Page 127 of Love What's Left
I stab a roasted red pepper with my fork.Why am I such an idiot when it comes to this man?I don’t want him to interrupt my dinner.
Okay, I do, but it’s only because Tony turned out to be a jerk. That’s my only reason.
The hostess, Grace, nods toward our dining room, and Gabriel strides this way. No amount of pretending not to see him is going to make a bit of difference in how this is about to go down.
I shoot an apologetic look at Tony. “Whatever happens next, don’t freak out, okay?”
The words are for me, more than they are him, but Gabriel can be unpredictable, especially if he picks up on my unease with Tony. Tony’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but before he can say a word, Gabriel arrives.
“Hello,Sydney.” Bending with grace worthy of some seventeenth century French nobleman, he brushes a kiss across my cheek. His scent, some unspeakably delicious and, no doubt, expensive, cologne washes over me. Then he straightens, steals a chair positioned against the wall, spins it on one leg, butts it up against mine, and takes a seat. “Sorry I’m late. Ooh, Mediterranean chicken. You don’t mind, do you? I haven’t eaten in six hours.” He promptly picks up my salad fork, spears one of my potatoes, and pops it into his mouth.
Under the table, I pinch his muscled thigh. Unbothered by my silent protest, he covers my hand with his own, not even trying to push me away. I may as well be a kitten batting at his shoelaces.
Tony frowns, looking from my deer-in-the-headlights expression to the face of my nemesis and back. “Who is this guy to you?”
I swallow. “He’s uh . . .” Boss isn’t correct. I definitely can’t say “The man I accepted a bribe from, who now makes it his mission in life to torture me by making me love him.”
Gabriel releases my hand to sling an arm around my shoulders. “Gabriel McRae. I have a standing reservation for this table.”
Tony eyes the two of us warily.
One hand shading my eyes, I slump so far down in my chair I should be in a different zip code.
Tony focuses on Gabriel. “Are you a relative?” There’s no denying the hopeful note in his voice.
Gabriel sets his borrowed fork on the table and laughs, his sparkling eyes crinkling at the corners. He holds his flat abdomen and chuckles like some kind of demented St. Nicholas . . . if Santa had the body of Captain America, the face of an archangel, and the maturity of a thirteen-year-old boy.
When Gabriel manages to contain his mirth, his gaze caresses me with an expression of exaggerated admiration, then he turns back to Tony and scoffs, “My relatives don’t put their hands in my lap.”
I snatch back my arm. “I was pinching him, not fondling him.”
Gabriel smiles at me affectionately. “My sunshine does enjoy her kinks.”
“Stop it,” I hiss.
His lips twitch.
“Isthishow you manage to get reservations here? You have a sugar daddy paying for it?”
“Why are you so obsessed with this restaurant?” I snap.
The waitress appears at our side, wordlessly gathers Tony’s plate, boxes his food in a take-out container, and sets it in front of him.
Tony rises jerkily to his feet.
With a loud scrape of chair legs, Gabriel matches his stance, towering over the shorter man. He curls a huge fist into Tony’s lapel and jerks him closer, then speaks in a quiet, pleasant tone. “Stay away from Ms. Walsh. If another little birdie tells me you’re lurking around the elevators waiting for her or asking her co-workers for her address, we’re going to have another, less pleasant, conversation. Do we understand each other, Anthony Roland Perrigo?”
Tony blinks in rapid-fire succession. “I was going to send her flowers.”
Gabriel smiles and pats his cheek. Hard. “Don’t do that either.”
Tony nods, and a bead of sweat trickles down his temple.
Studiously straightening the other man’s jacket for him, Gabriel smooths his lapel, brushes off his shoulders, then slaps him on the back before pointing him toward the exit. “Good talk. Have a nice evening.”
Tony takes two steps. Gabriel calls after him, “Don’t forget your chicken marsala.”
Tony turns back, rushes to the table, and clutches the takeout to his chest.
