The Housekeeper's Daughter. Christine Flynn

in the emphatically masculine room, emptied two heavy ashtrays into the plastic bag, and added the remains of chips from a napkin-lined wicker basket and the empty pop cans. She picked up a couple of investment magazines from the long, red leather sofa, added them to a stack by one of the matching wing chairs and gave the dark mahogany tables a quick polishing with a dust rag. The men and the kids had obviously hung out there part of the day.

      She had just moved beneath the large painting of hunting dogs above the desk and was adding the last of the glasses to the tray to take to the kitchen when the squeak of a board outside the open French doors caused her head to jerk up.

      Gabe stood at the threshold. In each hand he held a glass of champagne.

      It wasn’t until he stepped inside that she realized the champagne was for her.

       Chapter Three

       A ddie’s hand slipped from the tray as she watched Gabe cross toward her. She had never seen him in a tuxedo before. Not in person, anyway. She’d seen photos of him in one in Newsweek and in the newspaper, all taken at charity or political fund-raisers. She especially recalled a picture of him at an embassy reception in Washington. At the time, she remembered thinking of how sophisticated and worldly he truly must be to move in such circles.

      She had often wondered since then if he simply suffered formality as part of his heritage and his job, because she saw him only at his most casual. As he stopped in front of her now, she could see for herself that he wore refinement as comfortably as he did his old college sweats. The beautifully cut black tux just made him seem a lot more imposing.

      Confused by his presence, she blinked at what he held. His big body blocked her view of everything but the studs in his blinding white shirt, the blatantly sensual fullness of his mouth and the guardedness in his quicksilver eyes when he held out one of the crystal flutes of bubbling wine.

      “Please,” he said, when she hesitated to take what he offered. Behind him, soft strains of music and the steady drone of a hundred conversations drifted inside. “I want to apologize, Addie. I’m sorry for the way I acted this morning.”

      He raised the glass a little higher.

      Not wanting to be rude, she cautiously took it. “You don’t need to apologize to me,” she murmured, her glance on the bubbles rising in the delicate glass. She felt terribly awkward standing there in her plain shirt and jeans, even if they were what she considered good clothes. When they were outside talking while she worked, the lines of social demarcation didn’t seem so distinct. Here, with him radiating sophistication and surrounded by the trappings of his family’s wealth, she felt as if she should shrink into the walls.

      “I do need to,” he insisted, his deep voice thoughtful. “I was out of line. My only excuse is that you caught me off guard.

      “I’ve known you forever,” he reminded her. “Between that and the promise I made your dad, I guess I was just feeling a little…protective.”

      “You have a gift for understatement,” she said quietly, trying to ignore the odd tug at her heart.

      “Okay. Make that a lot protective,” he allowed, since he had gone a little overbearing on her. “And I really am sorry.”

      Looking as thoughtful as he sounded, he slowly turned the stem of his glass in his blunt-tipped fingers. “You reminded me this morning that you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. I’m quite aware that you’re a grown woman,” he assured her, repeating what she’d so calmly pointed out. “Since you hardly need looking after, I guess all that leaves me to do is hope that this Scott does right by you…and to toast the bride-to-be.”

      He lifted his glass, offered an apologetic smile.

      “Your father wanted only the best for you, Addie. He never wanted you to have to worry or want or have to settle for anything less than what would make you happy.” His broad shoulders lifted in a conceding shrug. “That’s all I want for you, too.”

      Addie’s fingers tightened on her own stem as he tapped the rim of his flute to hers. Crystal rang, the sound of celebration vibrating in the sudden quiet hanging between them.

      The cheerful note seemed terribly out of place. Her father’s wishes for her, Gabe’s wishes, twisted hard at her heart.

      He never wanted you to settle for anything less than what would make you happy.

      …anything less…

      The ringing died, but the words continued to echo in her head. Gabe was doing exactly what she had thought he would have done when he’d first heard her news, wishing her luck, congratulating her, wanting the best for her. She should have felt relieved that everything had gone back to normal. Yet nothing felt normal at all.

      She could again feel the unfamiliar tension in him. It snaked toward her, knotting the nerves in her stomach, tugging her toward him and making her aware of him in ways she had no business considering at all.

      Afraid he would see her trembling if she raised her glass, she set it on the desk and focused on one of the bubbles clinging stubbornly to the inside of the crystal. While others raced past it to burst on top, it held its own, determined to hold its ground.

      Or, maybe, just afraid to break free.

      She found it truly pathetic that she could relate so easily to a bubble. There were things she wanted, but there was so much more she was afraid to even consider because the dreams were so far beyond her reach. Her mother was right. Setting one’s sights too high only led to disappointment. Clinging to what she had seemed so much safer.

      Gabe’s glass joined hers. “You’re still upset with me.”

      “No. I…no,” she repeated.

      “Then, what is it?”

      She shook her head, her focus on the neat pleats in his cummerbund.

      “Addie,” he said, and slipped his fingers under her chin. “Talk to me.”

      Her heart jerked wildly as he tipped her face toward his.

      “I’m not really sure what to say.”

      “Just say you forgive me.”

      “I forgive you.”

      “Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome,” she said, and smiled because he did.

      “I’m going to miss you,” he admitted, that smile finally making its way into his eyes. “It’s not going to be the same here without you.”

      “I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

      “Yeah, but you will. And I can’t imagine that your husband would appreciate me showing up on your doorstep just because I need to vent or get advice or have you tell me my ego is getting in the way of my job.”

      She wanted to tell him he could come to her anytime, but she couldn’t seem to find her voice. The subtle, sensual brush of his thumb over her cheek froze the words in her throat.

      That touch, gentle and innocent as it was, seemed to be toying with a mental lock she’d long ago secured into place.

      As a girl, she had fantasized about being in his arms. As a woman, she had long ago accepted that he was light-years out of her league and felt incredibly lucky just to have his friendship. Now, breathing in the arousing combination of aftershave and warm male, the heat of his hand seeping into her skin, she could barely think at all.

      He brushed her cheek once more, the smile in his eyes slowly fading. In those smoke-gray depths, she saw what looked very much like a struggle as his glance followed the slow, mesmerizing motion of his thumb. It was almost as if he were considering the feel of her skin, savoring it, committing it to memory—and wondering the whole time if he should be touching her at all.

      “Be happy, Addie,” he murmured, and leaned to touch his lips to her cheek.

      Gabe