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He stepped forward, cupped her jaw in his hands, and tilted her face towards his.
‘I didn’t use you in the past few days. I didn’t sleep with you to pull the wool over April’s eyes. I slept with you because I wanted to.’ He smiled, wanting—needing—to change the mood. ‘I still do. And it’s important to me that you believe that.’
She surveyed him, her brown eyes soft with emotion. ‘I do. I do believe that—and thank you for telling me the truth. I promise you can trust me, and if you want to talk—not about strategies and logic but about how you feel—I’m here.’
‘Thank you.’
That would happen when hell froze over—he wouldn’t know where to begin, even if he had any desire to invite Etta to a pity party.
‘In the meantime, let’s skip supper and go to bed.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
GABE ENTERED THE bedroom where Etta still slept, curled on her side. One hand pillowed her cheek and she looked so beautiful his heartstrings tugged.
She opened her eyes and surveyed him drowsily before she rolled onto her back and then pushed herself up against the ornate splendour of the headboard.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he said, surprised to feel anticipation unfurling in his gut as she grinned at him.
‘Merry Christmas!’ A stretch and she inhaled appreciatively. ‘What is that heavenly smell?’
‘Rise and shine.’ He tugged at the duvet and she snatched at it. ‘I ordered Room Service. Pancakes, Viennese-style. I know it’s not the same as having Cathy here, but I thought it might help to have your traditional breakfast.’
Her smile illuminated the whole room and made him feel about eight feet tall.
‘Thank you, Gabe. I’ll be out in two minutes.’
‘Take your time—and wish Cathy a merry Christmas from me.’
True to her word, minutes later she sat opposite Gabe and looked at her heaped plate. ‘Wow!’ The thick golden pancakes had been torn into bite-sized pieces, sugar-dusted and piled into an artistic tower. Berries bedecked the concoction and gave the dish a festive edge.
He wiggled his eyebrows. ‘I thought you might be hungry after last night.’
‘You thought right.’
She dug into the pancakes and nearly moaned at the light texture, at the taste of custard and sugar melting on her tongue.
‘These are amazing. But now it’s your turn for a present.’
Sudden discomfort made him shift on the brocade chair. ‘You didn’t need to...’
‘I wanted to. It’s Christmas.’
One more spoonful and then she rose and went over to the cabinet, returning with a beautifully quilted deep red stocking, embroidered with an image of Father Christmas—presumably purchased from one of Vienna’s numerous Christmas markets.
‘Here you are. Happy Christmas. I’m sorry if it’s a bit over the top. I thought that because you said your parents didn’t do stockings...’
‘Thank you.’ There was a small awkward moment. ‘Really. I’m not sure what to say. The Derwents aren’t very experienced in receiving presents. But I really mean the thank you.’
‘The best way forward is to open them.’
Her small chuckle, the eager expression on her face, suddenly made it easy to smile and Gabe grinned at her.
‘Here goes!’
He delved a hand in and tugged out his gifts. First a bottle of Viennese wine, then sandalwood soap, a snow globe, and chocolates.
‘Etta, thank you. I’ll always remember my very first stocking.’
