Chapter 11

11

He woke tangled in her.

At first Gabriel thought it a dream, a forbidden one he'd not even admitted to himself. His hands on her skin, soft under his fingertips. He skimmed those fingers up her spine, under the clothing that hid her body.

She stirred. Her legs were entwined with his, hips tucked against him. She was short but Goddess, she fitted. She shouldn't, in so many ways, but she fitted.

A truth was easier to acknowledge in a dream and he shifted, trying to ease the ache in his body. He hunted for her scent, dipping his head until his nose found her throat. He breathed her in. Hungered.

"Gabriel."

Like he'd been hexed, Gabriel's body turned to ice. His arms tensed around Leah as he lifted his head, opening his eyes to reality.

Sleepy blue eyes met his as she yawned. Her hair was a blond nest of curls and her cheeks were flushed. "Guess we fell asleep," she said, voice thick. "What time is it?"

Time to move, he told himself. Except his body was slow to react, every nerve humming in awareness.

"I need to check on my dogs," she continued when he didn't answer. She hesitated and twin flags of color highlighted her cheeks. "I, um, need to get up."

He was still holding her. Mortification rolled over him, made worse by the fact his hands were under her sweater, on bare flesh.

He'd never moved so fast, flinging himself backward off the couch. The corner of the coffee table caught his shin and he hissed as he limped to the breakfast bar.

Looking at her was impossible. Heat and embarrassment and something painfully close to desire throbbed inside him. He heard her move, a bag rustle, the dull sound of fingers hitting a cell phone screen.

"Peggy's already dropped them off at day care," she announced, as if he'd been waiting on the news or knew who Peggy was. "Which means I can go straight to the shelter. I keep some clothes there and it'd be easier than traveling across town. After coffee, of course. Who can function in the morning without coffee?" There was a slight edge to her voice as she peppered him with words.

Gabriel wanted her to take them back, wanted her to leave. To leave him alone, let him rebuild. He felt exposed. Weak. He had been weak.

It had been her apology that did it. And then, then it had been the unguarded moment when he'd seen past the sunny fa?ade and glimpsed pain. He should have let her leave, wallow in that pain at home. But he'd spent too many nights alone with his own, and he'd reacted.

He'd listened to her talk about baseball, about her beloved Cubs, about how this year would be the year. He'd listened and learned and absorbed and he'd fallen asleep to the sound of the documentary she'd suggested they put on about the beautiful game.

And woken up with guilt a third bedfellow.

He'd always sworn that humans were dangerous, and here he was "hanging out" with them, talking with them. Wanting them.

Some part of him shook his head, knowing that wasn't why he was pushing her away, but he was skilled at ignoring the things he didn't want to face. So, Gabriel reverted to what he knew.

"This is becoming a bad habit," he said briskly. He affected his society mask as he turned, linking his tight hands behind his back.

She ran her fingers through her hair, combing it as best she could. "Coffee?"

"Insisting on acting like we're friends."

The words hit like a curse. He saw it, how she absorbed them, flinching as the meaning penetrated. "You asked me to stay."

"You wanted coffee and I was raised too well to turn someone out of the house."

Her mouth dropped, ocean blue turning stormy. "Not then . When I was going to leave, you wanted me to stay."

"If that's how you want to remember it."

"Don't be a dick."

"I'm going to change if you want to let yourself out." He didn't stop to watch her, but strode down the hall to his bedroom, firmly clicking the door behind him. He sank down, resting his forehead on it. Behind him, a lamp juddered, tipping off the bedside table. The magic squeezed his spine, but worse was that he'd not meant to do it.

"Get hold of yourself," he muttered. He deliberately turned his back on the door to get dressed.

Leah didn't waste time leaving his highness' apartment, though she did move several things out of alignment before she went. Petty, yes. Satisfying, hell yes.

What a dick. She fumed as she rode the elevator down and Google mapped a coffee shop. Joanne's was too far away and she wasn't in the mood to hear someone wax on about how gorgeous Gabriel was. On the outside, maybe, but inside was a whole 'nother story—one with a dark and twisted ending.

Man, he was lucky she wasn't a witch because she'd have telekinetically kicked him in the nuts for that performance.

"Insisting on acting like we're friends," she mocked, stomping in the direction of the closest L train station. "Like I have nothing better to do than pant after his warlock self. My coffee mug didn't refill itself."

She couldn't believe she'd fallen for his BS again . What was that saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame I'm such a goddamned idiot.

Under the anger, hurt roiled but she didn't want to focus on that, on the fact that she'd thought they were...bonding or some crap. That there may be more under the Higher warlock guise.

She nurtured her righteous anger throughout her journey and when she stepped off the train, walking the few blocks to the shelter, her resolution was firm. Whatever it was that attracted her to him, it was stopping right now. Even a dog learned its lesson after being kicked too many times. The next time she saw him, she would—

—stop in her tracks as he slid out of a cab that idled in front of the shelter.

Her lip curled, anger riding a fiery line down her body. Of course, he was too good for public transportation. And even if he'd told her he was headed to the shelter, too, she'd wanted coffee first. So she wouldn't have said yes, even if he'd been courteous and goddamned asked. It wasn't like they were friends, after all.

She hated how good he looked in a cashmere overcoat open over yet another stunning three-piece suit. He should look ridiculous, doing shelter work dressed like that, but he never did. Ass.

The cab drove off and their gazes met.

Play it cool, she reminded herself. She lifted the coffee as she crossed the street and took a bolstering sip. "Fancy meeting you here."

The wind blew a lock of black hair across his forehead. It was the only thing about him that moved.

Her jaw gritted and she flicked her eyes away, annoyed. And her stomach dropped, along with the cardboard coffee cup she was holding. The lid popped off and coffee gushed out as she rushed forward, heedless of Gabriel's demand. All of her attention was on the broken glass that littered the sidewalk and the spray paint that shouted obscenities to the public as they passed.

Then Gabriel's hand gripped her elbow, pulled her around.

She wrenched away. "Sonny," she threw at him and fled, hearing his curse and the sound of his Italian loafers pounding after her.

She didn't care as she burst into the torn-up reception, as she took a sharp left toward where the overnight workers slept. It had been Sonny's night. That was the thought that played through her mind on repeat. He was old. He could've been...

Rushing through the door to the room, she scanned it in seconds. Not here. Didn't mean anything, she told herself, her knees weak. Didn't mean—

"Leah."

At his voice, she spun and made a sound in relief, just as Gabriel reached them. Sonny was coming out of the cat enclosures, phone to his ear.

"Calling the cops?" she asked, hearing the quiver in her voice. Her hands shook, so she smoothed them down her thighs. "When did it happen?"

"I left for one goddamned hour." Sonny's gaze flicked from her to Gabriel. "The animals are all right, thank Christ, but the windows...the walls..."

"We'll clean it up. We'll get it fixed. It's fixable."

"More bills," he murmured, despair heavy in the words before his attention snapped back to the call. "Yes, I'm still here."

He wandered away, talking rapidly. Leah watched him go, helpless.

"Goddamn it," she said under her breath. " Goddamn it. " She aimed a kick at the wall, breath exploding out when her foot connected. More bills. More worry. More likely he'd want to wash his hands of the place. If she hadn't plowed so much of her money into the bar, into her house...but he wouldn't accept it anyway, even if she had enough to buy in.

Gabriel was a silent presence at her side. She didn't know what she expected him to do. What normal people did, she supposed. Comfort her, offer words of reassurance, empty though they might be.

What she didn't expect him to do was to walk away.

She deliberately didn't watch him go. Why was she even mildly surprised?

Ignoring the fist in her throat, she went to grab a change of clothes and face the mountain of tasks ahead of her.

Gabriel was standing on the sidewalk, surveying the damage, as Sonny walked out to join him. They stood, side by side and in silence, for a long moment.

"Son of a bitch," were Sonny's first words. Lines dug deep grooves around his mouth, in his forehead, around eyes that spoke of annoyed anxiety. "This is just what we needed."

Gabriel kept his gaze on the broken glass. "I can fix it."

"You know a carpenter, a handyman?"

"Something like that." Give him a moment alone with no prying eyes, it would be nothing to him. It was nothing to him.

"That's something, I guess." Sonny rubbed the back of his neck, then his face. "Jesus. I did not need this."

The bite of wind nipped his cheeks as Gabriel slid his eyes toward the older human. "She was worried. About you."

"Leah?" Sonny shrugged, stuffing his hands in his fleece's pockets. "I'm fine."

"She ran into the building." The way his heart had squeezed, the air tight in his lungs. He hadn't cared for it. "It could've been dangerous."

"Leah thinks with her heart. And I'm fine. They took their opportunity, some cash from the office. Some drugs we keep on-site. Expensive ones." Sonny pursed his lips. "Joanne from across the street is checking her CCTV, and Raj from next to her, but I doubt it'll catch anything across the way." He sighed. "I knew I should've upgraded the security."

"Why didn't you?"

"It was that or let a dog keep his leg." Sonny ruefully smiled. "I think with my heart, too."

"It's foolish." Gabriel returned his attention to the sad building. "Being practical is how you run a successful business." It was how he'd increased efficiency in their product development by ten percent, looking at a problem as though it were a puzzle to be solved.

"Maybe. Maybe that's why we're in this situation."

"Situation?"

Sonny dipped his head. "It doesn't matter. We're okay, the animals aren't hurt. The other stuff... I'm sure we'll push through. Like Leah says. That girl always thinks of something."

Gabriel studied the way the paint had stained the brick. "Would you sell?"

"Retire, you mean?" Sonny dragged in a breath, knuckled his chest as though something hurt. "Time was, I'd have said I'd drop dead in this place."

"And now?"

Sonny didn't answer.

Gabriel thought of Leah. "You could sell it to her."

"I'd give it to her," Sonny corrected. "She's been here since she was fifteen. She's as much a part of this place as anyone. But it's a white elephant. It'll bleed her dry and then take more. I'd never pass over that burden."

Gabriel's business mind told him Sonny was right. Running a charitable organization like this required more money than any one person could supply. It took multiple deep pockets. "You need investors."

"We need a lot of things. Right now, we need to walk the dogs, feed the cats and get this mess cleaned up. Fortunately some of the guys from the music store next door, the bookshop across the street, they're volunteering hands. God knows we need 'em." Sonny clapped a hand on Gabriel's arm and then walked through the carpet of glass, battered sneakers crunching as he went.

Gabriel brooded. The human was right about one thing. Words were useless; action counted. And so, he bent for the broom he'd brought out with him. He surveyed the millions of tiny shards with a sigh. If he had full use of his magic, he could literally evaporate them all in the space of one second.

But he didn't. So, he dutifully bent and began sweeping. It was, he'd discovered, one of the only tasks he didn't suck at.

It took him the better part of an hour. He'd shed his coat, his tie, rolled up his sleeves and was rubbing the ache in the small of his back when Leah stepped out.

She stopped short. "Oh. I thought you'd gone."

He steadied the broom with one hand. "Why?"

"Because you left."

"The glass needed sweeping."

Her eyebrows lifted. " You swept up the glass?"

"It needed doing. I'm going to start on the paint."

She held up the bucket she was carrying. "Great minds." But she didn't come closer, feet shifting with edgy energy. "If you want to get inside, I can do this."

He didn't move. "It's cold. I can do it."

"I'm not fragile."

She was tense, body half angled away, but it was her eyes that tugged at him. Shielded. Not friendly, not seething. Nothing.

He'd finally pushed her away.

A sharp ache spasmed in his chest.

"Seriously," she said, still polite. "You've done your share. I can do this alone."

He should do what she said.

But he couldn't. "About this morning."

She blanched. "We don't have to..."

"No. We do." His skin was hot and he welcomed the breeze that kissed his exposed skin. And couldn't think of what to say.

At least thirty seconds passed before she shifted the bucket to her other hand. "Okay. Let's just—"

"I'm sorry." The words snapped out. Not exactly apologetic.

Her cautious face turned to him.

"I'm not...good with...people." Understatement. "I don't want you to be..." A pause as he searched for the words. "At odds with me."

Thoughts rolled through her eyes like a summer storm. She set the bucket down. "Look. Thanks for apologizing. I get it's not something you do and I appreciate it. But we keep hokey-pokeying and I'm tired of being in, out, in, out." As he struggled to understand what she meant, she tugged a curl in obvious frustration. "What I mean is you want to be left alone, and I think it's time I do what you want."

She was really conceding. No more sassy smiles. No more calling him Gabe or teasing him for being serious. No more blue eyes watching him or words intended to aggravate. No more human distraction.

This was what he'd wanted.

Panic, dark and thick, grabbed him by the throat. "No."

"No?"

"No," he said more firmly. He pushed away the voice screaming this was a mistake. "No more in and out." Too late, he realized that was probably not the best way to put it. He stared her down as her lips quivered.

She firmed them. "No more in and out, huh?"

He nodded. "I propose we be friends."

"We can't be friends, Gabriel."

"Why?"

"You just said so this morning."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"I said you were acting like we're friends."

If how fast she blinked was an indication of an impending eruption, he was about to have Mount Vesuvius on his hands.

He hurried on. "I told you. I'm not good at...this. But I want to be. Friends. Or friendly acquaintances, at least."

The pressure inside his chest relaxed as her lips curved.

"That sounds like Gabriel Goodnight," she said dryly. She pressed those same lips together and then sighed. In defeat. "And what do friendly acquaintances do?"

He gestured. "Clean the wall together?"

She rolled her eyes but bent to pick up the bucket. He crossed, taking it from her. Their fingers touched and his heart beat a little faster.

"Lead the way, friend."

Her light words relaxed the last of his tension and he stepped back.

"Gabe?"

He swung his gaze to her, narrowed at the nickname. He'd never let on how his heart gave a small jump at its return.

She held eye contact. "One more time and I'm done."

"Understood."

Yes, he understood. He understood that, even though it'd be smarter to let her back away, to distance himself, she'd become too essential for him to give up entirely.

He let her talk the first half hour as they scrubbed at the wall with sponges, then brushes, applying muscle to the paint that refused to lift. He didn't mind letting her voice wash over him, finding the rhythm unusually soothing.

They'd managed to get half the lettering down to a faint pink line when he said, "I spoke to Sonny."

She blew a curl out of her face as she bent to wet her brush. She'd bundled her hair into a rough, straggly ponytail. He couldn't say why he found it appealing. "Hmm?"

He told himself to stop looking at her butt as she bent over. "You need money."

"I told you that."

"You identified the problem," he allowed. "The next step is how to reach your objective. You make a plan."

"You sure you're not a robot?" She shook off the excess liquid and straightened. "Do you have a plan, or did you just want to rub my lack of one in my face?"

"Would I do that?"

She sent him an arch look.

"You need visibility," he said, returning to the point. "You need sympathy and awareness. At the bottom of it all, this is a charity, albeit for animals. What do charities do when they need more money?"

"You want me to go door-to door?"

"Host a gala," he corrected. "Invite the local businesses, ones that are good fits with the brand, the companies that could use the tax break and are looking to mask themselves as do-gooders. When we do a new product launch, we invite all the tastemakers, the press, even rivals to make as much noise as possible." That, at least, he'd been good at, organizing details and deploying his assistants to speak and cajole on his behalf. "You need to make some noise, draw people in."

She thoughtfully scrubbed the wall, back and forth. "A gala? Isn't that too upscale for what we are?"

"You want deep pockets; you need to go to their level. It would need to be a ticketed affair, a dinner paid per plate or an auction—but that would be harder as you would need to secure lots. A dinner, talks, maybe an appearance from some of the more well-behaved residents." He spared her a pointed lift of his eyebrow. " Not Chuck."

"You love him, really."

"Hmm." He played his hand over his brush, the bristles sharp against his skin. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a little out of my depth."

"You told me your family is part of Chicago's social scene."

Surprise blinked through her eyes. "I did?"

It had been when she'd been needling him, dropping her own crumbs, little realizing he'd collected them to form his own impression. He didn't say that. "I would've thought, growing up in a family that donate to charities and attend functions, you'd be planning events like this in your sleep."

"Maybe...if I hadn't been busy taking care of my mom. After that..." She shrugged. "Do you know none of her so-called society friends visited her or helped at all? A lot of them sneered at us behind her back. Oh, but when she got healthy again and was donating the Turner money, oh, then, it was all smiles and laughs and air-kisses." Her disgust was palpable. "I wasn't about to go into that world of fakes that rejected us. So, I looked for a job, real people. I only took my trust fund because my mom said she'd wire money into my account every day if I didn't." She added on a grin, "But I got rid of it quick enough by investing in my own property and then proposing the bar to Emma and Tia."

He was unwillingly fascinated. "You could have drifted on the money." Most of the society witches he knew did just that, men and women.

"I prefer to work," she said simply. "Like you, Gabe."

The parallel took him aback, more because of how true it was. "I suppose."

"I bet most society women in New Orleans aren't like me," she prompted with a grin, inviting him to comment.

But he couldn't. Because nobody was like her. And to say that aloud felt like admitting too much.

"The worlds sound very similar," was all he said. Human or witch, society stayed society, apparently. Maybe they had more in common than he thought. How unsettling.

As if reading the edge on his face, Leah let the subject float away, returning to their original topic. "Anyway, that's why I'd be out of my depth. I've attended charity things, but organizing one sounds like juggling knives. Spending that money and having everything hinge on it? I could stab myself in the foot."

"I'll help." The words were so out of character that both she and he blinked in unison.

" You want to help me organize a charity gala?" Disbelief soaked through the words. "Why?"

He masked his uneasiness. "Goodnights happen to be excellent at organizing functions."

"Naturally." A smile played over her lips as she switched brush for sponge, only to fiddle with it. "You'd really help?"

He could assess, implement, better. That was what he did, what he'd done for years as he'd worked his way up through the departments at Goodnight's Remedies. If he were to apply logic to this, it made sense to demonstrate to the board how he'd gone above and beyond while he was here. It really benefited him in the end.

"I'll have to." He kept his tone matter-of-fact, someone superior granting a favor. "You clearly don't know what you're doing."

Her eyes narrowed. That was the only warning he got before the sponge she'd been toying with smacked him in the stomach. Water soaked through his waistcoat, then his shirt, as the weapon plopped to the ground.

His mouth parted in disbelief.

Teeth flashed, unrepentant. "Whoops."

She retrieved her brush, spun to the wall.

He didn't plan it. He didn't think. He simply levitated the sponge, dunked it and lobbed it at her back. Only she unexpectedly turned at the last minute. The wet sponge slopped against her chest, her squeal instant and shocked.

He absorbed the feedback as he watched the wet material cling to her skin. A hint of bra showed through the white tee. Black again. His head went fuzzy. Her breasts weren't big but they'd fit his hands.

"You—I—what the..." she spluttered.

"Your sponge," he said through the gravel in his throat. "You're welcome."