His Mafia Queen

Altered State

Great. Now Gabriel's going to be even more pissed. I begin to weep and apologize. "I'm such a mess," I wail, then begin to retch again. "You hate me."

I fully expect Gabriel to ignore me, or possibly even stop and kick me to the curb. Instead, he scoots over and gathers my hair as I vomit once more.

"Oh, babe, I could never hate you."

He sighs and says my name in the most gentle, tender voice, which only makes me cry harder. Gabriel would be the perfect man, if you ignore the mafia stuff and the part where he's in love with another woman.

For the rest of the short ride, I bend my knees and dig my heels into the leather seats, wrapping my arms around my legs. The floor on my side is covered in puke and I stay in my own smelly cocoon, not wanting to meet Gabriel's angry gaze. It's an assumption that he's angry; what guy wouldn't be pissed that a woman just vomited all over his luxury car?

At my house, Gabriel jumps out, probably because it stinks inside. He opens my door and I pour myself out onto the pavement.

He catches me.

"Keys?" he demands.

I paw around in my purse for a while as he stands there with his hands on his hips.

"Fuck it," he mutters, and picks me up like a sack of potatoes, throwing me over his shoulder. "Which apartment is it?"

"Two-oh-seven," I moan.

"Clean everything up and I'll text you later," he says to the driver.

"I'm sorry about the car," I add.

When we get to my door he puts me down, making sure the wall is doing its job to prop me up. I toe-heel my shoes off right there in the hall. Fuck it, I'll leave them here until morning, when I'll toss them in the dumpster. I'm the most disgusting person who ever lived, and it's no wonder Gabriel wants nothing to do with me.

"She's gorgeous."

"Who?" Gabriel slides my purse off my shoulder and looks inside. He's somehow able to find the keys right away and lets us in.

"Catherine. I can't believe you're only now seeing my place," I say.

"You've never asked me to come over." There's an edge in his voice that even I can detect in my altered state.

"Look at it." I open my arms and spin around my living room. "It's dismal compared to your house. Why would I want you here, when you're a gazillionaire? Behold, my second hand sofa. And look!"

I gesture broadly to the TV stand. "I got this on the curb on garbage day! Someone was throwing it out! I'll bet Catherine's never dumpster dived for furniture."

My poverty is on full, shameful display. Something I didn't ever want him to see. But who really cares, since I barfed on him?

And since he's in love with Catherine. Tears spring to my eyes.

I continue spinning until he stops me. "We need to get you into the shower, and into bed."

"We don't need to do anything. You can leave. I can take care of myself from here on. Thank you for the ride home."

"Riley, don't fuck with me. It's been a long day."

He stomps off down the hall like he already knows the layout of my place. I have the presence of mind to go into the kitchen and drink a glass of water. Going to need a lot more of that over the next twelve hours.

As I'm leaning against the kitchen cabinet contemplating a sober existence, Gabriel walks back out. He's shirtless, shoeless, and sockless, wearing only his jeans.

"The bath is ready."

By now I'm too tired to argue, so I follow him into the bathroom. He's somehow not only drawn a bath, but found my bubbles and a candle, too. My little bathing area doesn't seem so awful by candlelight, and I'm sure glad I jazzed it up with some retro wallpaper and a funky mirror.

"Jeez, where'd you find the bubble bath and candle?"

Gabriel stands before me, unbuttoning my blouse. "I found the bubble bath under the sink and the candle beside your bed."

"So that's where they are."

I turn to the sink and sloppily brush my teeth, because I'm not that much of a pig. When I'm finished, Gabriel is waiting for me with a capful of mouthwash. I gargle and spit.

"Good girl," he murmurs.

He reaches for my hairbrush on the vanity, and tells me to turn around. I'm shocked that he's brushing out my hair. Then he removes my shirt all the way, and undoes my jeans. I'm about to reach around and undo my bra when he stops me.

"Relax. I've got you." He unhooks my bra, then kneels to lower my panties. "Now get in the tub. Watch out, because it might be hot."

Groaning, I ease into the water. It's the best I've felt in hours. I'm about to close my eyes when I spot Gabriel unzipping his jeans. For a second, I ogle his gorgeous body, and the way his cock, even when it's flaccid, is pleasingly long.

This might be the last time I see his naked body, and I swallow a sloppy lump in my throat.

"Scoot down," he says.

"Wait. You're getting in?" I'm suddenly confused.

"I'm not planning on walking home naked. Yeah, I'm getting in."

Rather than fight, I move carefully so he can sit behind me. Once we get settled, my back is against his front, and he's cradling me in his arms. He rubs the jasmine-scented bubbles over my arms, my breasts, and my thighs.

"Better?" he asks.

It feels so good that I start to cry. "Why are you doing this? Why are you here with me being kind when you obviously love Catherine?"

He kisses my neck. "Oh, babe. We have so much to talk about when you're sober. Not now, though. Tonight, just let me take care of you."

Too exhausted to protest, I do. I allow him to bathe every inch of me, then wash my hair in the shower. He carefully blow dries my hair, and I let him dress me in my favorite pajamas then carry me to bed. He retrieves a glass of water and aspirin — where is he finding all this stuff in my house? — and I accept both with a whispered thanks.

Probably his actions are coming from a place of pity, but I don't care. It feels too good.

"I'm not in any shape to have sex, okay? If you're going to stay, you need to know that." I say as he's standing next to the bed.

"Neither am I."

I don't say anything when he slides naked between the sheets and nestles beside me, drawing me close and telling me that everything's going to be okay.

I know otherwise, of course, but for one last, imperfect night, I want to sleep in his arms.