Dirty Little Promise (Forbidden Desires Book 2) Page 15

  “I can make up an excuse if you don’t want to go. Really, it’s not a big deal,” I rushed to assure him. “They sprang this on me and—”

  “When do they want to meet me?” he asked, tucking his arm behind his head in a motion that made his biceps bulge in the most delicious way.

  “Uh . . . today,” I said, forcing that stubborn dream out of my mind again and focusing back on his face. “For lunch, actually.”

  “Shit. What time is it?”

  “Ten.” I groaned. “So, we’d have to start getting ready, like, now.”

  He reached for his phone on the other bedside table as he morphed into all-business, take-control Gavin. “That’s okay. I’ll call the Plaza and see if we can get a table—”

  “No, no, no.” I waved my hands frantically. “Nothing fancy. My parents aren’t fancy people, and they’re going to want to pay.”

  Gavin frowned. “But that’s ridiculous. I can cover it.”

  “I know you can cover it, and they probably do too. That’s not the point. Look, it’ll hurt my dad’s pride if you pay. Let’s just go to some touristy chain restaurant. That should be fine.”

  As if any of it would be fine. My mother had made her feelings perfectly clear. I could only hope this invite was exactly what it seemed to be. An olive branch, her way of telling me she was willing to get to know Gavin before she passed judgment. God, I hoped so.

  I gnawed at my thumbnail as I wondered if she’d told my dad what Gavin did for a living. He studied me for a long moment before a slow smile spread over his face.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous. I’m just . . .” I couldn’t find the words. “I just want this to go well. You’re, you know, important to me. I want my parents to see that.”

  “You’re important to me too, Emma.”

  I sensed there was more he wanted to say, holding my gaze with his and smiling down at me. But then the moment passed.

  “So, is there anything I should know then, to make this easier for you?” Gavin asked.

  I thought hard. “My dad likes the Steelers, but he’s never been to Pittsburgh or any part of Pennsylvania.”

  Gavin laughed.

  “And whatever you do, don’t encourage my mother to tell stories about me as a kid. She loves to embarrass me, and she has no qualms about telling you anything.”

  “Noted.” He nodded. “But that only serves as an enticement, to be honest.”

  I yanked the pillow from behind my head and covered my face with it. “I thought you wanted to make this easy on me.”

  “Easy, but not a breeze.” He chuckled, tugging the pillow away and pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Besides, I want to hear stories about you when you were little. You were probably adorable.”

  “Trust me, you don’t,” I warned. “And I wasn’t. I was a pain in the ass. Sort of like how you’re being right now.”

  Gavin held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, no prying questions. Got it. What else?”

  He was grinning now, and I kept going because this was the first time in days that the worry line between his eyes had smoothed. If my misery was what it took to make him this carefree, I was willing to take the bullet.

  “What else? Oh!” I snapped my fingers. “Don’t order a bottle of wine for the table. My mother will drink the entire thing by herself, regardless of the time of day or type of wine.”

  “Don’t worry so much, baby.” He got up from the bed, letting the sheets fall away from him to reveal his naked form.

  Even after so long, I couldn’t help that my breath caught at the sight at him. I found myself staring at his stiff morning wood, wondering exactly how much time we had to kill before meeting my parents.

  “Want to continue this conversation in the shower?” He raised his eyebrows, then crossed the bed toward me and pulled away the covers. Gently, he tweaked one of my nipples and bent to nip at my bottom lip. “I get awful lonely in there by myself.”

  In the space of an instant, I found myself completely at his mercy. Worries forgotten, I took his hand and allowed him to lead me into the next room and then into the spray of the warm water.

  The euphoria of our time together was short-lived, though. By the time we got out of the shower, I found another text blinking on my phone—instructions to meet my parents at a family-style Italian chain they frequented at home that served unlimited salad and breadsticks.

  I typed a quick reply and spun around to face Gavin. “What do I do? I wore the last of the clothes I had here last night. Do we stop at my place? We have to be at the restaurant in—”

  “Breathe, baby. Calm down.” He laid a steadying hand on my shoulder. “I’ll steam your dress and get the wrinkles out. You didn’t wear it for very long.” He winked.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because . . .” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “What if they can tell we had sex when I was wearing it?”

  “You forgot to mention they were superheroes.” Gavin raised an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

  “Don’t get cute.”

  “Can’t help it. But, seriously, the only people who will know are you and me. Promise.”

  Still unsure, I remembered my work clothes that I still had in my overnight bag. I gave those to Gavin to steam instead, while I applied what little makeup I had rolling around in the bottom of my purse.

  • • •

  Somehow, we managed to get ready and to the restaurant on time. When we walked through the wide glass doors, I found my parents waiting at the first table inside, a bottle of white wine already on the table directly in front of my mother.

  “Oh crap,” I grumbled, but Gavin ignored me. Instead, he offered my parents his widest, warmest smile and extended his hand to each of them.

  “It’s so good to meet you. Thank you for the invitation,” he said, and though my parents both smiled back, they looked strained, and I could see the determination in their eyes.

  That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks.

  This wasn’t lunch, it was an inquisition. And poor Gavin was the target.

  “It’s such a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Kingsley,” my father said coolly.

  “Gavin, please.” He pulled out my chair and helped me into it before taking his own seat. At this, my mother raised her eyebrows and shot me a skeptical glance over the rim of her wineglass, as if to say, Aren’t we trying too hard?

  My cheeks heated, but I took Gavin’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “I was telling your father about how well the renovations are going on Nana’s house, dear,” my mom said with a smile.

  “Thanks.” I grinned, relieved at the neutral topic. “I’m proud of it.”

  “She’s done such a great job putting the place together,” Gavin added. “It must mean a lot to both of you to have the house preserved that way.”

  My father nodded, his expression guarded. “My mother was meticulous about that house. I’m sure she’d be happy to have it in the family still.”

  My mother smiled her agreement. “What about you, Gavin? Are you close to your grandparents?”

  I frowned, glancing at Gavin. I should have prepared him for this. They’d want to know about his family, his background.

  To my surprise, he seemed completely unfazed by the question. He squeezed my hand and said, “No, I never met them. It’s just me and my brothers.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” my mother offered stiffly as she glanced at her menu.

  “Don’t be. I’m very lucky to have my siblings. But I don’t want to monopolize the conversation. As I understand it, you have some amazing stories about Emma growing up that I have to hear.”

  I pinched him under the table, but his poker face never slipped. Here I was, worried about him, and he was throwing me under the bus. My cheeks heated as I silently plotted my revenge.

  Regardless of my feelings on the
topic, though, it was the perfect play. My mother’s face lit up and she leaned forward in her chair.

  “Well, since you asked . . .”

  She launched into a story she’d told roughly a million times before, one where I lifted my dress at kindergarten graduation and showed the entire school my Scooby-Doo underwear. Gavin laughed along while my father and I exchanged conspiratorial glances.

  There was an amiable pause as the waitress came to take our order, and I glanced at the faces around the table to note that everyone was smiling.

  Okay. Not too bad. Mom hadn’t picked the most embarrassing story, and now the ice was broken. Maybe we’d get out of here unscathed after all.

  “What about you? Any funny stories from when you were a kid?” my father asked before my mother could dive headlong into another Emma story.

  This time Gavin did look taken aback, and a chill of unease swept over me. “I had an . . . unusual childhood, so I’m not really sure I can think of anything funny off the top of my head.”

  “Unusual how?” my mother asked.

  “Mom, if Gavin doesn’t want to—”

  Gavin squeezed my hand gently. “No, it’s okay, Emma,” he murmured and then cleared his throat. “Look, Mr. and Mrs. Bell, I grew up in what was practically a brothel, so most of the stories are inappropriate for table conversation.”

  My parents exchanged a telling glance, and then my mother poured herself more wine before managing a tight, insincere smile. “Well, that certainly is . . . untraditional.”

  “Explains your line of work, though,” my dad muttered.

  “Dad,” I said, my tone a warning.

  “What? Are we going to sit here and pretend we don’t read the papers?” he demanded.

  I blew out a frustrated sigh.

  “No, it’s okay,” Gavin said. “I know the name is a little misleading and the press has been rough lately, but I don’t run a brothel, sir. My business is completely moral and on the up and up. I pay my taxes, and we protect the women who work for us and pay them very well.” Gavin said the words calmly but firmly, and my mother shifted in her chair.

  And it wasn’t just a line he was feeding them to placate the situation. Gavin and his brothers really did look after the women they employed. Stella, the girl who’d been caught with cocaine, had just completed a stay in rehab—all funded by their company. And not because they had to for publicity’s sake, but just because they were good men.

  My dad placed his elbows on the table, leaning closer, weighing Gavin’s every word. “Paid very well, huh? And you think that makes it better?”

  Gavin cleared his throat. “It’s not prostitution, if that’s what you’re picturing. It’s a glorified dating service.”

  This time, my mother spoke up. “That certainly is good to hear. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready for some breadsticks.”

  As we dug in, things were awkward and quiet for a few minutes. But soon enough, my parents began peppering Gavin with questions about his business, his brothers, and the struggle he’d gone through to make something of himself. If Gavin was uncomfortable, he showed no signs of it. As the afternoon went on, my parents seemed more and more impressed with his fortitude and determination.

  I wanted to cry with relief.

  “I’m still dying to hear more stories about Emma, though,” Gavin said when the long line of questions was over and we were almost through our meal.

  I shot him a requisite glare, but in truth, I couldn’t bring myself to be upset. Things were going even better than I could have imagined. As my mom launched into another story, I found myself glancing at Gavin from the corner of my eye, wondering how in the world I’d found a man so kind, confident, and wonderful.

  When my mother’s latest story—the time she caught me practicing kissing on a pillow—wound down, Gavin turned to my father.

  “Frank, do you think we could take a walk outside? Emma said you got a new car, and I’m dying to have a look.”

  It was literally the perfect thing to say.

  Beaming, my dad practically leaped from his chair. “Sure thing. You’re going to love this. The way this baby purrs, I’m telling you, there’s nothing better.”

  Gavin followed him out the door while my mom slipped her credit card into the check folder the waitress had laid down.

  “Thanks for everything, Mom,” I said.

  “Thank you for coming. I thought it was past time we met this man of yours, and now that we have? I can see that you were right. His business is certainly unconventional, but it’s not like he’s doing anything illegal. He’s a good man. And good for you.”

  “You think?” My heart warmed at the soft words of approval.

  “Based on the way you light up when he looks at you? I know it. It means a lot to a mother to see her child so happy.”

  “I am. I’m very happy,” I said.

  “Good. You deserve it, sweetie. You really do.”

  As I thought of the strife over the past year, I couldn’t help but hope she was right.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gavin

  When Sunday came, Emma went on a shopping trip with her friend Bethany, leaving me to sit in my apartment and ruminate over yesterday’s lunch.

  In truth, I should have expected the questions about my past and the worries over my career. I’d been so focused on making Emma more comfortable, it hadn’t even occurred to me, but in hindsight, I should have prepared myself.

  Still, in spite of everything, it went even better than I could have hoped. Emma’s parents were just like her—good listeners, respectful, interested. When we spoke, I could tell they really cared about whatever I was saying, small talk or no.

  No bullshit. What you saw was what you got, and I liked that.

  And more than anything? They were important to Emma. Which meant they were important to me now too.

  When Frank and I had made our way out to the parking lot, he’d shown me his new car—a beautiful Cadillac that Anne apparently didn’t approve of. He made me peer under the hood and stroke the luxury seating, telling me twenty times or more that the seats could get either hot and cold at the touch of a button.

  When he’d finished, he turned to me and said, “All right, now that I’ve had my fun, what did you really want to talk to me about?”

  “How’d you know?”

  He gave me a small smile. “I’m not an idiot. You could buy and sell me. You don’t care about this car.”

  “It’s a beautiful car,” I said. “But you’re right, I did want to talk to you about something else.”

  He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I love your daughter. Very much. So much that I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and I’d like your blessing.”

  Frank didn’t appear surprised by this in the slightest. “You’ll provide for her? I know it’s old-fashioned, but it’s important to me.”

  I nodded. “No matter what. She’ll never want for anything.”

  “And you’ll look after her? You’ll never hurt her?”

  “I could never, ever hurt her,” I said sincerely.

  “You’ll love her even when it’s hard?”

  I understood his concerns only too well. Of course there would be hard times; there were in any marriage.

  I nodded. “I’ll love her until my last breath.”

  “Then you have my blessing, young man,” he’d said. “Now, let’s go inside before Anne orders another bottle of wine.”

  I’d grinned and followed him, but his words had been on my mind all day and night afterward, so much so that Emma had asked me what was wrong with me.

  The fact that this was the one thing I couldn’t stop thinking about, in spite of all the other things pressing on me? The lawsuit, the unresolved issues with Emma’s safety, the press . . . the stress was tremendous, but all I could think about was getting on one knee and asking Emma to be my wife.

  A fire lit inside me and I stood. Grabbin
g my jacket from the hook beside the door, I slipped it on and headed out onto the city streets. It was a chilly day, but luckily for me, the jeweler wasn’t a far walk from my apartment. When I reached the store, I walked inside and made a beeline for the first display case of rings I could find.

  “How can I help you today, sir?”

  An older woman with auburn hair twisted into a knot smiled at me from behind the case, and I grinned back at her.

  “I’m looking for an engagement ring for the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to disappoint, but I’m already married, sir.” She winked, and I chuckled.

  “Could I see this one?” I pointed to a ring with a massive round diamond nestled in the center of a halo of smaller diamonds. The band was platinum, and as I took it in my hand, I held it out, trying to imagine it on Emma’s slender finger.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think that one’s quite right.”

  The saleswoman took it back, then reached for a new selection. “How about this one?”

  This was a more traditional ring. A five-carat diamond sat in the center of a cluster of diamonds that lined the entire band. It was paired with a matching wedding ring with an equal number of glittering stones. As I looked at the shimmering confection of a ring, it practically blinded me, but I knew this, too, wasn’t right for Emma.

  I frowned and shook my head. “Not that one either.”

  The woman took the ring back and placed it inside the case again. “Maybe it would help if we had a price point?” she asked carefully.

  I shook my head. “Price is no object.”

  She rose her eyebrows. “All right then, what about this?”

  She moved to another case and took out another ring, heavier than the others when she placed it in the center of my palm. The stone must have been at least ten karats, and it was flawless in every light. On either side of the rock sat two smaller, but equally impressive diamonds, and underneath was a diamond-encrusted band that hugged each of the cushion-cut stones.