Chapter 9 Chapter Nine - Gabriella
I walk up the stairs with cautious steps managing to balance the tray in one hand while I open the door with the other. I enter the lounge only to be hit with this wave of static electricity so thick it’s almost suffocating, yet incredibly comforting at the same time. I take a few steps and place the tray on the small table and as I do I feel a set of eyes burning a hole in my skull. I lift my head only to freeze in place as I look into an extremely familiar pair of liquid silver eyes, staring at me with an intensity that makes my mouth go dry.
It’s him!
Holy fucking shit!
What the fuck is he doing back here? I mean, I know it’s him. How many guys have long voluminous snow-white hair that looks like something out of a Pantene commercial, with unbelievable silver-coloured eyes and are built taller and bulker than a Sherman Tank? The dude stands out like a sore thumb. The corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, that not even his equally white beard can hide. Does that mean he recognises me? I watch, glued to the spot as his eyes slowly roam my body as if committing it to memory and I do a quick mental check of what the fuck I put on tonight.
I went with beige khaki flag pocket booty shorts, a half button-down white halter-neck top with a collar and black platform wedge sneakers with diamantes over the toes and around the ankle. My makeup is always on point – ain’t no one clocking my mug – and my hair is done in a long plait that reaches down my back. I look hot, so I have absolutely no issue being reunited in this outfit. He, on the other hand, is dressed more down than when I last saw him and yet still looks good enough to eat. He’s wearing one of those black hooded workout tank tops with a drawstring collar, super tight ripped-out white jeans and white sneakers. Given the size of the muscles littering his body, I can’t help but wonder whether or not the jeans were ripped before or after he put them on.
I hear the sound of a throat being cleared, which breaks me out of this hypnotic staring contest I found myself in. I straighten up and notice the person next to him, and as soon as I see the fire truck red dreadlocks, I know this is the same person who was with my mystery man the other night. Now that he – or more likely they – is maskless I can appreciate just how inhumanly good-looking they are too. Seeing as how they aren’t dwarfed by Zeus over here; I have to guess they are also over seven feet tall. I’ve never in my life met someone who was over seven feet tall, and now I’ve encountered two in a week.
I briefly blink in surprise when I notice they have the exact same liquid silver eyes. I’m trying to see a contact line on either of them, but I just can’t see one, and now that I’m this close to both of them, I can’t clock a wig line either. If both their hair is real then I do not want to see their salon bill.
The one with red hair has the smoothest dark espresso skin, full lips with cheekbones and a jawline cut so sharp they should be listed as deadly weapons. They’re dressed in high-waisted black leather pants, a black fitted – I assume – long-sleeved top with a black leather turtleneck collar, a long black coat with a wide black fur collar with once again, fabulous heels! Well, no heels actually. They’re black latex heelless platform boots. They look like a Caribbean, BDSM fantasy, and I’m seriously here for it. I’m also really hoping they’re just friends, and this isn’t some open relationship or some polyamorous thing I’m being invited into. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I don’t share.
The redhead suddenly turns their head away as if to keep from laughing, and I can’t figure out what they suddenly find so amusing. Nevertheless, I’m on the clock so I try to be professional, even though I’m just a couple feet away from a guy who had his fingers inside me a few nights ago.
“Enjoy your drinks and if there’s anything else you need, just hit the buzzer and a server will be with you,” I say with a smile and turn towards the door.
“Thank you, Gabriella,” says that deep magnetic baritone voice that sends my nerves into hyperdrive.
I freeze with my hand on the door handle as every libidinous thought quickly exits my brain. I slowly turn to face my former seducer with distrustful eyes.
“What did you just call me?” I ask.
He quirks a bushy but sculpted brow, “Gabriella?”
“How the hell do you know my name?” I ask accusingly as the redhead looks between us in amusement, taking a shot of tequila and downing it like it was water.
“I asked around,” he shrugs nonchalantly.
“Bullshit,” I clap back, crossing my arms over my chest.
The look of shock on this man’s face is as if no one has ever dared speak back to him. Well, he’s in for a rude awakening. I don’t care if he has the body of a 28-year-old Adonis with hair whiter than pure amphetamines.
“Why exactly do you think that’s bullshit?” he asks with genuine curiosity.
“Because we have a code here, no one on staff refers to anyone by their real name and we sure as fuck don’t go handing out each other’s personal and private information to strangers. It’s a safety precaution we all follow, and since these people are like family, I know there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that any one of them told you my name,” I say churlishly.
The redhead’s face breaks into a wide smile, “Oh, I like her,” they comment.
“Get out,” my mystery man orders without breaking his eyes away from me.
The redhead looks annoyed, “You know you really need to stop kicking people out of places you don’t own.” His companion just looks at him with a face that says, ‘Don’t fuck with me.’ The redhead huffs in exasperation and gets up. They picks up another shot and down it before walking over to me then lean down bring their lips to my ear, “Good luck with him,” he whispers, then leave the room.
It’s now just me and mystery man alone in this room and I don’t know how I feel about that. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, still looking at me with that same intensity. “You’re right, I didn’t ask for your name,” he confesses, surprising me. I was sure he’d keep trying to lie to me.
“So then how did you know my name?”
“Would you believe me if I said I read your mind?” he says, with not a hint of humour in his voice.
So, I’m normally someone who can spot a lie a mile away. And don’t go using my ex against me, technically he never lied, he just never told me anything, so my record still stands. Point is, I would swear he’s telling the truth if his version of the truth didn’t sound so ludicrous.
“You really expect me to believe that?” I say dubiously, “Do I look stupid to you?”
He gets up, his head almost hitting the ceiling as he walks over to me. As he gets dangerously close to my personal space, I start to back up until my back hits the door with a thud. Now boxed in, he leans his forearm against the door above my head and leans down so we’re at eye level, “I wouldn’t lie to you,” he says wholeheartedly, as his scent invades my senses with this heady aroma that feels like it’s trying to rob me of my faculties. He smells sweet, but warm with masculine undertones and yet at the same time smells exactly like a thunderstorm in the middle of summer.
I try to focus my thoughts as I place my hand on his chest, feeling my fingertips burn where they touch his bare skin. I have to suppress the gasp wanting to escape me as I focus on the task at hand: getting this guy out of my personal space for the sake of my sanity.
“Listen budget Thor,” I snap, causing his eyes to widen in incredulity, “I think you need to back up on out of my personal space, comprende?”
Instead of listening to me, he leans in further until I feel his warm breath against my ear, “That’s not what you wanted the other night,” he says in a husky voice.
I gulp as a shiver comes over my body and I resist the impulse to clench my thighs, “The other night was different, and I gave my consent.”
He instantly straightens up and takes a step back, surprising me again, but immediately making the air easier to breathe.
“Ezillus and I are not in an open or polyamorous relationship,” he says while sliding his hands into his pockets, and something about that action tells me it’s done in an attempt to keep himself from touching me.
“Who?” I ask in confusion.
“The friend who was in here. You thought we were possibly an item; I assure you we aren’t. While Ezillus does not discriminate when it comes to the gender they bed, I’m far more selective,” he says with a smirk.
I stare at him in disbelief… holy fuck. How the hell did he know I was thinking that?! There’s no fucking way he can read my thoughts.
“How are you doing that?”
“That’s a loaded question.”
“How?” I ask sceptically.
“Because to explain how I can, I would have to explain what I am, and I don’t think you’re ready for that,” he says, with an almost anxious tone to his voice.
“You could start with a name. You know mine, but I don’t know yours.”
He smiles and nods, “My name is Jartre,” he says, holding out his hand in greeting.
I’ve never heard of such a name, but I like it. It’s unique, like him.
I cautiously reach out and shake his hand, feeling my hand burn from the contact, but the burning is more likely to make me moan than scream.
“Okay, Jartre. What do you mean you’d have to explain to me what you are? What are you? A CIA agent? Secret government experiment?” I say mockingly.
“A God,” he deadpans.
“Oookaaay, I think that’s enough talking now.” Fucking hell, why do I always attract the crazy ones? “So, I’m going to go now, and you are not going to follow me.”
“You’re going to believe me sooner or later,” he says confidently as if he’s stating a known fact.
“Right… Well, this was fun, but I have to get back to work now so… bye,” I say as I quickly dash out of the lounge.
The moment I shut the door behind me I can feel my senses clearing and the air becoming lighter. I make my way down the stairs in disbelief and an overwhelming amount of shame. The first guy I let touch me in months and he’s a fucking nutcase, can I pick them or what?