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?”
“A little issue . . . in the kitchen.”
She nodded. “I’ll be back.”
“Fine.” He could use a minute alone . . . time to collect his thoughts.
He watched his wife . . . his temporary wife, he reminded himself . . . walk away, and in her place, Andrew stood.
“I’m not sure what I expected,” Andrew said in a whisper. “But it wasn’t her.”
Hunter had disengaged . . . tapped out . . .
He hadn’t said a word, or lent a hand to her, since she’d pulled him into an unexpected kiss.
The crowd in his home thinned, and eventually the only ones standing were Tiffany and a few select employees of Hunter’s LA office.
Gabi meandered around, directing the staff as they cleaned and set the room to rights. The kitchen slowly became something respective of a bachelor pad.
Gabi walked out of the kitchen in time to see the last of Hunter’s guests leave.
“I’ll be back Tuesday,” he told his secretary, “but out again on Wednesday.”
Tiffany tipped a hand in the air, her eyes a tad glossed over from the free-flowing champagne. “Gotcha covered.”
Hunter peered closer. “Someone driving you home?”
She waved a finger in the air and said, “Have that covered, too.” She giggled, which seemed to surprise Hunter. Tiffany glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Gabi. “Good luck.”
Then the slightly intoxicated personal secretary wobbled on a two-inch heel and stumbled out the door.
OK, maybe slightly was an understatement.
Once the door closed, Gabi called behind her, “Andrew?”
“Yes, Mrs. Blackwell?”
“Can you make sure Tiffany has a ride . . . that she doesn’t get in her own car?”
“I’ll call the desk.”
“Thank you.”
She went ahead and slipped off her heels. It wasn’t quite eleven, but the night had taken a beating on her feet. With her shoes in her hand, she lifted the floor-length dress and made her way to the leather couch.
She dropped the shoes by the sofa and moved to what remained of the bar. “Marilyn, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you. You were great tonight.” If there was one thing being the sister of a successful restaurateur had taught her, it was to be grateful for every efficient staff member.
“My pleasure.”
Gabi took leave to pour a final glass of champagne for the evening. She’d refrained most of the night and looked forward to relaxing.
From the corner of her eye, Gabi noticed Hunter removing his jacket and tugging on his bow tie.
Hector and the remaining staff members emerged from the kitchen. “We’re all cleaned up in there,” the chef said.
“Are you married?” Gabi asked, feeling safe to ask with the evidence of said relationship sitting on the chef’s ring finger.
“I am.”
Gabi turned to the remaining bottles of champagne and took one of the many dozen roses in the room and handed them both to the chef. “For your wife. Thank you for ensuring our guests weren’t ill.”
Hector offered a full-watt smile, glanced behind her, then back. “Thank you, Mrs. Blackwell. Please call on us whenever you need a caterer.”
“I’ll do that.”
Once the last staff member had left, and only Andrew and Hunter remained, Gabi collapsed into the sofa.
“Miss Tiffany was escorted home. Her car is in the garage,” Andrew announced. “Unless you need me, I’ll retire,” he said.
Gabi glanced at her distant husband. “Good night,” Hunter said.
“Thank you, Andrew.” Gabi said.
With a slight tip of his head, Andrew offered a smile and left the room.