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Her pulse jerked as his fingers tiptoed with excruciating slowness down her belly, coming to a stop at the mound of pale curls. She could see his hunger imprinted on his face, the same hunger that was stamped all the way through her, and she was just trying to arrange her face so that he might not realise just how badly she needed him when his phone rang.
He frowned, then hesitated, dragging his eyes away slowly, and with regret. She watched him reach over and pick up the phone.
Glancing at the screen, his frown tugged at his mouth. ‘It’s Carrie.’
‘Answer it,’ she said quickly.
His COO would be uber-keen to prove herself capable of steering the ship in Gabriel’s absence, so it must be something important for her to get in touch. As he swiped the screen she slipped away to the bathroom to give him some privacy, grateful for the breathing space.
It was dangerous to let herself think about for ever. Even if her own failed attempt at a relationship could be excused, she had watched her parents’ marriage limp on until death had parted them. But they were not unique, and she needed to remember that the next time she started telling herself stories which ended with happy-ever-after.
This was sex—and that was all it could ever be, she told herself as she walked back into the bedroom.
Gabriel was facing the window, but she didn’t need to see his face to know that something was wrong. The phone was wedged against his ear, and even though he was no longer naked there was a visible tension in his shoulders.
‘It’s not up to her. If she’s got a problem with it, she needs to talk to her s-son—’ As he stumbled over the word, he turned and saw her hovering in the doorway.
‘I need to go. Keep me updated.’ He rang off and tossed the phone onto the bedside table.
‘Is there a problem?’ she asked quietly.
Reaching for her bathrobe, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and knotted it around her waist.
‘You could say that.’ The skin on his face was pulled taut and his voice was stretched even tighter. ‘Fenella Ogilvy is kicking off about the name-change.’
Dove stared at him in silence. Name-changes were not unusual in acquisitions. The interim chairman of the company, Fenella Ogilvy’s son, Angus, had already agreed to lose the name, but clearly he hadn’t squared things with his mother.
‘What does she want?’
‘It doesn’t matter—it’s not happening.’
She frowned. ‘What’s not happening?’
‘She wants to meet with me.’ His words were clipped and cold. The ease and intimacy between them earlier had evaporated as quickly as the mist around the mountain.
‘Okay...’ she said slowly. ‘It’s a family firm. Sometimes shareholders, particularly family members get jumpy about their legacy. You know that. Maybe if she met you—’
‘I’m not meeting her. I’m not ready.’
Not ready?
She stood in the doorway, staring at him uncertainly. That was just not true. Gabriel was easily the most capable, most informed person on the team. ‘I don’t understand what you mean by “ready”...’ she said slowly.
‘You don’t need to understand.’ His eyes were as hard and flat as his voice. ‘You’re just a cog in a wheel, remember?’
She flinched—more than she’d meant to. But his harshness was like a blow to the head. Before when he said those same words they had both still been smarting from old betrayals, lashing out, wanting to hurt.
It was supposed to be different now. Together they had worked through the lies and the mistakes of the past to find the truth—their truth. A truth that might not mean they had the same relationship as before, but it wasn’t this either. A sniping range where old anger was used like armour-piercing ammunition.
She didn’t want this...didn’t want to be like Oscar and Olivia...
The thought made her reach out and brace her hand against the doorframe. The old Dove—the Dove who had soothed and conciliated such outbursts—would have counselled calm, but she wasn’t the old Dove anymore and, lifting her chin, she said coolly, ‘Please don’t talk to me like that. It’s rude and unnecessary.’
His eyes snapped to her face, the blue choppy with anger and frustration and an emotion she didn’t recognise.
‘Blunt, not rude. But I agree it was unnecessary. I shouldn’t need to remind you that some decisions are above your paygrade.’
Her heart was pounding, but she kept her gaze, deliberate and unflinching. ‘I know that. But that still doesn’t give you the right to speak to me in that way.’
