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Despite his apologies and the crazy circumstances we’d both been thrown into, I just couldn’t go there with him. And I wasn’t sharing why I couldn’t, either. It was better this way, and he didn’t need to know my reasons. I was in charge of my body and my choices.
The hot breath of him tickled the back of my neck and I knew I was doomed when my senses reacted. That was the thing with him. He infuriated me, but my traitorous body didn’t seem to be getting the memos. I couldn’t help the shiver that shimmied down my spine any more than I could help how I’d been made.
I squeezed my eyes tight in an effort to ward off the arousal. To ward him off.
“It drives you crazy that you didn’t get a very good look at my paintings, doesn’t it, Gabrielle?”
I just stood frozen with my back to him until I felt his hands spin me around.
His eyes had a predatory gleam in them as they roved over me and he leaned in closer. I sucked in a breath.
He inhaled and gave me an eyebrow twist as if to say, “I’m waiting for an answer.”
“You drive me crazier than the loss of your paintings ever will,” I whispered, backing up a step, creating some needed distance between his hard body and my quivering one. I seriously couldn’t handle him crowding me.
I had to get away from him before I lost my resolve—
His hand came up to under my chin and he held me to him, gentle yet firm.
“Is it bad that driving you crazy makes me feel so fucking good?” he asked before hitting me with that devastating smile which put him into mythical god territory, and me into flight mode.
I pulled myself away and ran up the stairs. And I didn’t stop running until I’d reached my bedroom and could lock myself inside.
I panted behind the door, holding myself still above the pounding of my heart at the affect he had on me. I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of acting upon my obvious attraction to him. Why did he continue to pursue me? Why me, in the first place? I had to keep away from him. I just had to.
It’s so much safer that way.
MR. and Mrs. Blackstone were a romantic vision at their wedding. Brynne was always beautiful, and Ethan, well…he was too, but in a very male and rugged way. Right now, he looked like he’d had enough of parties and guests and anything to do with being anywhere with Brynne that wasn’t private, to last him a lifetime.
I was happy for them, but I was also relieved this weekend was nearly over and I could get back to my life…and the harsh reality of a job and school. And away from Ivan Everley.
Seriously, he was dangerous.
“Simon is asking for the best man and maid-of-honor. That’s you, darling,” Elaina called out as she walked up with her fiancé Neil, looking happy in love with her man. They were next on the marriage circuit. Elaina had told me last night that Ivan and I would be paired up again for their wedding in six week’s time. I just couldn’t shake him it seemed. “Simon’s making us do some crazy poses too,” she added with a laugh.
“Awesome,” I said to Elaina, as I made my way over to the insanely non-traditional photographer Ethan had hired—one Simon Carstairs—in his shiny custom suit of retina blinding leaf-green.
“There she is,” Ivan said, holding his hand out with that deadly serious expression he liked to use on me.
What choice did I have? Be a massive bitch at my best friend’s wedding, or take his hand and let him lead me around like a poodle on a leash?
His hands did a good wandering job on me, too, as Simon shouted positions for us to pose in for these ridiculous pictures. “I am not a model for Vogue,” I muttered under my breath.
“But you could be. In fact, I’d even go one further and say you’re far more beautiful than most of the models that grace the pages of that magazine,” he whispered in my ear.
“You need to stop this…obsession…you have with me, Ivan,” I hissed back.
“Good word choice. You are definitely an obsession.”
“Tilt her backward Fred and Ginger style,” Simon commanded.
Before I could respond Ivan had me swept beneath him, his strong
arms the only thing between my ass and the garden cobblestones. He brought his forehead within an inch of mine and held me there, suspended and at his mercy.
“How’s this?” He answered the photographer but he spoke the words right against my lips.
“Gorgeous, my darlings. Now bend your leg at the knee and point your toe like a dancer. You have magnificent legs, Gaby, and I need this shot. Ivan, stretch your back leg out behind you and keep it stiff.”
