Page 113 of Dark Angel
The energy thundering off Gabriel was intense, as was the divot between his eyes. She assumed he regretted sleeping with her or baring his soul. Maybe he had second thoughts in the shower and didn’t want to give up his playboy ways. Right now, she didn’t care. Her thoughts were centered around how she’d get out of this date. If she agreed, she had to assume Bob Smith would want sex.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” She pushed away the plate of food as her work phone chimed again. “I’m afraid to look,” she grumbled.
Bob Smith had sent her a shirtless pic of himself, showing off his muscles.
Bile rose and she grimaced.
Gross.
Na sluchay, yesli ty zabyl menya posle vstrechi na proshloy nedele — eto ya Bob Smith
In case you forget me from meeting. It me Bob Smith
“I’ve been asked to cross a line.” She shook her head. “Sorry, never mind.”
A flash of concern softened his eyes. “Dimmi.”Tell me.
She didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.
“I got a text and a shirtless pic from someone the ambassador met with. A Russian, alias Bob Smith. He and some guy named Dmitri Petrov had a meeting with the ambassador. Dmitri Petrov was condescending to the ambassador, and Bob Smith asked me out, but I ignored him.”
“How’d he get your number?” Gabriel asked before pouring maple syrup over the French toast.
“The ambassador gave it to him.” She harrumphed. “He’s never done that before. While you were in the shower, the ambassador checked to see if I was coming in today. I think he’s going to strong-arm me into going out with this douche.”
“Not into large-muscled men?”
She shot him a little smile. “Only if his name is Gabriel Santini.”
He studied her like he was searching for answers to the universe. He stared into her eyes, then her mouth, dropping to her clothing, jumping up to her tight bun. Was he undressing her with his intense gaze or was it something else?
She couldn’t read him, not this time.
“If I’m forced to go out with him, he’s going to expect sex.” A shiver skirted through her and she shuddered. “If I say yes to dinner, why would he stop there?”
“I’ll help you,” Gabriel said. “If you help me.”
“Okay,” she said, wondering how he could help her with her professional problem.
“I have a video.” He set his phone on the table facing her. “I’m hoping you can help me ID this person.”
Halston watched the video of herself on the balcony in his Milan villa, a wine glass in her hand. Though she’d kept her head down, it was impossible to miss her. Even in the darkened room, the surveillance camera had captured a damn good image.
When the video ended, Gabriel said, “Sorry I missed you.”
“Oops,” she said, her gaze meeting his.
“You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Her mouth went bone dry.
“It looks that way,” she replied.
12
TRUST ME
GABRIEL
