Christ, there it was again. That need to go to her and take her in his arms, comfort her the way he’d wanted to the night before. But again he ignored it.
Whatever Tremain’s real reasons, Honor had to come to terms with the fact that the father figure she loved was not the man she thought he was. And never had been. He couldn’t help her with that, she needed to deal with it herself.
“I didn’t say anything about love. The fact remains that he has connections to that casino. It’s too much of a coincidence that he suddenly appears after your father’s death, paying off his debts and marrying his widow.”
“He was Daniel’s friend! He was helping his family out!”
“He’s laundering money for the same casino that your father managed. You can’t tell me that’s not suspicious.”
Honor picked up her plate. “I don’t want to hear any more, please. I can’t … I just can’t…” She stopped and turned abruptly toward the kitchen area, disappearing through the doorway.
Fuck. It.
Gabriel leaned back in his chair and ran a distracted hand through his hair. This was not what he wanted. Yes, he needed to know more about these connections with Tremain and the casino but he also wanted … Honor. He’d gotten information, it was true, but he didn’t like pushing her. Didn’t like making her feel bad. Especially when he wanted her for the whole damn day in his bed. Except after this he was betting that sex wasn’t uppermost in her mind.
Shoving his chair back he got up and went to the kitchen doorway.
She had the dishwasher open, bending over it to put her plate in. The T-shirt rode up her thigh, barely covering her butt. His T-shirt. Jesus. That fact should not be making him hard and yet it did.
Honor straightened, shut the dishwasher, and met his gaze. “I need to go,” she said flatly. “I need some time to get my head around Guy and what he’s doing with the company, let alone having to handle the kind of accusations you’re making.”
He didn’t want her to go. He wanted her to stay here with him.
Gabriel moved away from the doorway, stalking over to where she stood. He put his hands on her hips and backed her up against the counter, holding her there. She tipped her head back, looking up at him, her arms crossed defensively over her breasts. The look in her eyes was guarded but he could see something else beneath it. Pain. Shock.
“If you’re planning on confronting Tremain, like I said, you’ve got another think coming.”
“I have to—”
“No, you don’t.”
“Gabriel, please.”
“No.” He tightened his hold, not only to prevent her from moving. The sweet smell of her was beginning to cloud his own senses and right at this moment, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do than pick her up and put her on the counter, bury himself inside her.
She looked away from him, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. Hell, she could probably feel the fucking hard-on in his jeans. “I’m not going to warn him or anything,” she said thickly. “I just…”
“Need to get away from me,” he finished. It wasn’t a question, he knew. Because he was the one who’d shattered her world and when she wanted to protect herself, she withdrew.
She didn’t answer but her throat moved as she swallowed, thick black lashes veiling her gaze.
“Fuck that,” he said. “Getting away from me isn’t what you need.”
“Of course,” she responded, her voice edged with sarcasm. “And I suppose you’re going to inform me exactly what it is I need? Since I don’t understand my own feelings.”
Gabriel cupped her face between his palms, turning her to face him.
She tried to pull away but he didn’t let her, tipping her head back so their eyes met. “Don’t,” she said thickly, her lashes falling as if trying to hide from him.
But he saw the sheen in her blue gaze anyway. Fuck, she was crying.
He didn’t understand comfort. Didn’t understand how to make someone feel better because no one had done that for him. The only thing he remembered from childhood was the kisses his mother used to give him when he’d hurt himself. Kisses that had stopped the moment he’d gotten old enough for her to see another man in his face. The man who’d raped her. He’d been ten.
After that there had been no more kisses. No more hugs. His mother had tried not to touch him at all. Only given him lectures on how important it was to be good. Obey his teachers. Obey God. Because the devil knew the evil in men’s hearts and could use it for his own ends.
Shit, the devil had already used him.
“You’re crying.” He brushed a thumb over her cheek, feeling the wetness against his skin. “For him?”
She didn’t speak for a long moment. “I loved him,” she said eventually. “I mean, I still do. He’s … my father. But if all of this is true? It means everything is a lie. Every single thing. And I thought … I thought all the lies were finally over.”
There was pressure inside him, tension pulling tight. He didn’t know quite what he was doing, but like he had last night, he’d taken something from her. Something that had been precious. Which meant he had to give something back.
An eye for an eye. At least that was what the Reverend had always taught him.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” And he was sorry. Sorry that she was hurt. Because he was starting to realize that seeing her in pain made something inside him hurt, too.
“You don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault. And I shouldn’t be blaming you for it.”
He stroked her cheek again then let his thumb move to her mouth, slowly tracing the line of her lower lip. She shivered.
No, shit, he didn’t know how to give her comfort. But there was always pleasure. He knew how to give her that. Perhaps it would be enough.
Gabriel bent his head and covered her mouth with his.
She stiffened but he didn’t let her go. Gently he pressed against her lower lip with his thumb, opening her mouth, letting him inside. Honor made a soft sound. Then the stiffness gradually left her body and she leaned into him, her hands on his chest, her mouth opening under his, kissing him back.
Desire began to rise, hungry and dark, but he held it back because the kiss was sweet. Sweeter than any other kiss he’d had before and for some reason, he wanted to hold onto that.
Eventually though, sweet wasn’t enough.
He lifted his head. “We don’t have to think about this now. What I want is you in my bed, like I said.”
She was flushed, her breathing fast. “Okay. But afterward … I need some space, Gabriel. Some time to sort things out about Dad. A few days at least.”
That’s a good idea. She’s getting to you and you know it.
The thought was uncomfortable, but this time he couldn’t deny the truth of it. She was getting to him. Here he was, kissing her sweetly for fuck’s sake, because he didn’t like the fact that she was hurting. Which hadn’t been part of his plan at all.
So maybe some distance would be good. For both of them.
“Okay,” he said. “A few days.” Then he gripped her chin in his hand, tilted her head back, and kissed her again.
And this time he didn’t stop.
* * *
Honor let herself into the town house where her mother lived with Guy. It wasn’t far from Central Park, an expensive, elegant neighborhood. Very much her mother’s kind of thing.
She stood for a moment in the quiet hallway, letting the icy chill from the winter outside dissipate as heat seeped into her. Her mother liked to be warm and usually had the central heating turned up way too high. Pleasant for the first five minutes and then it got kind of uncomfortable.
Once her feet had unfrozen themselves, she stripped off her coat and gloves, holding them over her arm as she went down the hallway to the front lounge area, putting her head around the door.
Her mother, dressed in her usual string of pearls and designer dress, probably Chanel, was sitting on the sofa with Mary, her housekeeper, going over the pages of a magazine Mary was holding.
Honor didn’t say anything for a second, just looked at her mother, grief lying heavy at the back of her throat.
Elizabeth was a porcelain doll of a woman, always beautifully dressed and made up. Her hair was still black—Honor knew she kept dyeing it religiously to keep the gray away. The lines of age and grief around her eyes and mouth showed, but even those weren’t as deep as they should have been. Botox was her mother’s best friend, since Elizabeth’s vanity stopped short of surgery.
But her mother’s youthful appearance couldn’t hide the air of fragility that surrounded her. A fragility that went deep.
Honor swallowed. What the hell was she doing here? What did she hope to achieve?
She’d promised Gabriel she wouldn’t see Guy, at least not yet, not until they had some concrete evidence, yet Honor hadn’t been able to stay away.
She’d wanted to see her mother. Not to tell her about everything Gabriel had discovered, but mainly to determine whether her marriage to Guy had been a lie. That relationship had been a constant for the last fifteen years of her life, given her a safe and stable home after the chaos surrounding her father’s death. And to discover even that had been a falsehood …