Why the hell not? Aside from the whole not-over-the-crush-of-her-life thing. Going out with Adam would probably be a really smart step toward not losing the best friend status quo with Gib. She’d do Adam, Gib would continue to do the entire female population of Chicago, and nothing would change. Nothing. Would. Change. It made her a little heartsick. But Gib clearly would not change. So Daphne would have to. With somebody. So why not with hot, hard-bodied Adam?
“I can’t wait to hear it,” she said.
Adam pulled a card out of his shirt pocket. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. So take my card. Talk to the rest of the guys here tonight—” he dimpled again, “who won’t be half as fun as me—then sleep on it. If you still want to go out, call me tomorrow.”
A hand Daphne knew as well as her own grabbed the card in midair. “Daphne won’t be ringing you up tomorrow.” Those blue eyes she’d never stop wanting burned with an icy flame. Gib looked like he’d come straight from work. Or was on his way out to romance and bed a woman. Shiny matte green tie, darker green shirt beneath a black suit. Daphne would give anything, anything to grab that tie and use it to reel him in for a kiss.
“Gibson, you don’t get a vote in this.” Her brain hiccupped, trying to process he and Adam Miller sharing the same space. “What are you even doing here?”
“Sam called me.” He ground out the words from between clenched teeth. “Mira and I will have words later as to why she didn’t tell me herself.”
“Tell you what?”
“About her betrayal. About the way she auctioned you off in this dating circus.”
Adam shook his head. “Dude, I didn’t pay for Daphne. This isn’t that kind of place. You owe her an apology for even thinking that.”
Gib looked Adam up and down. She’d seen him give a week-old bagel a less dismissive look. Then something changed. An abrupt dial-back of the dangerous vibe rattling off of Gib like a wind shear.
“Look, I get it. Daphne’s amazing. Lovely. Of course you’re keen to go out with her. I bet every guy in this room’s pissed at you, wishing they’d gotten to her first. Except for the singular fact that you didn’t.” That dangerous edge crept back into his voice. “I did. I staked my claim. Did a piss-poor job of it, but did it nonetheless.”
Had he lost his mind? Daphne couldn’t help but thrill to his words. Still, she couldn’t let him get away with them, either. “I’m not an unnamed mountain in the Himalayas. You can’t claim me.”
“Give me a chance to try.” With a nudge of his legs to her knees, her chair swung around to face him. The move also pulled her hand away from Adam’s. “I’m sorry. I’m sorrier than I can say. I’m a fool. I behaved like an utter ass.”
“No argument here.” Daphne hoped Mira really was nearby, taking notes. She wouldn’t mind a word-for-word playback of this entire conversation once the shock wore off.
“I crapped all over our window of opportunity. And again, I’m sorry. I know you’re mad. You should be. I’m furious at myself. All I ask is that you give me one more chance.”
He had the appropriate hangdog expression of penitence. And was throwing himself on the altar of public humiliation for her. Daphne had to admit it bore all the signs of a genuine apology. But he couldn’t snap his fingers and expect her to fall into line. Their friendship had survived one disastrous date. She couldn’t guarantee it would survive a second.
“Why should I?”
Gib waggled Adam’s card in the air. “You’ve got nothing to lose. All I ask is that you go out with me once. Tomorrow night. If you don’t have a good time, a great time, I’ll give you this card. You can ring Adam up and set up a date with him for next weekend.” He edged closer. Daphne had to tilt her head up to look at him. A long, slow stroke down her arm ended with the familiar feel of his hand around hers. “But please, give me one more night. One night, just for you. The date you deserved from the start. One last shot to get you to change your mind.”
The jazz piano piped through the sound system stopped abruptly, replaced by a tinkling bell. It was the signal to switch partners. A tall man with a shaved head and glasses elbowed between Adam and Gib.
“Time’s up, guys. Move on,” he said in a pleasant but firm voice.
Adam pushed back his chair. “Well, Daphne?”
Why did Adam have to be so perfect in every way—except that he simply wasn’t Gib? The choice came down to the basic fact that she’d marinate in regret for the rest of her life if she didn’t give Gib one more chance.
“Adam, it was fun talking with you. I promise I’ll call you in two days and explain. One way or another.” She hugged him, which was kind of like hugging a scantily upholstered building. Solid, immovable and big. Tempting, too. Daphne moved on to the new guy.
“Sorry, but I’m finished for the evening. These two wore me out.” She winked at Adam. To her delight, he winked back. Tabitha the matchmaker really knew her stuff. “I’ll make sure you get an extra drink or something.” Then she turned to Gib. “Seven o’clock tomorrow. Don’t fuck it up.”
Chapter Twelve
Life is the flower for which love is the honey ~ Victor Hugo
“Do I need to grovel some more?” Gib asked. His boots crunched against the fresh layer of snow on the sidewalk. “Because I’m willing. Seriously. You name the way you want it. Haiku. Shouted from the rooftop. Hell, I’ll do a mea culpa with a bullhorn from the top of the Navy Pier Ferris wheel.”
“I’m good for now. I’ll let you know if the situation changes.” It finally felt like Daphne had the upper hand. She liked it. Kind of wanted to keep making him work for it. Now that she knew he had it in him to grovel so thoroughly.
“Good. Because I’d like a fresh start. As if we’ve never done this before.”
“Do you mean as if we’d never met? Pretend to be Daisy and Graham again?” Because that had worked very well. Anything that got her back in Gib’s lap in under ten minutes was worth doing again.
“I’m all for role-playing in the bedroom.” Gib stopped, looked down at her with a wicked smile. “Off the top of my head, I can picture you as a feisty pirate wench. One who needs to be subdued by an officer in the King’s Navy.”
Yes. She could see it, too. Michigan Avenue and the cars spraying slush disappeared. There was only Gib in knee-high black boots, a sword strapped to his hip. Pushing her back against the mast. Maybe tying her to it with a handy rope. Tightly. Daphne realized she was squeezing his hand like a tourniquet. And that she’d completely forgotten to take a breath.
“But I don’t think we’re quite there yet.” Swinging their linked hands, he began to walk again. “I’d like to put my idiotic behavior of the other night behind us. You’ve every right to be mad at me. Which is why I’ll continue to apologize as many times as you need to hear. My second attempt at a first date, however, won’t be much fun at all if you’re pissy.”
“Righteously pissy,” Daphne corrected.
He nodded briskly. “Of course. So are you willing to shelve your utterly righteous anger for about twelve hours? Let us have a clear shot as though it were our first first date?”
Funny. She’d already had this identical conversation with Ivy. Although Ivy had been a bit more direct, insisting that sulking wasn’t sexy. “You don’t have to keep apologizing. As long as you promise not to treat me like a one-night hookup, we’re a clean slate.”
“Brilliant.”
A clean slate didn’t mean she wouldn’t still hassle him. “So far you’ve run me through an hour of drills to prep for the Flower Power competition. Driven us to the Cavendish and parked in your spot. Nothing special going on there. Now you’ve walked us out of the garage in what feels like an aimless ramble. Gotta ask, Gib. Do you actually have a plan for tonight?”
“Ouch.” He pulled back with an exaggerated wince. “Your lack of faith is, well, warranted, I suppose. I parked at the Cavendish because the rates at other downtown garages are highway robbery.”
“True.” Daphne flip
ped through a mental map of the nearby options. Lookingglass Theatre might be fun, but he’d told her to dress casually, which scratched it off the list. “If we’re going to Tiffany’s, which would be a great way to show me how sorry you are, then you’ve overshot by about two blocks.”
“Tiffany’s. Really? That’s cheeky.” Gib chuffed out a laugh. “You and me, we’re not quite there yet, either. This is only our first official date, remember?”
“Rats.” Worth a shot. At least it felt familiar and fun to tease him.
“Didn’t know your taste ran to shiny rocks. You rarely wear jewelry.”
“Because I work with my hands in water and stems all day. My work uniform is an apron over jeans. A beautiful, two-carat, square-cut emerald pendant might look as if I were trying too hard.”
“Interesting.” Gib looked at her, really looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Why don’t I know this about you? Your secret love for posh jewelry?”
“Never came up. Not really something pals discuss. Unless one of them is in the market to shop for a present. Face it, you’ve never stayed with a woman long enough to buy her a sparkly present in a little blue box.”
“True. You can wipe that hopeful look off your face. We’re not going to Tiffany’s.”
“The food court at Water Tower Place?” They did an amazing pad thai. A little buffet of add-ons, so she could overload on cilantro and limes.
“Daphne, there’s casual, and then there’s insulting. I’m not taking you to a mall food court on our first date.”
“I give up.”
They turned at the iconic Chicago Water Tower. One of the only buildings to survive the Great Chicago Fire, its limestone castle facade symbolized the resilience of Chicago. Daphne liked it because it reminded her of a fairy-tale castle. No one in particular. But being able to walk past a building that looked like it housed swaggering heroes ready to battle dragons and vanquish foes tickled her imagination. Not that she’d ever admit as much out loud.
“Tonight is about you. Not any other woman. A date made specifically for Daphne.” They passed the park with trees still wrapped in lights from the holidays. “One of the most basic truths about you is that you’ve an enormous sweet tooth. So I’m taking you for a pre-dinner drink.” Gib pointed at, hands down, one of her favorite places in the city. The Ghirardelli store.
She couldn’t help it. Daphne clapped her hands together in glee. “I never would’ve expected this. Ever.” She raced ahead of him, but Gib’s long legs still got him to the door fast enough to open it for her. Stepping onto the brown-and-white checkerboard floor was like coming home. Daphne found an excuse to swing by this store at least once a week. The clerks knew her name, knew her favorite orders. Gib really delivered. This time.
Sandy, a middle-aged woman with a magical touch on the espresso machine, waved. “You don’t usually visit us this late.”
“First time for everything,” Daphne said with a smile. Then she turned to beam at Gib. “Do you trust me to order for you?”
“Seems only fair.”
“Two salted caramel hot chocolates, please.” The urge to smother him in kisses for being so thoughtful was strong. But Gib needed to make any and all moves. Daphne refused to put her heart visibly on the line again unless he did it first. “I’d be perfectly happy if we stayed here all night. Thank you.”
“We aren’t even staying five minutes.” Gib leaned over the counter to Sandy. “Put those in to-go cups, please.”
“But I’m just starting to thaw.” The short walk from the parking garage, in addition to wedging a chunk of snow between her boot and shin, had chilled her feet and her ears to almost numb. Daphne had unfortunately decided against a hat. Neither frizzy static-hair or flattened hat-hair were looks she thought would put Gib in a sexy mood.
His lips tickled the top of her ear. It sent a different kind of chill straight down her spine. “I promise to keep you warm.”
Okay, that sent a tingle down the front of her body. And it boded well. Flirty Gib had returned, and yet not overly obvious and practiced. His promise sounded as genuine as his earlier apology.
“Sure you don’t want a brownie to go with these?” Sandy’s hand hovered over the solid, gooey bar of chocolaty goodness. “I could dip it in hot fudge for you.”
Gib slid a ten-dollar bill onto the counter. “Tempting. But I’ve got plans to keep her lips busy.” He picked up the cups and headed for the door. Sandy gave a big thumbs-up. Biting her lip, Daphne waved goodbye and hurried after him.
“Come on, we don’t want to keep him waiting.” He set a brisk pace across the street.
Daphne wound her hand around his elbow. It kept him close, and it put her in position to grab for her hot cocoa. “Who?”
“Al Capone.”
“He’s dead. Are you taking me to a séance? Or a ghost tour? Because Halloween was months ago.”
Gib stopped in front of a huge chestnut horse tethered to an old-fashioned burgundy carriage. He ran a hand over the white stripe on its nose. “Meet Al Capone.”
The horse whinnied at its name, and tossed its mane. “He’s very…big.”
“Gotta be, to pull one of these.” A man in a big fur hat stood by the open door. “Al’s a workhorse. You could load this rig up with four chunksters and he wouldn’t complain. Two skinny things like you won’t be any problem at all.”
“Good to hear.” Fighting back laughter, Gib boosted Daphne inside. He did it so well that she bounced on the gray upholstered seat.
“We’re really doing this?”
Gib latched the door. Then he grabbed a blanket and tucked it around their legs. Stretched an arm across her shoulders to anchor her against his chest. “Yes. Unless you don’t want to?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve always wanted to ride in one of these. I’ve watched my own brides do it time after time. It’s utterly romantic, being snuggly in here with you.” She bounced again, for the sheer fun of it. Cocoa and a carriage ride with her favorite guy. Gib had more than clawed his way out of the doghouse. Now if only she could get him back on the kissing track, it’d be a perfect night.
“Good. And before you ask, I’ve never taken a date on a carriage ride before.” With a strong jerk, the carriage began to roll. “Well, not here.” He paused. “Full disclosure?”
He’d even learned not to just rattle off his sexual history. The man was on his best behavior. “You decide.”
“Back home, I borrowed a landau and drove Mary Smythe-Reilly around the estate when we were fourteen. Far less chance for romance, as I had the reins.”
Daphne sipped her cocoa. Aside from his expensive suit addiction, Gib didn’t flaunt his money. He put in long hours, worked like a demon for his paycheck from the Cavendish. Easy to forget he came from a background of estates and stables. Gib certainly seemed to forget it most of the time. And she liked hearing a rare story from his childhood. “Did you get a kiss?”
“Afterwards. In the stable. Not worth the hour it took to curry the horse, clean the landau, all while putting up with a steady stream of mocking by my brother.”
“Gerald? Your little brother?”
“Yes.” He, too, took a slow sip of his drink.
“I can count the times you’ve mentioned him on one hand.” Should she push him? Risk ruining the entire date right from the start? On the other hand, if Gib immediately shut her down, wouldn’t that make clear the bar on just how open and honest their relationship would be?
Daphne chugged half her drink. Took a mental video of the snug interior of the carriage, the gentle rocking, the feel of Gib pressed against her from ankle to shoulder. He’d given her a perfect date so far. If she tried to breach the invisible but solid wall he kept around his life in England, it might be over. This perfect date might actually end sooner than his crappy first attempt. No. This was it. Her one big chance to finally get at the truth. Damn it, their relationship had to be more than a sexed-up version of their friendship.
“Would it spoil everything if I asked about him?”
Sharing the story with Daphne of his last carriage ride felt natural. Just popped out. Gib didn’t realize it would lead to dredging the entire scum-covered pond of his memories. Daphne already knew more than anyone else. This was exactly the sort of thing Doc Debra had repeated on a weekly basis in therapy. Find someone to open up to—and then follow through. Probably what Ben had alluded to, as well. He gulped at his cocoa. Wished it was a triple shot of Scotch instead.
“It might, but not for the reason you think. If I tell you about Gerald…” He stopped, sighed deeply. Looked deep into her pale blue eyes and hoped they didn’t ice over with disdain by the time he finished.
“Gib, you can tell me anything. You know that. You might not exercise that privilege very often, but you know it’s true.”
“Right. You say that, but you might change your mind.” And he didn’t think he could bear it. “How about a quick snog instead?” Gib moved his hand in a restless caress on her thigh.
She pushed his hand back onto his own leg. “How about we save that for after?”
“Ah, bribery. Very well.” He pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto the opposite bench. Then he removed hers, much more slowly, a finger at a time. Rubbed her hands in between his until the chill dissipated. And tried the whole time to figure out where best to begin. Unzipped both their coats. Took a moment to appreciate the way Daphne filled out the white sweater covered in blue snowflakes. Angora. Resisted the urge to run the backs of his fingers over the soft swell of her breasts. Hopefully, that would still be an option by the time he finished.
“We’re all about the heir and the spare in England, even for families as far down the line of succession as mine. My mother suffered three miscarriages after I was born. When Gerald finally came along, there was great rejoicing. They treated him like a miracle child.”
Friends To Lovers (Aisle Bound Book 3) Page 19