Tracy Wolff - No Apologies

Tracy Wolff

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Chapter One

He was staring at her. Though she didn’t look—why ruin the game so soon—she felt the heat of his dark chocolate gaze cruising down her neck to her partially bare breasts and beyond, taking in every detail of her new dress and the body that lay beneath it. She’d thought of him when she’d chosen the red silk. Imagined his expression the first time he saw her in it and the unbelievable pleasure she would feel as he slowly peeled her out of it.

He shifted in his seat and a shiver of pure liquid lust shot through her at the simple movement, though she caught it only out of the corner of her eye. She shouldn’t be this attuned to him—it just wasn’t normal, no matter what wicked, wonderful things she’d let him do to her body for the last three months. And, she admitted, she’d let him do a lot. She’d given him everything he asked for and more; so much more that it disturbed her sometimes.

She didn’t know how to deal with this…obsession. Annalise cringed at the word, but could think of nothing else to describe the craving she had for Gabe every moment of every day. No one else could satisfy it, no matter how hard she’d tried to find someone who could. And God, how she tried—every chance she got. Nearly every night he wasn’t with her she made sure she was flat on her back beneath someone else. A momentary diversion, a last ditch effort to stop the need he built so explosively, and effortlessly, within her.

She refused to turn out like her mother—her beautiful, youthful, completely insane mother. Living with one man while chasing after another, changing marriages like underwear—until her life was nothing but one long nervous breakdown. No thank you. Been there, seen that.

Yet her feelings for Gabe remained more powerful than she liked. Obsession. Need. The words whispered through her until all she could think about, all she could feel, was Gabe.

The distance between their tables was negligible in the sleepy little restaurant. He sat halfway across the room, immersed in a business discussion of stocks and commodities and so many other things she couldn’t care less about, but Annalise felt each of his glances like a caress.

Though she refused to look up from the menu she was oh so carelessly perusing, his pull battered her defenses. Enveloped her until she was wet and aching and ready to let him fuck her right there in the middle of Emilio’s exclusive dining room. Yet, when she’d risked a glance at him earlier, he’d looked completely unruffled. How could he turn her into a raving, sex-crazed lunatic and still manage to stay so untouched?

Fuck it. She reached for her wine, took a healthy sip. Two could play his game. After all, she’d been doing it for more years and with more men than she could count. She had to remember that Gabe was just one more.

Deliberately she uncrossed her silk-clad legs, one slow inch at a time. Leaning back in her chair slightly, she let her knees fall open—nothing too graphic in dear Emilio’s little restaurant—just enough to reveal a smooth expanse of leg and a hint of the shadow near the apex of her thighs.

She used one slender finger to toy with her water glass—a careless slide around the rim, a little dip into the cool water, an absentminded skim across red lips. She studied her menu—though she knew it by heart and he knew she did.

But it gave her an excuse to ignore him as his eyes forged a blazing path up the long legs he loved to kiss. Legs made even longer by the Jimmy Choos with the five-inch heels she had just spent way too much of her last paycheck on. But the second she’d seen them it had been love at first sight.

Annalise couldn’t help grinning. What did it say about her that she had a more emotional and lasting relationship with her shoes than she did with any man? Even Gabe.

Smart, she decided as she glanced down at the sparkly crimson miracles, admiring the sheer beauty and craftsmanship that had gone into her most recent purchase. Investing in her shoes instead of a man definitely made her smarter than so many of the women she competed with on the dating scene.

She glanced up as her waiter approached. “Can I get you another chardonnay, Annalise?” Angelo asked, laying a familiar hand on her shoulder and leaning down to speak quietly in her ear.

Taking the last sip, she handed him her glass with a flourish. “You bet, sugar. But just one more—I’m driving.”

He glanced across the restaurant. “Gabe’s busy tonight, huh?”

“Oh yeah. You know Gabe and his one-track mind.” Though she was doing her best to distract him. Leaning into Angelo, she gave a breathy laugh and laid a well-manicured hand on his forearm.

He nodded, his blue eyes darkening as she stroked him through the thin fabric of his suit. “If he’s busy for the rest of the night, I get off at ten-thirty.” His hand slid from her shoulder to the small of her back.

Annalise grinned up at him—she couldn’t help it, he was just so irrepressible. And one of her favorite fuck buddies for just that reason. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” she murmured, turning in to him so that her breasts brushed against his arm.

“Too long,” he answered, his voice deepening as her nipple hardened against his muscular bicep. Gabe and his hot stare had her in such a state of arousal that just that one quick brush against Angelo had her nipples standing at attention.

But she had bigger plans and, with a sigh of regret, she eased back from him. “I’ve got something going tonight, sugar. But if you’re free on Monday…”

His grin was frankly sensual. “I’ll call you.”

“You do that.” She gave him a slow smile and a wink before letting her hand drop, oh so leisurely, from his arm. “And I’ll take the pasta primavera whenever you get a chance.”

“You got it.” After an intimate shoulder squeeze, he headed toward the kitchen, a noticeable spring in his step.

Annalise grinned before she could help herself. Men were just too easy. Or at least, most men were. She spent a minute watching Angelo walk away, giving both Gabe and herself a chance to process the interaction.

Not that Gabe really needed much time to process, she mused. His fury was a living entity, crossing the space between them and skewering her without a word. She was playing with fire and she knew it—but the pleasurable pain that came with the burn made the game impossible to resist.

Besides, Gabe’s possessive nature was beginning to grate. She’d made it abundantly clear before they’d gotten together—and in the months since—that they weren’t exclusive. They weren’t serious. And they certainly weren’t emotionally involved. She didn’t do emotions and hadn’t for eight long years. And Gabe had agreed when she’d laid out the rules.

Agreed, hell, he’d been right there with her—looking for a good time with no strings attached. It’s what had made them so perfect for each other. He knew she had guys on the side—she let things slip every once in a while, sometimes refused to see him because she already had a date, occasionally answered calls from other men when she was out with him. Just little clues, enough to make sure he knew that she wasn’t harboring any happily-ever-after fantasies like so many of the other women in his life. And he definitely had other women—she wasn’t naive enough to think that he didn’t. Nor did it bother her—why should it when he always had more than enough left to give her what she wanted?