Gabe’s shoulders relaxed, and then a glint of humor sparkled in her eye. “Road trip? I call shotgun.”
…
The sophisticated and trendy crew of three spent seven miserable hours traveling to Edinburgh. Henry wanted to escape both Gabe and Simon by the end of the day. He insisted they stop for lunch and appropriate breaks. Simon, however, wanted to arrive before a football match began, and Gabe wanted to tour the Old Town before it became too dark. Their lunch at a charming inn near Manchester had been marred by rude comments and the incessant tapping of Gabe’s fingers. After lunch, Simon and Gabe, who had appropriated the front seat of Simon’s Range Rover, refused to speak to him for messing with their plans. He ignored them as well and tried to catch up on some of his reading.
Gabe insisted that Colin Fisher, Henry’s new identity and a man she seemed to prefer over plain Henry, wear designer jeans, the black leather boots she’d demanded he buy on their shopping spree, and a white linen shirt open at the neck. Since he rarely ventured out as the Earl of Ripon, except to the occasional benefit, he shouldn’t worry about being recognized. Just in case, however, Gabe slicked his hair behind his ears. The gel caused his scalp to itch. She wouldn’t let him pack more comfortable clothes for the ride home, saying he had to stay in character the entire journey. It would be a miserable weekend. And the prospect of locating one stolen painting among thousands was slim.
Henry did find a light at the end of the tunnel through hell. The Balmoral Hotel. Opulent, elegant, expensive. Simon paid, or maybe his employer did. His brother wouldn’t say.
When they entered the suite, Simon locked himself in one of the bedrooms, leaving Gabe and Henry to fend for themselves. Gabe immediately raced to the other bedroom, but Henry arrived first and claimed the space.
“Henry, you better share that bed with me. I refuse to sleep on the couch.”
“You claimed shotgun in the car; I claim the bedroom.” The prospect of sharing the room with her looked good. Better than good. Even if he slept on the outer edge of the bed, he’d be within arm’s reach of her.
“Fine. I’ll go ask Simon if he’ll share.” She sauntered across the reception area.
Henry caught up with her halfway to Simon’s room. “I get the right side of the bed. We both remain fully clothed.”
Gabe smiled like the Cheshire cat. “Deal.”
She turned and walked back to their bedroom. He remained on the large recliner in the living room for an hour to give Gabe time to fall asleep, although she never did what was expected.
Trying to enter the room quietly, Henry maneuvered toward the bed, but Gabe had shut the lights off. He couldn’t see a bloody thing. He tripped over her suitcase and fell with a thud.
“Henry, I’m trying to sleep. Be quiet.”
He struggled to stand up, then limped over to the bedside table and turned the light on.
Gabe was sprawled in the middle of the bed. She was wearing his T-shirt. She’d better have something on underneath. He only had a limited amount of restraint, and she’d already taxed most of it. She hadn’t pursued a more intimate relationship with him since Ripon. He wouldn’t pressure her, but damn, he wanted her. Sexual frustration would not help his performance at the art show.
When he finished dressing in his boxers and a clean undershirt, he slid beneath the covers careful not to touch her. He failed.
“Can you move over a foot?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed, her breathing was heavy, and her body was weighed down like a petrified tree. It was like someone had snapped their fingers and knocked her out. He tried to get comfortable, but unless he wrapped his arm around her, half his body would be off the bed.
Giving up, he rolled toward his tormentor and rested on the edge of her pillow. Her scent smelled of his shampoo and her own particular brand of aphrodisiac. She yawned and shifted her head onto his shoulder. He remained uncomfortably aware of her for most of the night, staring at the wall and wishing he wasn’t a gentleman.
After what seemed like a five-minute nap, he sensed someone watching him. Cracking open an eye revealed Simon standing next to the bed, fully dressed and ready to start the day.
“I heard from Roman, tonight’s host. He wants to meet you. Now.”
Gabe’s arm stretched across Henry’s chest. Simon raised his eyebrows and grinned.
“Me?” Henry asked.
Gabe slowly came to life, but continued to rest her head on Henry. Her subtle movements woke up parts of Henry’s body better left sleeping.
“He doesn’t trust you’re legitimate, and he’ll barricade the exhibition before he allows an undercover officer entry.” Simon started toward the door.
“I’m up.” Henry stretched, but Gabe’s position restricted his movement. “What about Gabe?”
Simon shrugged. “He doesn’t need to see my current lover. She’s unimportant to him.”
Henry’s stomach dropped. Without her, he’d have to rely on the knowledge gained in the two art history classes he took years ago to prove he was a legitimate buyer.
She wrapped her arm around Henry’s waist and gazed up at him from the pillow. “Morning. Sleep well?” She kissed his cheek. “I slept like a baby.”
At least one of them did. Moving Gabe away his shoulder, Henry swung his legs off the bed and sat up. “I didn’t sleep at all because this sexy blonde wearing a T-shirt and probably nothing else planted herself on my chest and cut off the circulation in my arm. I may be unable to shake anyone’s hand today.” He shook out his arm. It was numb, but functional.
“Have fun at your meeting. Can you order me an American breakfast from room service? Double the bacon, double the coffee. No cream.” She pulled the covers over her shoulders and placed Henry’s pillow on top of her head.
Henry ignored her and headed to the shower. He needed to get his game on.
Chapter Fourteen