Friends to Lovers (Aisle Bound) Page 16

  “Get out.” Gib clipped the words, his cool ire made all the more effective by his British accent. Daphne had no idea how much he’d heard. Equal portions of relief and embarrassment flooded through her. She looked down at her raggedy clothing, remembered she wore no makeup and had just cinched her hair into a ponytail. To look like this, on the day of their first real date—this was what Gib wanted to buy dinner for? Nope, embarrassment won out by a mile.

  “Gibson, this doesn’t concern you.” Sheila shooed him away with both hands and a tight-lipped smile. Or at least, she tried to. Gib didn’t budge.

  “This is my hotel. Everything that happens here concerns me.”

  Sheila blinked a few times, then folded her hands at her waist. “Yes, of course.”

  “I’m concerned that my guests—” he lifted a hand to indicate the rest of the lobby, “—have been disrupted by your verbal accosting of Miss Lovell.”

  Her simpering smile grew wider. Faker. Sheila leaned in to bestow a reassuring pat on Gib’s arm. “Whoever called you down here clearly overstated the incident. I never raised my voice. Didn’t cause a scene. Trust me, your guests are undisturbed.”

  A single step away dislodged her hand. “I’m more concerned with the unprofessional, shrewish way you attacked Miss Lovell. I won’t stand for any of my friends or colleagues being treated with such disrespect. So you will leave. Immediately.”

  Screw shining armor. Her knight wore a gray wool suit. With onyx-and-silver cuff links. Daphne tore her eyes away to check on Ivy and Mira. They, too, were riveted by Gib’s polite but irrefutable smackdown.

  Sheila looked, one by one, at all four of them. Cranked out one more halfhearted smile. “Well, despite your questionable choice in friends, Lakeside Florist maintains very cordial relations with the Cavendish Grand. I’m sure you don’t mean to do anything rash. Nothing, for example, that would impact any brides we might have in common on the books.”

  “I’m sure I was quite clear when I told you to leave.” He crooked a finger, summoning Anthony from across the room. Anthony, who used to work as a bouncer at a strip club before Gib hired him to provide extra protection for the Cavendish’s celebrity guests. Anthony, who weighed probably more than every employee of Aisle Bound put together. The well-cut suit Gib provided as a uniform couldn’t disguise his muscle-upon-muscle bulk. You expected the floor to shake as he approached. Daphne wanted to do a little dance of glee to see him towering—and glowering—over Sheila.

  “There’s no point demanding the apology Miss Lovell deserves. We all know you wouldn’t mean it. So Agatha will call your office tomorrow to work out details with your assistant. None of our current brides will be inconvenienced. But you will never set foot on this property again. Should you do so, security will toss you immediately.” Gib crossed his arms. “If I recall, brides always book a reception site first. Deciding on the florist happens later. As of today, you’re scratched from our approved vendor list.”

  A hiss of outrage escaped Sheila’s lips.

  “I’ve no doubt it’ll cost you clients. Every time it does, remember why. Remember that you brought this on yourself.” He turned his back to her. Anthony took it as his cue to cup Sheila’s elbow and lead her across the lobby.

  Daphne gave in to the urge to dance. Jumping from foot to foot and shaking her butt kept her from going with her first instinct: sticking her tongue down Gib’s throat in gratitude. Because that would look silly. “Oh. My. God. You were tremendous.”

  Gib brushed at the coat sleeve where Sheila had touched him. “She had it coming.”

  “You crushed her like a bug,” Ivy said approvingly.

  Mira jabbed her finger repeatedly into Gib’s diamond-patterned black tie. “You honed that rapier-sharp British accent into a freaking verbal bayonet and impaled her.”

  “She’s a snide little shit. Needed to be taken down a peg.”

  No. No false modesty allowed. Daphne put her cheek on his lapel and hugged him tight. “You’re my hero.”

  “Nonsense.”

  But he hugged her back. Rested his cheek on the top of her head. And they took a moment. Until a horrible thought slithered into her brain. Daphne pulled away so she could gauge his reaction. Watch to be sure he told the truth, and didn’t sugarcoat.

  “Will you get in trouble? Could you really lose business, just because you stuck up for me?”

  “Not a dime.” Gib shot his cuffs and smiled. The familiar gesture reassured Daphne. When he did it with a smile, it meant he felt cocky. When he did it with no expression, that’s when she worried. “Ivy, you know what I said is true. All wedding planning trickles down from choosing the site. She can’t touch me, or the hotel.”

  Ivy nodded her agreement. “Sheila’s got a few die-hard fans at NACE. People who kissed up to her back when she was president ten years ago. But a few whispered comments at the next meeting should be the sum of the fallout.”

  “This was just a warm-up round.” Gib feinted a slow swing at Daphne’s jaw. “It’s up to you to knock her out in the competition.”

  “She almost ruined me, you know. Almost ended my career before it barely began. Shattered my self-confidence.” Daphne grabbed Ivy’s hand. Squeezed it with two, happy pumps. “I clawed my way back up, thanks to Ivy. But until today, I never got retribution. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “We can discuss that when I pick you up. Better yet, we’ll discuss possible ideas over dinner. Work on implementing them...” Gib dropped a kiss on the inside of her wrist, letting the pilot light of his passion flare brightly behind his eyes, “...after.”

  Daphne knew she looked like she’d rolled right out of bed. Mostly because that’s exactly what she’d done. Who dressed up to eat doughnuts with their dad? So she wasn’t too embarrassed to be in the Cavendish lobby as a total mess. Especially since she’d be bundled into a spa bathrobe in a matter of minutes. Mortification, however, heated her cheeks hotter than the lavalike cheese on a Pizzeria Uno’s deep dish. All because Gib Moore had made her panties damp with a single brush of his lips. And it felt like there was a big, cartoon thought bubble over her head, proclaiming it to the world.

  Ivy cleared her throat. “If you’re done saving the day, Gib, we’re on our way to a day of pampering in your amazing spa.”

  “Don’t let them go overboard,” he cautioned Mira with a stern glare. “I’m quite partial to Daphne as she is right now.” Gib tangled his fingers through her ponytail. Pulled her closer. Close enough the heat of his body radiated past his shirt, through her sweatshirt. At least, she imagined that it did. “Most of all, don’t let them cut a single strand off of this loveliness.”

  Daphne never appreciated it when guys ordered for her at dinner. Or picked a movie without consultation. An overbearing, alpha male didn’t appeal to her. Until today. Until Gib’s voice darkened with need as he spoke of her hair. Even though on the surface it sounded like he’d issued an order, Daphne knew differently. Knew that she held all the power. But she couldn’t let him know that she knew. “Uh, I’m right here. Or have I turned invisible?”

  Brushing his lips along the rim of her ear, Gib whispered, “You’re the only thing I see.” Then he walked away, into an open elevator that appeared as if he’d flicked a remote in his pocket.

  Holy knee-wobbliness, Batman! Gib as a friend had kept her twisted up with longing for years. With his dating persona turned on, however, Gib blew her away. No wonder the man was a legendary lothario. He had the goods, and knew how to use them to melt a woman into a giant, satisfied smile.

  “I’m all in,” she said to Ivy and Mira. “Do whatever it takes to turn me into a knockout for him.”

  “Oh, Daphne,” sighed Mira as she took her arm, “it won’t take anything at all. Except for you to believe it.”

  Chapter Ten

  I’d rather have roses on my
table than diamonds around my neck

  ~ Emma Goldman

  Daphne hesitated for the third time on the threshold, hand on the doorknob. Then she looked down the hall from the front door. It was a straight shot to her bedroom. The blue border of her mother’s snowflake quilt draped over the bed was visible through the doorway. Nope. No way could she risk letting Gib into the apartment. Because the fact they had reservations didn’t matter. Neither did the half day she’d spent at the spa, followed by another hour at the salon.

  One touch is all it would take. One oh-so-sexy raised eyebrow in invitation. Who was she kidding? It wouldn’t even take that much. Especially not after the heroic way he’d rushed to her defense earlier today. The moment Daphne opened the door, all her pent-up longing would take control of her limbs. Kind of like a poltergeist. A lust poltergeist. She’d rip his clothes off halfway down the hall. Maybe they wouldn’t even make it to the bedroom. Chances were good she’d straddle him on the floor, push up her skirt and go for it. Which absolutely, positively could not happen.

  They’d had no trouble generating sparks each time they kissed. Tonight’s test wasn’t about physical attraction. She and Gib would have to see if they could build an emotional bridge across the yawning cavern of awkwardness between friendship and a relationship. Redefine their roles. Therefore the bridge had to be a no-nooky zone.

  So Daphne shut the apartment door behind her. Buttoned her coat all the way to the top and tied her scarf in a knot. She carried her black patent leather pumps down the stairs. Pacing barefoot, Daphne waited until she saw a car double park and throw on its hazards. Time to go. Shoes on, she hurried outside. According to the WGN weather guy the thermometer hovered just above zero. The cold air took her breath away. Tamped down a bit of her white-hot need, too. The snow that wedged into her shoe? Total overkill.

  “Daphne, what are you doing?” Gib stood, one hand on the passenger door of his sporty silver convertible, looking at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  “Brutally cold tonight. Didn’t want you to bother getting out.” She slid into a soft leather seat. And moaned. They were heated. Did she even need sex with Gib after the bliss of a heated car seat? The answer came to her before the door shut. Two seconds of being that close to him flared her lust back to full flame.

  “Damn it, Daphne, this is supposed to be a date. A first date. You have to let me treat you as such. That means I knock on your door, I pull out your chair and I help you off with your coat.” He sounded grumpy. Put out.

  Attempting an air of solemnity to pacify him, she said, “Duly noted.”

  “Are we bloody well doing this for real or aren’t we?”

  She looked around at the inside of a car in which she’d never sat before. It was Gib’s dating Excalibur. He refused to use his car except when pursuing a woman. Never used it to bring home bags of groceries, or to drive to the movies when the thermometer dipped below freezing, or even to pick up friends from O’Hare on their rare visits. He swore he only used it on dates, and only when close to sealing the deal.

  Just to be sure, she asked, “Is this a rental?”

  “Of course not.” Gib smoothly manipulated the gear shift and they sped down the street. God. It had been ages since she’d been in a stick-shift car. Watching his big hands caress the padded knob made her press her legs together in anticipation. Far safer to look out the window. Most homes still had candles in the window left over from the holidays. A few bare-limbed trees sported strings of white lights.

  “Then I guess we really are doing this, if you’re finally letting me in your famous bootymobile.”

  He sighed, as if insulted. “She has a name. This is Moll Davis.”

  Daphne bit back a giggle. He named his car. Did he name other, more intimate things? “Seriously? Wasn’t she one of the most famous mistresses in history?”

  “Maybe not in all of history. Certainly in England’s history. Good old King Charles II warmed her sheets for years. Beneath her flashy exterior, that woman not-so-secretly held all the power in the land. Just like my baby here.” He stroked the steering wheel with both hands.

  God, would he touch her like that? A bolt of desire shot through her. And was she actually jealous of a car? “I’m beginning to feel like I should get out and leave you two alone.”

  He whisked his head sideways to smile at her. Quick and fast like a flashbulb going off, it blinded her with its brightness. “She’s game for a threesome.”

  Gib excelled at sexual repartee. A few times she’d even been his wingman, and watched him toss it out with the ease of a fly fisherman casting in a deep river. Having it wholly focused on her, though, took her breath away. But Daphne reminded herself that tonight was her one shot. She needed to go for it. Commit one hundred and ten percent to the idea that she actually belonged next to the handsomest man in the city.

  Laying her hand on top of his, she channeled her inner Marilyn Monroe and purred, “Maybe I want you all to myself.”

  Once more, Gib turned to look at her. This time he flat-out stared, mouth slightly open, lips curling up. Then he swore and jerked the car to the right. He’d almost missed making the turn onto Michigan Avenue. “You’re right. We really are doing this. Daphne Lovell, welcome to your date. It is on.”

  About time. “Like I said, the car alone made that clear. But as I understand your parameters of use, warming my seat on her cushions goes hand in hand with an expectation that you’ll be warming my seat tonight.”

  “Generally, yes. If a woman gets in Moll Davis, she ends up in my bed. Simple as that.”

  “Not so simple. We agreed tonight would be a test. To see if we can really morph from friends to—”

  Gib cut her off. “Lovers?”

  She bit her tongue. Counted to ten before answering so the word yes didn’t fall off her tongue. “No. There’s no question we could do that. The burning question is whether or not we should. If our friendship would survive. So we give dating a try tonight. But without any sex to complicate the equation.” Although she was hoping for more kisses. Whatever groping he could accomplish without removing any of her clothes. And knowing Gib, that could be quite a bit.

  “I took calculus. I can handle complicated equations.”

  “Be serious.”

  Another, more labored sigh. “Of course I don’t expect you to fall into bed with me tonight. We’re starting a relationship, not a one-night stand. But you’re a beautiful woman. Which means I will flirt with you relentlessly. Take it as a compliment. And I’ll take your ban on the bedroom as a challenge.”

  A challenge, huh? Daphne honestly couldn’t say who she wanted to win that one. Gib cut the engine as the valet opened Daphne’s door. A chill ran through her that had nothing to do with the icy wind whipping off the lake. This was it. The moment she’d dreamed of for years. Gib would be suave and charming and sexy. And hers.

  With a hand at the small of her back, Gib ushered her forward. She stopped after two steps. Looked up. And up and up at the iconic black Xs that crisscrossed their way up one hundred floors. “We’re at the John Hancock Center?”

  He pushed her back into motion. “Nothing but the best for you, and the Signature Room on the ninety-fifth floor has the best view in the city.”

  Even though she’d lived in Chicago her whole life, Daphne had never been to the famous restaurant. Her mom promised they’d celebrate her high school graduation there. By the time it rolled around four years after her death, Daphne didn’t have the heart to remind her father. But she had told Gib the story in December, when they’d strolled past while Christmas shopping. It touched her deeply that he remembered. That he’d try to fix that unfulfilled promise.

  While they waited for the elevator, Daphne unwound her scarf. Gib stopped her. “Let me.” He gathered it, hand over hand, oh so slowly. The periwinkle mohair tickled the back of her neck. She shi
vered. Gib stuffed the scarf in her pocket. Then he unbuttoned her full-length coat. As the elevator doors opened, she turned away to let him slide it off her shoulders. Daphne leaned against the rail at the back of the car, legs crossed at the ankle. Gib gaped.

  As well he should. Sex might be currently off the table, but she still wanted him thinking about it the whole time. A black lace dress hugged tight to her curves. The sheer lining kept her decent, but barely. It gave the illusion of lots of bare skin. Aided by the plunging V-neck that hid almost nothing. Thanks to the patient ministrations of Adele and Wendy at the salon, her hair hung in loose curls over one shoulder.

  Finally, he said, “I don’t know what to say. The elevator ride is only thirty-nine seconds long—”

  “Thanks for the trivia.”

  “—and I don’t think I could come up with the words to describe how beautiful you are if I had thirty-nine hours.”

  Just that quickly, the lingering chill from outside vanished. His words warmed her from the inside out. Still, she tried to play it cool. So he wouldn’t realize she was ready to throw caution to the wind and do him between floors thirty and sixty. “And thanks for the compliment.”

  He shrugged out of his coat. This time it was Daphne’s tongue that almost rolled out of her mouth. Gib wore suits like a uniform. They were also a particular obsession of his. So six out of every seven times she saw him, Gib wore a suit. But tonight, he’d kicked it up a notch.

  The black wool had obviously been tailored specifically to draw attention to the breadth of his chest, the width of this shoulders, the long line of his legs. Even in her four-inch-high platform pumps, Gib still topped her by at least four inches. Black tie with some sort of matte shine to it. Contrasting white pocket square. Onyx-and-silver cuff links glinting at his wrists. He was the living embodiment of the word debonair.