Gabriel

by Naima Simone

  “I didn’t faint,” she objected, her voice husky with the unshed tears prickling her eyes. “I just needed to sit down.”

  “Right.” He brushed soft kisses over her forehead, the bridge of her nose, and mouth. “I almost collapsed when I walked into the office to find you with a gun pointed at Nathan.”

  She wrapped her arms tighter around Gabriel’s waist, inhaled the wonderful scent of his skin. “Why were you at the office, anyway? How did you know I would be there?”

  He didn’t immediately reply. Instead he grazed a thumb over her bottom lip and swept a hand down her hair before tangling his fingers into the heavy length. He brought the black strands to his nose, then lips. His eyes burned with a fire that seared her to the soul.

  “I guessed. I tried calling your phone, and when you didn’t answer, I got worried. And since you’re like me, finding comfort and forgetfulness in work, I headed to your office. My hunch paid off.” He released her hair, cupped her face. “I needed to find you and ask for your forgiveness.”

  She blinked. She hadn’t been expecting the admission…or the request. “Forgiveness?”

  “Yes. For being everything you accused me of—a coward, weak, a martyr.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t remember saying all of those things.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “In so many words you did. I just summarized them.” The whisper of humor disappeared. “I was afraid to love you, because it meant letting go of Maura and allowing you inside. It meant trusting another person with my heart again and taking the chance of losing them, along with my soul. And with you”—he stroked her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb—“I knew it would destroy me. The risk scared the hell out of me—it still does. But I can’t imagine not touching you, waking up to you, being loved by you. That scares me more than a possible loss.”

  Hope—that damn hope—reared its stubbornly optimistic head. Her fingers shook so badly, she clenched them in the material of his shirt and dropped her chin. Her heart did a wild quickstep in her chest. She was afraid; she’d been in this place of trembling anticipation before. And his rejection had crushed her.

  Hell. She shook her head. Who was the coward now?

  “I don’t want to be your antidote,” she whispered, and couldn’t contain the note of desperation that crept into her voice. “I’m not some experiment to see if you can be with a woman again.”

  “Leah,” he murmured, “look at me.”

  Until he issued the soft command, she hadn’t been aware her eyes were closed. But now she complied with the order and met the light in his hooded gaze. Trembling, she lifted her hands, cuffed his wrists, holding on as if he were her anchor in a suddenly unfamiliar, terrifying world.

  Which he was.

  “Too late,” he warned, his voice a loving stroke over her senses. “Because of you, I feel again. My desire for you wouldn’t let me forget I’m alive, that I want to live. You already are my antidote.” He brushed a caress over her cheekbone. “Before I came to your office yesterday, I went by my old house. I said good-bye—to the memories, to Ian…to Maura. As wonderful as my life was, it—Maura—is my past. You, Leah,” he whispered. “You are my future. My scary, bright, beautiful future. And I want to live with you, build a home, a family with you. I just want…you.”

  “Gabriel,” she breathed, her grip tightening. She dipped her head, her cheek rubbing against his palm, and purred like a kitten. “God, I love you.”

  Slowly, a beatific smile claimed his face. Years fell away from his handsome features, and in that instant, he became once again the Gabriel Devlin who had captured her heart so long ago. Tragedy had marked him, changed him, yes. But that smile reflected the loving, warm core of him, the man.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, lowered his arms, and crushed her to his large, lean frame. She circled his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

  “You’ve humbled me, Leah.” He nuzzled the sensitive skin behind her ear. “You’ve given me a gift I’m not certain I deserve.”

  “Oh, you don’t,” she softly teased, but swept her lips over his jaw, erasing the sting from the admonishment. “But then, I don’t deserve you either.” He opened his mouth to object but she placed a finger over his sensual lips. “You’re selfless, passionate, and so gifted. You’ve been my best friend, my confidante. You thanked me for taking care of you after Maura died. It was the other way around—you were my reason for getting up in the morning and not giving up after I left the department. You saved me.” She removed her finger and traced his sensual mouth. “I’ve loved one man in my life, Gabe, and you’re him.”

  “Sweetheart,” he murmured, “I love you, too.” He cradled her face between his palms, holding her steady as he gently kissed her.

  “I’ll never tire of hearing you say that,” she whispered. “Never.”

  “Then I’ll have to keep telling you. I love you, Leah. And always will.”

  Any lingering remnants of fear and doubt were burned away as his lips claimed her as his own, promising forever.

  About the Author

  Naima Simone’s love of romance was first stirred by Johanna Lindsey, Sandra Brown, and Linda Howard many years ago. Well, not that many. She is only eighteen…ish. Though her first attempt at a romance novel starring Ralph Tresvant from New Edition never saw the light of day, her love of romance, reading, and writing has endured. Published since 2009, she spends her days—and nights— creating stories of unique men and women who experience the first bites of desire, the dizzying heights of passion, and the tender, healing heat of love.

  She is wife to Superman, or his non-Kryptonian, less bullet-proof equivalent, and mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all live in perfect, sometimes domestically challenged bliss in the southern United States.

  Come visit Naima at www.naimasimone.com

  Acknowledgments

  First—and yes, I know I’m about to sound as if I’m accepting a Grammy or just won the Super Bowl—I need to thank God, who never fails to give me the words or inspiration. I also thank God for the people He’s brought into my life. Without my husband and children, I couldn’t do any of this. Gary, Kevin, and Autumn, you support me tirelessly…or at least you never let me see or hear you grumble! Thank you so much, and I love you beyond measure!

  Jessica Lee, I remember the time we were hanging up, and I said, “I love you!” LOL! We laughed, but it’s true. Even if it’s eleven o’clock at night, you just sip on your peppermint mocha and settle down to talk, brainstorm, critique, or vent. Sometimes you’re my sanity, sometimes my comic relief. But you’re always my friend.

  Debra Glass, thank you for being…you. Not once have you ever said, “I don’t have time.” Or “I can’t.” You are the very best this industry has to offer. Giving. Knowledgeable. Gifted. And plain awesome. With you in my corner, I always believe I’m Nora-Roberts-esque! LOL! Maybe that’s part of your magic!

  Tracy Montoya. I wrote your name and had to sigh. Like an I’m-unmanning-myself-by-tearing-up sigh. You took a chance because you believed in me, my voice, and my writing. To hear an author I admire say those words and then proceed to take me under her wing and drag the very best out of me…I’ll never forget it, and thank you is inadequate. But it’s also all that I have. So thank you.

  Okay, leaving to go cry like a little girl now…

  Watch for the second book in the “Secrets and Sins” series…

  Secrets and Sins: Malachim

  coming from Naima Simone, November 2013

  Danielle Warren followed Malachim Jerrod up the front steps of the Beacon Hill brownstone that housed the Boston legal offices of Jerrod & Associates. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer on speed.

  Oh, my God, An interview. He’s giving me an interview.

  As Malachim opened the front door, she shivered. The first thing she noticed upon entering the imposing building was the quiet. In her experience, silence was ominous; it meant the dangerous calm before a storm of accusations, screa
ming, and slaps.

  But there was something different about this place. It was…peaceful.

  The quiet display of wealth and success reminded her of all she’d dreamed of as a girl…all she’d fled as a woman.

  “This way, please.” He led her down a hall, and she fought to keep her gaze firmly focused on the back of his white-blond head. But like a disobedient child, her attention slid south, tracing the width of his shoulders and the tapered length of his back. Even outside, his long, wool coat had emphasized his tall, muscular build, rather than detracting from it. The civilized, designer attire should have made him seem harmless; it had the exact opposite effect. The trim cut emphasized the raw sensuality of a body that moved with a lethal grace. Watching him walk was like observing a very dangerous ballet.

  “Can I take your jacket, Ms. Warren?” he asked, stepping back and allowing her entrance into his spacious office. She slipped past him, careful to keep distance between them. Not that it prohibited his fresh, clean scent from reaching out to her.

  “No, thank you,” she murmured.

  He shrugged out of his coat, hung it up, then turned toward her. His closely clipped hair accentuated the sharp angles and shadowed hollows of his lean, patrician face. For a disquieting moment, her gaze lingered on the full curve of his disarmingly sensual mouth. Next to his urbane but still very masculine elegance, she’d felt like a ragamuffin.

  Danielle had noticed Malachim’s skepticism when she’d informed him of the purpose behind her standing on his doorstep well after quitting time—she’d only intended to drop off her résumé, not participate in an on-the-spot job interview. She’d tried to nonchalantly shift her messenger bag forward and hide the stain on her jeans leg. But his all-too perceptive gaze caught the movement. She had a feeling those sharp eyes rarely missed anything. Those eyes…

  But he’d asked her inside anyway.

  Another shiver skated over her skin. But not from desire. Her mind stutter-stepped away from that idea as if it were poisonous, scaly, and rattling. It’d been years since a man had incited an emotion in her other than mistrust, trepidation, and fear.

  No, the trembling portended a warning, a blaring red caution light to be vigilant, careful.

  From the research she’d conducted on him, Malachim was a man well acquainted with protecting secrets. And as he rounded his desk, her bogus résumé in his hand, Danielle would’ve bet a month’s salary he was just as adept at sniffing them out. For a woman whose entire existence was a lie, this terrified her.

  Not enough to make her turn around and walk out of this office, though.

  “Just give me a few minutes to read over your résumé,” he said, lowering into his chair.

  The paper detailed her high school education and two years of community college in the Chicago area, a long eight-year break, and a certification from an online paralegal program. All fake and, in exchange for the last three thousand dollars in her bank account, all 100 percent verifiable.

  “I notice you’ve recently moved to the Boston area.”

  If by “moving,” you meant sneaking out in the dead of night to flee one state for another with one’s life packed into a single suitcase, then sure. “Yes. From Chicago.

  “You have family here?” he asked.

  “No. I just wanted a change.” That sharp gaze studied her as if he could peer beneath her skin to the truth beneath. “I grew up in Massachusetts before my family left years ago.” Truth. “When I needed a fresh start, it seemed the place to go. At one time it was home.”

  He bent his head, scanning her résumé once more. His hair gleamed under the ceiling lights, the strands like a cap of white gold. Would his hair feel soft to the touch like silk? Or would the short length be coarser? The inane thought popped unbidden into her head before she could shut it down.

  I’m not his damn barber, so I don’t care. And she shifted her attention away from his head to the painting behind him.

  The art depicted a lone, shadowed figure of a man standing on an outcropping of rocks. A lighthouse, proud and solid, soared to the sky as waves crashed onto the boulders below. It wasn’t a cheery picture; the mass of clouds in the gray sky was too dark, too menacing. And to Danielle, the man appeared to lean forward, gazing into the turbulent waters as if searching for something—or someone—among the swells.

  It snagged at her soul, and in that moment her inspection of the painting was no longer a carefully affected façade but true fascination. That’s me. In such a dark, seemingly hopeless and storm-battered place. Yet, like the man who peered into the angry night, she stared into her future with hope, desperate to spot the lifeline capable of keeping her from drowning.

  “It’s called Still Waiting.”

  She glanced down. Malachim watched her, not the painting.

  Silence hijacked the room. Why would Malachim Jerrod have this piece of art in his inner sanctum? Why would it call to him, of all people? Yes, he was presently embroiled in a legal mess, but he was still wealthy, still successful.

  I don’t care, she reminded herself. Not my business.

  She had to keep it together. She’d bet a week’s wages at Suffolk Downs that he would hire her out of pure desperation. Jerrod & Associates had been a successful, respected law firm—until the Richard Pierce murder scandal had broken. Now, a talented, ambitious attorney or paralegal wouldn’t make a lateral move to a business where the proprietor had salacious phrases like “cold case,” and “murder” attached to him like a stubborn barnacle.

  She, however, would.

  “It’s lovely,” she said and cleared her throat. She gestured toward the résumé in his hand. “I know my work history doesn’t contain much experience, but—”

  “That’s an understatement.” He laid the paper on the desktop, and his steady contemplation never wavered. “There is a gap for almost eight years.”

  She’d practiced the story in the mirror until she could repeat it without the smallest pause or hesitation. “I was in a long-term relationship, and it didn’t work. After it ended, I decided to pursue something for myself, which was the move to Boston and a career as a paralegal.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows lowered a fraction. In an instant she had a visual of a patient, quietly stalking jaguar, his tail slowly flicking back and forth as he waited for its prey to reveal itself. To make a mistake…

  “When can you start?” he finally asked, his voice was heavy with the weight of resignation.

  To be continued…

  SECRETS AND SINS: MALACHIM

  by Naima Simone

  November 2013

  And coming in 2014 from Naima Simone:

  SECRETS AND SINS: RAPHAEL

  SECRETS AND SINS: CHAYOT