Page 70 of Philly
He shook his head. “Too far to walk after the night we’ve had, but only about a half mile.” Before he started the golf cart, hepulled his sweatshirt off and handed it to her, leaving him in a long-sleeved shirt. “You need it more than I do,” he said before she could object. “You ran, what, two or three miles?”
Her damp shirt had long since dried, and she opened her mouth to point that out.
“Don’t, Callie,” Gabriel cut her off. “Just put the sweatshirt on.”
She studied him, noting the look in his eye. Something new. Something not quite feral but reminiscent of a nature show she’d once watched about wolves. Gabriel’s expression exuded the unspoken dominance of the alpha wolf, brokering no room for argument. But underlying that was worry. The same concern she’d felt in his embrace when she’d returned from the canyon. The unnerving dominance coming off him in waves gave her pause, but his worry? She could allay that.
Without a word, she pulled the sweatshirt on.
They drove five minutes in silence before pulling up to a cabin not dissimilar in style from the others but twice the size. That alone gave her hope that there would, indeed, be a soaker tub.
She followed him to the front door, where he keyed in a code. She barely noticed the foyer or beautiful Saltillo tile floors before he ushered her into a massive bedroom with an en suite bathroom.
“Grab your clothes. I’ll start the bath for you,” he said, stepping away from her side and heading into the bathroom. She watched him, unsure what to do, if anything, about his mood.
“Get your clothes, Callie,” he called out as the sound of water filling the tub filtered out from the bathroom.
With a shake of her head, she found the walk-in closet with her bag sitting neatly on a bench in the middle of the large space. As she started digging through it, she ignored the internal monologue running in her head, pointing out that she’d been inmuch worse shape before and hadn’t needed anyone to care for her. The same voice that told her to take a quick shower and hop in the car to Vegas tonight, that Joe was far more important than an indulgent soak in a tub. While all of that was true, another little voice whispered to her to let it all go for a few hours. To accept that she could do nothing about Joe tonight, that being at the hospital wouldn’t change anything, that she didn’t need to always be doingsomething, that she didn’t need to always be proving herself.
The little voice was tentative but insistent, painting a picture of a different kind of life than the one she’d lived so far. One that had balance and trust. One where she had value even when not being the best of the best. One that she found herself cautiously considering. Maybe one she’d want.
By the time she found her pajamas and wandered into the bathroom, the tub was almost full. Gabriel sat on the edge, staring at the water, lost in his own thoughts.
“Thank you,” she said, refraining from telling him he didn’t need to help so much.
He turned, his gaze sweeping over her. She could only imagine what he saw: streaks of dirt down her leggings and the front of her shirt, her palms bandaged, antiseptic ointment glistening in the bathroom lights on her cheek. God knew what her hair looked like, and she wasn’t about to turn toward the mirror and find out. She’d pin it up for her bath, then comb it after.
He turned off the taps and rose. “I’m going to take a quick shower in the other bathroom. You good in here?” She nodded. “You want a drink or anything? The staff told me the bar is fully stocked.”
She considered it, then nodded. “But I’m going to get it,” she said. She appreciated his care, but she wanted—needed—to get her own drink. It might be stupid, in fact, itwasstupid, butpouring herself a small glass of whiskey gave her enough control over the situation so that she didn’t feel entirely helpless.
He seemed to understand and nodded. Their gazes held, as if locked in some world neither understood, then she pulled hers away and left in search of the bar.
By the time she returned to the bathroom, Gabriel was gone. Three minutes later, she set the tumbler on the edge of the tub and sank into the water. Picking up her drink, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the cool porcelain.
And for once, her brain was blessedly quiet.
37
Callie wandered into the main living space of the cabin to find Gabriel in a different pair of sweats and a navy T-shirt, staring out a bank of windows. They were perched on something of a knoll, and the dim moonlight lit the sweeping views. Mountains, shadowed and black, rose impressively, guardians in the night, making it no less awe-inspiring than the eye-popping reds and subtle greens of the daytime.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said.
Gabriel turned. She felt his gaze trail up her bare legs, over her sleep shorts and tank top, linger at the hollow of her neck, before meeting hers.
“It is. You took your bandages off.” He nodded to her hands.
“Hard to wash myself when I have gauze on my palms.” She joined him at the window, but rather than look out, she leaned against the wall beside the sheet of glass and looked at him. “How’s your leg?”
“Fine. We should rebandage your hands.” He shifted and took a step toward her.
“They’re fine.”
He took another step. Her heart tripped then double-timed, knocking against her ribs. The heat from his body reached her, and suddenly she was very aware of the soft cotton of her pajamas.
He stepped in front of her, then reached down and gently cupped her left hand, bringing it up so he could see. She said nothing as he examined it. He let go, then did the same with the other. His soft touches, almost a caress, didn’t hurt. Or maybe the way his hand held hers and the feel of his fingers skimming her skin distracted her.
He finished his examination and lowered her hand, releasing it when it hung at her side. She felt his gaze on her face, and she hesitated to meet it. In two minutes, the air had shifted, and now it hung heavy and thick between them.
