Friends to Lovers (Aisle Bound)

by Barth, Christi

  Gib turned, pillowed his cheek against the padded backing. Listened to the rhythmic clopping of the hooves. Stared at the ornate stone edifice of the Drake Hotel. Not as pretty as Daphne. But he couldn’t bear to watch her face fall when he spit out the rest. So much for their romantic date. Listening to Ben had gotten him inches away from a beautiful woman, and yet with absolutely no kissing in his future. Spilling his big, secret story had been a stupid idea. There were other things to share with Daphne. She didn’t know the name of his first roommate. Probably hadn’t ever mentioned his white-knuckle fear of caves to her, either.

  “What happened, Gib?” she asked in a near whisper. “What made you put an entire ocean between you and your family?”

  He’d come this far. Daphne wouldn’t let him out of the carriage until he finished. Usually, her tenacity tickled him. Tonight it just made him tired. “Right after I graduated university, Gerald crashed a car. So freaking high on cocaine that he didn’t even know he’d crashed until the rescue unit pulled him out. He did manage, however, to muster enough caginess to give them my name instead of his own. Created confusion for a few hours. Long enough for my parents to ring me up and ask me to shoulder the blame. I didn’t have a job yet, so I suppose they thought I had the time to kill.”

  Her hand stilled. “That’s not funny.”

  No, it really wasn’t. “Gerald was facing jail time. Not a lot, but even a few hours were out of the question. My brother was being groomed for a seat in the House of Lords.”

  “Not you? Not the eldest son?”

  “I didn’t want a career in politics. Stood up to my father on that point years earlier.” That had been a six-month standoff, alternating between screaming rows and dead silence. “I wanted to work in a business where I could see results. Make people happy. Got my business degree, and interviewed at a dozen different firms before this happened. Testing the waters. Deciding where I fit in the world. A jail sentence would’ve ruined Gerald’s chances.” Gib swallowed hard. Even years later, the words still stuck in his throat. “They ordered me to back his lie. To take his place.”

  Daphne was quiet for quite some time. Long enough for him to worry about what she’d say. God knows he’d second-guessed himself for years. Wondered if he should’ve been a better brother. Shouldered the burden long enough for Gerald to grow up and grow out of his self-destructive phase. Made his family proud, instead of making himself happy.

  “Your parents—the people who are supposed to have your best interest at heart—they did this? With no regard for how it would ruin your future?”

  Gib sucked in a ragged breath. She got it. She got him. That their overprotectiveness blinded them to Gerald’s downward spiral. That even if Gib had taken the blame, Gerald would’ve stayed on the same destructive path, ending up jailed or worse, dead. That if none of them would teach Gerald his actions had consequences, then he would by leaving. Slowly, Gib swiveled back to look at her. “Precisely. It was the last straw. I bolted. Well, after a grandiose speech in which I vowed never to return.”

  “Good for you.” She bounced off her knees back onto the seat. “Did you hop a freighter to America that very day?”

  “I’m not that skinny kid from Titanic. And this isn’t the Industrial Revolution. There are planes now, you know.”

  “Flying coach for seven hours isn’t nearly as dramatic as stowing away near the boiler room. I’m just saying.”

  He appreciated her effort to tease him out of a very dark place. But it wasn’t necessary. Knowing Daphne understood, and supported, the hardest decision of his life was all he needed. Happy to play along, though. Maybe she needed a bit of a boost after the emotional steaming turd he’d dropped on her. “I suppose I lacked the appropriate dramatic flair for turning my back on my family in style. Sorry to disappoint.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Checked into the Cavendish London. Sat in the lobby for hours, staring at the ceiling. Didn’t know where to turn. Heard the concierge mention their manager training program to a cluster of bellhops. The only catch was that it involved moving to America. Permanently.”

  “A fresh start. As far away as possible.”

  Her understanding rocked him to the core. “Exactly. I interviewed the next day. Trained in Geneva for three months, then Milan for a year, because I spoke Italian.”

  “Really?” She gave him a sidelong glance that was pure, unabashed flirting. He’d never seen that look on her face before. Good thing, too, since one look at the blue shimmer between those dark lashes hardened him to the point he had to bunch the blanket over his lap. “You’re full of surprises tonight. Say something.”

  “Grazie per essere stato il mio migliore amico.”

  Daphne clapped. “Next time we go to Vinci for a wine dinner, I want you to speak in Italian and freak out all the waiters.”

  “Anything for the bellissima signorina. I did get a fresh start. And I’d learned an important lesson. Being straitlaced never got me anything. I stopped trying to please other people, and concentrated on making myself happy. Might as well live it up, because I certainly never got a reward for being good. Doc Debra says that’s why I’m, in her words, such a playboy.”

  “Did she call you that before or after you screwed her senseless?”

  Ah, there was his call-it-like-she-sees-it friend. “A gentleman never tells.”

  “You told your therapist this whole thing?”

  “No. Just alluded to a few bits and pieces.” And that was the point, wasn’t it? “I’ve never told anyone the whole story. Until tonight. Didn’t want anyone to know. Why expose my sordid past?”

  “Especially when a woman’s in and out of your life in less time than it takes to tell the tale.”

  Daphne didn’t pull her punches. Gib couldn’t disagree, though. “Didn’t really want you to know, truth be told. But I didn’t think I could keep such a big secret from you any longer. Not if we’re truly going to give this thing a go.”

  “This thing?” Another glance from beneath tip-tilted lashes. Another jolt of heat straight to his cock.

  “You and me. The relationship upgrade.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “We are giving it a go, aren’t we? Or have I scared you away? Buggered the second chance you gave me? Because there’s more to this date.” Gib rushed on, before she could turn him down again. Understanding him didn’t mean she necessarily wanted to be with him. Or that she forgave his thoughtless behavior of earlier this week. “Thought we’d go for pizza at Giordano’s after this. Your favorite. And I’ve got three pints of Ben & Jerry’s in my freezer with your name on them. Also your favorites.”

  “Tempting. But I don’t feel like ice cream.”

  Gib’s mind raced. He could call Sam to see if the bakery had any leftover brownies, or maybe a slice of cake. Or swing by the Cavendish and get the pastry chef to hand over one of his signature pecan bourbon crème brûlées. “What are you in the mood for, then?”

  “Something hot.” Daphne threw one leg to the opposite side, straddling his lap. She drew the blanket around her shoulders. Slowly, she lowered her body until her center rested on the part of him already pulsing with need.

  “Wait.” God, it killed him to say that. Not sure he’d ever said it before to a woman grinding her crotch into his. “I don’t want a pity kiss. That’s not why I told you my story.”

  “I know. You told me to share your vulnerability. Like Samson cutting his hair, or when Arwen gives Aragorn her necklace in Lord of the Rings.”

  Both she and Ivy had pestered him for months after every one of those movies. “Damn it, I told you three Halloweens ago. I’m not putting on elf ears and a blond wig just for your amusement.”

  “Silly, that’s Legolas, not Aragorn.” Daphne laced her hands behind his neck. “And we agreed earlier that role-playing is down the road
a bit. You shared your life with me, Gib. There’s nothing more personal. And now I want to share a different kind of intimacy with you.”

  “I don’t need a fucking reward.”

  Daphne shook her head. “Not out of pity.” Her eyes closed, and she sighed. “I’ve always admired and respected you as a man. Now that’s changed. My admiration’s tripled. My respect for the struggles you’ve overcome, the road you’ve walked along and the man you’ve become—well, that’s off the charts. I thought I wanted you before.” Her eyes opened, gaze forthright and hotter than a blue laser. “Now, I know I do. I need you. I need to show you how deep my feelings run.”

  Well. This night was taking a sharp turn for the better. “Have to admit, I’m a little curious.”

  Daphne didn’t require any more encouragement. Her mouth took his in an absolute frenzy of touching and licking. Gib locked his hands at her waist. Didn’t want to take the chance she’d change her mind and slip out of his arms. Not when she was bursting with passion. When he was finally tasting what he’d craved for the six endless days since they last kissed.

  She rode him, using the swaying of the carriage to rub against him. Gib couldn’t think about how his cock already strained to explode. It took most of his concentration to ignore her heat teasing back and forth in between his thighs. So he ripped his mouth away to use his teeth on her neck. No marks. Hickeys were amateur hour. Gib knew exactly how much pressure to use and not leave behind evidence. Exactly how much to make her sigh, arch her back, thrusting those magnificent breasts right up at him.

  “That’s...you’re...not half-bad,” she panted.

  “This is just the prelims. Where I learn you. Learn to pleasure you. I’m quite thorough.”

  He raked his teeth along her taut muscle, nipping and sucking. Daphne thrust her fingers into his hair. Moaned. Gib growled in response, both in promise and possession. Moved down to trace a path along her collarbone. Lingered on the spot her pulse battered against his lips. Ran his hands up her sides until they bracketed her breasts.

  Finally licked an arc across the top of one. The softness was like ice cream melting against his tongue. Gib used his thumb to caress the other stiff peak. Daphne writhed against him in a way that almost made him explode right through the heavy denim of his fly. If she kept doing that, his last shard of control would splinter away. Gib thrust his hands down the back of her jeans. Holding tight, he flipped her onto her back. He put one leg on the floor and braced a knee between her legs.

  A glance at the windows showed them to be completely fogged over. Good. One big shrug had his coat on the floor. One quick shove wedged the sweater up beneath her arms. It also revealed a powder-blue bra with tiny white polka dots. A tiny bow nestled in the center of its deep plunge. The contrast of the sweetness with the overflowing sensuality of her breasts kicked his heart up to the same rate as during his weekly wind sprints workout.

  “Getting an eyeful?” Daphne asked. “Not entirely fair. When do I get equal time to stare at you?”

  “After I get a mouthful.” Just to keep her off balance, and despite how much he craved the feel of her nipple against his tongue, Gib put his mouth on her stomach. Traced a damp circle around her belly button. Reveled in the flex of her abs against him. He loved the way she moved with him, offered herself up to him. Considerable practice—which he would not mention to Daphne—made him able to undo her jeans with one hand. The other he fanned lightly across her left breast. Peeling back one side past her hip, Gib ran his finger against the edge of a blue ruffle. Dipped his finger beneath the ruffle, toward the heat—

  An abrupt jolt to a stop tumbled Gib off the bench entirely. The sharp ache in his elbow was worth it as he looked up at Daphne. Legs splayed open, panties just visible, long, golden locks of hair cascading down her shoulders to brush her ribs, she was a vision of smoldering sex. One he’d never forget. But then she opened her eyes, looked down at him and burst into laughter. He joined a second later.

  “I only paid for the half-hour ride. In case you didn’t like it.”

  “Oh, I liked it...fine.” She put her clothes to rights and sat up. “You’re certainly rounding all the bases on this date.” A sudden flush turned her cheeks the color of June strawberries. “I mean, doing everything right. Not those bases.”

  “I’m not as up on baseball as I am on cricket, but I know all about those bases. Pretty sure I just scored a triple.” He knelt to zip up her jacket. Used the zipper pull to tug her forward. “Care to go for another inning?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A life with love will have some thorns, but a life without love will have no roses

  ~ Anonymous

  Gib pushed open the glass door to his office suite with his shoulder. Both hands were full of an enormous white box, tied up with the brown Lyons Bakery ribbon.

  “Agatha, you look particularly lovely this morning. New dress? New hair?”

  His assistant blinked at him. “I bleached my mustache last night. Thanks for noticing.”

  Now he wished he hadn’t asked. But it couldn’t dampen his mood. “A subtle but vital change. Stunning.” Gib set the box on her desk. Shrugging out of his coat, he tossed it on the tree in the corner.

  Agatha pushed her chair back and gripped the edge of the desk. Hard lines grooved around the edge of her mouth. “Are you drunk?”

  “Of course not.” Punch-drunk, maybe. But that didn’t count. “Have you ever known me to come to the office impaired in any way?”

  “Sometimes, after you work out with Ben at lunch, you aren’t at the top of your game when you come back.”

  That stung. Gib made a mental note to add an extra fifteen laps the next time he hit the pool. “It’s got nothing to do with Ben. He can barely keep up with me on his best days. I simply like to push myself.” Grabbing the scissors, he slit the tape at the sides of the pastry box.

  “You’re not drunk. And you’re definitely not a morning person. But you’re acting like you had a gallon of happy juice for breakfast. Did you win the lottery last night?”

  “Perhaps I did.” She shot out of her chair, eyes wild. Gib roared with laughter. “Sit down. It was a figure of speech, nothing more.”

  “You shouldn’t joke about winning millions of dollars. You’ll give me a heart attack.”

  “Sorry. I can make it better, though.” He flung open the lid of the box. The rich scent of cinnamon and sugar steamed out in a cloud. “Did you know it’s National Oatmeal Month? My friends at Aisle Bound filled me in on that utterly useless piece of trivia.”

  “Your friends? Or one in particular?” Agatha tapped her pen against her cheek. “Maybe one with blond hair?”

  “There you go, jumping to conclusions again. Or is it listening at doors?”

  “A good assistant hears everything, and says nothing.”

  “You, keeping your opinions to yourself? That’ll be the day.” And he didn’t want her to. Agatha was a vital cog in the hotel’s machinery. She knew everyone, knew everything, and best of all, knew how to get things done. He relied on her as much as he relied on his laptop and cell phone. “Besides, I need your wise counsel.”

  “Don’t you forget it.” The twinkle in her eyes belied the stern crease between her eyebrows.

  Back to the treats. “We should celebrate this ridiculous, honorary day. So I’ve got cranberry oatmeal muffins, and oatmeal white-chocolate cookies. Get that new kid in the kitchen, Jose, to bring up a stack of napkins. Pitcher of milk and some glasses. We’ll do it up right. Be sure he eats his fill, too.”

  “You do know that Christmas is over? Because you were overly generous to the entire staff for the last month. We all appreciated it. But I have to wonder why you’re suddenly celebrating something as lowly as a grain holiday.”

  Agatha knew Daphne, knew how deep their friendship ran. She popped over al
l the time to visit him, or to meet before going out to dinner. As he didn’t have an older sister to confide in, Gib decided to share the real reason for his great mood.

  “I had a date last night.”

  She sniffed dismissively, swiveled back around to face her computer. “If you brought cookies in every time you had a date, we’d all be as puffy as those balloons in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.”

  Gib grinned. “I had a date with Daphne. Not a one-off, not a hookup. A real date. And we’re going to do it again.”

  “Oh. Oh my.” Whipping a tissue out of her sleeve, Agatha dabbed at her eyes. “That is good news.”

  He circled the desk, sank onto his haunches beside her chair. “Why are you crying?”

  With her large, arthritic hands, she patted his fist. Sniffled again. “You’re such a good man. You care about every employee here, from the dishwashers to the bellmen to the executive chef, as if they were family. And you’re a good manager. I helped you with the P&L reports to the corporate office. I know our profits are up, even with the past few years of recession.”

  Flippant praise from naked, grateful women he could take. Sweaty, shoulder-patting praise after beating Ben by a good ten minutes in a five-mile jog along the lake. The gush of praise from Agatha made him uncomfortable in the extreme. His job mattered. He didn’t get a paycheck for just showing up every day. Gib had to make everyone, both staff and guests, feel important. Quite simply, because they were. In his mind, that didn’t merit any praise. Standing, he backed away from her desk. “A speech like that, are you angling for a raise?”

  “You’ve such a way about you, and so good-looking. But I worried you’d never let your guard down enough to open yourself up to love. Which would just be a tragedy. You deserve love.”

  “Whoa.” Gib held up both hands. “Nobody said anything about love. Don’t make this bigger than it is. Yes, I’m happy today. Yeah, I’m going to see Daphne again this week. One step at a time.”