I’d assumed Gabe’s apartment would be huge. Gorgeous. Expensively decorated. He looked like a man who expected and would only accept the best. And I’d been around enough of Lance’s associates to know how the other half lived.
Gabe’s place put anything Lance owned to shame. It was a three-bedroom, three-and-one-half-bathroom apartment with not one but four terraces on Fifth Avenue. Yep. Apparently off the East River meant on the most expensive street in the world. I was a fountain of useless knowledge, as Lance liked to remind me when I’d occasionally spout out a tidbit or fact I’d learned from the Internet, television, or books.
Something else about me, I’m a bookworm and not the least bit ashamed of it. So when, in the midst of my tour of Gabe’s living space, I found myself in a den with fully lined bookshelves and a movable wooden ladder, I instantly fell in love. Not with the man, I assured myself, but with the library.
“You can read in this room anytime you like,” Gabe said, pleasure in his voice that I loved his library as much as he obviously did.
“I still don’t understand why you’re doing this,” I murmured. “Your brother is right. You must like taking in strays. How many before me?”
He came to a complete halt in the entryway of the library, a furious look in his eyes, and not one I liked aimed at me.
“None,” he said.
We both knew he lied.
With a tip of his head, he started back toward the foyer, past a closed door. “What’s this room?” I asked, eager to change the subject, at least for now.
“Bedroom,” he said, his tone still clipped. “Come. This way.”
I was still thinking about the library and the books, some hardcover, others paperback, all appearing in pristine condition.
“One day I’d like to hear that sound for something other than books,” he said, his tone lighter than seconds before.
“Seriously, what am I supposed to say to that?” It was like the handcuff comment at the precinct.
Gabe chuckled, grasped my elbow, and led me back through the elegant inlaid marble entryway from which I’d entered to the other side of the massive apartment.
“Master bedroom here,” he said, pointing to the open door leading to his suite.
I wasn’t ready to get an intimate look at his personal space, so I waited for him to move us along.
“And this is your room,” he said.
Next to his.
I swallowed hard and stepped inside. Wall-to-wall windows on one side surrounded by light, drapey-looking white curtains, and another generous set of windows on an adjoining wall.
“You can see Central Park in daylight,” he said, his tone back to normal. “My sister, Lucy, stays here when she’s in town.”
“How many of you Dares are there?”
“Three. Lucy lives in L.A. and runs our clubs out there, and she has no visits planned. Feel free to use whatever you’d like until we can get you a wardrobe of your own.”
I spun from the gorgeous view to look at the equally gorgeous man. “I’ll borrow your sister’s clothes if you’re sure she won’t mind.” I wasn’t going to touch his other outrageous statement.
“She won’t. Lucy’s the most generous woman I know,” he said, the warmth in his voice both unexpected and touching.
He seemed pretty generous himself, at least to me.
He swung open the door to what I figured was the bathroom. It was actually a luxury spa, a mix of cream, taupe, and brown marble. The shower was filled with more nozzles and hoses than I knew what to do with, and even a bench inside.
“I’m sure Lucy left enough bottles of female stuff that you’ll make do.”
I managed a nod. I didn’t want to admit I was overwhelmed but was certain he could see it in my face. Channeling Scarlett O’Hara, I decided that tomorrow I’d deal with things in a much better frame of mind.
Chapter Three
Gabe: Revealed