Priceless

Which was how I got the chance to study her spectacular arse again. I hadn’t forgotten how nice it looked in jeans, either, from the night when she showed up to Donadea.

I’d take the view and bide my time. I can play nice when the occasion calls. Expert at faking, remember?

Gabrielle was expert at pretending we were strangers. So fucking sexy watching her play aloof. She’d been doing it steadily since our meeting at the station. Once we arrived at the house, there had been no chance to get her alone because guests were arriving in droves by that point. Brynne and Elaina had swept her away somewhere and I was left doing duty keeping my cousin from chain-smoking himself into an early grave with those goddamn Djarum Black coffin nails he was addicted to.

Neil and I decided that hiding his stash was for his own good. Tough love and all that crap.

“I need a fucking cigarette,” E complained beside me as the vicar droned on about the particulars.

I stared at him, pretty bloody sure he’d just read my mind, the clever bastard. “No time for that now, brother. Pay attention to the man or you won’t know what to do tomorrow afternoon.” I nodded toward the end of the path where his girl was waiting to walk down for this practice run-through.

His expression brightened as soon as Brynne came into view with Clarkson leading her. Christ, talk about a chap so head-over-heels he didn’t know if he was coming or going. E still surprised me very much. I was happy for him, of course, but to see him like this was something that needed a little getting used to.

Clarkson was an interesting fellow as well. I knew he was a photographer and had been the one to take Brynne’s nude portraits. Well, the one E had purchased the night he’d met Brynne in London. Gabrielle and Clarkson seemed very close and I wondered what the story was there. He was gay, and Gabrielle, as far as I could tell, wasn’t. Had Clarkson taken pictures of Gabrielle as well? Flesh shots? I wanted them if they existed. There were so many unanswered questions I wanted to ask…

“Now the couples will exit behind the bride and groom with the best man leading our maid-of-honour,” the vicar announced.

Showtime.

I smiled at Gabrielle as I met her in the middle, holding out my arm.

She didn’t want to take my arm, but then she was without options. The whole effect got my cock twitching as I pulled her into my side and walked us out, not missing the fact that she fit perfectly against me.

“Finally,” I said, looking down at her.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” She kept her eyes straight ahead.

“We need to have an adult conversation, Gabrielle, don’t you think?”

“Oh, you want to act like an adult now?”

“Mmm hmm, I do.”

“So you must’ve given up on the idea that I’m Maria-the-Escort you paid to service you. That had to have been a devastating blow for you, Ivan.”

I caught her sexual innuendo and imagined exactly what she could blow.

“It does seem the logical conclusion. Didn’t Sherlock Holmes say something like once you eliminate the impossible—”

“—whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.” She finally looked up at me as she finished the quote.

God, she was lovely, and I so wanted her in my bed all fiery and wild as I took control of her pleasure again. Even if she wasn’t ready for that yet, I still fantasized.

“Conan-Doyle fan?”

“I know my Sherlock Holmes. I read the whole volume in college. Checked it out at the library and dragged it to the beach with me all summer.”

“And where was this?”

“University of California at Santa Barbara.”

“A very beautiful coastline you have in your home state.”

She didn’t respond, and I knew exactly what she was doing. Trying to reassert control over our conversation by withholding her participation, and regretting she’d told me anything at all. I knew all the tricks.

I led her to our dinner table and seated her, resting my hands on her shoulders and holding them there for a moment longer than necessary. I couldn’t help it. I had to have my hands on her again.

She took her seat stiffly, probably trying to figure how she could get away from me, but I wasn’t having it. She was mine for the course of this meal and hopefully afterward. One small victory at a time.