Page 4 of Always Been Mine (Always #2)

Gabe couldn’t breathe. She was still the vision he remembered.

His Beatrice.

No. Not his. He lost that right three years ago when he left her. Now, he had to earn her forgiveness, and hope she’d take him back.

She didn’t know it yet, but he wasn’t giving her a choice.

In that moment where time stood in a vacuum, he studied her.

Beatrice always had the face of an angel, an almost perfect oval that tapered to a delicate, yet stubborn, chin.

It really depended on her mood. Cutting wit and dry humor were some of the traits Gabe loved about her.

His eyes zeroed in on the jacket keeping her warm and his jaw tightened.

When his gaze returned to her eyes, he realized the shock had left her only to be replaced by pure unadulterated fury.

Gabe turned rigid with anticipation. What did he expect? That she would welcome him with open arms?

“What are you doing here?” Her tone was sharp. The hatred dripping from her voice bore a hole in his gut like acid.

“I hoped to see you. ”

“And then what?” Beatrice snapped. “Be friends? I’m sorry, Gabe, but friends do not leave the way you did.”

“We were not friends when I left, do not delude yourself. You were my woman.” Giving Beatrice an inch would only make her take a mile. He couldn’t waver and fuck around with what he wanted. Not with her. He’d have to make it clear. His voice turned hoarse. “I threw you away—”

“Yes, you did.”

“I want you back, poppy—”

He expected it, the stinging slap. It cracked in the silence of the night.

The coat over her shoulders fell to the ground, drawing Gabe’s eyes to her nipples, which were pushing against the fabric of her gown, tempting him to just rip that dress from her, suck on her tit, and fuck her senseless.

The burn on his cheek was insignificant to the lust that seized him.

He’d had a semi since he’d seen her. Now his cock was threatening a full-blown erection.

“You’re the fucking delusional one,” she hissed. “I will never, ever take you back.” She cursed. “Stop looking at my boobs!”

He couldn’t help grinning, but resisted the urge to make a sexual innuendo.

Eyes on the prize, Sullivan.

“I know it’s going to take some time, babe.”

“Oh? For what?”

“For you to trust me again.”

“Trust you to make a fool of me again? You really think I’d waste my time on you? Are you really that hard up, Gabe? If all you want is a fuck, I’m sure there’ll be—”

He didn’t let her finish. Something broke inside him when she had dared think he would fool her again.

He wanted her to feel how much he needed her.

His hand snaked out and yanked her against him.

His mouth came crashing down on hers. Her lips were sealed tightly.

Gabe growled low in his throat as he backed her into a dark corner.

His fingers dug into her ass, preparing to boost her against the wall.

That was when he felt it.

An unholy pain between his legs.

He lost the ability to breathe, to think. He imploded like a pile of bricks.

“Fuck.” Was that his voice? Fuck .

“Boy, that felt amazing,” Beatrice gushed. Triumph and exhilaration were rolling off her in waves.

Gabe was on his knees, his hands over his crotch, looking up dazedly at her. “You do realize, poppy,” he pushed between gritted teeth, “you could have ruined our chances of ever having children.”

Fuck, he felt like puking. Cold sweat started beading his forehead.

“Hmph, still delusional. I don’t freaking care if you ever get another erection. Period.”

“That’ll be a shame for you, babe.”

“You deserve to be castrated, you asshole!” Beatrice spun on her heels and stalked away from him.

Gabe tried to get up, but the pain was still so intense, he crawled. “Damn it, Beatrice! Wait!”

“What’s going on here?”

This just keeps getting better , Gabe thought darkly.

Beatrice’s assistant showed up and he was down on the floor like a pathetic bastard.

Not that he didn’t deserve it, but he’d rather not look too diminished in front of a potential rival, even if the admiral assured him Douglas Keller wouldn’t be competition.

The blond prick glared at Gabe and acted like he was going to beat him up.

Really, buddy? I just got kneed in the balls.

“What did he do, Bee? ”

“I took care of it, Doug. Don’t worry,” Beatrice cast another wrathful stare his way. “The air out here has gone rotten. Take me home before I get sick.”

Gabe watched the woman who meant everything to him walk away with another man. A searing pain burned in his chest. He deserved it, but he wasn’t giving up. Not by a long shot.

“So who is Mr. Hottie?”

Beatrice collapsed against the passenger seat of Doug’s car. The calm she was feeling left her, and now she was a bundle of anxiety.

“That—is Gabriel Sullivan.”

“The Gabriel ?”

“Yup. So stop perving. I don’t want to talk about it either.”

Doug was silent for a while and then, “He’s the reason you’re so messed up about relationships, honeybee. We need to talk about it, but not tonight. This day has sucked you dry.”

Understatement.

They were quiet on the ride home. Doug would have normally dropped her off, but this time, he insisted on accompanying her inside.

It was only when Beatrice stepped into her condo that she felt safe enough to let go.

It started with tremors in her hands until her whole body started shaking.

Years of suppressed emotion, of keeping a facade that she had gotten over Gabe, finally caught up with her.

She broke down and wept.

Doug reached for her and clasped her neck, bringing her head to his chest.

Pain, rooted so deeply, prevented the sounds of her cries from escaping. She opened her mouth, but it was a silent cry. It hurt. The pressure in her chest pushed against her throat. All the inadequacies and insecurities she had held in for years threatened to unhinge her completely.

“Breathe, sweetie,” Doug whispered in her ear.

After one mighty indrawn breath, a wail of anguish finally escaped her and she sobbed until she thought she couldn’t stop.

“Why . . .wh . . . why did he have to . . . come back . . .” she mumbled between sobs. “I was fine. I. Was. Fine.”

This went on for a while—speaking incoherently between her tears. All through this, Doug held her and didn’t say a word.

Finally, Beatrice exhaled a shuddering breath. A feeling of cleansing and calm overwhelmed her. “Whoa, that was cathartic.”

“Feeling better?” her friend asked her quietly. His face was grim.

Beatrice nodded and pulled away.

“You should have let me beat the shit out of him.”

“I can fight my own battles.”

“I’ve never seen you this way, Beatrice.” Doug’s eyes flashed angrily. “Whatever happened broke you. I don’t like it.”

Beatrice shook her head. “Maybe tonight was the closure I needed.”

Doug looked at her dubiously. “He doesn’t seem like a guy who’d give up easy.”

Her heart pinched. “Wrong, Doug. He gave me up easily once before.”

When he kinda promised her an eternity.

She remembered that night, three days before he had left her.

Beatrice liked clubbing; Gabe did not.

They had gone out to dinner, and then at her insistence, to a dance club afterward .

Beatrice had to drag his ass out of the chair more than once to dance with her.

Even then, he was as stiff as a board and clearly uncomfortable.

Fed up, she called it a night and decided to go home.

“You need to loosen up, Gabe,” Beatrice groused on their way back to her row house.

“I told you when we got together I’m not dancing.”

“I know, but I thought that was just macho-man speak.”

Gabe shot her an annoyed look, but didn’t say anything.

She remained quiet on the way home and heard Gabe exhale a resigned breath.

When they entered the house, he gripped her hand and led her to the study.

“What’re you up to, Gabe?”

He grinned and shushed her. Letting go of her hand, he walked to the antique cabinet that held a vintage turntable and old records.

“Can’t let your mom’s collection go to waste,” Gabe said, rummaging through the records. He picked one and loaded it on the sound player.

Strains of Etta James’s “At Last” filled the study.

Beatrice started shaking her head. A silly grin formed on her lips as her frustration with Gabe melted away. He opened the French doors that led to the patio.

“Shall we?” He held out his hand.

“Gabe, you don’t have to.” For some strange reason, a lump formed in her throat.

Their hands linked, Gabe pulled her close and whispered, “Anything for you, poppy.”

They slow-danced on the stone patio to the tune of Etta James’s haunting voice, her head on Gabe’s chest, his chin against her temple. When the music ended, she looked up at him and asked, “Why do you call me poppy? Is it because of my hair?”

Gabe nodded. “Yes. Also, in some cultures, the poppy is a symbol of eternal love.”

His eyes were intense as they stared into hers. Unable to speak, she hid her face on his chest, contemplating what he just revealed. They swayed together in silence.

Eternal love, Beatrice fumed as she snapped back to the present.

Fool me once, Gabe. Only once.

Gabe walked into his house and dropped the keys on the small table by the foyer. His rescue military dog, Rhino, a nine-year-old German Shepherd, was sitting right by the small table. His tail thumped eagerly, waiting for Gabe to greet him.

“Hey, buddy.” Gabe crouched and gripped his dog’s head in an affectionate squeeze. “Ready for your walk?”

The minute Rhino heard “walk”, he started whining excitedly and shuffling his front legs. Chuckling, Gabe reached for the leash and hooked one end to Rhino’s collar. He had long since removed his tuxedo bow and unbuttoned his shirt.