Page 13 of Desired By you (Always & Forever #3)

Chapter Eleven

Gabriella

“… you’re leaving with me.”

Brad’s words echo in my ears. They sent a shiver down my spine.

It was unexpected, but a weird part of me liked it.

I maneuver through the sea of bodies and find Luna and the other girls.

I find Luna, her mouth a gape. “Who’s the tattooed hottie that’s looking at you like he wants to eat you for dinner? ”

I turn my head and sure enough, Brad is still standing where I left him, leaning against the bar and watching… me?

“Oh, that’s my friend, Brad. He’s not looking at me like that,” I shout back, hoping she can hear me over the thumping beat.

“Is he single?” Luna asks, her eyes dazzling in mischief, and a weird feeling in my belly stirs. The idea of Luna and Brad makes me feel weird.

“Uh, I think so,” I say hesitantly.

“Oh, my god, put in a good word for me, will you? He looks like he would ruin you, in the best way.” She winks, and there’s that feeling in my belly again. What is it? Nausea? Jealously?

I give her a half smile. “Sure, I’ll speak to him.”

“You’re the best.” She squeals, grabbing a hold of my hand and pulling me further into the crowd, and Brad slips from my view.

A thousand thoughts rush through my mind as I sway to the music.

He said I looked hot. No man has ever told me I look hot.

Sure, I get called pretty, but hot? Those kinds of compliments have always been reserved for others.

Me, I’m the pretty one, the cute one, the sweet one.

But here tonight, with eyes on me, I feel alive.

I feel desired, but tell me why right now, I only want to be desired by the one man I shouldn’t want to want me.

Three hours and two more cocktails later, I am ready for my bed.

I’m used to dancing in heels, but even my feet have a limit.

Brad has had a watchful eye on me all evening, and I’ve been grateful for it.

There’s been some real sleaze bags in here, but I’ve managed to avoid their advances.

I say goodbye to the girls. They want to head to another club, but I am done.

I make my way over to where Brad has been perched for the past hour, talking to our mutual friend Chris. We all attended his wedding to Nancy, my friend from Teenhood last year.

“Hey, Gabby, great to see you again,” Chris says, giving me a friendly peck on the cheek.

‘Hey,” I say sweetly, suddenly feeling really uncomfortable with what I’m wearing. This is far from my usual attire.

“Did you have a jacket with you?” he asks.

I shake my head, regretting not bringing one, but Luna told me it would ruin my outfit.

Brad must sense my discomfort as he slides off his black suit jacket and hands it to me.

I mutter a small thanks as I put it on. It drowns me so I roll up the sleeves and fold my arms around my chest to keep it together.

It smells of him—spice and cedarwood—making my belly flutter.

It’s the most intoxicating, masculine scent. Very Brad.

We say our goodbyes to Chris and I follow Brad out the club and out to the busy New York sidewalk.

Crowds of people gather, waiting for yellow cabs or chatting amongst themselves.

Just as we approach the end of the sidewalk to cross the road, Brad reaches out his left hand out toward me wiggling his fingers as if gesturing for me to hold his hand.

I don’t hesitate. I slide my hand into his and lace our fingers. It’s warm and comforting and sends a little tingle up my arm. I know it’s a friendly gesture, but I like how it feels.

We cross the street, never breaking our contact and when he sees my little legs are struggling to keep up with his wide strides, he slows his pace, which my feet in 4-inch heels are grateful for.

He leads me towards his Porsche Panamera GTS, and I expect him to release my hand and round the car to the driver’s side, but instead, he unlocks the car, opens the passenger door and gestures for me to get inside.

The cosmos have clearly given me some sort of courage because in a teasing tone, I say, “Such a gentleman.”

A small smirk forms on his lips. “When I wanna be.”

Those words do something to me, and suddenly I feel hot, and the desire to flee hits me.

I can’t be trapped in a car with him when I clearly can’t control my thoughts, let alone my mouth.

I fear I am about to make a fool of myself…

again, in front of him. But like the obedient girl I am, I slide into the passenger seat.

He closes the door climbs in the driver’s side.

With us enclosed in his car, his proximity feels too much, and when he turns the engine on, I fumble for the window.

“You’re not going to vomit again, are you?” he asks, concern in his voice.

“No, no, just wanted some air,” I mumble.

Music blasts through the speakers. It’s a song I’ve never heard before, but it feels very him. The dancer in me can’t resist a good beat, but I resist, sinking into the soft leather of the seat.

We zoom through the streets of New York in silence.

Brad is never much of a talker, but there is something about his silence I find comforting and safe.

I can just be myself when I am around him.

I don’t have to pretend, and I like that about him.

My eyes grow heavy, the sound of the engine and the music relaxing me, but the car begins to slow as we approach flashing lights that filter into the car.

“What the hell?” Brad mutters under his breath. I sit up straight and take in the sea of ambulances, police cars, and three cars crashed together, being blocked off by an officer placing road blockers out.

“Stay here,” Brad says, exiting the car and walking up to the officer, where they exchange words before Brad walks back towards the car and gets back inside.

“What’s going on?” I ask, worry in my voice.

“They are closing the road, potentially all night. Major accident.”

A wave of panic washes through me. “H-how will I get home? This is the only way to my apartment other than the subway.”

“You’ll stay at mine.” He says as if it’s no big deal as he reverses the car, turning his head to look over his right shoulder, gripping the back of my headrest and spinning the wheel with the palm of his hand. That shouldn’t be as attractive as I’ve just found it, but holy hell.

“I can’t. I… I-I need to get home.” I begin to sweat, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it into the back seat, instantly regretting it when my bare skin meets the cool leather.

I don’t miss how his head turns slightly and his eyes scan my body till they meet mine. I swallow hard.

“I’ll take you home in the morning, but you’re not taking the subway.”

Accepting my fate, I twiddle my fingers and say, “Okay, thank you.”

I spend the rest of the journey mentally preparing to spend the night at his apartment.

After my inappropriate thoughts in class a few days ago, that now seem to be a daily thing, I’m not sure how I am supposed to keep cool calm and collected when I’m inside his apartment, with him, alone.

We pull into an underground parking lot, and he swings into a space effortlessly.

I follow him into the elevator and I bite down on my lip nervously, looking up at the ceiling.

The elevator dings and we step out to a dimly lit hallway, and I note his door is the only one on the floor.

“You’ll have to excuse all the boxes. I only moved in a few days ago, and I’m waiting for the rest of my stuff to be delivered,” he says, turning the lock and opening the door, ushering me in.

“That’s okay, I don’t mi—”

My words are cut off when he flicks the lights on.

Small towers of boxes litter the open space.

The dark kitchen cabinets catch my eye, and the large wooden island takes center stage in the area.

The apartment has an industrial feel to it.

I walk towards the middle of the room, taking in the exposed brickwork and high ceilings.

A large window covers the far wall, giving a view of the Brooklyn Bridge.

It’s beautiful; it’s dark, edgy, moody, it’s so… him.

“It’s amazing, that view,” I say in awe, reaching the window and pressing my hand to the cold windowpane, watching the flickers of light speed across the bridge.

“Thanks. That view is what sold it to me,” he says, heading toward the refrigerator. “Do you want a drink?”

I nod. “Water, please.” When he hands me a bottle, I immediately twist open the cap and guzzle it down, desperately needing to ease this dryness in my throat I’ve had since I got in his car.

“I’m gonna take a shower. I’ll find something you can sleep in,” he says.

I swallow the last drop of my water, wiping my mouth with my fingertips. “No, no, that’s fine. I can just sleep on the couch in this,” I say, gesturing to my clothes.

“Gabriella, you can’t sleep in leather pants and my new couch hasn’t arrived yet.” I look round the room and notice that there isn’t a couch.

Oh Shit.

“ My guest room isn’t ready yet either. I only have my bed.” An awkward silence falls between us as I stand wide eyed.

I can’t share a bed with him.

My expression must say it all because, on his next breath, he says. “You can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can think about them. “N-No, you can sleep with me.”

“I, uh ha-ha.” I nervously chuckle. “I mean, you can sleep in the bed with me. It doesn’t have to be weird. I won’t let you sleep on the floor, or I can sleep on the floor or a box, yeah, a box. I’m small enough, right, ha ha.” And there’s that awkward, goofy laugh I do when I’m nervous.

Dear God, Gabriella, stop talking.

A small laugh leaves his lips. It's deep and stirs something up inside of me.

“Gabriella, I’m not going to let you sleep in a box. We can share the bed.”

“Great, looking forward to it. Do you want to be the big spoon or the little spoon?” I blurt out. Clamping my mouth shut I mentally chastise myself.

Seriously, stop talking.