That Mistletoe Moment (21 page)

CHAPTER 4

R
achel touched up her lipstick, using the elevator doors as a mirror. Her stomach dropped with the elevator. Why had she agreed to this?

“You look good, honey.”

Startled, she glanced over at the older man in the elevator with her. He winked.

“Thanks.” She chuckled. “I'm nervous, so that's nice to hear.”

“Hot date?” the Santa Claus look-alike asked.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open with a hiss. Gabe stood in the lobby, a slow smile licking at his lips when he saw her.

“You could say that,” she answered. With a smile at the old man, she stepped out on shaky legs, cursing herself. It wasn't like she'd never been on a date before. She'd been on many. Too many. First dates were miserable. But since she'd started using the Build-A-Boyfriend app, she hadn't thought she'd be feeling that swooping feeling in her stomach for a while. The one like that first plunge on a roller coaster when you still didn't know whether the ride was going to be a hell of a lot of fun or two minutes of torture.

“Don't do anything I wouldn't do,” the older man said, and waddled to the exit. Since Rachel had no idea what he would or wouldn't do, it wasn't particularly useful advice.

“Hi.” Her voice altogether too breathless for her liking, Rachel tried again. “I hope you weren't waiting long.”

“Nope.” From behind his back, he pulled out a wrapped rectangular package, a little larger than his hand. “I know flowers are more typical. . . .”

Rachel loved presents. She tore through the red ribbon and silver paper with brisk efficiency born from years of practice. And laughed.

“Handkerchiefs?”

A dimple in his cheek played peekaboo with her. “I can't always be in the elevator to save you. I thought I should give you the tools to protect yourself.”

“Thank you. I love it.” Now she remembered why she'd agreed to dinner with Gabe when he'd called. A drop-dead sexy man who could make her laugh? A fun little holiday fling with him was the perfect present to herself.

Tucking the box into her purse, she fell into step beside him. “Where are we going? I can stop by the garage and get my car, follow you there.”

“That won't be necessary.” He followed her into the revolving door that led outside, reaching over her shoulder to push the door forward. He walked close behind her to fit in the small space. “I'll drop you back here after dinner.”

The cold air slapped her in the face, and she tucked her scarf into her coat. A bell ringer stood near the entrance, a donation bucket decorated with red garland next to him.

Pulling a knit cap lower on his forehead, the man nodded to them. “Hi, Gabe. How you doing tonight?”

Tucking her hand under his arm, Gabe walked over, pulling out his wallet. “I'm not freezing my ass off standing out here, so better than you.”

The bell ringer snorted, and nodded his thanks as Gabe slipped a bill into the bucket. “It is cold. And there are too many kids out there shivering without coats.” The man's eyes rounded in innocence. “I just can't stop thinking about the children.”

Rachel bit back a smile as Gabe dug out his wallet again.

“Does anyone buy your BS, Charlie?” Gabe stuffed a couple more bills in the bucket. “That was overacting at its worst.”

Wrapping his arms around himself, Charlie bounced on his toes. “Only suckers like you.” He winked at Rachel. “Have a nice night.”

Grumbling, Gabe pulled her down the sidewalk.

“You know the bell ringer?” Rachel slid on a small patch of ice, and Gabe pulled her close to his side.

“He worked in front of this building last year, too.” Pulling out a set of keys, he pressed a button and the lights of a silver Audi coupe parked in the loading zone flashed. “When he's not trying to manipulate you into a bigger donation, he's a nice guy.”

And Gabe must have put enough in the bucket over the years to get on a first-name basis with him. She held on to his arm a little tighter. Most people tried to avoid eye contact with the bell ringers, too busy to stop, let alone have a conversation.

She stood to the side as he pulled the passenger door open. “Aren't you afraid you'll get a ticket?”

Gabe gave her that smile, the one that was all charm and no substance. No matter how nice he might be, Gabe was still a player. But since she wasn't looking for anything long-term, she was happy to play the game. “It's a loading zone. I'm loading you in.”

“Not the most flattering terminology,” she muttered. Sitting down, she turned her legs into the car, a precise operation as her pencil skirt didn't allow for a lot of movement. Gabe headed around the hood, and Rachel took a moment to enjoy the luxury. The cream leather of the seat was smooth beneath her fingers, and she settled back into its firm embrace. The air in the car smelled faintly of Bvlgari. Of Gabe.

He slid behind the wheel. “Where to?”

“You asked me out,” she said. “Shouldn't you already have a destination in mind?”

His teeth flashed in the glow from the streetlight. “That's a separate question from dinner. Besides, you're supposed to be showing me around town.” He leaned over the center console, the leather creaking. His breath brushed her ear, and she shivered. “Trevor did ask you for that favor.”

That wasn't all Trevor had asked her for. The texts she'd received from him today had been decidedly odd.

“I do owe you for covering for me with my boss.” Rachel turned to face him, found herself inches away from his face. “And you bought me lunch. Dinner's on me.”

His firm lips frowned. This close, Rachel could see the faint silvering of a scar crossing his upper lip. It only added to the aura of restrained power he cloaked himself in. A bad boy poured into a three-piece suit. A low throb pulsed between her legs.

“You pick.” He pressed a button, and the ignition purred to life. “I'll pay.” Pulling into traffic, Gabe glanced at her. “So, where to?”

Rachel directed him to one of her favorite restaurants. “I hope you like Greek,” she said as they were seated at a cozy table in the corner. The walls were painted the blue of the Mediterranean Sea, with murals of island life adorning them. Glass fishing floats cradled in intricate knots of rope hung from the ceiling. “But even if you don't, you'll find something you like on the menu. It's big.”

“You're not kidding.” He held up a menu that was not only several pages long, but two feet high. “I could wallpaper my bathroom with paper this size.”

“I think it's so they can fit all the pictures in.” Biting the inside of her cheek, she tried not to laugh at his wide eyes when he took in the photos of all the dishes on the menu. This probably wasn't the typical place he took his dates. Gabe seemed more like the French and expensive type. But he'd change his tune once he took a bite of the food.

The waiter came and took their order. After he left, Gabe settled back, his large frame making the small wood chair squeak. He didn't look concerned. Rachel had a feeling Gabe hid his emotions well.

“Tell me more about this Build-A-Boyfriend app,” he said. “Why do you use it instead of just getting a real boyfriend?”

“What, just snap my fingers and have one delivered to me, ready-made?” Gabe probably could just snap his fingers and have a willing woman immediately hanging off his arm. He most likely hadn't had to work at getting a relationship since puberty. “Besides, house-training them can be so difficult. A virtual boyfriend just seemed easier. Less mess.”

Rolling his eyes, Gabe stretched his legs out straight, his black leather wingtips nudging her ankles. Rachel glanced at his feet, several inches longer than her own size eights, and blushed.

“Uh-oh. You were thinking something naughty.” He tapped her with that foot. “What was it?”

She gulped down some water. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Your face is like a lie detector,” he said. “It flashes bright red when you're embarrassed or thinking something you shouldn't. You're very easy to read.” He smiled. “I like that.”

Rachel twisted her lips. Of course he'd like that.

Leaning forward, he trailed his index finger up and down her hand, the touch light. All the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and tingles started in places that hadn't tingled for months.

“I have vays to make you talk,” he said, his accent heavy and hokey.

She was sure he did. That one finger could probably make her spill state secrets, if she had any. She was both relieved and disappointed when the waiter came, bearing huge plates of food.

“It's as big as their menu.” Gabe looked at his moussaka doubtfully.

“Don't back down from a challenge,” she told him, and spun her fork into her plate of noodles, moaning with delight when the spicy marinara hit her tongue.

“If you wanted spaghetti and meatballs, why'd we come to a Greek restaurant?” he asked. He cut a neat square off his eggplant dish. Placing it in his mouth, his eyes lit up. “This is good.”

“I know. And their meatballs are better. That's why we came here.” She aimed her fork at one of the plump, juicy balls and gasped when Gabe stole it right out from under her.

He licked the marinara sauce off his fork. “You're right. That's a damn good meatball.”

“That's theft, that's what that is.” She glared at him. “Just because you're buying dinner doesn't give you the right . . . hey!”

He chewed thoughtfully on another meatball. “I think it's the paprika. That's what makes it good.” He rolled his eyes at her growl. “Oh, relax.” Cutting a wedge off his meal, he forked a slice of moussaka over onto her plate. “Better?”

She wiggled in her seat, her own version of the happy food dance. “Yep.”

They ate off each other's plates for the rest of the meal. It felt right. Comfortable. As if they'd known each other for a lot longer than a day.

It wasn't until they were heading back to the office and her car that Gabe brought up the Build-A-Boyfriend app again. “So, why do you use that app? I don't understand why someone like you would need to make up a boyfriend.”

The charming flirt was in his voice, the flattery laid on as thick as icing on a gingerbread house. But genuine confusion hid there, too.

Rachel sighed. “It's kind of embarrassing.”

“Those are the most interesting stories.”

Rachel couldn't see his face in the darkened interior, just shapes, slashes of contour. She focused on the strip at his throat that was illuminated by the streetlights. It was a nice throat, thick and tan with just a hint of an Adam's apple pressing out.

“I joined Build-A-Boyfriend for work.” Shifting onto one hip, she faced him. “All the editors at
Verve
are happily married. They're very nice women, but it's like a cabal, with baby pictures, anniversary stories, kids' playdates. The editors don't take my ideas as seriously as they do those of the married women. I don't think they mean to discriminate, but it's a family magazine. The way they look at it, since I don't have a family, I don't know what I'm talking about. I was tired of my story ideas getting passed over.”

“So you invented a fiancé for a business opportunity.” Rachel didn't hear the disgust she was expecting to. The tone of his voice almost sounded like respect.

“It started with a boyfriend. I just wanted the women I work with to think I was in a relationship. And I don't have time for a real one.” She scraped her teeth over her lower lip. “A couple of promotions are going out along with the Christmas bonuses this year. I know one of the assistant editors is going to be made an associate editor. I want it to be me.”

Gabe nodded. Flicking on his blinker, he turned into the parking garage of her office building. “I hadn't considered that as a potential use of m—that app. What level are you parked on?”

She directed him to her car. This late at night the garage was near empty.

“And it's working?” he asked. “More of your ideas are being taken seriously?”

“Two of my ideas were accepted for stories in the past two months,” she said, smug. “That's more than in the past year combined. If I drag out a long engagement, impress them with the quality of my work as associate editor, then I can break up with Trevor in a couple of months with no one the wiser. It's a perfect plan.” She frowned. “Well, it has been. I might have to change services.”

Gabe slammed on the brakes behind her car, jerking her head back. “Why would you change services?”

She rubbed her neck. “Because today the texts I received from Trevor got a little weird.”

His lips twitched. Was he smiling? “Weird? How?”

Rachel dug into her purse and handed him her phone. “Look. For the past two months it was all ‘I love you, I can't wait to see you,' and now this?”

She couldn't miss his smile now. “It's not funny,” she told him. “It's odd.”

“I don't know.” He pressed a button on her phone and started typing. “I'm thinking from a made-up fiancé, that's probably the most realistic text he's sent you.”

“ ‘What are you wearing?' ” She snorted. “Wait, what are you typing?”

“I'm texting him back.”

“What?” She reached for her phone, but he blocked her. Unbuckling her seat belt, Rachel got up onto one knee on the seat, reaching around his shoulder. He slapped her hands away, pressed a button on his door, and got out of the car. Shutting his door, he leaned back against it, his body silhouetted in the window, and ignored her protests.