One Night With Gael

His mouth thinned. ‘We shall see.’

About to ask him what he meant, she found her words choked off when he opened his door and alighted, then turned to hold out his hand.

She didn’t want to touch him. Not after the way it had felt the last time. And because she didn’t want to let go of the tear in her top that showed half her boob. She shifted along the seat, and was debating how to exit with as much dignity as she could muster when he reached in and scooped her out as if she weighed nothing.

‘What are you— Put me down!’ she spluttered, outrage filling her as he marched her through the double doors being held open by the doorman and into a waiting lift.

He set her down and immediately the doors slid shut. The whole thing had happened in less than two minutes, and yet Goldie felt as if she’d just experienced the headiest, longest rollercoaster ride of her life. Impressions of heat, masculine scent, tensile strength, strong capable arms and...absurdly...above all, safety, buffeted her as she stared at him in astonishment from her side of the lift space.

Once he’d pressed the button for the penthouse he stepped back with a cool look. ‘You said twenty minutes. I wasn’t about to have the time eaten away while you decided which leg to use to exit the car.’

‘My God, you’re insane!’ Or maybe she was. She hadn’t been given the chance to dissect things properly yet.

His jaw flexed and his hands were rammed into his pockets. ‘Far from it, querida. Someone has to remain rational in what is fast turning into a farce. Tell me—do you always make a huge production out of every small decision?’

‘You don’t know me well enough to label me a drama queen, Mr Aguilar.’

Suddenly the air in the lift thickened. The glance he levelled at her held the heavy weight of judgement. ‘I’ve seen enough to reach a conclusion, I think.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she countered.

One hand emerged from his pocket long enough to wave her away. ‘We will not waste time discussing inconsequential subjects.’

‘Do you go out of your way to ride roughshod over everyone you meet, or am I the lucky recipient of your special attention?’

He shrugged, sent her a sardonic whisper of a smile and exited the lift, once again leaving Goldie looking at him askance.

She followed him out, then drew to a halt when the double doors before them were flung open to reveal a stocky Italian with twinkling brown eyes, shoulder-length hair and a wide grin.

‘Gael! Amico! You’re here. Now my night is complete.’ His gaze swung to Goldie, looked her over, and his grin dimmed a touch. ‘Okay, this is...interesting. My friend, do you care to tell me why your plus one is in this state? I trust you implicitly, of course, and I’m sure in a fight you’d come out the winner, but I’m not averse to attempting to kick your butt if you had something to do with the lady’s um...state...’

‘“The lady” is standing right in front of you,’ Goldie offered with a saccharine smile. ‘And trust me, she’s quite capable of answering for and defending herself.’

The man’s concerned look dissolved, to be replaced by the wide smile again. ‘Of course. Tell me your tale, sweet one, and allow me to vanquish those that need vanquishing.’

Goldie felt a reluctant smile tug at her lips. ‘I’m fine. Really. And it wasn’t...your friend’s fault.’

‘So he was your rescuer?’ the Italian asked hopefully.

‘I wouldn’t stretch it that far.’ She looked at the man in question to see mockery and a tight little smile playing at his lips.

‘Sí, Pietro, we’re still trying to work out the finer details of our...association. But perhaps if you would be so kind as to point out the bathroom Goldie can clean up?’

Pietro nodded. ‘Of course, of course. Come with me.’

He led them through the double doors and immediately turned into a bright hallway. Goldie got an impression of grey and gold decor, loud but not intrusive music, and lots of laughter coming from the living room before Gael Aguilar’s presence beside her grabbed her focus. He really was imposing. And taller than she’d thought in the alley. As for those broad shoulders—

‘Here you are.’ Pietro turned a door handle and nudged it open to reveal a large bedroom. ‘The bathroom is through there. You should have everything you need. If not, please let me know.’

Goldie found another small smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘Prego.’ Pietro returned her smile, then with a nod at Gael walked away.

Gael remained, his eyes on her. Her senses began to jump and dip in that alarming way again.

‘I’m fine to take it from here,’ she said, when he made no move to leave.

He made an impatient sound. ‘I think we’ve established that I’m not going to attack you, Miss Beckett. Accepting my help won’t dislodge your feminine independence. Besides, trying to see to your wound with your non-dominant hand is going to eat into my twenty minutes. Unless you want to restart the clock?’

Goldie pressed her lips together, wanting to be annoyed with him for the way he made her feel a touch ridiculous. But, short of telling him she tended to refuse help from men like him on principle alone, thus probably seeming even more ridiculous despite her beliefs, she couldn’t think of how to counter his assertion.

‘Okay, thanks.’ The words came out far too easily. Her brain knew it and her accelerating heartbeat acknowledged it as he stepped into the room and shrugged off his jacket.

His navy shirt clung to thick, sleek muscle as he flung the jacket away and moved towards the bathroom. She followed slowly, trying to hold at bay the sensation of orbiting close to a ravenous vortex.

She arrived in the spacious bathroom to find him setting out first aid materials on the double-width vanity unit. When he had finished he started to fold back his shirtsleeves.

Goldie tried to look away from strong, brawny forearms feathered with dark wispy hair as they were revealed. But the urge was hard to resist.

Her breath caught lightly as he glanced behind him and cocked his head at her.

‘Come to the sink. We’ll wash your wound properly before I apply some antiseptic.’

She joined him at the sink, taking care not to stand too close when his presence registered so insistently next to her. Gael Aguilar was dominating. His body seemed to vibrate with a force field that mercilessly drew every living thing into its orbit.

He turned on the taps, tested the temperature, then held out his hand. Recalling the tingling when he’d touched her in the car, Goldie wanted to refuse. But this silly dance had gone on long enough. She needed to get this over with and go back to her life. Her mother.

Thoughts of Gloria spurred her on.

She gave him her hand and once again he cupped it in his. And once again the tingling started. Only this time the sensation was twice as intense. Whether it was to do with the bright lights of the bathroom, which cast their skin to skin contact in a vivid tableau, or with the fact that he was much closer to her than he’d been in the car, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that touching Gael, having his thumbs move across her palm as he rinsed the angry gash, was like nothing else she’d ever felt.

When her breath felt strangled the sound was audible in a silence marred only by their mingled breathing. Like in the car, his movements were gentle. But the fire he created with his fingers was not. Growing alarmingly short of breath, Goldie wanted to snatch her hand from his. But then he made a sound. And she looked up. Their eyes met in the mirror. She forgot to breathe all together.

Gael’s eyes had grown darker, stoked with a dark fire that made her belly clench tight. Recognising the feeling as her first ever genuine sexual attraction, Goldie gasped. His gaze dropped to her parted mouth. Stayed riveted until the almost visceral stare made her lips twitch with a need that bordered on alien.

Beneath the running tap his hands continued to caress hers. But neither of them moved their gazes except to drift them over each other’s faces, returning over and over again to their mouths.

She wanted to kiss him. Be kissed by him. Now.

Her lips parted.

Gael made a sound beneath his breath. A guttural, primitive sound. And he broke his gaze from hers.

Released from the power of that rabid scrutiny, Goldie gulped greedily on the air flowing back into her lungs. Along with even more alarm at what had just happened. The thoughts she’d entertained, the want coursing through her...

Dear God... What’s wrong with me?

After that sordid, grossly insulting proposition the casting director had flung her way this afternoon, sex should be the last thing on her mind. It should be buried even deeper than normal, beneath the tight, rigid focus of her ambition and her need to make something of herself. Her need not to end up like her mother—a slave to her sexual needs and emotional wellbeing, dependent on others for her happiness.