Gabriel: Adamo Bodyguards Book 2

by Madison, Mia

  The only thing that stops me is that this is Rachel, and only the best is good enough for her. Hot as my fantasy is — and I’m keeping it in reserve for some future day — I don’t want the first time we fuck to make her feel anything less than special.

  I lift my head. Her lips are swollen, her eyes hazed with pleasure. It almost destroys my resolve to take her home and seduce her properly.

  “Want to get out of here?” I stroke her clit again, and she jerks in her seat.

  “Yes.” Her voice is deep and throaty; I can’t wait to hear what she sounds like after she comes. “Let’s go.”

  I lean back just as Armando comes to check on us. “I see you’re still working on your appetizers,” he says, his gaze tactfully avoiding Rachel’s flushed skin, my rumpled t-shirt. “I won’t start your main course yet.”

  “Actually, could we get all this to go?” There’s plenty of regular food at home, of course, but I have plans for this chocolate sauce. I’ll paint her nipples with it, drizzle it on her belly.

  My cock’s rock-hard in anticipation.

  “Of course,” my cousin says. “I’ll be right back.”

  While he’s gone, I try to stifle my libido, which doesn’t care at all that we’re in a public space, and doesn’t want to wait until we get home. I’ve never reacted like this before, never felt such a relentless drive to claim a woman. It’s almost as if my caveman side wants everyone to see me fucking her so there’ll be no question that she’s mine.

  I don’t want any questions in her mind, either. My caveman wants me to dominate every inch of her, teach her who she belongs to, fuck her into submission.

  Not that she needs much convincing, judging from the way she’s watching me. Getting her into bed won’t be the tricky part.

  Keeping her there for more than one night … that might prove more of a challenge. I’ll let her get used to being around me and my family, let her adjust to her new normal. If it sneaks up on her and wraps itself around her, maybe, by the time she realizes she’s a permanent part of my life, she won’t freak out.

  I hope.

  Armando comes back with a bag holding several takeout containers. I have a feeling there’s more in there than just the raspberries and fondue. “Thanks, cugino.”

  “Anytime. Rachel, I hope we’ll see you again.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  I drop enough bills on the table to cover our tab and then some, and escort Rachel out. The spring night air is cool against my skin. I keep an eye on our surroundings, purely out of habit, until we reach the SUV.

  There’s an envelope on the windshield.

  Rachel sees it too, and the look on her face has a hot ball of rage forming in my stomach. I hadn’t forgotten about her stalker, not for one second; but I wanted to give her a few worry-free hours when she could relax. We were getting there, and now that asshole’s gone and destroyed her peace of mind again.

  He has an appointment with my fists; but what I’d really like to do is put him six feet under, where he’ll never bother her or anyone else ever again. Not tonight, though.

  Tonight, Rachel and I both need to forget … if we can.

  I get her into the car and retrieve the gloves I used earlier. The envelope is greeting-card-sized, plain white, like the other one. I open it and read the note in the glare of the security lights.

  A queen who abandons her king cannot rule.

  Still not a direct threat, but edging toward one. I pull out my phone and call Armando. “I need the security footage from the parking lot.”

  “What happened?”

  “Client situation. We’ll handle it, but the footage would help.”

  “I’ll make sure you get it.”

  “Thanks.” I put the envelope in the evidence bag with the other one, check the SUV for tracking devices, and text Rafael with an update before I get in the car.

  “What did he say?” Rachel demands, once I’m sitting next to her.

  She has a right to know. And much as I’d like to shield her, she’s not weak. I tell her what he wrote; her hands curl into fists.

  Good. I’d rather have her mad than scared. “What do we do now?” she wants to know.

  I start the car and pull out of the lot. “Now, we go home. Tomorrow, we’re going to lay out a plan of action to take care of him.”

  “He makes me so angry. But if I hadn’t come to you, I’d be terrified.”

  “He’s jealous.” I can’t hide that from her, either. “He’s likely to escalate because of your involvement with me.”

  “I know. I wish you could kidnap him and drop him off at the other end of the world.” She stares out the window as we cruise through downtown.

  “Believe me, I’ve thought about it.” Along with those other, more final measures. “We may have enough evidence for you to go to the police again. Have you kept his past notes?”

  “I gave everything I had at the time to the police when I filed a report, but they said there were no fingerprints on any of it.”

  Fuck. “Okay. We should have him on camera, though, both here and back at our offices.” I hope he’s recognizable.

  “I’ve gotten calls, too. Hang-up calls from different numbers, never any talking. I gave all those numbers to the police, and they said they were burner phones.”

  He’s smart enough to cover his ass, but we’ll nail him. I’m also keeping in mind, given the lack of direct evidence, the possibility that Rachel’s wrong about his identity, and it’s some other creep who’s responsible. But first things first. Eliminate or confirm Kukor as the stalker, and then go from there.

  I’m keeping an eye out for a tail as I drive. There’s no sign of one, and I didn’t find any tracking devices either. But I’m not taking anything for granted with this guy.

  We reach my place ten minutes later. I pull the SUV into the garage, instead of leaving it in the driveway or on the street, and we go in through the connecting door. Rachel looks around, taking it all in, and I try to see it through her eyes.

  She’s used to fashion, beauty, refinement. I’m a pretty basic guy who likes his creature comforts. But hell, I don’t care what the house looks like, so long as the furniture’s comfortable; she can girly up the decorations and my masculinity won’t be threatened.

  Whoa, boy. I’m getting way ahead of myself again. We haven’t spent a single night together yet, and for all I know, I’m just a bump in the road to her.

  Not that I intend to let things stay that way.

  5

  Make Me Feel

  I’m instantly at home in Gabriel’s house. It’s like him: solid, earthy, steady. Nothing fancy or pretentious.

  His living room holds leather sofas and armchairs, along with a big flat-screen TV. Perfect for curling up on a rainy day or a cozy evening and watching a show. Adjacent to that, in the nice open floor plan, is a roomy kitchen with updated everything.

  “Do you like to cook?” I ask.

  “It’s not my strong suit, unlike a lot of people in my family. That gene kind of skipped me. I can make some basic stuff, more as a matter of survival than anything else.”

  “These appliances look pretty new, is all.” But not as though they’ve had much use, now that I think about it.

  “I upgraded the kitchen, yeah. When I do feel like cooking, I want to have the right equipment on hand. Plus, if I have family over and any of them want to handle the food prep, they won’t look at me like I must have been switched with somebody else’s baby at the hospital.”

  “Daniel would have had to be switched, too,” I point out, just to tease him.

  “It could happen.” He winks at me. “There actually was a case where some twins got mixed up, but it was only two of the four boys. So they grew up as two sets of fraternal twins, but then as adults, they met each other and figured it all out.”

  “Oh, wow. That’s wild.”

  We’re standing a few feet apart, on the border between the living room and the kitchen. I’m awkward, u
nsure of what to do. The impatient lust I felt at Armando’s froze and shattered after we found the second note, and though Gabriel’s as gorgeous as ever, I can’t get my stalker out of my mind.

  “Come here,” he says, and draws me against him, like he did earlier at the office. It feels so good, just to be held.

  But my need for security is getting all tangled up with my other feelings. Gabriel deserves better than for me to be drawn to him because he keeps me safe. That’s not the only reason I find him compelling, but right now it’s getting in the way. “I’m afraid I’m not very good company.”

  “It’s all right.” He’s swaying softly, just a little, like we’re slow dancing to unheard music. “We don’t have to do anything. Just be with me.”

  His words relieve my guilt, free me to want him, regardless of the reasons. I press closer, holding him tightly, and he responds in kind, letting me feel his strength. His hard muscles beneath my hands, my cheek, are simultaneously soothing and arousing.

  My nails dig into his back; I raise my face to his. “Gabriel.”

  He frames my face with his hands. “Let me take care of you, Rachel. Will you do that?”

  I nod, unsure of what he means, or how to tell him how inexperienced I am. The next moment, he swings me up into his arms. “Easy,” he says when I gasp. “I’ve got you.”

  He’s so big, so strong, that I somehow feel petite as he carries me through the house. When he sets me down in what is clearly his bedroom, my hammering pulse doesn’t slow at all.

  My nerves must be pretty obvious, because he says again, “Let me take care of you.” I move closer, right up against him, giving him silent permission to do whatever he’s asking for.

  His mouth settles on mine, soft as gossamer.

  Oh. I never knew seduction could be such a delicate thing. His touch whispers over my skin, his kiss offering rather than demanding. There’s nothing tentative about it; he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s doing it expertly and with exquisite gentleness.

  My hunger grows in proportion to his restraint. I tunnel my fingers through his short hair, holding him to me, trying to deepen the kiss. He gives me more, but still, it’s careful, deliberate.

  Maddening.

  “Gabriel,” I pant when I pull back. His slow smile stokes the fires kindling under my skin. “I’m not fragile.”

  His eyes flare, and for an instant, I catch a glimpse of a heat and possessiveness that shock me — and thrill me to my core. Then they’re gone, and he’s gentle Gabriel again. “You said you’d let me take care of you.”

  “You’re not taking care of me; you’re driving me crazy.”

  He gives me another smile, a lopsided curve that squeezes my heart, and touches his forehead to mine for a moment. “That’s part of taking care of you.”

  “I don’t need to be coddled.”

  His eyes flash again, this time with temper. “No, but I thought you might need to be cherished.”

  Guilt stabs me. “Gabriel—”

  “Rachel.” He pauses, trying to gather his thoughts, find the right words. “I’m not a submissive man.”

  “No,” I say, after a long moment. “I didn’t think you were.” The very idea is preposterous.

  “I told you I admire your strength, and I meant it. I don’t ever want you to be a doormat, someone who doesn’t speak her mind or express her wants.

  “That said, there are going to be times when I need you to let me do what I do. Even if it drives you crazy.”

  There’s so much to unpack in what he just said, but I’m stuck on one phrase, one word. There are going to be times.

  Times. Plural.

  That’s not one-night-stand talk. It’s relationship talk. “Gabriel … what’s going on here?”

  “On what level?”

  I fling my arms out. “All the levels.”

  “You tell me.”

  “That’s a copout.” Folding my arms, I glare at him.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on. But I want you to tell me what you think first.”

  “Why?” I demand, not caring that I probably sound closer to the seven-year-old he last knew than a grown woman.

  His eyes narrow. “Because I said so.”

  “Gah!” I push away from him and pace the room. “You’re infuriating.”

  He doesn’t answer, just watches me. Waiting. Stubborn man.

  “Fine,” I say at last. “We … have a connection.”

  “Go on.”

  I glare at him some more. “And we’re, I don’t know, expressing it. Exploring it. Something.”

  “And how long is this expression-slash-exploration going to last?”

  “I don’t know! How am I supposed to answer that?”

  Gabriel arches one dark eyebrow. “You could tell me how long you want it to last.”

  But I can’t. Because that would mean admitting the depth of what he makes me feel, the longing he ignites in me … and how absolutely unworthy I am to be the center of his attention.

  Turning away, I go to stand by the window, my arms wrapped around my torso. He comes up behind me, bracing his arms on the window frame, surrounding me. But I don’t feel trapped. “Do you want my answer?” he says.

  “Yes.” It comes out sounding brittle, defensive. He drops a kiss on my shoulder, and my whole body shivers.

  “What’s going on …” His lips graze the side of my neck.

  I whirl as pleasure ignites, trying to throw myself at him, but he grabs my wrists and pins them against the window frame. Not hurting me, just holding me. Refusing to let me derail the conversation.

  “What’s going on is that I don’t want this to end.”

  Panic grips me; my eyes must be as big as dinner plates. “I know you’re not ready for that,” he goes on. “So all I want you to promise me is that you won’t run away.”

  “Gabriel—”

  “Do you trust me, Rachel?”

  “Yes.” There’s no one I trust more.

  “Then promise me you’ll give this a chance. You can yell at me, fight with me, tell me twenty times a day that you’re scared and you feel like running away. But don’t run.”

  I want to say he doesn’t understand what he’s asking. But I think he does. He seems to understand me far better than he has any right to.

  My mouth opens, but the words won’t come out. “Okay,” he says quietly, when I don’t speak. “Just for tonight, then. Can you promise me just for tonight?”

  “Yes.” One night is easy. Here, with him, is everywhere I want to be.

  “Good.” Still holding me, he lowers his head and kisses me. Soft, enticing, our only points of contact his mouth on mine, his hands on my wrists.

  The kiss goes on and on. Denied other ways of touching him, I kiss him back with everything I’ve got, demanding, ravenous, greedy. My nipples stiffen and ache; liquid heat pools in my core.

  By the time he lifts his head, I’m drunk on him.

  “Rachel.” He sips at my mouth, once, twice, then sinks in again, taking the kiss deeper. His hands finally release my wrists, and I press myself against him as if to meld our bodies. He wraps me in his strength, in his heat, and kisses me like it’s keeping him alive.

  Skimming his hands down my sides, he settles them on my ass, pulling me flush against him. His erection presses against my belly and I reach for it instinctively, but he stops me.

  I jerk my head back. My lips are swollen and tender; my panties are soaked. “I need to touch you.”

  “You are touching me.”

  I try to get free, but he’s captured both my wrists again, and his grip is unbreakable. “Hold still,” he says firmly when I struggle. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then let me go.”

  “Rachel. This is one of those times when you need to let me be in charge.”

  A deep suspicion strikes me. “Is there anything about sex you don’t need to be in charge of?”

  The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Not m
uch.”

  “That is totally unfair.”

  “And yet.” He’s not the least bit sorry.

  “What happened to me expressing my wants?”

  “I do want you to express them. That doesn’t mean you always get what you want.”

  I’m glaring again. “You want me to tell you what I want so you can say no?”

  “Rachel.” He looks like he’s trying not to smile. I am not amused. “Do you think maybe this is an area where I have more experience than you do?”

  Dammit. At least he didn’t flat-out ask me if I’m a virgin. Still, I can’t meet his eyes.

  “Then how about,” he says in my ear, “you let me take the lead until we’re more … used to each other.”

  “And by ‘take the lead,’ you mean letting you call all the shots.”

  “Yes.”

  At least he’s honest. “If I say no?”

  “I could always tie you up.” There’s a gleam in his eye that tells me he means it. “Or we could just go to sleep.”

  “You’re a tyrant! Do it your way, or not at all.”

  He doesn’t deny it. “That’s still giving you a choice.”

  “You’d better tie me up, then. Because I can’t not touch you.”

  “Okay,” he says mildly. “Do you like this dress?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s take it off, so I don’t have to cut it to pieces.”

  While I goggle at him, he moves behind me and unzips the dress. Nudging the fabric to the ends of my shoulders, he lets me decide whether to go ahead.

  He might be dictatorial, but he’s still giving me breathing room. Not to mention turning me on. I shrug the dress off and let it slither down onto the floor.

  Gabriel closes his hands over mine, linking our fingers. Holding me in place again. He plants a kiss on the back of my neck. Then another, and another, making his way down my spine.

  Every time his lips touch my skin, tremors run through my body. “Stop tormenting me.”