phone number, either.
It was stupid really, but PJ was twenty-nine years old. She didn’t want to run to her parents to fix her problems anymore. Lord knew, they’d had to do enough for her when she was younger. They shouldn’t have to carry her through this now. Whatever this person wanted, she’d handle it herself.
Gabe looked up and studied her face when PJ entered the kitchen. She looked a bit like she might have been crying, but he didn’t want to push her with questions.
He couldn’t imagine having his private thoughts spread out on the Internet for everyone to see. That had to hurt, even though she’d put up a pretty good front so far.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” he said, tossing the freshly sliced tomatoes onto the top of the salad. “I thought we’d eat out on the patio?”
PJ nodded at him but didn’t speak, and that’s when Gabe was sure—she had been crying. He came around the kitchen island and pulled her into him, tucking her head under his chin and rubbing her back.
The gesture had been meant to comfort her but she felt so effing good in his arms—so perfectly right when he held her close. He could feel her small arms come around his back to hold him, and he really didn’t want to let her go.
The disappointment he felt when she pulled away was tempered only slightly by the smile on her face when he looked down at her.
“Thanks. I needed that,” she said.
“Anytime,” he said. Any and every time you want.
Gabe crossed to the island and grabbed the salad and plates. “The burgers should be ready out on the grill and everything else is already out there.”
“It smells amazing,” she said as they walked to the patio together.
Gabe set the salad down and went about plating the burgers and scooping heaps of mashed potatoes onto the plate. He looked down at the heaping plate then up at PJ’s tiny frame.
“Oh, you probably can’t eat all this, can you?” he asked and turned to scoop some of the potatoes back. He’d served her the kind of portion he might hand to Jack or Andrew for a first round.
PJ stabbed at his hand with a fork. “Back off my potatoes, mister,” she said and pulled the plate from his hands. “Mine,” she said, twisting to guard the food with her body as she eyed him suspiciously. Damn she was funny; he couldn’t help but laugh.
“Something to drink?” Gabe’s face heated. With her history of alcohol addiction, he shouldn’t offer her anything alcoholic, he thought quickly. Why hadn’t he considered that earlier?
He had no idea how his caretakers had stocked the fridge, and he hadn’t thought to ask for nonalcoholic drinks. “Water? Coke? Um––” He looked toward the small fridge in the outdoor kitchen, not sure what was there.
“Water’s great,” PJ said as she sat in one of the chairs. If she noticed his discomfort about what to offer her, she didn’t let it show.
Gabe grabbed two bottles of water and shut the fridge with his foot then retrieved his plate from next to the grill. A flick of a light switch with his elbow had flames dancing to life in the gas firepit as he lowered himself into the chair next to PJ’s.
PJ moaned when she took a bite of the bacon, blue cheese concoction he’d cooked up for them and Gabe felt his whole body still. If she didn’t knock off that adorable habit she had of moaning when something good crossed those lips, he wouldn't make it through the week without a lot of cold showers and hand lotion.
“It’s okay if you want to drink,” she said in between bites, and Gabe’s first thoughts jumped to whiskey.
Shots of whiskey might help him get through this alive and moderately sane without too many fantasies about other ways he could make her moan, or what she might sound like when he took her soft nipple into his mouth and made it peak under his tongue.
He shook his head instead, half in answer to her and half in an attempt to banish thoughts of PJ’s breasts from his mind. “I’m good with water. Burger okay?” he asked.
“More than okay. It’s amazing. Maybe that’s what you should do now. Become a chef. Or open a chain of restaurants. World-class restaurants with nothing but comfort food.”
Gabe laughed as PJ took another big bite and then followed that with a forkful of mashed potatoes.
And, another moan. Dear Lord, woman. Gabe wanted to