“Gabi?” he said slowly, questioning, almost accusatory as he rolled the name around in his mouth and in his head.
It sounded foreign and odd on his lips, like it was breaking some sort of rule. I half expected Adelaide/Cher/Belle to come in, shaking a finger.
The rule was broken, along with whatever spell had enchanted us. The way he looked at me now, the lazy happiness gone, replaced by wariness and maybe a little irritation as he raked his fingers through his hair. I couldn’t help but follow the movement. I’d had my fingers in that hair last night.
Micah laughed from somewhere in outer space. “Gabi’s the woman? I doubt that. She’s taken right now. In love with some mystery man.”
In love? Oh my God she didn’t…
He tore his eyes from me to stare at his sister, and the oh-fuckedness of her words and the moment spurred my feet into action.
I held out a hand as I walked forward, my face on fire, my head pinging in fifty-seven different directions. Last night. This morning with Micah and what she’d said. Oh, hell with this morning, it was only like fifteen minutes ago.
What if Hot Guy turned out to be like Thatcher? You’d lose your damn mind.
I’d set you up but you’d kill each other, and then where would Wild Things be? Where would I be?
A shaky breath escaped my throat as his hand closed over mine. Heat shot through every part of my body, and the goose bumps had friggin’ goose bumps. He blinked rapidly in response. That’s all he gave me. Blinks. I knew I’d analyze those for days.
But that’s all we’d have, because we couldn’t do this. We couldn’t risk our business, our individual relationships with Micah over this—over this casual sexual romp we were going to have. This likely-to-be-doomed thing between us that was probably just lust and chemistry. She didn’t even need to know. We didn’t need to make it weirder than it already was. I shook my head minutely, hoping he’d catch it.
“Gabi Graham,” I said, swallowing hard afterward and smiling up at him. Come on dude, buy in.
He looked at me like I’d gone certifiable, and nodded.
“Thatcher Roman,” he said finally in a low voice. “Good to put a face with the name.”
* * * *
I heard nothing for the next, god-awful, interminably long forty-five minutes. Or I heard voices and words float by, captured by the air, but none of them formed logical connections in my brain. Micah had to nudge me and repeat my name a few times, then repeat whatever it was I was supposed to offer brilliance about, to which I’d babble something and nod and use a lot of hand gestures and do everything in my power not to make eye contact for more than three seconds at a time.
Do you know how long three seconds is?
When she stood up, leaving a binder on his desk, I jumped to my feet like I was a child going to the candy store after behaving well.
“I’m going to go talk with Roarke for a bit,” she said.
“Great!” I said, anxious to get out of that office so that I could beat my head against a doorjamb or my steering wheel or something. “I’ll come with you.”
“Um, remember? Roarke is kind of weird about outsiders in his greenhouse,” she said. “Remember last time?”
“Yeah, he gave me a Coke and told me to wait in his office,” I said. “Which was essentially a bench. But I’m not an outsider anymore.”
“Yeah, you kind of are,” Thatcher said, bringing my eyes slamming into his. Damn it. And there was nothing there that I could read. Nothing flirty or sexy. “If you aren’t me or Micah, you don’t rank going into his domain.”
“I don’t rank?”
Thatcher crossed his arms over his chest. The really good arms that I’d—
No. It didn’t matter what I’d done before today. All that mattered was the here and now and Gabi and Thatcher. The nobodies we used to be were gone with the wind.
“Nope.”
“So, I just go wait in the car?” I asked.
“Of course not,” Micah said, elbowing me. “Just hang out here with Thatcher for a few minutes till Jackson comes, and then when I’m done, we’ll go eat.”
Oh, fuckety fuck fuck. In all the stress, I’d forgotten about lunch. Another hour at a table talking about personal things. What’s new with you? Well, I made out with your brother last night and he got to second base twice and almost stole third. How would that be for a great meal conversation?
“Actually,” Thatcher began, unfolding his arms.
“Um—” I said at the same time, as we watched Micah disappear through the doorway.
Leaving us alone.
The silence was staggering.
It was do or die time. I took a deep, nervous breath and held up my chin as I forced my eyes back to Thatcher. Who was already staring me down.
“So, you’re the famous Thatcher,” I said, forcing the words over the rock in my throat, trying to sound cute and chagrined. I slowly sat back down.
“Did you know?” he said.
There was accusation in his tone in contrast to my nervous ramble. Taking me more off guard than I already was.
“What?” I said. “No!” And I wasn’t going to be put on the defense, either. I folded my arms over my chest and crossed my legs. “I could ask you the same question, Mr. Roman.”
He held his palms out. “What would I possibly have to gain?”
“Right back at you,” I countered. “I mean, I’m sorry to burst some sort of bubble, but the famous comment was a joke. You’re not some celebrity to stalk, I was just as floored as you were.”
The irritation in his expression deflated a little. He leaned forward, elbows on his desk, and exhaled at the large calendar there like it would impart advice in return.
“Well, your instincts are probably right,” he said to the calendar. “That was—last night was just—a fluke. Micah doesn’t need to know about it.”
“A fluke.”
That wasn’t meant to be aloud, it was part of the what the hell did you just say in my head, but out it came anyway. A fluke? The one and only time I’d given myself to a man since Bart—that I’d even wanted to? A fluke? Okay, so I hadn’t given myself to Thatcher, but that was just because of technical issues and geography. Had we not been in a truck, I knew the score. I wanted everything about him.
Wanted. Past tense. No more. No. More.
He gave a little shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. “Isn’t that what you’re saying?”
Then again, wasn’t it? I wanted it to be casual, didn’t I? Was that so different from a fluke that could be dismissed in extreme circumstances?
“Pretty sure I didn’t say that,” I said, not listening to my internal rambling.
He widened his eyes. “Okay, then I am,” he said. “If you don’t want Micah knowing—”
“Oh, she knows,” I said. “That’s the problem.”
His brows dipped. “What?”
“We’re women. We’re friends,” I said. “We talk about this shit, and just shared an hour in a car together. She knows allllllll about last night, in details I would never have offered up about her brother.”
Yeah, I told her I’d ride him like a stallion, and he wanted to undress me with his mouth. She’d never be able to unhear that. Shitballs.
“Fantastic,” he muttered on a sigh.
“Hence the ix-nay,” I said, making a little chopping motion across my neck. “But in addition to that, we have to work together, Thatcher,” I said. It was so weird to call him that. “All of us. The two of you, you and I sometimes, and Micah and I nearly every single day.”
“I get that,” he said quietly.
“If it—if it got personal, it would change things,” I said, feeling sweat pop out on my back at the thought of more personal with him. I looked at a blue cup on his desk so that I didn’t have to look at him. “If that went south—”
“Business is put at risk,” he finished, clipping his words.
I met his hard gaze.
“Not just business. Micah isn’t just my business partner,” I said. “She’s my best friend. I can’t mess around with her brother casually—”
“Casually,” he said, laughing shortly. “Because you think that’s all I was after? A quick fuck?” Something dawned in his eyes. “But you are. Poppy. No strings, no complications.”
All the blood in my body rushed to my head in one giant whoosh of a pissed off rush. I grabbed the arm of the chair to steady myself.
“You’re throwing that at me? I’m not the one who called it a fluke,” I said, feeling my lip twitch. Was I this wrong about this guy? This was why I’d written off men, because my judgment could not be trusted. “Do you mind if I finish?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head minutely. “Please do.”
“I can’t do casual because of her,” I said, keeping my voice low, talking slowly so the angry shakes wouldn’t take me to the high-pitched squawking phase. “I can’t do more than that because—because—well, you know why. I’m not capable of it. I don’t have to replay all of that. So, we can’t—do what we were doing before,” I stammered. “We have to just be friends.”
A gnawing pain began behind my ribs as I recalled just an hour ago talking with Micah about this guy. She’d accused me of liking him. Why did that feel like a dull knife to the gut now?
Thatcher pushed back in his chair and rose to his feet. “I see.”
He saw? Because I was a big foggy mess, and honestly nothing about him showed any signs of seeing, either. Not that it mattered anymore, because clearly Hot Guy wasn’t as nice as he portrayed himself to be now that he was Thatcher Roman, and—what the hell was he doing, rounding his desk in my direction?
I jumped to my feet in defense. “Good.”
“Good?” he said, stopping in front of me, so close that his smell enveloped me and I was back in his truck with his hands on my body and my vision going dizzy. I could have pulled his face down to mine, if I’d wanted to. Shit.
“Don’t you think?” I managed, lifting my chin and forcing something close to confidence to come out of my eyes.
His brows raised. “That you were in love with a mystery guy you told my sister about—”
My knees nearly buckled as he said the words I’d prayed he wouldn’t remember.
“Not—not love—I didn’t—” Babbling incoherency was all my mouth could form. He was too close and too—all of it. Damn you, Micah! “Those were her words, not mine,” I finally managed.
“I gathered,” he said with a nod.
“I was honest with you from the get go,” I said, trying not to breathe him in. “I told you that—”
“Sex was all you were after,” he finished. “I remember. So, your mystery guy was interesting until he became someone you can’t easily ditch afterward?” he added. “Sure thing. Sounds great. Glad you’re aware of your capabilities.”
My eyes narrowed. The fucking nerve. “How dare you pretend to know me,” I said, attempting to step forward and move him but just meeting with wall.
“You’re right,” he said, pulling something from his pocket and grabbing my hand. Something elongated and plastic pressed against my palm, still warm from his body heat. He leaned his face closer to mine, and for half a second I thought he might kiss me. I also thought I might pass out from not breathing. “I felt like I kind of knew you,” he said, his voice barely over a whisper as the breath from his words brushed my cheek. “But I was wrong. Friend.”
He backed away as I looked down at my open hand, a shiny new black key fob looking back at me. I blinked. Twice.
“What—I don’t—”
A knock made me jump, and my fingers closed instinctively over the key as I looked up to see a striking dark-haired guy with very mischievous eyes leaning against the doorjamb like he might have been there a while. I recognized him from the photo.
“Am I interrupting?” he said, raising eyebrows at Thatcher.
Thatcher was back behind his desk and barely gave him a glance. “Of course not.”
“I’m Jackson,” the guy said, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward me with an easy gait, holding out a hand. “You must be Gabi.”
“She must be,” Thatcher said, moving a paper from one side of his desk to the other.
I gave him a sideways glance, and then grasped Jackson’s hand, hoping I wasn’t still trembling. “I—yes, I’m Gabi. It’s so nice to meet you finally.”
“Everything okay?” Jackson asked, turning to look back and forth between us. “It’s a little tense in here.”
I felt the key in my fist, and just nodded. I didn’t get it. What did he do, go—
“All good,” Thatcher said, finally sitting down. “We’re just waiting on Micah, she’s outside with Roarke.”
Jackson pointed at him, up and down with one finger. “You left at the crack of crazy this morning, and—what happened to pressed and dressed uptight Thatcher?”
Thatcher’s jaw twitched, contradicting the lazy expression he let come over his face. He laced his fingers together loosely and shrugged.
“An old friend of mine had some car trouble yesterday,” he said. “And broke his electronic key. I have another buddy at a dealership who offered to help out so I went and got him a new key and—well, anyway. I didn’t have time for pressed and dressed.”
Oh my God. That’s what he’d been out doing all morning. For me. That—wasn’t casual.
Slap.
I was full of rot.
Jackson nodded. “Him, huh? Sure seems like a lot of trouble for another guy.”
“Spoken like a man whore with no male friends,” Thatcher said.
“Hey, if you did a little more whoring—”
“Well, I’m back in the nick of time,” Micah said, breezing through the doorway and tackling Jackson from behind. “Here five seconds and you’re already bickering? How’s my favorite man whore today?”
“Hungry,” he said. “Are we ready?”
All I could do was clutch that key in my fist and hold it to my sternum like it was a talisman.
“Gabi,” she said. “You’re all up to date on my family, now. Feel like one of the siblings?”
There were so many things wrong with that question, that sentiment, the very words entered my head, turned sour and died.