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Lifting herself off him, she gathered her clothing from his office floor. When she was finally dressed, she smoothed her hands down her front in a vain attempt to feel less rumpled. Then she caught Gabe leaning against his desk looking gorgeous and composed and decidedly unrumpled as he watched her with gleaming eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, doing her best to sound cavalier, because dammit, she hated feeling flustered and out of her element while he looked totally comfortable and in control. “Is something amusing?”
When his crooked half-smile turned into a full one, her haughty stance melted a fragment because, God, he was irresistible when he smiled. Gabe pushed away from his desk and came to her, threading his fingers into her hair as if they belonged there. Then he leaned in and kissed her crazy. She dove right in, because apparently her body was loath to resist him. They only pulled apart when their need for oxygen demanded it.
“Nothing amusing, Hope. You’re so damn beautiful, inside and out. You make me happy. You put a smile on my face.” He tipped his forehead to hers, looking into her eyes deeply. “Is that okay with you?”
And there, in the back office of a bar in the Pearl District in Portland, the last part of her heart opened and handed itself to him. She was a goner. She’d fallen for him completely, which was beyond scary, because she was still hiding part of herself from him. She wasn’t lying to him exactly, because he hadn’t probed. But one day, when he inevitably asked about her past, she’d have to lie because it wasn’t altogether her story to tell. And a man like Gabe wouldn’t stand for lies.
Which left her completely head over heels for him and desperately afraid it would all be taken away at any moment.Poof.A dream that she could have sworn was real but wasn’t.
It was all too big and overwhelming, a fear she couldn’t confront right now, so instead she leaned into him and whispered, “It’s more than okay.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Normally, a Friday night at Bowie’s flew by. The flurry of movement, the sound of laughter and conversation threading through the beat of the live music, the scented heat from the dancing bodies on the floor, not to mention the steady stream of drink-a-long-week-off Portlanders usually made the hours burn through to last call.
This Friday night, however, was dragging on for so long, Gabe found himself checking the time on his phone every five minutes—and cursing each time the numbers didn’t reflect what he wanted. Twice he had almost convinced himself to shut the bar down early. All he wanted to do was pick up Hope and haul her off to his apartment, like a fucking caveman, so he could spend the rest of the night buried inside her.
After she left his office, she ran up to her apartment to shower and change clothes, insisting that she wanted to spend the evening helping him at the bar. So she was now wearing black-and-white Converse sneakers, a Bowie’s shirt that she’d tied under her breasts in one of those knots that gave a peek-a-boo view of her stomach, and the shortest, tightest skirt he’d ever laid eyes on. She’d spent the last several hours bussing tables or covering staff breaks by waitressing or tending bar as needed. Watching her work the place,hisplace, like she’d been there for years, had turned him on to the point of discomfort.
From behind the bar—where he’d been ogling Hope like some horny teenager for hours, hard as a fucking rock—he glanced at the clock. Almost midnight now, thank Christ.
He finished mixing a Moscow Mule for one of the suits from the law offices down the street, snuck a peek at Hope again, then set the drink in front of the suit—whose gaze darted to where Gabe had just looked and landed on Hope as she leaned over a table collecting empty glasses, her tight little ass on full display. The suit let out a low whistle, swiveling his gaze back to Gabe’s with a nod of companionable appreciation. Gabe nearly ground his molars into dust as he leveled the shitbag with a look of his own.
The suit suddenly became as smart as he was dressed. He grabbed his drink and disappeared into the bar—in the opposite direction of Hope.
Christ. There’d been a time when he actually thought he could have a casual fling with her and then move on. Then tonight happened, and every moment they’d had together in the last several months flashed through his brain like one of those romantic movies she loved to watch with Ivy and always told him about.
Seeing her outside her apartment, vulnerable and crying, draping his jacket over her, needing to protect her even then.
Having her show up to help him over and over again. Watching her play Barbies cross-legged on his daughter’s bedroom floor while she dropped her voice and pretended to be Ken.
Memorizing the way her cheeks blushed the prettiest pink when he complimented her.
Bringing her along to dance recitals and elementary school spring concerts like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Sitting with her, night after night, eating food she’d made for him, listening to her go on about all the little things that were happening in their lives.Theirs,because without even trying they’d become so interwoven that it felt like she’d always been there. In his apartment, in his daughter’s life, in his heart.
The only way out of the grief and crushing guilt he’d been trapped in for so long had been her. Hope.
He’d tried to slow things down, put on some breaks, keep things less intimate, but he’d been kidding himself. A Hope-less life had never even been an option.
If he hadn’t fully understood that before, he’d had the rude awakening tonight, when she’d scared the living daylights out of him. In all his life, he hadn’t known that level of fear, not even when Carrie died. He’d been blindsided then, and there hadn’t been time for fear when the cop showed up at this very bar to tell him there’d been an accident. He’d only felt a cold numbness and dread for the three long days before they made the decision to take Carrie off life support. Then there’d been crushing grief. Bucket loads of guilt and apprehension about his future as a single father. But not fear. It’d been too damn late for fear.
But tonight, when Hope hadn’t come home, when he couldn’t contact her, when he couldn’t find her, when no one he’d called knew where the fuck she was—he’d suffered a panic unlike any he’d ever known. He’d never felt so helpless and terrified, imagining every godforsaken scenario over and over until he thought he’d go insane.
Then she’d walked through his office door and all he could feel was a relief and love so fierce he’d nearly collapsed at her feet.
Yeah, there’d be no getting Hope Morgan out of his system now.
After what seemed like days but was really only a couple of hours, he finally signaled to Carter that it was time to escort the drunk stragglers out and lock the front door.
He spent another twenty minutes on the shutdown routine, then asked Carter if he could cover for him tomorrow night.
Carter gave him a look like he’d grown a second head. And Gabe couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t like he made a habit of leaving anyone in charge on a Saturday night at the last minute, what with his trust and control issues and all. But Carter was his right hand at the bar, and Gabe did trust him. And after tonight’s scare, he was renewing his vow to focus on his priorities.
“Something came up,” he said by way of explanation.
