Chapter 12

12

It wasn't easy corralling three dogs, two of which hated leashes with a passion, but Leah was a veteran. Rosie and Delilah stared at her as they waited outside Gabriel's apartment, Rosie's eyes soft pools of distressed brown, and Delilah's expressing a cold seething lick of betrayal. Louie merely sat at her feet, easygoing as always and pleased to be somewhere new.

They were all here and ready to plan a gala.

She and Gabriel had decided it was best kept a secret for now. Better to present the idea fully formed to Sonny, less likely then he'd protest it was too much trouble or too big a risk.

As if she didn't have a stake in the place, too. When she'd been young and burned out from caring for her mom, the animals had saved her. When she'd needed to feel accepted, like she was a part of something, it had been there. It was her place in a way nowhere else was, even the bar. She wasn't about to lose it without a fight.

She was lying low with her friends, as well. Not not telling them but steering clear. If they knew she was spending time with Gabriel outside of her regular shelter shifts, they'd play cockblockers.

Figure of speech, of course. She and Gabriel were only "friendly acquaintances."

Why was she smiling? He wasn't charming.

Case in point, when she'd suggested her place to start planning, Gabriel had overridden her, stating it'd be too small and his apartment much more suitable. This guy...

Still, she'd got the last laugh when she'd opted not to clarify her "place" was a house and instead insisted on bringing her dogs along. All of them.

The door opened on that note and the warlock himself made an appearance. And not in a suit.

She gaped. "You're in jeans ."

Sardonic, he focused on her dogs. "Three."

"Very good. You get a gold star."

"You didn't say there were three."

"Didn't I?"

He eyed Rosie as she strained at the leash, desperate to show her adoration for the stranger. "Are they trained?"

"To do what?" Her grin was unrepentant as those fiercely green eyes slid her way. "They won't cause you any more hassle than I do."

"Hmm." Still, he stepped back, held the door for her as she and the others traipsed in.

Once he'd shut it behind them, she bent to unclip the leashes.

Rosie immediately hurtled to Gabriel, stopping at his feet and panting up at him, whining in despair when he didn't immediately coo over her.

"She wants you to pet her," Leah supplied.

"She can want all she likes." Gabriel sidestepped, flummoxed when Rosie matched him. He changed direction and she matched him again. "You're not going to win," he told her.

"Don't you know females always do?" Leah placed the leashes and her purse on one of the decorative tables Gabriel had in the short hall. Once her hands were free, she threaded fingers through her curls. She was pretty sure she looked like she'd been pulled into a hedge, tossed around, then thrust back out. Windy city and all.

After an amusing thirty seconds, Gabriel finally placed one precise pat on Rosie's head. The sprocker all but melted to the ground, flipping to her back and exposing her stomach.

Leah sniggered at the nonplussed expression on Gabriel's face.

Meanwhile, Delilah had had enough of investigating the living room furniture and circled back. She sniffed his feet—bare, Leah noticed with a small jolt—and then huffed as she made a beeline for the kitchen.

"Delilah isn't much for men," she explained, following her dog, making sure she wasn't getting into anything she shouldn't.

When she looked back, she caught Gabriel's hand rubbing the spaniel's tummy. Busted.

He pretended innocence as he rose, cheeks a little pink. "Drink?"

"Sure." She covertly checked him out as he walked by. "I can't believe you're not wearing a suit." And looking damn good out of one, too.

"I'm at home."

"I thought I'd be sipping hot chocolate in hell before you relaxed."

"I'm not so uptight."

She snorted. "Please. If I cranked you one more notch, you'd go off like an alarm clock."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means, you're uptight. But you do you," she added with a bright, quick smile. "As a friendly acquaintance, I think it's endearing." And so were the jeans that hugged his muscular ass. God, she'd thought him annoyingly hot in his vest and shirtsleeves, but seeing this together man unbuttoned?

Undeniable lust shivered over her skin and she stepped back in reaction. Louie yelped and she bent, immediately fussing. "Sorry, Lou."

She took a moment, breathing out the lust, breathing in a reality check. So, he was hot. And he'd apologized. And helped clean the shelter. So, what? It wasn't like anything more could happen.

Or would happen. He'd never really given her any indication he thought of her that way. And wasn't that a kick in the ass?

"Introductions," she chirped, puncturing the disappointment before it could inflate. "The sprocker acting like she's been struck by cupid's arrow is Rosie. The dachshund who's getting in your garbage by the sounds of it—" she winced at the clattering sound "—is Delilah. And this," she stroked a hand over Louie's soft ears, "is Louie."

"The calm one."

"Always. He was found wandering on the streets with a bad eye infection. We don't really know what his background is, but he's a sweetheart."

"You rescued him."

"He bonded with me pretty immediately and I couldn't bear to leave him. He's never been trouble; all he wants is love. They all do."

"You rescued all three?"

She nodded. "I have two cats as well."

"You didn't think to bring them?"

She recognized the dry thread of humor, matched it. "Next time."

He watched the small cavalier snuggle into her leg. "You like caring for things."

"I've had lots of practice."

His eyes met hers. Something rippled between them, catching in her chest.

A crash sounded from behind the breakfast bar and she reacted on instinct, bursting upward and hurtling across the kitchen. "Delilah," she reprimanded. "No!"

Having followed her around the counter, Gabriel stared at the recycling littering the floor. "I see why she was surrendered."

"Ha. Ha." Leah shooed the little dog and bent to clean up. Gabriel stooped to help.

"I thought we'd have dinner first," he said, offhandedly.

The can she'd picked up slipped free, bounced and rolled away. She went after it, praying for some sense. Not a date, Leah. "Cool. I could eat."

He righted the recycling bin. "I thought we'd order in."

"You don't like to cook?" She glanced at the twelve toasters. "Kinda seems like you have a thing for toast, at least."

"Those are defective."

A detail caught her eye. Huh. "You know you have to plug them in."

He stopped what he was doing. "Excuse me?"

She gestured. "The toasters."

Seconds passed before he answered, a hint of chagrin entering his voice. "Of course I know."

Leah tossed the last can into the bin and hid her amusement. "How can you not know about how toasters work?"

Did witches and warlocks use magic for all their cooking? It seemed a bit lazy.

He paused, tipping his head to the side, a sudden intense look making her go still. He was looking at her like...she should know why. Which, of course, she did—but did he?

The question of the week.

She gave them both an out, far from ready to broach the subject. "Poor little rich boy?"

His slight huff of humor eased the tension. "Something like that." He held out his hand to help her up.

She met his gaze as she gripped it. Stupid to feel breathless, stupid that his skin sliding over hers made her think dark, sweaty thoughts.

His jaw flexed as he exerted pressure, bringing her up to him.

Her throat felt thick. She stood, still holding his hand.

It held for three seconds. Five.

" I couldn't take it any longer. "

Their hands jerked apart at the interruption, both lurching back, Gabriel into the breakfast bar, Leah slamming into the cupboards. Her cheeks were steaming as she tore her gaze from Gabriel to the source of the interruption.

The woman stood on the other side of the counter. Older by about twenty years or so, if Leah had to guess, dressed in a long paisley dress, her hair was dark blond, tucked up in an intricately braided bun. Crystals swung at her ears as she waved a hand.

"I don't care if you're not supposed to use magic, they said nothing about me—oh!" She stilled as she spotted Leah. Brown eyes studied her and Gabriel, how close they were. "Am I...interrupting?"

Leah didn't dare breathe. What was she supposed to do, now that magic had been mentioned? What would a regular human do? Gabriel didn't look alarmed—but when did he ever? The earth could be imploding and he'd only glower at the inconvenience.

More evidence into the he knows column. She should probably worry about that more than she was.

"Mrs. Q." The strong affection in his voice had Leah's lips parting in surprise. "I told you I was fine."

The woman didn't move her attention from Leah.

She took that as her cue, awkwardly lifting a hand in a semi-wave. "Hi. I'm Leah."

" Oh. " The sound was knowing, as was the look the older woman slid to Gabriel.

Leah would do many depraved things to know what he'd said about her behind closed doors. She choked down the desperate curiosity, just barely. "Gonna make introductions, Gabe?"

" Gabe? "

Gabriel ignored the woman's choked question, though he did link his fingers at the base of his spine. "Leah, Kate Quinlan."

Obviously amused, she focused on Leah. "You can call me Mrs. Q, dear. Everyone does. I'm Gabriel's housekeeper." Her accent was British, like his, warm and pleasant to the ear.

"I didn't realize you'd hired someone."

"Not here. In New Orleans. I—" She paused, selected her next words with care. "I...took a flight to bring Gabriel some casseroles. Do some general housekeeping."

Leah ran her tongue over her teeth before tucking it in her cheek. "That's very dedicated of you."

"Oh, well, I've been his housekeeper since he was a little boy running naked on the grounds of the manor."

Gabriel put a hand to his forehead, muttering under his breath.

Leah grinned. Her smile only spread when Mrs. Q clocked her dogs and swooped in, kissing them all and fussing like an old friend.

Leah went with impulse. "How about you join us for dinner? I'd love to hear more about how this one came to be the Gabriel Goodnight."

"I have so many stories!"

"Don't you have to catch your flight back?" Gabriel said between gritted teeth.

Mrs. Q waved that away and clucked into the kitchen. "Not at all. I'll get dinner on if you open some wine." She opened the fridge, which was fully stocked. "And you can tell me all about yourself, Leah."

"Mrs. Q..."

"Don't sass me, boy. Now, you find a decent bottle of wine—and no pranks. Used to be a terrible prankster."

"When I was thirteen," he grumbled, on his way to the cabinets to, presumably, find a bottle of wine.

Absolutely fascinated, Leah leaned her hips against the cupboards. "Gabriel played pranks?"

"For most of his young life. He loved to play with people."

"And you told me you didn't play."

Gabriel sent her a look. "When did I say that?"

"When—" they'd been on the balcony.

He lifted his eyebrows. Patient as ever. Like a cat with a mouse.

Careful. "I can't remember."

Liar , his eyes seemed to mock.

She bit down on a shiver, swinging to his housekeeper like a life raft. "So. Tell me all about the early Goodnight years."

Gabriel's sigh punctuated Mrs. Q's wink.

They had the most amazing pork chops Leah had ever tasted. Bursting with questions about whether Mrs. Q used witchery in her cooking, Leah added them to her ever-evolving list to ask Emma and Tia. Maybe this time they'd open up and answer.

Mrs. Q was a font of information otherwise, keeping them entertained with stories from Gabriel's childhood in England. He'd apparently gotten into one scrape after another, right up until a definite point neither overtly mentioned, but which Leah knew had to be when his parents had died. Before and after. There'd been a line drawn.

She couldn't help but feel for him, for the boy of eighteen who'd suddenly lost everything, including his childhood. How had they died? She had a feeling that detail was significant, but it wasn't like she could blurt out the question. She'd prodded that sore area without thinking too many times.

Part of her also noted that while Mrs. Q featured in the stories, his parents always seemed to have been away on some trip. Great humanitarians etc., but hadn't they spent any time with their son? Maybe that was selective storytelling—and it was none of her business. But still...

Anyway, she was happy to keep the conversation light, enjoying the dynamic between housekeeper and employee, which ran more like aunt to nephew. It was a new side to Gabriel, one that unfortunately was devastatingly attractive to her.

When the housekeeper "left for her flight," she pulled Leah into a hug. "You don't be a stranger," she announced, squeezing the breath out of Leah's body. "Gabriel, when you're next in New Orleans, you bring this one and I'll give her a cooking lesson in our kitchen."

Leah glowed under the unsaid compliment, the inclusion in that invitation. At least until Gabriel flatly stated, "She won't be coming to New Orleans. We're only working together."

Well. The happy drained from Leah as effectively as if he'd stabbed her with a needle. So much for friendly acquaintances.

She kept up the front until Mrs. Q left. The minute the door closed behind the older woman, though, Gabriel pounced. "You're annoyed. With me."

She tried to play it off. "I'm always annoyed with you, Gabe."

A muscle moved in his jaw as he stopped in front of her. "I told you, I'm not good at this. People. If you don't tell me what I did, I can't be sure I won't do it again."

"Why would that bother you?"

"We're...friends." The way he struggled with the word both amused and frustrated her.

Okay. Fine. She busied herself by getting her wine from the counter, nudging Rosie away from the plates. "You didn't say that to Mrs. Q."

Inside, the old insecurities shivered to life. Not good enough to be invited in.

It was childish to still feel like this, she knew, especially as she also knew the line she walked was a dangerous one. Witch and human, never the twain shall meet. She shouldn't feel pushed out because he'd reinforced that. But she did.

"It's not you." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smooth a hand down the center of his chest, where his tie usually was. "Mrs. Q is a matchmaker. If I'd claimed a friendship with you, she'd have been searching for a wedding gift before the end of the week."

Leah shrugged. "It's no big deal."

"I don't have many...friends." His accent hit the last word hard, locks of black hair slipping across his forehead as he shook it in annoyance. "She'd have taken that as a sign."

The silence was short but tense, all but pounding in her ears. "Which it's not," she confirmed. His gaze returned to weigh heavy on her face.

Rosie bounced in, spinning in a circle and plopping her butt on the floor at Gabriel's feet. Despite his apparent disinterest, her dogs seemed to have fallen under his spell in a finger snap. A recurring theme.

She gave in. "I've got some chews in my purse. Let me get them and we can get down to business."