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Gabriella
Carter’s words hang in the air. I have a proposition for you.
My heart stutters.
I haven’t been able to stop looking at them. Drinking them in. Dominic must have started the day in a suit, but this late at night, he’s lost the jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He looks good enough to eat. His dark, wavy hair is shorter than it was seven months ago, but it still grazes the collar of his shirt. His face is covered with a five o’clock shadow, one that I ache to brush against. I remember doing that. I can still feel the way his stubble prickled against my skin, how it felt against my inner thighs as his mouth covered my…
Stop it, I scold myself. Stop.
Carter’s sleeves are rolled up too. Is it possible to lust after a man’s forearms, or does that make me a pervert? Probably. His shoulders are broad, his green eyes dark with heat, and when I look at him, all I can remember is the way he’d slammed me against the wall as soon as we’d entered the hotel room, and his mouth had found mine with hot, desperate urgency.
My insides tighten with need. My hands tremble. I set the glass of wine on the table at my side before I spill it. I remember them being good-looking, but not this gorgeous. I remember the chemistry being powerful, but not this overwhelming. If I could go back in time, I’d go back to that bar in Manhattan seven months ago and congratulate Past Me for having impeccable taste. It’s almost difficult to breathe in their presence. My need fills me, banishing air from my lungs and almost driving common sense from my brain.
Almost.
“What sort of proposition?” I’m proud of myself, proud of how calm I sound. Inside, I might be unraveling, but at least I don’t show it.
Dominic shoots Carter an exasperated look. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am.” Carter stares at me. “I need a favor. I’ll pay you for your trouble—”
“You’re not seriously suggesting I sleep with you for money.”
“What?” His tone is shocked, and I wince. Next time, think before you blurt out the first thing on your mind, Gabriella. I might want to sleep with them again, but judging by Carter’s reaction, the sentiment is one-sided. Probably just as well. I’ve done so many stupid things recently. No need to add another entry to the list.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “I’ve misunderstood. I’ll shut up now and let you finish.”
Carter still looks shocked. Dominic shakes his head. “Carter,” he says. “I want to go on record. This is a terrible idea.”
Carter’s jaw tightens. “This morning, you said you’d back me up. Were you lying?”
The other man throws up his hands. “Fine.” He gets to his feet, pours himself another shot of Scotch, and stays where he is, staring out the window, his body set in lines of tension.
Yeah, this is definitely not an invitation to pick up where we left off.
I tend to charge into situations. I speak before I have a chance to think—accusing Carter of propositioning me for sex isn’t the first time I’ve put my foot in my mouth, and sadly, it won’t be my last. But now that I’ve had a second, I realize something else is going on here. I turn back to Carter. “Let’s start over. What’s the matter?”
He takes a deep breath. “I’ve had custody of my nephew for the last four years,” he says. “Noah is six. When my sister died, his father, Ed Wagner, decided he couldn’t cope with taking care of a toddler. He took off, leaving Noah to my care.” His expression makes it clear what he thinks of his brother-in-law. “Earlier today, a judge awarded Ed sole custody of Noah.”
I frown. “Why?”
“Among other things, because Carter almost punched Wagner in front of Noah and the rest of his kindergarten class,” Dominic says, his voice caustic. “Am I getting that right, Carter?”
Carter’s fingers tighten around his can of Diet Coke, but otherwise, he doesn’t react. “I lost control,” he says evenly. “I screwed up. It won’t happen again.”
Dominic opens his mouth to reply, and then thinks better of it. He downs his drink and pours himself another. I stare from one man to another, not fully understanding what’s going on. I know I don’t know them. But the last time I saw them—the night I slept with them—I would have sworn that Carter and Dominic were friends. Good friends. Really good friends, the kind that fucked one lucky woman—me—without any apparent hint of jealousy or one-upmanship. Now, they’re both on edge. They’re brittle. Both seem to be hanging on to control by the slenderest of threads.
“The custody arrangement is temporary,” Carter continues after a long pause. “If I can show the judge that I can follow her rules for six weeks, she’ll revisit the issue.”
“What are her rules?”
“No contact with Ed,” he says. “No contact with Noah outside of a ten-minute phone call.”
“And no contact by a proxy either,” Dominic adds from his spot by the window. He’s on his third drink now. Or is it fourth?
Carter frowns. “I’m following instructions. I’m staying away from Wagner. But,” he says, his eyes piercing into me. “Ed’s never had Noah for any length of time before. If Noah has a nightmare, Ed won’t know what to do. If Noah throws a tantrum because he wants another piece of cake…”
He looks so helpless. My heart aches in sympathy. I can’t even imagine what I would do if someone took my child away from me. And yes, Carter is Noah’s uncle, not parent, but he’s been the one taking care of his nephew since he was two. This has got to be brutally difficult. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
