Page 52 of The Talk Around Town

“Who’s Alex?” he whispered.

He felt Emma’s mouth curve into a smile against his shoulder.

“My husband, silly,” she answered on a breath of air, and sank back into oblivion against him.

Gabe’s heart stuttered to a halt. His blood turned to ice. He couldn’t breathe.

Husband? She’s married?

A vice gripped his insides and clamped down hard.

Oh Christ, no. Not again.

The first person he’d felt something for after Sami and she was the same? How could that even be possible?

Gabe had to move, had to get out of there before he did something stupid. He slid Emma gently off his arm and froze when she rolled over and sank back into the pillows.

Of all people, he would never have taken her for a liar. She seemed far too genuine.

So much for him knowing anything. He spotted his jeans laying bunched up on the floor near his shoes in a shaft of moonlight and pulled them up hurriedly. He turned back toward the bed, his heart twisting and dying a little as he stared at her.

He’d thought—no, hoped—that there could’ve been something more. Gabe had denied his instant attraction to Emma to anyone who would listen. He’d nearly managed to fool himself into believing it too. They’d become friends instead of jumping into something headfirst. He’d thought it might make a difference.

Obviously, he was very, very wrong.

Gabe grabbed his shoes and backed out of the room, imprinting the image of Emma lying in the moonlight. He wouldn’t be seeing her like this again.

If there was a God, he wouldn’t see her again… at all.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Emma rolled overand stretched between the sheets. Her body felt used, abused and deliciously sore. Muscles ached that she hadn’t even realised she had until last night.

She breathed deeply, relishing the scent of Gabe’s aftershave all around her. She grabbed a fistful of sheet and lifted it to her face, inhaling the exotic fragrance of Gabe and sex. It was a heady mix. Grinning to herself, she slid a hand across the bed to reach for him.

Cold.

Her eyes opened. She sat up and scouted the room. He wasn’t there.

She scooted to the edge of the bed and grabbed her satin robe from the floor. She belted it and wandered down the hall toward the kitchen. The neckline slid off her shoulder as she walked. It was always doing that, it was far too big for her. She shrugged it back up onto her shoulder. Gabe must be making coffee, or something.

Emma rounded the doorway and stopped, frowning. No Gabe.

“Where on earth…” Emma bit her lip and glanced at the clock on the wall.

Eight thirty. Where would he have gone? Work?

Her stomach started churning. Surely he hadn’tleft, left? He was coming back, wasn’t he? From all indications he’d enjoyed the night as much as she had.

Hadn’t he?

A horrible feeling writhed in the pit of her stomach, but she pushed it away ferociously. No. He wasn’t the type to get what he wanted then run, pretending it hadn’t meant anything. She knew there had been the bet to see who would date her first. Surely there wasn’t a bet about who would sleep with her first?

No. He isn’t like that. He’s my friend, not some scumbag lowlife.

Isn’t he?

Emma’s knees weakened. Where was he, and why hadn’t he let herknow he was leaving? Or leave a note?

---