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Chapter Twenty
At 11:45 p.m. they headed up the stairs to the roof. Megan stopped at the threshold of the completely empty roof, clutching the bundle of blankets Gabe had given her. “Where’s everyone else?”
He shot her a strange look. “You thought there were going to be other people up here with us?”
“It’s a big building.”
He nodded. “It is. But I own the top floor. And the roof is mine alone.”
“Oh.”
She was such an idiot, coming up here with him. Even in a crowd, she wouldn’t have been safe from the way she wanted him. She understood that, now, after several more hours in his wonderful company.
But alone?
She was doomed.
“I’ve had a great night with you so far, Megan.” He watched her carefully. Probably expecting her to turn and run like the coward—the practical, heart-protecting coward—she was.
“I have, too,” she agreed, forcing herself to creep forward onto the roof.
That was when she noticed the pretty string of lights, and the large outdoor blanket covered with colorful cushions. There was a bottle of champagne, two flutes, and a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries. But that wasn’t all. He’d also put out a bottle of sparkling apple juice and a kid-appropriate plastic wine glass with painted butterflies on it.
Her heart turned to goo.
“You did all this?” She pointed at her chest. “For me and Summer?”
“I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend New Year’s Eve with.”
He took the blankets from her arms and she felt almost naked without them to hold over her heart. As if that soft shield would keep it from falling head over heels for this beautiful, kind—and shockingly sexy—man standing in front of her.
“This is—” She gestured to the pretty scene before them. “It’s magical.”
His grin was playful, pleased...and sensual. All at the same time. “Come look at the view from up here. It’s even better than the window downstairs.”
She took his hand, but as he moved them so that she was standing at the rail and his body was keeping her warm—and safe—she didn’t look out at the view. Instead, she turned her head so that she could look at him. “You’re not playing fair, Gabe, are you?”
She could almost taste his kiss just then. But all he did was pull her tighter into him. “Thank you for coming here tonight. And staying.”
His mouth brushed against the top of her head, then, and maybe that was breaking his promise, but, oh, how she wanted him to do just that, so badly that she was almost vibrating from the need to feel his lips on hers, his hands on her skin.
Megan stood in Gabe’s arms, her eyes closed, and let herself just enjoy being with him, shivering at the pleasure of his warmth, his strength, the way he looked at her.
“You’re cold.”
She didn’t have a chance to tell him it wasn’t the air that was making her shiver before he was taking her over to the pile of oversized pillows and pulling her down with him. He covered them both with blankets before picking up the bottle of bubbly.
Megan snuggled down under the covers, Gabe’s thigh brushing against hers as he popped open the cork and poured. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” she teased.
She loved his smile, how easily it came. He made her smiles come easier, too, she suddenly realized. Only Summer had ever made her feel this carefree, this happy. Only Summer could make her forget about all the work she needed to get done, the bills that needed to be paid, the fridge that needed to be filled.
Until Gabe.
Maybe it was his close physical proximity under the blanket on the romantic city rooftop that made it hard for her to hold onto a single thought that wasn’t about how much she wanted him—and that kiss!
Maybe it was the way he always made plans for three, rather than trying to pretend she didn’t have a daughter.
Maybe there was still some of that hero worship he was so worried about going on because he’d saved her life.
Or maybe it was simply the daredevil inside her that was dying to break out and do something crazy like have sex outside, where there was a teeny-tiny chance that someone might look out a faraway window and see them.
Whatever it was, at this point, after several hours of what felt like prolonged foreplay, Megan simply didn’t care anymore about the reasons for what she was feeling.
All she knew was that the five-minute countdown to New Year’s was way too long.
His answer to her teasing question finally came as he handed her the glass. “Do I need to get you drunk?”
Feeling herself flush as she shook her head, she pushed the rim to her lips and tilted her head back, her nerves causing her to pour more of the delicious champagne down her neck than into her mouth.
There wasn’t any chance to feel embarrassed about making a mess with the drink, though, because Gabe’s thumb was there, brushing over the liquid that had spilled. He was about to bring it to his own lips when she grabbed his wrist. “Wait. That was my drink.”
His eyes flared with such intense heat that she almost had to kick off the blanket.
Hardly able to believe what she was doing—but knowing she would die if she didn’t get to taste some part of him in the next five seconds—she brought his thumb to her mouth.
And sucked it in between her lips.
She didn’t know who groaned first, herself or him, as she swirled her tongue over the pad of his thumb, tasting the champagne, but mostly that unique, slightly smoky taste of his skin.
