Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 336(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Her voice is as soft on the phone as it is when I speak to her in person. I could hear the sincere gratitude in her tone.
The card, delivered with the bouquet, was a request for a celebratory drink at my favorite bar after her dinner plans. She'd agreed on the phone to meet me there at eleven.
Six hours from now.
It's a risk, perhaps not even a calculated one. The moment we kissed last night, I was lost to it all. To the need to know her, the hunger to be near her, and the constant and always present desire to fuck her.
"Are you going to make time for mom today, or not?" Caleb rounds the corner and walks through the open doors of my office. "I was just at the hospital and she said you're a no show."
Naturally she'd say that. I stopped by there after I'd been to the boutique to return Isla's violin. My mother had been upright, sitting in a chair by the window, chatting away on her smartphone to someone who obviously sympathized with her plight.
I'd sat on the edge of her hospital bed, for a full twenty minutes, waiting for her to end the call, but she hadn't. My day was too busy to devote it to listening to my mother discuss what nail polish color would be the best choice since her manicurist was on her way to the hospital.
After a quick kiss on her forehead, and a chat with my cousin, Ben, about the improvement in her condition, I'd left.
"I was there earlier." I swipe my finger across my tablet. "She was talking on the phone."
"She's waiting for you to visit her." He ignores everything I just said. "Rowan is stopping by the hospital after work. You can catch a ride with her."
"I have plans." I do. I'm going to the gym before I take a long, hot shower. After that, I'll get dressed and then head to the bar to meet Isla.
He arches his left brow. "She's going to be pissed."
"I'll call her to say goodnight." I gesture towards my phone. "She'll get over it, Caleb. She always does."
***
I'm on my second scotch when I see her walk into the bar. Her hands are holding the skirt of her short black dress in place against the harsh wind that blew up late this evening. Her hair, likely polished and pristine when she left her apartment for dinner, is now a tangled mess around her face.
She looks disheveled in the most alluring way possible.
Her eyes scan the dimly lit space just as I stand. I see the instant recognition and perhaps, relief, in her expression when her hand rises in a small wave.
She walks towards me. Steady and determined in her heels. Although they give her a fair few inches in height, I still tower over her.
"Gabriel." Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. "I'm sorry if I'm late."
She's not late. I'd paced the floor of my penthouse for a solid hour before I called for my driver to bring me here. That was shortly after nine.
I've been sitting in this chair, tending to emails on my phone, while waiting. I shared the table briefly with a designer we'd done business with three years ago and then twice with women who took it upon themselves to join me.
I'd made it clear, quickly, that I was saving my time, and attention, for someone else.
Any other night, I might have bought one, or both, a drink. I'd listen to them tell me about their lives and the shortcomings with the men they've been with before. Then, I'd pay the tab, escort them to a hotel and within minutes, I'd be fucking every last ounce of stress in my body away.
Not tonight. Tonight is only for Isla.
"You're not late." I grab her upper arms as I lean in to kiss her cheek. "You look beautiful tonight."
The pressure of my grip brings a small moan to the surface. Her lips part as she looks up and into my face. "You look nice too."
Compliments, like that, are part of my life. I accept them, gratefully, but I never absorb them. New York City is filled with handsome, successful men. I know that.
Hearing the words from Isla is different. It's understandable since she's incredibly different.
"How was your dinner?" I ask as I pull on the back of a chair next to where I was seated.
She lowers herself into it with a nod of her head in appreciation. "It was delicious. They took me to a restaurant in Greenwich Village. It was so good."
I sit down again, but not before moving my chair closer to her. "What was the name of the place?"
Her eyes slide over my thighs before she looks up and at me." I'm not sure. We all went together in a taxi. I have pictures of my dinner though."