Hot in the City (12 page)

One week. She could get through that. She turned to face him, drawing herself up straight.

“Okay. You do what you need to, I’ll help. But this...this thing between us, it’s over. Tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it, but I won’t sleep with you. That’s it.”

He regarded her quietly for a few minutes, and then nodded.

“Okay. Thank you.”

When he turned and left, walking out to get ready to leave as well, Della couldn’t help the sharp pain from taking over. He’d accepted her terms so easily, so calmly. No objections whatsoever.

She curled over her bag as she finished packing. Hot, heavy tears fell on the blue canvas of the suitcase as she zipped it, and as she did so, she tried to do the same to her emotions.

There’d be time for that later. Time to lick her wounds in private and move on, but for the moment, she wouldn’t let him see how much he’d hurt her. That was her fault, anyway. She shouldn’t have fallen for him. But she had—or rather, she’d fallen for the lie.

It was a mistake, she reassured herself, that she’d never make again.

11

G
ABE
TUGGED
AT
the tie he wore as he sat on one of the hard wooden benches that were set up in rows on either side of the aisle in the garden where Chloe and Justin’s wedding would be taking place the next day.

But neither the tie, nor the heat, nor the bench was the real source of his discomfort. That was settled squarely in his gut—and as crass as it was to say so, a few inches lower, as well. It had been almost a week since he returned from the mountains with Della. A week of clipped conversations when they were on their own, and worse, faked conversations—at least on her part—when they were with others. For most of the week, she made a concerted effort not to be alone with him whenever possible.

True to his word, he’d shadowed her everywhere, from picking up flowers, to checking on the cake delivery and even sitting in the background—unbeknownst to anyone but Della—watching. Even when he was with her, at the bachelorette party, he felt like an outsider.

That had been particularly tough, especially when the fun and games included everyone sharing a sexy story over their dessert. The one Della shared—with dramatic relish, no doubt for his effect—was not about him. That had stung.

He couldn’t blame her, but...with nothing happening during the week, and Bart almost to the point of ordering him back to D.C. or telling him to quit, Gabe was almost seriously entertaining the latter option. In fact, he was only here now because he couldn’t quite walk away yet.

Clearly, his instincts were off. Nothing had occurred since their return, Della’s apartment was almost back to normal, and she seemed perfectly safe. There had been no further incidents, and it was as if his gut instincts were wrong.

He’d let other emotions entirely take over his thinking, clouding his judgment, no doubt leading him in wrong directions. He cared for Della, and it weighed heavier as the days went on, knowing he hurt her, knowing that she hated him and knowing that it had all been for nothing made it even worse.

He shook his head in disgust at his own thoughts. He’d never been one for so much naval-gazing. He was a guy who liked action, but what exactly did he want to do? Go back to D.C. and dive into another mission, or stay here, and try to win Della back?

Was that even possible?

He wasn’t fit for duty, and he wasn’t fit for Della, either. She deserved better.

Glowering, he looked behind him, wondering what the heck was going on. How long did it take to practice walking down a path and reciting some vows, anyway?

Finally, Justin appeared at the front near the podium that had been set up, with another man beside him.

Gabe focused on the best man, something triggering in his mind. He looked familiar. Pulling out his phone, he pulled up the most recent picture of Derian, but he quickly saw that there was no resemblance, not even a buried one.

As someone gave instructions from the side, Gabe couldn’t help the niggling feeling of familiarity, though, as he looked at the guy. Until some music started, and he saw Della start her march down the aisle.

She was dressed in normal clothes, like the rest of them, measuring her steps and avoiding meeting his eyes at all costs.

Gabe, on the other hand, didn’t take his eyes from her. In fact, as he watched her walk by, it was all he could do not to reach out and touch.

He missed her. He missed their conversations, her humor, openness and passion. He missed her body next to his and her smile, which was reserved for others now.

Would he be able to walk away and forget her? He’d done it before with other women, but Della wasn’t just another woman.

Chloe took her cue now, almost floating down the aisle with her graceful stature, like that of a model, her smile and eyes directly on the groom.

Gabe fantasized, suddenly, about Della looking at him that way. About Della coming down the aisle to meet him and them spending the rest of their lives together.

His chest tightened until he almost couldn’t breathe, and he was only able to change that by admitting it was what he wanted. Della, with him, for good. For real.

He’d done a lot of seemingly impossible tasks in the course of his job, and among them, he’d convinced a lot of people to do things they wouldn’t normally do. Certainly, he could convince her, in time, to forgive him, couldn’t he?

He’d start by calling Bart on Monday and making official his decision about the job. He wouldn’t be going back. There would be no next mission.

He wanted to interrupt the proceedings, to tell Della what he wanted and what he planned to do, but he sat and watched quietly, waiting for the right moment.

He needed a strategy. This was a delicate operation.

Gabe didn’t even hear the rest of the ceremony going on around him as he formulated a plan, a strategy to convince Della to give him a second chance.

It started of course, with telling her his real name.

But not tonight; not until after the wedding. She had enough going on, and he didn’t want to appear to be taking advantage of her. Until then, he had to be patient, to stay by her side and fine-tune his approach.

His final mission, he thought with a small smile.

Glancing up, he caught Della watching him, somewhat curiously, before she grimaced and averted her gaze. Gabe’s resolve strengthened. He would melt the icy distance between them if it was the last thing he ever did.

Content to sit contemplating his plan while the activities went on around him, Gabe didn’t see Della walk up, standing a few feet away as she only met his eyes fleetingly.

“What are you up to?” she asked suspiciously, her beautiful smile forced and strained.

“I’m just sitting here, as instructed.”

“Something is up. I could tell by your expression, how you were looking at me.”

He almost smiled. She could read him. Normally, for an undercover agent, that wasn’t a good thing; but with Della, it pleased him that she knew him so well. Even now, when she was so angry with him.

“I’ll tell you later. Is this over? What do we do now?”

She sighed, frowning more deeply. “We have to go to dinner.”

“You sound like you would rather eat tacks.”

Her shoulders dropped and she sat in the chair one seat away from him. “I need this—all of this—to be over. The wedding is stressful enough, but having you watch every move I make... I can’t sleep. My focus is off. I keep expecting something to happen, but nothing has. Obviously, you were wrong about this whole thing. It has nothing to do with me. And you’re being here just makes it...more difficult.”

Guilt panged in Gabe’s chest, and he leaned in, closing some of the space she kept putting between them.

“I’m sorry. It’s not easy for me, either, believe me, watching you and not being able to...be with you.”

Her eyes widened, color infusing her cheeks. “I don’t even want to talk about that.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, taking her hand in his.

It wasn’t playing nice, breaking the rules and touching her like that, but Gabe wasn’t necessarily going to play nice to get through her defenses. She tugged away from his grasp as he rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. The pulse in her throat sped visibly, and his heartbeat picked up as her lips parted, as if to catch her breath. It was all he could do not to take advantage and steal a taste.

“Relax, Della. You’re doing fine.”

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered, an edge of desperation in her voice. “You know we’re not—”

“Because I miss you,” he said simply, truthfully.

Her reply was cut short by the announcement that they were all heading to the restaurant for dinner. Gabe stood, sliding his arm around Della’s shoulders as they walked out. She stiffened beneath his touch.

“Hey, this is supposed to be fun, remember?” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair.

She glared, pulling away as she crossed the lot to the car he’d rented for the wedding.

“She doesn’t look pleased.”

Gabe turned to see Justin standing beside him, and nodded.

“I guess all couples argue sooner or later,” he said. “She’s been under a lot of stress.”

“I know. Chloe and I appreciate everything she’s done for the wedding, but we may have asked too much. We have something special planned for her as a thank-you.”

“She’ll appreciate that, I’m sure. Good luck to you as well,” Gabe offered with a handshake and a smile.

“Thanks,” Justin replied, turning back to the door as Chloe emerged.

Gabe joined a seething Della in the rental car. She didn’t say a word as they followed the others to the rehearsal dinner venue.

“Della, it’s going to be okay,” he said softly, his hand on her arm as she tried to bolt from the car as soon as he shut the engine off.

She stilled under his touch. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. Neither am I.”

“What do you mean?”

Gabe got out, crossing around the car to open her door, helping her out, standing close.

“I’m not okay without you,” he said.

Her eyes filled. “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that to me.”

He groaned, pulling her in close. “I know things are bad right now, but for the moment, let’s just pretend nothing changed. We can enjoy the evening, okay? I told Justin we had an argument, but maybe it’s time we made up?”

“You’re right, I’m being selfish. I don’t want to ruin this for them.”

“You’re not doing that. You’ve done a terrific job, and you deserve to enjoy all of your efforts, as well.” He looked down into her face. “And listen, you’re right. The investigation is a bust, and you have no reason to be worried or afraid. So let’s try to have some fun tonight, okay? Put the rest behind us?”

She nodded and looked away. “I’m not as good at faking it as you are.”

“Then don’t,” he said simply, cupping his palm around her elbow and heading to the entrance of the restaurant. “Just be yourself. And for the record, I’m not faking how I feel about you, honey.”

She seemed surprised, but still wary, as they walked into the restaurant and on to a private room, where their party was set up. Each table was decorated simply with pretty white flowers in crystal vases, and a bottle of champagne and glasses for toasting. A dance floor was in the center of the room, with a small stage for a band that was also starting to organize themselves.

“I thought a rehearsal dinner was only for the bridal party?” he asked, seeing more people streaming in.

“Well, there are only four of us, and Chloe likes a party, so she opened it up to all of their friends.”

Gabe nodded. “Go do what you need to, and I’ll be right here,” he said, offering her a slight kiss on the cheek. He then found his way to the bar on the other side of the room.

At least she didn’t glare or shy away from him that time. Maybe there was hope.

Della crossed the room to talk to the restaurant manager as more guests arrived, glancing back with a mix of confusion and what Gabe hoped was something softer and more positive. It wasn’t easy to hold back, not when he wanted to just blurt everything out and let her know how he felt. He intended to make everything up to her, starting by helping her to enjoy this evening. After that, he suspected things were going to get a lot more complicated, but he was determined to get through to Della, one way or another.

* * *

T
HE
CHAMPAGNE
WAS
EXCELLENT
, and after everyone was seated, her toast delivered and dinner served, Della took full advantage of the bottle at her table.

“They look happy,” Gabe commented as he refilled her glass, and then his own.

She looked at Chloe and Justin, and agreed. They were happy. Truly in love, best friends. They didn’t lie to each other or use each other for their own ends.

Her eyes stung—as if she hadn’t cried enough already that week—and she hastily took a sip of her wine to choke back the tears.

“Della, honey—” Gabe’s voice was soft, and she turned her face away, knowing he’d seen.

“Don’t call me that, please,” she said, practically begging.

Didn’t he understand how hard it was for her? That she was more than halfway to falling in love with him—which was her fault, and she could have dealt with it. Except that everything had been a lie. He’d lied to her from the start, and even his endearments, his soft words to her now, were lies. How could she ever trust herself or her feelings, her judgment? Nothing in her life had prepared her for this.

Thinking about it made her angry again, but at least anger was easier.

“You said I’m not in danger, as you thought, so why are you even here?” she asked, turning on him.

The others at their table were up dancing, so they were alone, and no one else would hear over the music.

He frowned and said, “C’mon, let’s dance.”

“I don’t want—”

But apparently she had no choice in the matter, as his hand caught hers and pulled her along with him. She tried to put some space between them, to not stand with her body so flush against his, but he held her firm.

She resented it, and she wanted it...he felt so good, it was almost torture.

What was wrong with her that she wanted him so much, still, in spite of everything that happened? When he touched her, or said something sweet, even when it was a lie, she still wanted it.

That fact made her ashamed of herself, but not so much that she didn’t give in and sink against him. They moved in a natural rhythm that their bodies seemed to find almost automatically.

“Della, we need to talk, tonight,” he said against her ear, making a shiver run down her spine.

Her head swam slightly—too much champagne, not enough sleep or food, and she held on tighter.

“No—no more talking,” she replied, tired to the bone. Tired of resisting, hurting and feeling so awful.

No doubt what Gabe wanted to tell her was that he was heading home. Maybe he’d come here tonight to make up for some of his lies, and she supposed that was something. He could have just left her high and dry without a date.

It didn’t even matter at this point. Warmed by his body for the first time this week, her anger dissolved, her need taking over as she gave in to the impulse to curl in and let him tell her whatever lies he wanted to for one more night. Then he could go.