Blaze (Blaze #1) (2 page)

The lobby is empty except for us and I don’t
know what to say. Gabriel reaches out and squeezes my hand as he
leads me across the floor with his long, confident strides. I melt
inside; I can’t wait to feel those hands on my body, roaming all
over me, bending me and moving me however he wants me.

I open my mouth to say something, what, I
don’t know, just anything, and the elevator dings and he guides me
inside.

He doesn’t wait for the doors to close
before he swings me around to face him. I’m putty in his hands; a
kitten going limp when someone grabs the scruff of its neck. I want
his body against mine, I want his lips on mine, and I want his
hands roaming all over my body, pulling me tight, grabbing my ass,
tangling in my hair.

I tilt my head back, wanting to press my
mouth to his. But he teases me, letting me get so close that he can
just brush his lips against mine, then drawing his head back, just
out of reach. Suddenly I feel his hard heat against my thigh,
through the tight crease of his suit pants, and I gasp despite
myself.

Then he’s kissing me, properly kissing me.
And my mouth opens willingly. His mouth is sweet, and warm. He
wraps one of his hands through my hair, tugging at it just enough
for me to feel the beginnings of a sting. With a shock, I realize
how close I am to coming right there in the elevator.

With another ding, the elevator glides to a
smooth stop and the doors slide open. I throw myself off Gabriel. I
can hear my breathing like a hurricane, and I know my face is
turning tomato red. A couple is standing in the doorway, staring at
us.

“Oh!” says the woman, a well-dressed
middle-aged lady. Gabriel just smiles and reaches out to hit the
close button.

“The next one will be here in a second,” he
says easily. And as the doors close, I hear the woman say, “Oh my
God, I think that was-”

But the doors cut off her words and I throw
myself back into his arms, hungrily reaching out for him, sucking
his warm, sweet-tasting lower lip into my mouth, wrapping my arms
around him. He laughs around our kiss and the next time the doors
open he drags me through the corridor to his suite.

I can’t take my hands off him even as we
have to pause so he can swipe the door open, and he laughs
again.

“Where’s the shy girl I saw at the bar?” he
asks, one hand on his door.

“Gone,” I whisper, and he opens the door.
“Gone, gone, gone.”

My jaw drops as we walk in. This place is
bigger than my whole tiny little Castro apartment. The windows are
huge, overlooking the whole city. From up here on the hill, so
high, it looks like the sky is spread out below us; all the tiny
little lights so far away.

“Drink?” he asks, going to the fridge.

I shake my head. I can’t bear to wait for a
second longer than I have already. I want to feel his body against
mine. I want him inside me.

He leans on the fridge and watches me as I
cross the room towards him. I’m trembling inside, but I can’t tell
if it’s from nerves or need or both. I slip my hands under his
jacket and strip it off him.

God, his body.
I can tell how tight
and toned his muscles are through his shirt, and he grins, a smug,
lazy smile.

“I usually live on my farm,” he says, by way
of explanation. “I like the peace and quiet. Working there keeps me
fit. And there are the benefits of a personal chef and a personal
trainer.”

Then he proves it. He leans forward and
grabs me under the ass and with one smooth movement, lifts me off
the ground.

A fire is pulsing between my thighs as I dip
my head to kiss him. His strength is overwhelming. His arms are as
steady as rocks.

He lowers me down so his hardness presses
right up against me and he walks slowly across the kitchenette,
dropping me down on the counter. I moan when I feel his hand
reaching up underneath my dress, stripping my underwear away.

I can feel his grin as the elastic slips
over my knees. He can tell how wet I am.

Then I bite back a scream as he traces
around my pussy with an expertly light, delicate finger. I press my
face into his shoulder and squeeze my eyes shut as he slips a
finger into me, then two.

“Come for me,” he whispers in my ear, and
his hand moves urgently. Somehow he already knows the exact spot to
make the tension inside me rocket up and tighten until I’m right on
the edge.

I breathe in desperate gasps. It’s been so
long, and I want him so much, and he’s stroking, urging me onwards,
going faster, and faster, and faster, until finally –

I muffle my groan of complete release by
biting into the muscle of his shoulder. My whole body is shaking.
Pleasure surges through every part of me.

“The bedroom,” he says, and his voice is
husky with raw desire. “Now.”

I breathe out a long, shuddering breath.
It’s been months since I’ve had sex with someone else. As for
good
sex with someone else… let’s just say, it’s been
forever, and I mean that literally. There’s never been a man who’s
been able to get me off before.

My overwhelming need for Gabriel Call to
take me is raw and burning hot inside me. I want to give him
everything. Everything he wants, and I want him to take it from me
over and over again. My mouth is dry at the thought of what he must
be like in bed.

“Hurry,” he says, and I stare at him,
standing framed against the window, the darkness of the night sky
all around him. He looks like a fallen angel, the lights of the
city illuminating his razor’s edge cheekbones, his strong jaw, and
those bottomless eyes that are full of secrets.

I cup his face with my hand. I want him to
throw me over his shoulder and run me to the bedroom, to throw me
down on the bed and take me, but in a second, not now, not right
now. Now when I’m staring at his beautiful face and he’s looking
back at me like we’re the only two people in the whole world. I
want this moment to last forever, but I also want it to be over so
he can be inside me at last.

And then, right as I open my mouth to tell
him what I want… my phone starts ringing in my bag.

“Ignore it,” he says hungrily, and he takes
hold of my wrist, drawing me in, closing his lips on mine. And for
a moment I surrender, with a thousand snapping sparks tingling
through me like a star going supernova. But I know whose ring that
is, and I have to pull away.

“Just… just hold on,” I say, and my voice is
shaking.

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Are you serious?” he says, and he’s
half-laughing, half-annoyed.

“I have to get this,” I say, and I’m already
wincing. Every second my phone keeps ringing is like fingernails
down a chalkboard.

I fish in my bag and take out my phone right
as it rings off, but for one last second, the name MATT flashes up
in the darkened room. I sigh and turn, and then jump, because
Gabriel’s right behind me.

“Who’s Matt?” he asks. His voice is like
steel wrapped in silk. “Your boyfriend?”

“No,” I say helplessly, “He really isn’t,
he’s just…”

“Are you lying to me?” Gabriel asks, and he
takes a step closer. I blink, confused.
Whoa! Control issues
much?

“Hey,” I say gently, “I promise. It’s just…
complicated. I don’t want to talk about it. I want to be with you.
Like we were. But first… I have to call him back.”

I lean in to kiss him but his body has gone
tense and angry.

“Tell me who that was,” he says, “and we can
keep going. Tell me why you have to call someone back at midnight
on a Friday night if it isn’t your boyfriend.”

I shake my head.

“I don’t want to get into it right now,” I
say. It doesn’t stop him.

“An ex?” he insists. “A lover?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I
promise.”

“Are you lying to me?” he asks. “If there’s
one thing I can’t stand, it’s dishonesty. It makes my skin
crawl.”

Jesus
, I think,
of all the times
for Matt to call…

“Listen.” I say, “it’s not like that, but
it’s…”

He shakes his head.

“I think I’ve lost the mood,” he says, and
he gives me a cold smile. “The doorman will call you a cab.”

And so just like that I’m back on California
Street, walking back down to Van Ness. The doorman offered to call
me a cab but I didn’t want to hang out in the lobby like some
charity case or one of Gabriel Call’s morning-after girls.

It’s one of those San Francisco nights with
just enough of a sea breeze to make me shiver and wrap my jacket
tighter around myself. The apartment blocks that line the street
reach up into the night sky and my heels echo around the deserted
street.

Man, if they could see me at home
now,
I thought, and that makes me straighten my shoulders and
walk a little taller.

Thinking of home reminds me, and I take out
my phone. Matt’s missed call is still waiting there, staring at me
from the screen. He’ll probably still be up, I know that. He never
slept much. When I first moved here all our talks were late at
night, when I was so stressed about paying my rent that I couldn’t
sleep.

He answers on the second ring.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says. His voice is a
little tight. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to hear from you
tonight.”

I smile hearing his voice.

“C’mon, you jerk,” I say. “When have I ever
not called you back?”

“I thought I might have been interrupting
something,” he says, and I wince at the question in his voice. The
last thing I want to tell him was that I’d missed his call because
I’d been fooling around with Gabriel.

“No,” I say, and I look back up at the top
floor of the Huntington. Is it my imagination, or is there a tall
figure standing in a lit window up high? “You didn’t interrupt
anything at all.”

“So what’s going on?” I ask, concentrating
on keeping one foot in front of the other. I‘m definitely still
feeling the last effects of the champagne.

“Not much,” he says “I just missed you
tonight, is all.”

My stomach tightens at that. Every time I
talk to Matt it’s always a strange mix of feelings, of wanting to
be here, where my life is, but wanting to be home, too. With
him.

I pause too long.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks, and his voice is
full of concern.

“Oh, nothing,” I say. There’s a lead bowling
ball in my stomach. “It’s just… tonight was really weird, and
strange, and now I feel like an ass. Do you ever think about me
coming back home?”

“Back to Alaska?” he says, and his voice is
full of surprise. “
Fuck
no, you can’t get a job like yours
here. I mean, I’d love it, but… I think you’re doing a great thing,
being there, making your own life. Hell, I wish I could.”

“You will someday,” I say, and my throat
tightens. Suddenly I want to see Matt more than anything in the
world. But I don’t want him to hear me cry. I can see a cab up
ahead.

“I gotta go,” I manage to blurt out, “my
cab’s here.”

And I hang up before I can burst into
tears.

The next day Natasha suggests lunch at
Bijoux, a trendy little café/restaurant that’s just opened on
Russian Hill. By the time I get there it’s crowded with tech
workers and arty types, jammed together elbow-to-elbow. When I open
the door it bounces square off the ass of a hipster guy standing in
line who turns and gives me a scowl before dropping his gaze to my
chest.

“Guess you’ll have to wait in line like the
rest of us,” he smirks, rubbing a hand through his wispy beard
before rearranging his skinny jeans. Instead I just zip my jacket
up and scan the room for Natasha – I don’t know how she does it,
but Natasha
never
waits in line.

Sure enough, she’s got a table all to
herself. It’s a little island of calm in the middle of the bustling
café floor and she’s got a stack of manuscripts next to her that
she’s flicking through.

“Slush pile,” she explains, grimacing, when
I sit down. “I can’t believe people actually
write
some of
this stuff. “
An Actor Tells His Story
? Puh-lease. This guy
got killed in five seconds on
NCIS
and he thinks he can
write a tell-all memoir.”

Bijoux is classic San Francisco chic –
unvarnished wooden tables and high stools, glowering waitresses
with arms full of tattoos, and prints from some local artists
lining the walls. I reach for the menu because I’m starving
(despite a sensitive stomach courtesy of last night) and Natasha
slaps my hand.

“Seriously Kate,” she says, staring deep
into my eyes. “I love you like a sister, but if you even think of
looking at that menu before telling me what went down last night, I
will stab your ass with my salad fork.”

I can’t believe it, but I blush. I reach for
a glass of water, avoiding Natasha’s eyes.

“Oh,
shit
,” she says, leaning back in
her chair, pretending to fan herself. “That good, huh?”

She leans forwards again.

“OK,” she says. “America has to know. How
big is Gabriel Call’s dick?”

At the table next to us a lady overhears and
spurts out a mouthful of sweet tea. Instantly a waiter is there,
mopping up the spill, and I whisper desperately to Nat.

“Cool it!” I say. “Nothing happened!”

Nothing about Natasha’s face says she
believes me.

“Are you serious? What do you mean,
nothing?”

I twist uncomfortably in my seat. “I mean…
well, a little happened,” I say.

And before I know it, I’m spilling the whole
story. About going back to his suite, about how easily he got me
off, and then how he turned jealous and weird as soon as Matt
called.