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“Why?” I ask bluntly. “Why are you offering to help me?”
He sets his glass down. “Why not? I want you to succeed. Besides, all I’m doing is making a couple of calls. After that, you’re on your own.”
“Why do you want me to succeed?” I persist. “I mean, this is just about sex. It ends when I head back to the city.”
He leans forward and holds my gaze. “I’m thirty-four,” he says. “One of the advantages of growing up is the realization that you don’t have to sleep with people you don’t like. I like you, Gabriella. What might happen between us is most likely temporary. I get it, I’m a realist. You live in New York, and we live in AC. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. In my world, friends help each other.”
I don’t have the best track record with guys. Not in London, and definitely not in New York. My first instinct is to be cautious. To push back and tell Dominic I can do it on my own. I don’t need him to help me.
It’s easy to protect my heart from people like Stan and George. Nice guys are a lot more dangerous.
Carter hasn’t said anything during this exchange. Now, he reaches for the decanter. “Another drink, Gabriella?” he asks, his green eyes resting on me. “Shall we move to the couch?”
They’re already permanently etched into my memories. If I sleep with them again, I have more than a sneaking suspicion that I’ll be taking a knife to my heart.
Then again, if the events of the last week have shown me anything, it’s that I’m a gambler.
I drain the contents of my glass. “My friends call me Gabby.”
Carter notices the second I make up my mind. His lips curl up. He gets to his feet and walks over to the couch. Sinking down on the velvet, he pats his lap. “Come here, Gabby.”
Hell, yes.
