Treasured by Thursday
Page 31
When the computer-generated warning Denied Access. Misspelled Password flashed, he locked his teeth together and slowly tried again.
Access Denied!
Without thought, Diaz unloaded a round into the computer.
The server who had been en route with a replenishing drink screamed, dropped the tray, and stood in paralyzed fear.
Diaz pushed back, the chair falling behind him. “Clean this up,” he hollered before moving into the comfort of his air-conditioned refuge deep in the Colombian jungle.
Hunter’s wife emerged from the door of his kitchen with a lift to her lips. O’Riley stopped her and the two of them engaged in a conversation. When she tilted the champagne to her mouth, Hunter realized it was the first time he’d actually seen her drink something other than coffee, tea, or water. The memory of her switching his wine with hers when they first entered the room made him question why.
Did she have a problem with drinking? In his experience, those who didn’t drink at their age weren’t able to handle it.
O’Riley said something that made her laugh, and an unexpected snap of jealousy hit him.
Hunter excused himself and wove his way to Gabi’s side.
“Is that right?” he heard Gabi say to O’Riley.
“Is what right?” Hunter slid a proprietary hand across the dipping back of Gabi’s gown and let it rest on her hip.
She attempted to place room between them, but Hunter kept his fingers firm, not letting her go.
“Travis was just telling me that your absence in the New York office has your employees jumping whenever they see you.”
“Well, Travis.” He emphasized the other man’s name, pissed that Gabi was using it. “I haven’t noticed you jumping.”
“I jump . . . I just hide it better than most.”
Travis knew that flirting with Hunter’s wife would result in more than a hop in the air. He’d be jumping into an unemployment line if he wasn’t careful.
“I’ll be sure and watch for that, Mr. O’Riley.”
Travis lifted a brow, his smile waned.
Hunter leaned close to Gabi’s ear. “I’d like to address the crowd for a toast.”
“If you’ll excuse us, Travis,” Gabi said as Hunter pulled her away. “That was abrupt,” she said so only he could hear.
“Flirting with an employee isn’t wise.”
She laughed. “Talking and flirting are worlds apart, Hunter.”
Gabi passed a waiter and motioned him over. “Mr. Blackwell is proposing a toast. Have the champagne available for the guests.”
“Yes, Mrs. Blackwell.”
Hunter guided her to where the pianist played and watched Gabi motion the performer to pull the piece to a close.
Sitting back, Hunter noticed the servers—all of them—exchange their food trays for those filled with sparkling wine.
Though he hadn’t researched Gabi’s ability to be the perfect hostess, she obviously understood her way around a social event.
A waiter stopped before them, and instead of picking a flute for his wife, he offered her first choice.
She lifted two, handed him one.
His guests slowly stopped talking and turned their attention toward them.
It didn’t take long for the low muttering of the crowd to dim, and the attention of his guests fell on him.
When Gabi edged back to give Hunter the spotlight, he reached out to keep her close.
She smiled and looked over the room.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Hunter began. “After meeting my beautiful bride, I’m sure you can understand my need to keep her away from just about everyone in the room so I could encourage her to say yes.”
A low level of laughter, and probably more secret nods than he’d prefer, commenced.
“I hope you embrace her as you have me.”
He turned, made a point of capturing her eyes for his next words. “To Gabriella Blackwell, who has taken on the challenge of making me a better man.”
A wicked smile met her lips. “I don’t believe those words were in our vows.”
Those who heard her laughed.
“To Gabi.” He lifted his glass, set it against hers, and drank.
She was still smiling when he took her glass from her hand and set them both on the baby grand.
Someone in the room graciously started a ring of their glass, and within seconds there was a universal sound that every wedding reception understood.
Gabi’s gaze fell to the floor, but the smile on her lips held when Hunter moved into her personal space. He set his hand to the side of her face and looked into the depths of her dark gaze. He saw acceptance there instead of fear . . . he took that as encouragement and lowered his lips.
Unlike their first kiss, on a street corner for the purpose of exposure, this one . . . while for exposure, was softer. Her lips parted, inviting . . . and God help him, he wanted to explore.
She moaned when he pulled away, and did the unexpected. Gabi pulled his lapel and forced a second kiss, bringing laughter to those watching. Her kiss was brief, and when she moved away, she ran a finger over his lips, removing the evidence of her presence.
He caught her eyes, and for a brief moment . . . the space of two breaths . . . neither of them blinked. Something, he wasn’t sure what, shifted inside her, and she lifted her lips in a soft smile that wasn’t forced . . . wasn’t fake.
Hunter lost his breath, knew he grew a special shade of pale.
Gabi laid her hand to his arm.
“Mrs. Blackwell,” one of the servers called while the guests resumed their previous conversations.
She turned, offered the waiter an ear. “Yes?”
Access Denied!
Without thought, Diaz unloaded a round into the computer.
The server who had been en route with a replenishing drink screamed, dropped the tray, and stood in paralyzed fear.
Diaz pushed back, the chair falling behind him. “Clean this up,” he hollered before moving into the comfort of his air-conditioned refuge deep in the Colombian jungle.
Hunter’s wife emerged from the door of his kitchen with a lift to her lips. O’Riley stopped her and the two of them engaged in a conversation. When she tilted the champagne to her mouth, Hunter realized it was the first time he’d actually seen her drink something other than coffee, tea, or water. The memory of her switching his wine with hers when they first entered the room made him question why.
Did she have a problem with drinking? In his experience, those who didn’t drink at their age weren’t able to handle it.
O’Riley said something that made her laugh, and an unexpected snap of jealousy hit him.
Hunter excused himself and wove his way to Gabi’s side.
“Is that right?” he heard Gabi say to O’Riley.
“Is what right?” Hunter slid a proprietary hand across the dipping back of Gabi’s gown and let it rest on her hip.
She attempted to place room between them, but Hunter kept his fingers firm, not letting her go.
“Travis was just telling me that your absence in the New York office has your employees jumping whenever they see you.”
“Well, Travis.” He emphasized the other man’s name, pissed that Gabi was using it. “I haven’t noticed you jumping.”
“I jump . . . I just hide it better than most.”
Travis knew that flirting with Hunter’s wife would result in more than a hop in the air. He’d be jumping into an unemployment line if he wasn’t careful.
“I’ll be sure and watch for that, Mr. O’Riley.”
Travis lifted a brow, his smile waned.
Hunter leaned close to Gabi’s ear. “I’d like to address the crowd for a toast.”
“If you’ll excuse us, Travis,” Gabi said as Hunter pulled her away. “That was abrupt,” she said so only he could hear.
“Flirting with an employee isn’t wise.”
She laughed. “Talking and flirting are worlds apart, Hunter.”
Gabi passed a waiter and motioned him over. “Mr. Blackwell is proposing a toast. Have the champagne available for the guests.”
“Yes, Mrs. Blackwell.”
Hunter guided her to where the pianist played and watched Gabi motion the performer to pull the piece to a close.
Sitting back, Hunter noticed the servers—all of them—exchange their food trays for those filled with sparkling wine.
Though he hadn’t researched Gabi’s ability to be the perfect hostess, she obviously understood her way around a social event.
A waiter stopped before them, and instead of picking a flute for his wife, he offered her first choice.
She lifted two, handed him one.
His guests slowly stopped talking and turned their attention toward them.
It didn’t take long for the low muttering of the crowd to dim, and the attention of his guests fell on him.
When Gabi edged back to give Hunter the spotlight, he reached out to keep her close.
She smiled and looked over the room.
“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Hunter began. “After meeting my beautiful bride, I’m sure you can understand my need to keep her away from just about everyone in the room so I could encourage her to say yes.”
A low level of laughter, and probably more secret nods than he’d prefer, commenced.
“I hope you embrace her as you have me.”
He turned, made a point of capturing her eyes for his next words. “To Gabriella Blackwell, who has taken on the challenge of making me a better man.”
A wicked smile met her lips. “I don’t believe those words were in our vows.”
Those who heard her laughed.
“To Gabi.” He lifted his glass, set it against hers, and drank.
She was still smiling when he took her glass from her hand and set them both on the baby grand.
Someone in the room graciously started a ring of their glass, and within seconds there was a universal sound that every wedding reception understood.
Gabi’s gaze fell to the floor, but the smile on her lips held when Hunter moved into her personal space. He set his hand to the side of her face and looked into the depths of her dark gaze. He saw acceptance there instead of fear . . . he took that as encouragement and lowered his lips.
Unlike their first kiss, on a street corner for the purpose of exposure, this one . . . while for exposure, was softer. Her lips parted, inviting . . . and God help him, he wanted to explore.
She moaned when he pulled away, and did the unexpected. Gabi pulled his lapel and forced a second kiss, bringing laughter to those watching. Her kiss was brief, and when she moved away, she ran a finger over his lips, removing the evidence of her presence.
He caught her eyes, and for a brief moment . . . the space of two breaths . . . neither of them blinked. Something, he wasn’t sure what, shifted inside her, and she lifted her lips in a soft smile that wasn’t forced . . . wasn’t fake.
Hunter lost his breath, knew he grew a special shade of pale.
Gabi laid her hand to his arm.
“Mrs. Blackwell,” one of the servers called while the guests resumed their previous conversations.
She turned, offered the waiter an ear. “Yes?”
