Rock Hard (Rock Kiss #2)(28)

Staying against the car instead of closing the distance to her, he shook his head. “It’s a relatively clear day tomorrow businesswise.” It had taken three months and a small number of additional staff changes, but his management team was at the stage that he could trust them to do what needed to be done, even if he wasn’t physically there for them to consult.

Unlike that idiot, Hill, Gabriel didn’t waste his time micromanaging competent people. “You can get calls forwarded to your cell,” he added. “So, seven thirty?”




CHARLOTTE COULDN’T FIND ANY reason to say no… except for her nervousness at the roughly three-hour drive with Gabriel. “Okay,” she managed to get out, her nails digging into her palms as she hit her limit of cowardice.

No more, said a frustrated, angry part of her. No more. Her frustration was all the more intense because of how well the day had gone—she’d more than held her own with Gabriel. And now this.

“Good night, Ms. Baird.”

“Good night, Mr. Bishop.” Closing the door, she threw the deadbolt and double-locked everything, then ran quickly to the living room to watch Gabriel leave, the lights of his vehicle scything across windows set with bars. It was an unusual modification in her neighborhood, but she’d made sure it was tastefully done—the bars looked more like a decorative element than the rigid iron they actually were.

The sound of Gabriel’s car was gone a couple of seconds later, purring into the darkness.

Taking a shuddering breath, she turned on the lights in the living room, the kitchen, the hallway, the spare room, and her bedroom one by one, including in the master bathroom. Then, as she did every night, she walked through each room to make sure nothing had been moved or disturbed in her absence and that the door from the garage remained deadlocked from the inside.

Only when she was certain everything was exactly as she’d left it, all the little booby traps she’d set unsprung, did she walk into her bedroom and change into her sleeveless white eyelet nightgown. Skimming her body to the ankle, the Victorian-inspired nightgown was embellished with a thin ribbon in the same delicate peach shade as that which separated the bodice from the rest of the gown. Overall, she thought, catching a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror on the wall beside her wardrobe, it was sweetly romantic but not exactly sexy.

No, she was definitely not one of the red-rose women.

Brushing out her hair on that scowling thought, she walked into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. She’d always been a night owl, and given that it was only ten forty-five, she decided she’d read for an hour. Snuggling into bed with a Scottish historical, her teacup on the nightstand, she flipped to her bookmark but couldn’t focus. Her mind kept drifting in a single direction.

Gabriel was probably home by now. If she knew him, he’d put the briefcase on a table, take off his coat, and throw it over the back of a chair. He’d no doubt kick off his shoes and socks, walk into the bedroom as he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal that glorious wall of a chest, those wide shoulders, the ink on his body only highlighting the beauty of him.

It was truly, truly embarrassing how many nights she’d fantasized about watching Gabriel dress and undress. Even with her admonitions to herself about the danger of allowing her crush to deepen into something that could hurt her, she couldn’t stop herself. The book lay unread in front of her as she imagined him shrugging off that shirt to ball it up and chuck it into the laundry basket, his shoulders gleaming under the light.

Then his hands went to the belt of his pants.

Toes curling, she swallowed and watched the strip of black leather slide out, drop to the floor with a clink of metal softened by the carpet. His fingers went to the top button of his pants, undid it, lowered the zipper.

Triiiiing!

Charlotte jumped, the book slamming shut as she stared at her cell phone with red-hot cheeks and a guiltily thudding heart. No one called her this late except for Molly, and that was after her friend texted to see if she was awake. Fear sent a chill trickle down her spine, but Charlotte grabbed the phone to look at the screen. She’d long ago decided she wouldn’t allow the memory of evil to terrorize her inside her home.

The caller ID showed Gabriel’s name.





12


IN WHICH MS. BAIRD HAS A GUILTY CONSCIENCE





FLUSHING EVEN HOTTER, HER breasts heavy and aching, Charlotte tapped the Answer icon. “Mr. Bishop?”

“Sorry to call so late.”

“That’s all right,” she said, telling the giggly teenage girl inside her to shush. She didn’t know why that girl had awoken after so many years, but her hopes were ridiculous. This wasn’t a romantic call. It was a business one. “I’m usually awake now.”

“Night owl?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.” It sounded like he was smiling. “What are you doing?”

Fantasizing about watching you strip. After which I would’ve fantasized about kissing and licking my way over every inch of your hot, hard, magnificent body.




“READING A HISTORICAL NOVEL.”

Intrigued by the husky tone of Charlotte’s reply, her voice breathy, Gabriel wondered if she really was reading a historical novel. “Sure it’s not an erotic romance?”

“No!” A high, sharp denial that sounded so guilty he grinned.