Charlotte loved every second of the experience.
Everyone calmed down close to halftime, with Danny’s team holding on to their lead. That was when Charlotte became aware of male fingers brushing gently over her nape.
The tiny hairs on her arms rose up, her response a mix of fear and arousal. It took conscious effort not to stiffen up under the lazy, absent caress. Gabriel wasn’t threatening her, wasn’t hurting her. He was… petting her. Thinking of it that way made it easier to focus on the pleasure rather than the pain.
But when he would’ve curved his fingers over her nape, she reached up and tugged his hand away. Giving her a measuring look, he put his arm back on the chair but didn’t touch her nape again. And though the possibility of a hold there had made nausea churn in her gut, she felt as if she’d lost something precious.
CHARLOTTE SAT FIDGETING WITH Gabriel’s scarf as he drove her home. “That was fun,” she blurted out when she couldn’t take the screaming tension anymore.
“Yeah. Danny’s over the moon at the win.”
Charlotte had only seen Gabriel’s youngest brother for a few minutes before he had to leave with the rest of his team for the after-match briefing, but though he was sporting a cut on his eyebrow and a bruise on his jaw from what had been a hard battle of a game, he’d been in high spirits. “Did you see that fucking awesome pass?” had been his opening comment.
His family had all clapped, then hugged and kissed him. Charlotte had stayed out of the way, watching as Esme and Emmaline wriggled into the heavy mass of humanity without fear of being crushed or hurt. Danny had cuddled both girls and laughingly given them an IOU for the swear jar before heading back out, and Charlotte wasn’t sure he’d even seen her.
“I heard Danny was thinking of changing teams next season,” she said, wondering if the tension in the car was real or just a figment of her imagination. If Gabriel had already started to give up on her…
Ice picks stabbed at her heart.
“Charlotte, why are you determined to pick a hole in my scarf?”
She stopped her nervous motions. “Sorry.” Smoothing out the wool, she looked carefully at the nubby edges, the worn weave. “Is this from when you played?”
“Dad got it for me when I was selected. It became my pregame lucky charm.”
And he’d given it to her to wear. Teeth sinking into her lower lip, she stroked the weave of the scarf again, caught between hope and despair.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“It was nothing.”
“Ms. Baird.”
She shivered. “Stop doing that.”
“WHY? IT GETS YOU hot.” Gabriel liked making Charlotte hot. “We’ll play boss and secretary in bed one day, and you can call me Mr. Bishop and say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘of course, sir.’” He also had a very dirty fantasy of hearing her say “fuck me, Gabriel.”
“Stop putting those thoughts in my head,” she ordered, chest rising and falling in jerky breaths. “How am I supposed to act naturally at work when you call me Ms. Baird in that tone of voice?”
“I won’t, not unless we’re alone.” All bets were off in private, he thought as he pulled into her drive, parking in front of her town house a short time later.
Switching off the lights and the engine, he turned to brace his arm along the back of her seat. “Now, Ms. Baird, we need to have a conversation.”
“A c-conversation.” She coughed, faced him with squared shoulders. “About what?”
“About the reason you don’t like certain touches and why you don’t like being boxed in.” Gabriel could’ve danced around it, but it was becoming obvious to him that that would achieve exactly nothing. They had to get this out in the open, not keep it in the dark where it haunted and imprisoned Charlotte.
She gripped at his scarf. “What makes you think you have the right to know?”
“Charlotte.” He waited until she met his gaze, hazel eyes wary behind her spectacles. “You know how hardheaded I am, how determined. I can figure out a solution, but first I need to know the problem.”
“What if there is no solution?” A tremor rippled over her skin. “What if I’m just too messed up?”
“No.”
“No?” Her voice rose. “You can’t just decide something is impossible!”
“Sure I can, when I’m the one making the decision.” He gripped her chin. “Unless you’ve decided you don’t want me anymore, then I’m making the call.”
Her skin was so delicate under his touch, made him want to rub his bristled jaw against it so she’d wear his mark. He’d do it across the taut softness of her breasts too, enjoy knowing she wore him against her skin all day long. “Charlotte?”