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CHAPTER EIGHT

GABRIEL

Tonight, I’m winging it, but my endgame is stealing Alice’s goddamn heart.

On autopilot, I throw together my grandmother’s lasagna recipe. I layer noodles, ricotta, mozzarella, and sauce. My hands move fast, muscle memory from years of watching Nonna do it the old-fashioned way, but my brain is a fucking train wreck. All I can think about is Alice. Her laugh. Her mouth. The way she looks at me like she wants to murder me one second and kiss me senseless the next.

I want her so bad I can barely breathe.

The lasagna hits the oven, and I scrub down my kitchen like Nonna herself is going to see it. Then I check the time and see she’ll be here in eight minutes. The anticipation is making me insane.

When the elevator pings, my heart jackhammers against my ribs. I open the door to find Alice standing in the hallway, clutching a white pastry box like a shield, and wearing a black long-sleeve T-shirt and gray yoga pants. Her hair is down—soft, loose, and curling around her face in a way that makes my hands ache to touch it. She gives me a shy wave and a smile that could topple empires.

“Hey,” she says, voice bright.

“Hey, yourself. Come in.” The words barely make it out of my mouth. My brain just… stalls.

She breezes in, sidestepping me like she owns the room. Her gaze sweeps the penthouse, wide and electric, drinking in every inch. “Nice place.”

“Thank you,” I tell her as I shut the door behind us. I can’t look away from her. The way she moves, it’s like every step is precise, head held high, confidence stitched into her spine. Still, her eyes flicker over everything, hungry and alert, taking stock of every detail. “Mrs. Winters made me promise to tell her all about it.” She turns to me and winks.

“I didn’t know you were friends with Mrs. Winters.” I laugh.

“I wouldn’t call us friends. More like she’s the building gossip who’s trying to use me to get all the good gossip.”

“Oh, really?” I worry about what others think of me. Anyone except Alice, that is. “What did Mrs. Winters have to say about me?”

Alice turns to me and bites her lip. “Well, she told me you bought the penthouse from the past tenant when he fell in love and got married.”

“That’s true.” Oliver Burkhardt, a business acquaintance, offered it to me for a steal, and I jumped at the chance to buy the best penthouse in Worthington Hills. “What else did she tell you?”

“That you don’t really talk to anyone in the building.” Also true. Until I met Alice, I didn’t really feel the need to interact with anyone. “And you bought all the apartments on the ninth floor so your security staff could live onsite.” Damn. The building grapevine is on it, I think, as she continues. “And you’re hot but grumpy. Which I found out for myself.” My girl winks at me.

I arch an eyebrow at her. "When have I been grumpy with you?"

"When I spilled my coffee on you the first time we met." She shrugs, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a half-smile that makes my chest tight. "You were beyond grumpy then. Your face turned this interesting shade of red, and I swear I could see steam coming out of your ears like some cartoon character. You looked like you wanted to strangle me."

"Oh, coffee girl." I walk over and pull her curvy body close to mine, feeling the soft cotton of her shirt against my palms, her warmth radiating through the thin fabric. The scent of her rose-scented shampoo hits me like a drug. "Strangling you was the last fucking thing on my mind." I smirk down at her, watching her pupils dilate as she tilts her face up to mine.

"What were you thinking?" Her warm breath brushes against my lips, sending electricity down my spine.

"How much I wanted to throw your gorgeous ass over my shoulder and drag you back to my lair." My voice drops to a growl as my fingers press into the small of her back.

“Oh.” The vein at the base of her throat pounds away as she stares up at me.

Needing to take things down a notch before I spread her little ass across the breakfast bar and eat her for dinner, I pour us each a glass of wine. Our fingers touch as I hand one to her, and the contact zaps through me, straight to my cock. Jesus. I’m one breath away from losing control and fucking her in my goddamn kitchen.

She tries to pretend she doesn’t notice the spark, but her eyes go wide, and that shy smile is back. I want to taste it. I want to put my ring on her finger and tie her ass to me for life.

She swallows her entire glass down in one swallow, then steps back and glances around. “Wow,” she says. “Your kitchen is… insane. I mean, it’s bigger than most restaurants.” She steps past me to peek at the lasagna, and my eyes drop to her ass in those yoga pants. I can’t stop a groan from erupting from my throat as my cock hardens.

I set the wine bottle down and force myself to focus. “I hope you’re hungry.” My voice sounds rough even to my own ears.

She laughs, low and surprised. “I’m freaking starving.” She glances up at me from under her lashes, and I swear my cock twitches in appreciation. Zero shame. Every inch of me is ready for her.

I grab plates and serve up portions of lasagna that would make Nonna proud. The scents of garlic and cheese fill the kitchen, but all I can focus on is Alice perched on a barstool, bare feet swinging, lips parted in anticipation. She watches me like I’m the main course, and for a second, I almost forget how to function.

I set the plate in front of her, and our fingers brush again, even though it’s unnecessary. I want to touch her. All the time. Might as well make it obvious.