Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 181(@200wpm)___ 144(@250wpm)___ 120(@300wpm)
When she turned away without another word, my gaze lingered on her a second too long—imagining that tower and her in it, all mine.
Over the time I’d spent with Gabriella, she had constantly impressed me with her knowledge, her business sense, and her ability to connect with her clients. She’d talked more than one reluctant collector to loan a piece to the Belladonna Gallery or Vellum & Vine art museum.
She had a keen eye, which Aston had obviously discovered early on because he often asked her opinion when making choices. He also took any suggestions she brought to him seriously.
I was proud as fuck of my girl and wished that I could convey that to her in more than a friendly way. But since I didn’t think I could draw that line, I stayed silent, something she was used to anyway.
The toughest part of my day was returning to Gabriella’s apartment at night.
It would have been all too easy to slip into a comfortable routine of making and eating dinner together, then cuddling—a word I never thought I would use—on the couch in front of the movie. I had to have my guard up in the literal and metaphorical sense, and it was fucking exhausting.
Gabriella didn’t make it easy, either. She had an innate sweetness, mixed with moments of sassy attitude, and a natural seductiveness to the way she moved. It was driving me out of my mind with wanting her. And then there were the times when she deliberately pushed my buttons, teasing and tempting me in subtle ways. It was a battle with my restraint, and with each moment we were together, I worried I would lose.
It had been a long day for Gabriella when I finally parked the car in front of her apartment building. She hadn’t brought up our relationship again, but I was on alert for the moment she thought she could spring the subject on me.
We took the elevator up to her floor in comfortable silence, then she waited just inside her door while I did a sweep of the apartment. After a thorough search, I gave her the all clear, and she walked inside, locking up behind her.
“Why don’t you go take a bath, and I’ll make dinner tonight?” I suggested.
It had been funny as hell the first time Gabriella realized I could cook. She’d been shocked and didn’t believe me until I made her chicken marsala with herb mashed potatoes and butter steamed vegetables. My mother had been adamant that her boys be able to take care of themselves when we moved out. She’d lamented about us starving and pestered us until we let her teach us how to use a kitchen.
Gabriella’s brow puckered, and she sighed tiredly as she ran a hand through her long, silky locks. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Go, sole,” I ordered, my tone leaving no room for argument.
“Fine,” she snapped. “But only because I want to, not because you told me to do it.”
I waited until she’d spun around and marched into her bedroom before smiling. Damn, she was cute.
Cut it the fuck out, De Angelis. OFF-LIMITS.
Halfway through my meal preparations, the bathroom door opened, and Gabriella padded out into the living room.
My jaw nearly hit the floor when I got a good look at her outfit. It wasn’t something anyone would immediately see as alluring and sexy as hell. But to me…fucking hell.
Her smooth legs looked miles long with only a pair of loose sleep shorts that came to mid-thigh. But it was what she was wearing on top that had me practically drooling and my cock standing at full attention.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she murmured as she made her way over to the couch. “I haven’t had time to do laundry, and you left this in the bathroom.”
I blinked several times, at a loss for what to say.
Gabriella was wearing one of my T-shirts with the logo of my alma mater on it—the one I’d slept in last night. I usually wore nothing but boxers to bed. However, I’d taken to wearing shirts as well when I moved in with her. The T-shirt was practically a tent on her, but she’d twisted the bottom into a knot at her hip.
Seeing her in my clothes was like throwing gasoline on the fire. And knowing that the used shirt made her smell like me, leaving my mark on her in multiple ways, built an inferno of need inside me.
“Cazzo,” I muttered, tearing my eyes away from the sexiest sight I couldn’t have even imagined in my wildest dreams. Speaking loud enough for her to hear, I grunted, “Not a problem.”
I was lying. It was a huge fucking problem.
Through sheer force of will, I finished making dinner and set it out on the table in the little alcove that she’d turned into a makeshift dining room.