Page 36 of Bound by Their Christmas Baby

When she was level with Gabe on the stairs, he began to move upwards and she did her utmost to remain as far away from him as possible.

When they reached the landing though, he put a hand in the small of her back and steered her down the hallway at speed.

‘I can walk just fine by myself, thank you,’ she said tersely.

He threw her a fulminating glare.

‘What the heck is going on?’ she asked, coming to a stop halfway down the corridor.

‘I would prefer to discuss it in private.’ He nodded pointedly towards a door and, curiosity growing, she went with him.

‘Fine, we’re in private now,’ she said once they were ensconced in her bedroom. She determinedly tried to ignore the presence of the bed.

Gabe shut the door.

‘You tell me you’re worried about rumours of infidelity, but at the first chance you get you’re out there flaunting yourself for all the world to see.’

Abby froze. ‘What?’

‘You were practically fawning over Hughie just now.’

She gaped, speechless, lost for words.

He prowled towards her. ‘You actually think sleeping with a member of our household staff is appropriate?’

‘He’s not “our” household staff, he’s yours,’ she snapped.

‘An unimportant distinction.’

‘And I’m not sleeping with him,’ she denied hotly. ‘I like him, okay? He’s nice to me and we speak the same language. He’s the only other person I’ve actually been able to talk to since I moved to Italy. He’s nice to me, unlike a certain other someone I could mention and, newsflash, Gabe, it’s refreshing to spend time with someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m dirt on the sole of their shoe.’

He glared at her, his expression darker, if possible. ‘I don’t care that he’s nice to you,’ Gabe snapped. ‘He’s off-limits. I don’t want to see you talking to him again.’

She made a scoffing sound. ‘You can’t click your fingers and just forbid me from having a friend.’

‘No? But I can fire him,’ Gabe responded, taking another step towards her, his expression mutinous.

‘Don’t you dare.’ Abby pushed at his chest but he caught her hands, holding them in place, and when her eyes met his now, sparks of another variety flew, like their own localised fireworks display, erupting between their chests.

‘Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m not going to have you carrying on with whoever you decide you want…’

‘Oh, grow up,’ she said, pushing at his chest again. He pulled her hands down, holding them by her side, his breath heavy. ‘I’m not sleeping with your gardener. I’m not sleeping with anyone! I haven’t slept with anyone since you, so you can just go to hell with all your stupid accusations.’

Gabe’s expression shifted momentarily and then it was fiercely intense and, before Abby knew what was happening, he was kissing her.

No, it wasn’t a kiss, it was so much more. It was a mark of utter, unquestionable possession. It was a raging, desperate connection. His lips mashed to hers, his tongue slid inside her mouth and she made a noise of surprise and then surrender, low in her throat, her hands pulling free of his grip and reaching under his shirt, connecting with his bare chest, skin she remembered so intimately.

It had been over a year since they’d done this and yet it felt as if no time had passed. Or was it that they—this—existed outside the bounds of time and space?

‘You won’t be with anyone else,’ he grunted, ripping his shirt over his head so she could marvel at his naked chest. He crushed her to him, kissing her desperately once more, his hands lifting to her hair and tangling in its length. It was still cold from her time in the snow and perhaps that reminded him of what they’d been fighting about, because he made another darkly guttural noise before stepping out of his trousers and pants so that he was completely naked.

‘You are mine,’ he said, pushing her shirt off, his expression deadly serious.

‘I’m not yours,’ she snapped. ‘How can I be? You don’t even speak to me. You don’t look at me. I’m not yours.’

‘I’m looking at you now.’ He pushed at her jeans at the same time she stepped out of them. She wasn’t his, but she was sure as hell desperate for him.

There was a vital difference, she told herself.

---