Riley
Catherine notices that I'm staring over her shoulder, at the house, and she slowly turns to look in that direction as well. When she sees Gabriel, she turns back to me, her face illuminated with a wide smile. Then she shifts to watch him walk toward us.
"I didn't expect to see you here today," she calls out. "I thought you'd be busy, which is why I came to keep Riley company."
Something in her chipper tone makes the jealousy bubble inside me. "Hey, you," I say to Gabriel, who is walking toward us. I slap on my widest smile because I don't want him to think I'm feeling sick. I am, but not from my kidney issue.
He doesn't say a word as he stalks over. He's still in his suit pants, dress shoes, and white button down, but he's lost the jacket and the tie. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing his muscular forearms, and I can't help but think about how handsome he looks while he's walking. Like a wild panther, moving as few muscles as possible while pursuing his prey.
As he walks past the lounge area on the terrace, then alongside the pool, I'm struck by how the scene could be a fashion ad in GQ.
"He always overdresses," Catherine murmurs. "He's been that way since college."
The fact that she knows this, and points it out, ratchets up my discomfort.
When he reaches us, both Catherine and I stare up at him — we're each lying on a lounger, our upper bodies propped up.
"Hi, sweetie," I say, intending to claim him with my term of endearment. I am so petty sometimes.
"Riley. I was looking all over for you inside the house." He's positively glowering, which makes me wonder if he's uncomfortable with Catherine and I spending time together. There could only be a few reasons for that, of course; namely, that she harbors secrets that he doesn't want me to know.
But given all that I know about him already, how much more awful could his secrets be?
"Andre knows where I am," I say crossly.
"Have you taken your antibiotics?" he demands.
It's embarrassing to have this conversation in front of Catherine, like he's my parent. It underscores how much younger I am then they are — ten years — and that I'm not as responsible. My cheeks feel hot, and not because of the sunshine making everything suddenly seem too-bright.
To my surprise, Catherine begins to giggle, breaking the thick tension in the air. "What's that face? You look constipated. Have you pooped today?"
The way she says it, in an exaggerated, girlish voice, makes me want to laugh. Gabriel's nostrils flare, and I slide a glance at Catherine. She flares her nostrils, too, and I can't hold it in any longer. Even though I'm annoyed at her and wary of her motivations with Gabriel, her expression is too funny. It's like she's openly making fun of him. Few people would dare.
I snort-laugh and Gabriel turns to me. My laughter dies in my throat, but I snicker a bit. Catherine is shaking, she's chuckling so hard.
"What are you doing out here? Why aren't you in bed?" he demands.
"I'm..." my voice trails off, and I sneak a glance at Catherine, who by now is wiping her eyes. When we make eye contact with each other we begin giggling again. "I'm chatting with Catherine. She brought me a gift. See?"
I hold up the pens and the coloring book. Gabriel presses his lips together. "It's hot out here. You're going to get dehydrated. Are you drinking water?"
"Oh for God's sakes, Gabriel, stop hovering over her. She's an adult, she knows what's right for her body." Catherine rolls her eyes as she climbs to her feet. "I need to be going, anyway. The gallery party is in a few hours. I didn't mean to stay so long."
I stand up, too, and feel a little ridiculous that I'm in a bikini while Catherine is so dressed up and Gabriel's in his business suit. "I'm so sorry to miss the opening. I was looking forward to it. Have one of your smoky drinks for me."
I'm being honest. Of all the events Gabriel and I attend, this was one I actually had interest in. I really wanted to experience the smoky cocktail. But the doctor said I couldn't drink while taking antibiotics.
"You could sneak out and come." Catherine winks at me. "I'll save you a drink."
"She's not going anywhere and she's definitely not drinking alcohol, not in her condition. Riley needs to rest. She just was released from the hospital, Cath." Gabriel inhales a thin breath.
"Yes, sir," Catherine says, and salutes him. "Seriously, let's all get lunch sometime soon. Or brunch. Better yet, I'll cook. Ciao ciao." She pantomimes a phone with her thumb and little finger, and mouths CALL ME.
I nod in agreement. Whether I will is another story.
With a little wave, she walks off, her gauzy black dress and her long, dark hair fluttering in the breeze.
Gabriel turns to me. His gaze rakes down my body, settling first on my breasts, then my stomach, then back up to my face. He doesn't say a word.
"That was nice of her to stop by." I pause. "Although I wish you'd have told me she was coming over. Or that the two of you spoke."
"I've been a bit distracted."
I could be mistaken, but his words come out as pointed. Barbed, even, like he's reprimanding me. Of course I know he has tons going on. How could I forget?
Feeling chastised, I gather my phone, the cover up, the pens and the coloring book, stuffing them into the black gift bag. In an instant, I feel like a child. A coloring book? Maybe her gift wasn't from the heart — perhaps it was a subtle jab at my age, at how I'm so much younger than Gabriel.
"Come." Gabriel holds out his hand and I take it.
I follow him upstairs to the bedroom, hoping his mood thaws. After I set the gift down on the bureau, I turn to Gabriel, who is on his phone.
"What are we doing for dinner? I'm craving pizza."
He looks up. "I'm sorry, I have a meeting tonight. Feel free to order something, though."
Gabriel never eats when he has a night meeting here at the house. I get the impression that he addresses serious matters during these sessions, and part of me is dying to know what he talks about.
I sit on the edge of the bed and allow my shoulders to round. "Aww, I was hoping we'd have dinner together tonight. It's been so long."
Gabriel takes a few steps in my direction until he's standing directly over me. When he sweeps a lock of my hair off my forehead, I look up and smile. The scent of his cologne, which is like spicy leather, surrounds me.
"It's been so long since we've done something else, also," I purr as I lightly squeeze his inner thigh.
We've been in this position dozens of times before, and it always ends one way: with me on my knees, taking him into my mouth. He loves the feeling of power when I'm looking up at him, when his hand is on the back of my head, urging me to accept him deeper into my mouth.
The entire dynamic turns me on, too. I adore being dominated by him.
I bite my bottom lip while arching my back. He stares at me with a hungry gaze and his fingertips trail down my cheek. Just that simple touch sends heat through my body, a sensation that crackles through my veins and pools between my legs.
My hand skims up his thigh. Even though I can't satisfy that needy part of my body, I can be intimate with Gabriel. And really, that's all I want, whether it's in the form of a long hug or a blowjob. Feeling close to him is what I've been missing, and it's as if I need it, like oxygen, or food. His touch has become my sustenance, which should be scary. Instead, it leaves me a needy mess, desperate for him.
Gabriel's obviously erect, because I can see the outline of his cock pressing against his suit pants. It's just inches from my face, after all. I'm about to press the heel of my hand against his hard length when he clasps my wrist in his fingers and steps away from me.
"No, I can't be late for my meeting. You understand." He releases my wrist. "I have only an hour to prepare, so I need to get downstairs. This is an important evening. I'm sorry."
It takes a moment for his rejection to sink in. When it does, I'm floored. I feel lower than dirt. Humiliated and ready to cry, I haul in a deep breath and clutch the side of the bed. All I want is to curl up into a ball and draw the covers over me, but I can't let Gabriel see me upset.
I nod and muster a tight smile. "Of course."
"When you're better, we'll play. We can make up for lost time then. I promise." He brushes a kiss on my forehead and walks out, leaving me stunned. He's never spurned me like this before, and it hurts.
A lot.
Why is he acting so coldly? I understand that the doctor told me that I couldn't have sex, but it can't hurt my body if he's the one getting off. Most men would be thrilled to receive a late-afternoon blowjob, so what's up with him?
Something is off, and I don't know what. Is it because I look like hell, vaguely sweaty with my hair in a loose bun? I haven't bothered to put on makeup today, and I must look haggard. Or is it something else? Catherine's presence, perhaps?
After he's left the room, I flop back on the bed, pressing my eyes shut tight against the tears that threaten to break free.
Since I'm not one to back down from a fight, I wipe my eyes on the pillow, then form a plan to confront Gabriel before his meeting. I don't have long, so I take a quick shower and slip on my sexiest white lingerie set — the bra and panties that he loves — and top it off with a scarlet silk robe. I leave my hair loose and wavy, and spray on the vanilla-coconut perfume that drives him wild.
I dab on some concealer under my eyes, brush bronzer across my cheeks, and swipe on lightly tinted lip gloss, making a pouty face in the mirror. So much better now. I look like I'm among the living, not an extra in a zombie movie.
He won't be able to resist me now.
My phone pings, and I go into the bedroom to answer. It's Catherine, which is a little shocking. Why's she contacting me?
Hey, girl. I left my sunglasses there. Just wanted you to know so you could grab them until I see you again!
OK, I text back.
Then a thought comes to me: what if I don't confront Gabriel? What if I do something else entirely — like go to Catherine's gallery party? I'll take my medicine before I leave, and I won't drink. The doctor said I needed to rest, but could do light tasks, like driving, getting coffee, and going to lunch at a restaurant.
How strenuous is a gallery party? Probably not very. And it's not like I'm a prisoner here in Gabriel's home — he can't tell me what to do, or where to go.
I go to the closet, where I keep some clothes when I stay here, and pull out a slinky black jumpsuit that's both sexy and comfortable. I have a pair of strappy black sandals here, too, and Gabriel had mentioned earlier that he'd had one of his men drive my car here, in case I needed it.
Well, I need it tonight, because I'm going out.
Surely going to a gallery opening for an hour or two wouldn't be that bad, would it?