Best Man Under the Mistletoe

“Gabe, I can’t—”

“You can.”

Her arms and legs were still draped around him. He held their bodies together so tight, she just knew when he let go she would feel cold, alone. But this was fun while it lasted, right? She hadn’t come here for a sleepover or to do anything other than what had just happened.

“No,” she told him, pressing against his shoulders. “I can’t.”

He studied her face for just a moment before easing her down to stand on her own. But he kept his hands on her hips.

“I don’t want a relationship, Gabe.”

“Is that right?” he asked, gliding his hands up the dip in her waist and back down.

The way he continued to stare at her made her feel foolish for making assumptions, but he had to see her side. “I came here for sex. That’s all. Staying overnight implies more.”

She’d wanted him, plain and simple. She’d also wanted this man to help her get over the feeling that she’d been tarnished somehow. The things he did to her, with her, had helped Chelsea realize she was still in control despite the scandal that followed her.

The corners of Gabe’s mouth twitched as he continued that maddening feathering of his fingertips over her heated skin. Her heartbeat had yet to slow down from the moment she’d walked through his door. She was seriously out of her element here and, judging from the relaxed manner of the frustrating man in front of her, he’d clearly been in this position of power before.

“So now what?” he asked. “You’re going to get dressed and leave?”

Honestly, she hadn’t thought all of this through. The man was wearing her down and she couldn’t even think straight.

“This isn’t something I do,” she admitted. “So, yeah. I guess I’ll, um, I should just get dressed and go.”

Gabe towered over her, leaning forward until she sank back onto the bed. His hands dipped into the mattress on either side of her hips as he came within a breath of her mouth.

“Don’t be ashamed that you’re here, that you took what you wanted.” His eyes seemed a darker gray now, desire filling them. “This doesn’t have to be awkward or complicated.”

“I’m not ashamed,” she stated, trying to seem strong and in control when her bare butt was on his duvet and he was a breath away from getting her flat on her back and having his way again. “I just don’t know what to do from here.”

That naughty grin kicked up a second before he nipped at her lips. “I’ll show you exactly what we’re going to do from here and then you can decide if you want to stay the night or leave.”

Chelsea wanted to protest, she really should stick to her guns, but the only thing she could think as Gabe’s weight settled over hers and she lay back was, Finally. They’d finally made it to the bed.

* * *

“Missed again, Walsh.”

Gabe muttered a curse. “I didn’t miss.”

“But you didn’t hit the bull’s-eye,” Shane countered. “What’s up, man?”

Playing darts and drinking a beer with his buddies at TCC usually calmed Gabe. Not today.

He headed back to the bar and grabbed his beer, taking a hearty swig. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d thought once he got Chelsea in his bed, he’d be over this need. If anything, though, he was achier than ever and, damn, if he wasn’t pissed about it.

“Nothing,” Gabe replied, setting his bottle back on the glossy bar top. “Getting ready for the big day? Did you get your vows all written?”

Shane’s smile widened, as it always did when his fiancée was mentioned. The two were so obviously in love and Gabe couldn’t be happier for them. After all Dusty had done to try to ruin Brandee, she deserved a happy ending.

Gabe just hated that there were so many amazing people, innocent people, who were still recovering from being the Maverick’s victim. Since discovering Dusty had been at the helm of the scandal that shook Royal, Gabe had personally reached out to each of the victims. Apologies were just words, but he hoped they understood his sincerity.

With the exception of Chelsea—and even she seemed to have come around to believe his innocence—nobody had blamed him or accused him of guilt by association. He’d been a victim, as well, considering th

e impact on his reputation and on the business that carried Dusty’s last name. But Gabe could take care of himself—he was taking care of himself. He’d been more concerned with making things right for the Maverick’s true victims.

The majority had moved on with their lives. And the strange thing was, for some of them, their experiences with Maverick had led to positive outcomes. They’d married, had children, settled deeper roots in Royal. Gabe was just thankful the repercussions Dusty’s dark, twisted games hadn’t been worse.