about doing it professionally?”
“No—it’s my outlet. I don’t want it to be my job.” And it wasn’t as if being a chef was a low-stress occupation.
Gabriel nodded slowly. “I get that.”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, “about going back to uni part-time and completing the extra papers I need to get a full degree.” Not in any state to return to university after she came out of hospital, she’d nonetheless earned a diploma through correspondence courses. It had been enough to land her the job at Saxon & Archer. However working for Gabriel required far more intellectual rigor than her previous position, and she wanted to be able to keep up. “Do you think I should?”
“There’re a couple of courses at the business school you might want to check out.”
His phone rang before he could continue.
“Go on,” she said when he didn’t answer. “I have to make the stir-fry anyway.” Hearing his voice as she worked, having his presence in the house, it felt really good. Growing up, she’d always dreamed of having a family—part of her had felt guilty for harboring such an old-fashioned dream, but that hadn’t changed how she felt.
Living alone had been important for her self-confidence, but it wasn’t her natural inclination. On the other hand, she didn’t just want roommates; she wanted people who were her own, people she loved.
Gabriel put down the phone and rubbed at his eyes. Stir-fry done, Charlotte walked over, took his phone and switched it off, then dropped it into the cookie jar.
“I’m expecting a call.” It was a growl.
“Not for the next couple of hours you’re not.” She began to gather up the papers he’d spread on the table. “You’re off the clock while we eat dinner.”
Expression dark, he rose to his feet.
She flinched.
“Damn it, Charlotte.” Gabriel’s hands fisted at his sides, his jaw clenched. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Pulse thudding against her skin and mouth dry, she swallowed repeatedly. “I know.” It came out a rasp.
But Gabriel was already going to the cookie jar to pull out his phone. Shoving his papers into the briefcase after he had it, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the office.” His voice was as hard and as unwelcoming as stone.
“Gabriel, don’t go.” It came out shaky, desperate. “Please don’t go.”
He blew out a breath, dropped everything on the table. “Shit.” Thrusting both hands through his hair, he held out an arm. “Come here.”
She went, curling up against his chest, a tremor rocking her frame. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
Gabriel wanted to kick his own ass. His only excuse for his behavior was that he’d been so fucking happy to be here, with her—her fear had scraped him raw. When he’d risen to his feet, all he’d intended to do was kiss her impertinent mouth. “I know you didn’t.” He rubbed his jaw against her temple, conscious this situation would come up again and he had to get a handle on it.
Because Charlotte was his. “I would’ve driven back,” he told her. “Next time, just tell me to go calm the fuck down.”
“In exactly those words?” Charlotte’s response was quiet, but it held her usual spark.
Relieved he hadn’t done any permanent damage, he rubbed his jaw against her temple again, fine blond hair catching on the bristles of his five-o’clock shadow. “That’s my Ms. Baird.”
AFTER THE MESS SHE’D almost made of what had been a wonderful evening to that point, Charlotte tried to be extra careful over dinner… until Gabriel growled.
“Charlotte, you’re acting like the chickens,” he said from where he sat just to her right. “You know what I think of the chickens. That they should be plucked and eaten.”
Mouth falling open, she said, “You are a horrible man!”
“Yes, I am.” He lifted a forkful of food to her mouth.
When she snapped her lips shut, he grinned. “Oh, this is wonderful. Now I know how to keep you quiet while I tell you all the deliciously bad things I’m going to do to you. I don’t think I’ve told you how much I like your breasts. I’d like to squeeze them as I kiss your neck, then suck—”
“You—” The rest of her words were lost in a mumble around the forkful he’d fed her.
Chewing as fast as possible, she swallowed. “I was trying to be nice,” she pointed out. “Trying to make it up to you.” He’d taken the blame, but she knew it wasn’t his fault. She’d hurt him. She hadn’t meant to, but she had, and the knowledge stabbed at her deep inside.
“Charlotte,” he said, “if you ever want to make up with me, just get naked.” A glint in his eye. “If you feel like doing some sucking too, I won’t say no. Otherwise, be yourself.”
Her cheeks went red. Ducking her head, she squeezed her thighs against the impact of the images suddenly popping into her mind. Along with them came a whispered reminder that he was a physical man—she could repair things between them in a way he’d not only accept but enjoy. So, she thought, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, would she.