Had she felt it? That undeniable, mysterious attraction simmering between them every time they looked at each other? He certainly had, watched it intensify throughout the night until dessert, when it really started ratcheting up.
He’d never thought eating a shared piece of cheesecake could be a prelude to foreplay, but Gabriella more than proved him wrong.
“Doing all right?” he couldn’t resist asking. Was just waiting for her to finally give in and confess the walk was killing her.
But she surprised him yet again. “I’m fine.” The haughty princess voice held a trembling edge of misery and he knew she was probably hurting.
She just refused to admit it.
“Feel like jogging?” Now he was being an ass, but he couldn’t help it.
“You must be kidding me,” she muttered, clearly irritated.
He laughed. “Just admit it. Your feet are killing you.”
“It’s not my feet, it’s my legs.” He glanced back at her, saw the way she bit her lip as if she regretted the admission. Pausing, he waited for her to catch up to him. “I thought I was in better shape. Clearly I’m not.”
She looked in fantastic shape to him he wanted to say, but held it in. The flirtation needed to stop. He needed to set the following mantra on repeat in his head.
Just business. Just business. Just business.
Instead, he could only concentrate on the length of her legs, the dip of her waist, the way the fabric of her dress clung to her breasts. Her hair was a little wild from the humidity in the air and her skin positively glowed.
Just looking at her and he wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless—until the both of them were breathless. Completely inappropriate but there it was.
And he didn’t know how to handle it. He wasn’t the cool, calm Alex. And he wasn’t the persuasive, determined Hunter, either. They’d know how to deal with this sort of situation. They wouldn’t fuck it up and make a mess of it.
Dumbass. They met their wives at work. They both fooled around with them for months on the sly. And they were both crazy enough to get their women pregnant, for the love of God.
He was beating himself up for nothing. How could they give him grief when they both did the very thing he was trying to resist? Yet he still didn’t want to take it any further. It was dangerous. It was crazy.
It was also incredibly tempting.
“I give up.” She threw her hands in the air in surrender. “You’re right. Can we get a taxi now?”
“Wait a minute. What did you say?”
She rolled her eyes. He liked how good-natured she was when he teased her. Most women told him to knock it off or got straight-up pissed at him. “You heard me. I said you were right.”
Ah, she knew just how to feed his ego. Good girl. “Let’s get that taxi you so desperately need.” He went to the curb and waved his hand. Luckily, a cab pulled right over.
Ella hurried toward the taxi in obvious relief, her soft sigh of gratitude going straight to his dick. Swallowing hard, he tried to keep his gaze off her glorious backside as she climbed into the backseat of the cab.
But his eyes clearly had a mind of their own, zeroing in on the delectable curve with expert precision. He followed behind her reluctantly, afraid of what might happen once they got inside the close confines of the car. Again.
He was asking for trouble. And she was drunk, in pain and adorable.
In other words, she was terribly hard to resist.
“Be strong,” he muttered under his breath as he climbed into the car.
“Did you say something?”
Rhett met her gaze. Her brows drawn, her mouth pursed, she looked perplexed. Cute.
“Wasn’t me.” He smiled grimly and yanked the door shut. “Warwick Hotel,” he told the driver who nodded in reply and pulled out into traffic.
“Thank you for not giving me a bunch of grief,” she said, her voice solemn. “And for getting the taxi so quickly.”