A smile spreads on my face completely of its own accord. I think I might be the poster child for a grinning fool. “You’re not?”
He shakes his head, his topaz eyes intense as he gazes at me. “No. Fucking. Way.”
He takes my hand and gestures to the sidewalk. “I’m walking you home. I’m kissing you again on the steps outside your apartment. And then I’m going to see you again tomorrow.”
My smile is as wide as Manhattan. “Is that so? Is that like an order?”
He laughs as we walk. “Perhaps it is. Though I’m confident it’s one we both like. But why don’t you think of it more as a…” He stops, perhaps searching for the word. “A declaration of my intent.”
Happiness floods my body and my brain. He always had a way with words. I squeeze his hand. “I accept your declaration, and I want it badly.”
When we arrive at my building he does as promised, kissing me madly, deeply, truly. His lips travel up my neck, brushing the most tender kisses against my flesh until he whispers, “I want you badly. But Shortcake needs you. Can I join the two of you on your walk before I say good night? I would love to meet her.”
And that’s when I truly do swoon. He wants to meet my girl.
I run upstairs to leash her, and a minute later I return to him on the sidewalk. My seven-pound fur baby barks once at Gabriel, then decides to slather him in kisses when he bends down to say hello at her level.
“You are perfectly adorable,” he says to my dog, and that warrants another swipe of her tongue against his cheek. “I can see why her sales pitch was effective.”
We stroll through Manhattan, and as Shortcake sniffs the grass and trees on my block as if it were the first time she’d smelled them, we chat, starting to fill in the gaps of the last ten years. We talk about the restaurants he runs now, how he finally made his way to the United States a few years ago, starting in Miami where his cousin lives and opening his first restaurant there. He mentions his friendship with his business manager, who’s French, too.
When it’s my turn, I tell him how I started volunteering at a shelter, then writing grants, then eventually moved up to management. I mention Delaney and tell him that she’s my closest friend and my fiercest ally, and he says he’ll be sure to do everything in his power to never piss her off.
Then he thanks me for letting him join us on the walk.
If I hadn’t already been falling for him at dinner, it’s a done deal now. Especially when we return to the front of my building and he takes out his phone and taps out an email, speaking as he writes. “To Penny Jones at Gmail. Would you like to go out with me tomorrow night? Dinner? Rock climbing? Trapeze lesson? See a band and dance with me?” He raises his head and swipes his phone with a flourish. “Sent.”
I grab mine from my purse, click on the new envelope icon, and hit reply. “Yes. The last one, please.”
“Perfect answer,” he says, then kisses me good-bye. Until tomorrow.
I float on a cloud all the way upstairs.
Chapter Ten
Penny
My sneakered feet pound the dirt path in Central Park.
“Told you.”
The knowing comment comes from Nicole, part of my pack of running companions the next morning. By her side is Ruby, her Irish Setter mix. On her other side is Delaney, her blond hair swishing in a ponytail. Leading the pack is Shortcake, who trots ahead of us, since she’s the fastest, most fearless one in the crew.
“What did you tell her, O Oracle of Relationship Wisdom?” Delaney asks as we round the top of the reservoir and the pale pink morning sun illuminates our way.
“It’s the long-lost ring theory,” Nicole says. “The same applies to Gabriel’s thrown phone.”
I give her a quick glance, arching a brow. “How so?”
“Well, the time I lost the ring,” she begins, gripping her dog’s leash tighter as a gray-haired man with a poodle approaches. “Ruby is a poodle-ist,” she explains under her breath. “No idea why. Anyway, the time I lost my engagement ring from Greg, I freaked the hell out.”
“Understandable,” I say, as Shortcake pants and stares at the black-haired dog passing by. Shortcake is not a poodle-ist. “Losing a ring is one of the few acceptable reasons for freaking the hell out, along with finding your first gray hair and getting your period during a spin class.” Then I add, “Incidentally, I don’t have any gray hairs. But I plan to freak out when I do.”
Delaney raises her palm and smacks it to mine. “Right there with you. But then I’m marching to the salon and having my stylist color it stat.”
“There I was, freaking out,” Nicole continues, “and I was racing through excuses and things I could say to Greg.”
“Your possible options were…?”
“First, I planned to tell him I was giving a burrito to a homeless man, and the ring slipped off and fell into his cup.”
“And then you remembered you don’t eat burritos?” Delaney says, nudging Nicole.
Nicole laughs and taps her nose. “Exactly. My second choice was to tell him I lost it at the pool when I went for a swim at the gym.”
It’s my turn to chime in and debunk her. “And then you remembered you don’t believe in swimming for exercise, only for relaxation, and it has to be in an infinity pool, preferably overlooking the cliffs of Los Cabos.”
“You got it,” Nicole says. “And finally, I toyed with telling him I was robbed. That someone broke into my apartment and stole it.”
“And in the end, you didn’t do any of those, right?” I say as we slow our pace, nearing the end of this morning’s route.
“Exactly. Because the truth is it slipped down the drain. And sometimes when we try to concoct dramatic stories of what went wrong, they sound more ridiculous than the truth.”
With my breath still coming fast, and a bead of sweat dripping down inside my sports bra, I turn to my friends. “And you’re saying that means what? Because if memory serves, after the missing ring thing, didn’t you ultimately decide it was a sign you weren’t meant to marry him and called off the engagement?”
“I did,” Nicole says, as we segue into walking. “It wasn’t meant to be. And that’s why I believe fate sent the ring down the drain.”
“Does that mean fate made Gabriel break his phone?”
Nicole nods. “Exactly. The truth is messy and yet often simple. The dog doesn’t eat the homework. We forget to do our homework. Or our ring slips down the drain. Or we chuck our phone at the wall because we’re so goddamn worked up that we won’t get to go to America and see the one we fell for,” she says, giving me a knowing look.
“And is that fate or the truth?”
“Maybe it’s one and the same,” Delaney offers. “Maybe it was fate that you weren’t supposed to see him again then, and just as fate took the form of a lost ring one day for Nicole, it became a broken phone for you and Gabriel.”
“Does that mean his broken phone plus mine that no longer worked were the signs we weren’t meant to meet again then…or also now? Or does that mean fate has taken the form of a picnic in the park this time around, with no other restaurant available but his?”
Delaney’s lips quirk up. “I guess it’s up to you to find out if he’s back in your life for a reason.”
* * * *
Tonight is for red wine and dark corners.
With red velvet curtains lining the walls, and dark, smoky lighting, the club in SoHo where the band plays is sultry and seductive. The musicians are magnetic, and the lead singer’s voice could melt chocolate. The name cracks me up, though—Pizza for Breakfast.
“How did you hear about them?” I ask Gabriel during a short break in between sets. His hands have been on me all night. On my waist. Along my arms. In my hair. Have I mentioned this hands-on tactic of his has me all worked up? It’s as if the dial has been switched to high, and I’m buzzed from his touch.
“My neighbor loves them,” he answers. “She used to play cello for symphonies around the worl
d, and now she’s one of those people who finds cool new music.”
“She sounds like my kind of person. Because I’m loving these guys.” I finish the last of my wine and stretch my arm to the bar to set the glass down.
Gabriel slinks his arm tighter around my shoulders and tugs me closer. “Two out of three tonight isn’t bad.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Two out of three what?”
“Your favorite things. Wine, music, and dogs.” He pauses, then adds. “But let’s not forget your extra one. Dessert.”
Tingles swoop from my chest down my belly, like a comet flashing across the night sky, simply because he listened. Because he remembered. “Maybe I’ll have dessert later. Now, if this club would just have puppies for cuddling, the Den would be perfect,” I joke.
He laughs. “We’ll have to tell management your idea.”
He drops a quick kiss on my neck that makes me shudder. I angle my face so our mouths meet, whispering more, before I brush my lips across his. He murmurs softly, and that sound turns into a low rumble I can feel in his chest as I deepen the kiss. A thrill streaks through me, and this time it comes from his reaction. From knowing that I’ve done this to him.
In some ways it feels like no time has passed with Gabriel. Here we are again, wrapped up in each other. The physical part is as easy as it was when we first met, the chemistry as electric and instant as the first day.
And yet, a decade has come between us, and as much as I want to spend the night getting more hands-on, I want to know this man better too.
Somehow I manage to break the kiss, and he lets out a playful whimper. “That was terribly unfair to tease me like that,” he says, running his hands down my arms and setting them on my hips.
“Tell me your three things,” I say, tapping his chest. “Your proof points that the world can be a happy place.”
“Let’s see,” he begins, staring at the ceiling, and his accent thickens. It makes me wonder if he thinks in Portuguese, or if he maybe dreams in that language or another. If his mind reverts to the first languages he heard and spoke when he’s deep in thought or sinking far into pleasure. That makes me wonder, too, if he still comes in French, like he did before. It was quite possibly one of the hottest things about him, how he’d moan and groan dirty words in his native tongue when he neared the edge. I brush aside my naughty thoughts to listen to his response as he meets my eyes again. “First, I would have to say beautiful tattoos.”
“Yours are beautiful. You have new ones on your arms,” I say, running my fingers along his ink-covered forearm. Then I drag my fingertip across a dark black line. “This tribal band? When did you get it?”
“Several years ago. It means family.”
I smile softly. “Perfect,” I say, thinking of how he supports his parents now. “I think it’s incredible that you can take care of your family.”
“It’s a gift. I’m lucky to be able to do so.”
“And this one?” I outline a circular design.
“The sun. For destiny. I had it done shortly after you left. It was my reminder to stay focused. That even when things were falling apart, I needed to still believe in my future.”
“You had faith.”
“I did. In many things.”
“Okay, we’ve got beautiful tattoos. What are your other proof points?” I say, returning to the question.
“The second one would have to be traveling to new places. Exploring new towns or cities. Getting to know a culture or a people.”
It’s as if he’s speaking my language, because I love those, too. “Yes. It’s such a rush, isn’t it?”
“Completely.” He takes a deep breath. “And let’s see. A third thing…” He tilts his head, as if he’s studying me. When he raises his right hand to softly brush my hair from my face, it feels as if he’s finding the answer in me. His voice drops lower, his gaze full of intent. “Your eyes.”
“Oh stop,” I say, blushing as my skin sizzles from his sweet words.
“You don’t mean that, Penny. You don’t actually want me to stop.” He never breaks his intense stare, and it feels like everyone around us has faded to the shadows, like the spotlight of the night illuminates only us.
I shake my head and answer breathily, “No, I don’t mean that at all.”
His grip on my hip tightens, and he runs his thumb along my jawline. Inching closer, he angles his body to mine, his erection outlined deliciously against my jeans. “Gabriel,” I whisper in a thin groan.
“What is it, Penny?”
“I feel like we’re about to—”
A reverberation cuts through the packed club, and I snap my eyes toward the low stage. The singer clears his throat and speaks into the mic. “Hey there. Thanks for coming out tonight. We’ve got a new song we want to share with you, since you’ve been a great crowd. This one’s a little slower, though.”
As the guitarist plays the first chord, I tilt my face up to my date. “Dance with me.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
We move a few feet to the crowded dance floor, and I wrap my arms around his neck. He loops his hands above my ass. Then he squeezes one cheek.
I gasp.
“And what was it you were about to say before? I feel like we’re about to…” he hints playfully as the singer launches into a ballad-y number.
I arch an eyebrow. “You know what I was going to say.”
He shakes his head as we sway. We’re so close, so connected. My bones vibrate with desire for him. “No, tell me.”
“It’s just that being with you like this feels almost indecent.”
He grinds his pelvis against mine, his thick cock so hard through his clothes. “Almost indecent?” he asks, arching his brow in a challenging stare. “Only almost?”
Heat races through me, rushing between my legs where I ache for him. “Fine,” I huff. “It’s indecent how hard you are and how wet I am,” I say, and his eyes widen, as if I’ve shocked him by being bold.
A growl seems to emanate from him as he eases in closer. “It’s indecent how much I want to fuck you right now,” he rasps.
And I go up in flames.
I love that he says fuck.
Because right now, that’s what I need.
We dance like that, pressed together, grinding, moving, rubbing, in the midst of all these other bodies. I’m keenly aware of all of him—the heat from his skin, the scratch of his stubble, the steely press of his erection. The complete and utter lust for me that’s identical to mine for him.
Sure, a decade has passed. Maybe we’ve both changed and grown. But some things remain the same. The chemistry that ignited us in Barcelona is even more powerful ten years later in New York.
“What’s really indecent, though, is how much I’m going to torment you,” he says with a fiery glint in his eyes.
“Why would you torture me?” With his hard-on rubbing against me in the middle of a goddamn club, I can’t think. I don’t want to think ever again. I want to feel everything with him.
He dips his mouth to my neck, dusting a kiss on the hollow of my throat that makes me squirm. Then he kisses his way up the column of my neck, and I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from this kind of adoration. Nor do I want to.
“Because,” he growls. “I want you to know that you’re worth waiting for.”
I tense as the full weight of his words settles on me. He wants to prove himself to me, which is a sentiment I love in theory. In practice, my body is shouting take me now.
“You’re terrible,” I say.
His eyes twinkle with mischief. “I know. But it won’t be terrible in a few minutes.”
Grabbing my hand, he tugs me off the dance floor and down the hallway. The music grows fainter as we round a corner, and he opens a restroom door. Once inside, I glance around. It’s a single cubicle, one of those club bathrooms designed for dirty deeds. Dark and sexy, with black tiles and blue lighting, it screams “fuck me now.”
He locks the door
and pushes me to the wall, caging me in. I love his roughness. He was gentler in Barcelona. Now, the kid gloves are off. I’m not a virgin anymore, and I crave the manhandling from him.
One hand slides up my waist, over my breast, then behind my head, making me tremble as he moves along my body. He curls his palm around the back of my head, gripping my skull. “So, you’re indecent, Penny?” he asks as his other hand plays with the hem of my shirt. The tremble turns into a long, sustained shudder as his fingers brush under the fabric.
“So indecent,” I moan, jutting out my hips.
“Let’s see how much,” he says, running his finger over the button on my jeans.
I hitch a breath as his fingers play with me, as he toys with the button. My heart pounds relentlessly in my chest. Desire climbs up my legs, curling and twisting. It coils impossibly tighter as he slides open the zipper. God, I think I might come just from how he undresses me.
That’s a thought I shouldn’t keep to myself, so I say it aloud. “I think I might come from the way you undress me.”
He groans, and his lips curve into a wicked grin. “I’ve barely started.”
“Then please don’t stop.”
“Never,” he says, his voice rough and demanding, and I was right about his accent. It’s stronger in this moment, as if instinct shuts down rational thought. We are carnal creatures now, all heat and lust and craving.
His fingers dip inside my jeans, sliding over the outside of my panties, easing, toying, playing. He’s not even between my legs and I think I might die if he doesn’t touch me where I want him.
“Touch me,” I plead, thrusting my hips, grabbing his shoulders. “I’m begging you.”
He drops a tender kiss to my lips. “You’ll never have to beg me. I always want to fuck you.”
“But you said you were making me wait.”
As his hand slides between my legs, his fingers slipping over the wet panel of my panties, he growls, “I have other ways to fuck you.”
Lust consumes me. It cocoons me. It wraps me up, and this is all I am—the fevered wish to come. “Fuck me with your fingers.” I’m absolutely pleading and I’m fine with it. “I need you so much. Please.”
The Only One: A One Love Novella Page 8