Gideon - Book cover

Gideon

Nicole Riddley

Not A ~Date~ Date

LAYLA

“Well, you keep this money as a reward for a job well done…” Gideon casually brings his hand up to his chin and taps his full bottom lip as if he’s thinking hard.

My eyes follow the movement of his long, graceful finger. “But sleeping on the job is pretty bad, isn’t it?”

His beautiful face pulls into a grimace, which makes me feel even guiltier, but he soldiers on. “So…I propose that you make it up to me.”

My wariness level goes up even higher, but not enough for me to keep my mouth shut. “Make it up to you how?”

“You see, Layla,” he says smoothly. “I haven’t had my dinner yet. I’m quite famished, but I really hate dining alone. Let’s say you accompany me and we forget the whole thing about you falling asleep during work.”

I frown. Something’s not quite right here, but I can’t seem to put my finger on it. Especially when he’s looking at me with those eyes. “That’s all? Just accompany you to dinner and all is forgotten?”

“Yes, that’s it.” He leans back against the wall and casually hooks his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans.

But rather than looking relaxed, he reminds me of a hunter waiting for his prey to walk right into the trap he just set.

“What about your fiancée or girlfriend or whatever?” There’s a pinch in my heart when I say those words, but I keep going. “Why aren’t you having dinner with her?”

“I don’t have a fiancée, Layla.” He gives me a tiny smile. “Or a girlfriend.”

***

As soon as we step outside the lobby of his penthouse building, a valet jumps out of a sleek red sports car. I don’t know what type of car it is, but I know it must have cost a fortune.

The valet, a man about my age, hands Gideon the key and starts to open the car door for me. But Gideon waves the man away and holds the door open himself.

“This is your car?” I ask him, even though it shouldn’t have surprised me. I knew he was rich.

“Lykan Hypersport.”

Huh? Is he telling me he’s a lycan? Are there different types?

“The car,” he explains when I raise my confused eyes to look at him. “It’s a Lykan Hypersport.”

Oh, the car. How appropriate.

“Do you like it?”

I don’t want to be rude but can’t find it in me to lie either, so I wrinkle my nose.

Instead of being offended, he laughs. It’s a wonderful sound, and it makes my insides twist worse than a pretzel.

“This is the first time I’ve seen someone turn up their nose up at a rare, 3.4 million dollar sports car,” he says after his laughter subsides. “Good thing it’s not mine.”

As I lower myself into the car, I wonder if my eyebrows have disappeared into my hairline.

3.4 million for a car?

I don’t think I’ve been in anything worth anywhere close to 3.4 million dollars before… Well, except maybe his penthouse.

The luxurious seat molds my body, and the smell of leather and shit tons of money fills my nose. The inside is very nice, indeed.

I look up at him. “If it’s not yours, then whose is it?”

“It belongs to a friend,” he says before he closes my door.

I buckle up, then smooth down my charcoal-gray sweater.

After I agreed to accompany Gideon to dinner, I changed out of my uniform and back into what I wore to class this morning: black high-rise jean leggings, a sweater, and a pair of black ankle boots.

“Your friend lets you use his car?” I ask him as soon as he gets behind the wheel.

“He owes me a favor.” He pushes a button and the engine purrs to life.

“But 3.4 million…? Must be some friend.”

He grins, showing me his straight white teeth with those slightly prominent canines. “He owes me big.”

“Oh, okay.” I’m pretty sure Sarah wouldn’t even let me borrow Tootsie, her beat-up 1998 Toyota Corolla.

“I’ve only driven it once before. My chauffeur usually drives me wherever I need to go.”

“Why? You mean you don’t love having to deal with LA traffic?”

It’s feeling too intimate inside this car. Gideon’s masculine scent, which I’m so addicted to, is beginning to overpower all the other smells in here.

He chuckles, and oh lord…even his chuckle sounds classy. That’s it, I am so doomed.

“It’s not really about the traffic, though that’s a bonus. It’s more so I can continue to work on the way to my next destination.”

“You’re a workaholic.”

“I suppose I am,” he admits, then maneuvers the car into the flow of traffic.

GIDEON

As we wait for the appetizers to arrive, I watch Layla fidget with her silverware, then put it down again. A second later she picks up a steak knife, and not wanting her to hurt herself with it, I cover her hand with mine.

A zing of electricity travels up my arm, sending a wave of energy and heat down my spine, and everywhere else, at the contact.

Her hand feels small, fragile, and soft beneath mine.

And when her big light-hazel eyes flicker up to mine, something strange happens to my whole body—like a jolt to the heart or punch to the gut. She takes my breath away.

It happens every time her eyes look into mine.

“I’m not dressed for a place like this,” she whispers urgently. This is the third time she’s mentioned this.

“You look just fine, sweetheart,” I tell her with a lazy smile, and her eyes narrow in irritation. I reluctantly let her hand go.

I know she doesn’t believe me, but it’s the truth. She might not be dressed in the most expensive clothes, and her body might be hidden by that bulky sweater, but nobody could ignore those shapely long legs and that beautiful face.

In fact, when we first arrived at the restaurant I almost growled aloud several times at some jerks who forgot their own dates and were ogling my woman.

And it doesn’t matter what she’s wearing anyway, because nobody else is around right now. I slipped the maître d’ some money earlier and asked to be seated in a very private section, and he brought us up here to the second level.

Layla’s not happy that I ordered food for her—she wanted to just sit there and watch me eat—but I saw the way she was eyeing the food on the tables we passed earlier and the way she inhaled the aromas.

I study her as she looks at anything and everything but me—it’s cute how she thinks she can ignore me—because I find her totally fascinating and delightfully amusing.

I’ve found myself laughing, or trying to contain my laughter, so many times since I met her. And I hardly ever laugh.

Her brown hair is pulled up into a bun, but it’s too wild and glorious to be fully tamed, so a few curly tendrils fall seductively around her delicate oval face.

She has high cheekbones and a cute, pert nose, and her upper lip is thicker than her cushy bottom lip, giving her a permanent sexy pout.

Her flawless, smooth skin is the color of caramel, and it tastes even better.

I was struck speechless by her beauty the first time I saw her. Physically, she’s my dream girl come to life, and I can’t wait to get to know her heart and soul.

I gave up hope of finding my erasthai long ago. Who would have thought that I’d find her conveniently lying in my bed?

Our food arrives, and Layla’s eyes narrow at the server’s overly friendly manner. I’ve been here a few times because the food is very good, so the woman might remember me from my generous tip.

“If you need anything, Mr. Archer,” she says, sounding breathless, “don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you, Mindy,” I tell her, keeping my eyes on my erasthai, who still refuses to look at me. “I’ll be sure to let you know if I need anything.” I grace Mindy with a brief smile, and she blushes prettily.

Layla’s lips thin in irritation, and she picks up a fork like she’s considering jabbing someone in the eye with it. I love it when she gets all riled up. Almost as much as I love making her smile.

The thought that she might be jealous of the waitress makes me feel happy instead of claustrophobic—which is how I always felt when Helen acted as if she had a claim on me.

Layla stabs the shrimp on top of the assortment of vegetables on her plate. “So, why exactly did you trick me into coming here tonight?”

Ah, so she’s figured out that I tricked her.

“By the way,” she adds. “This is not a date.”

That’s cute. “Not a date, huh?” I can’t keep the smile from lips. “Layla, look at me.” I know she’s trying hard to avoid my eyes.

She frowns at the shrimp as if it’s personally offended her and she’s not sure how it ended up on her fork.

“Sweetheart.”

That gets her attention very quickly. Her eyes find mine and she draws in a quick, sharp breath before letting it out slowly.

I can sense a little bit of the tension easing out of her body as she continues to gaze into my eyes.

I know how she feels. Because I feel the same, if not more. I could stare into her eyes forever and never get tired of them.

“We need to talk. That’s why I wanted you here,” I say. “Don’t tell me you didn’t feel the pull between us the moment we set eyes on each other.”

My hand finds hers underneath the table and she gasps. That hum of electricity in the air around us is suddenly pulsating between our skin.

The surge that radiates from the contact causes our hearts to race and puts our bodies in danger of bursting into flames.

“And don’t tell me you don’t feel that,” I continue. “Because I most certainly do.”

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