It was sexy as hell to hear him speak Italian.
But what did he say? And why do I care so much?
I finally give up. I throw off the covers and pad barefoot into the hallway, wearing nothing but an oversized New York Yankees t-shirt that hits mid-thigh. The house is dark, aside from the amber sconces on the walls, silent, except for the distant hum of the heating system.
I wander without purpose down the stairs, through the foyer, and past the living room where Amanda ripped into me earlier.
What the hell is the deal with that woman? I’ve never met her before, yet she talked to me like we were old enemies and she had a score to settle.
I enter the kitchen, half expecting to see Oscar seated at the small table by the window, where he usually is every morning, an espresso in one hand,The New York Timesin the other. But it’s just me and the silver light of the moon.
After filling a glass with water and taking a long, slow sip, I start back into the hallway and toward the elevator. It’s not locked, so I hit the call button and wait. The doors open soon after, and I step into the small, capsule-like space.
Buttons three and four call to me. Four seems too intimate, where Gabriel’s office and bedroom are. But three seems just dangerous enough. I press the button, the elevator slowly and smoothly rising.
When I step out of the doors, the first thing I notice is the strange energy in the air of the third floor.Or maybe it’s just me, nervous at the idea of being somewhere I know I shouldn’t.
I consider turning back. And that’s when I see it—a sliver of warm light coming from beneath the door at the end of the hall.
I scan my memories of Oscar’s tour, when he told me what rooms were on the third floor—guest bedrooms, laundry, Gabriel’s study.
I know I should turn around, but I don’t. Instead, I keep moving toward the door as if being pulled by an invisible string. When I’m in front of it, I raise my hand and knock softly.
“Come in.”
His voice sounds rough, tired. Or drunk.
I push open the door, gasping at what I see on the other side.
Gabriel is seated in a leather armchair by the window, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
He’s completely naked.
I make a strangled sound.
He doesn’t move. Just watches me over the rim of his glass, totally unbothered by the fact that I can see everything.
“Thea,” he says casually, like this is perfectly normal.
I glance around the room. The space is similar to the library, but smaller, cozier. There’s a fireplace with a small sitting area in front of it, bookshelves, and a pair of leather armchairs positioned on both sides of a large, arched window.
“I—” My brain has officially short-circuited. “I didn’t mean to… I’ll just?—”
“Close the door.”
“What?”
“Close the door. Unless you want Oscar to find you standing in the doorway wearing a shirt that barely covers your ass.”
Heat floods my face. I step inside and shut the door behind me, keeping my eyes firmly on the fire.
God, this is such a bad idea. It’s not too late to turn around, to rush out and hurry back to my room. I could say I was sleepwalking or something, pretend like nothing happened.
He takes a long, slow sip of his drink, as if he’s not buck-ass naked and sitting a dozen feet from me.
“Were you trying to escape again?” he asks conversationally.
“No.”