Page 103 of Angel Eyes

Her hands cradled my head as I took the kiss deeper, pushing my tongue past her soft lips and licking the inside of her mouth. She tasted like strawberries and sunshine, and I felt my control slip as her sweet breaths bathed my throat, stoking the hunger in my core. My thumb climbed her rib cage to one breast, sweeping over the puckered flesh there, and she moaned into my mouth.

“Let me taste you,” I groaned, sliding the straps of her top down her shoulders and unfastening her bra. I shoved the material aside and closed my lips around one dusty-rose nipple, rolling my tongue against the distended tip. Her head fell forward, her hair forming a curtain around us as I pressed a hand between her shoulder blades, pulling her deeper into my mouth.

“Gabriel.” She let go of a harsh breath, her hand moving to stroke me through my jeans. “Take these off.” I flipped her over instead, consuming her in another fevered kiss as her fingers fumbled with my zipper, her desperate whimpers turning my dick solid.

“Take. Them. Off,” she repeated, biting my lip hard.

“Look who’s hungry now?”

“Tease me all you like as long as it ends with you inside me.”

I growled, my fingers digging into her hips. “Is that what you want? For me to take you right on this floor?” She moaned her approval, her thighs pressing tighter around my ribs, and I braced myself on top of her, preparing to shove my jeans down and make good on my word.

Without warning, the door swung open, and I swore violently, yanking Juliet against my chest to cover her.

“Christ. Save some for the honeymoon.” James stood in the doorway, covering his eyes with one hand and gripping a paper bag with the other. He lifted it as if in explanation. “We brought food, but it looks like you guys skipped straight to dessert.”

Juliet hurriedly fastened her bra, her face the color of a beetroot.

I scowled at James. “What the hell are you doing here?”

His lips tilted into a cocky grin. “You asked us to come help with the invitations for your opening, remember?”

“That’s not until noon.”

“Who’s us?” Juliet said, getting to her feet just as James said, “It’s 12:10, asshole. Maybe if you were looking at a clock instead of Juliet’s—”

“You could have at least knocked,” I growled.

“You gave me a key.”

“For emergencies, dickhead.”

“Who’s us?” Juliet repeated.

“Hey, guys.” Lily bounced through the door carrying another paper bag, followed by Nora hauling an armful of water bottles. She paused, glancing between James, Juliet, and me. “Why’s everyone standing around looking at each other?”

James’s grin widened. “Oh, Gabe was just telling me how grateful he is to have such a loyal best friend, so much so that he wants to buy me VIP tickets to the Tour de France this year.”

“Really?” Nora dumped the bottles on the desk. “Those tickets are expensive, aren’t they?”

“That’s what I told him,” James went on, a gleeful look in his eye. “But he insisted, saying only the best for my good buddy James. Isn’t that right, Gabe?”

I curled my lip, opening my mouth to tell him to go to hell, but Juliet jumped in. “What have you got there?” She nodded to the package in Lily’s arms.

“It’s Lebanese food,” Lily said. “I hope you guys like falafel.”

“Sounds great.” Juliet gave me a loaded look before going to help Lily unpack the bags. She wrapped an arm around Lily in an embrace, and Lily smiled, pausing to drop a kiss on Juliet’s cheek. I blinked. Well, that’s new. When had the two of them gotten so close?

“Hey, Gabe, what’s this?” Nora peered down at the new photo sitting on the desk between the picture of my mother and the snapshot of James, Nora, and me at the film festival.

“Oh, that?” I crossed the room, sidestepping where Juliet and Lily were busy setting out plates and napkins on top of a clean drop cloth that James had spread out like a picnic blanket. “That’s me and Juliet on Bastille Day.” My eyes lingered on the image of us sitting on the sprawling lawn of the Champs de Mars. I had my arm draped over Juliet’s shoulder as I grinned at the camera. Rather than looking straight ahead at the lens, Juliet’s face was tilted toward me, her gaze fixed on my profile, a smile on her lips.

I swallowed the lump in my throat before glancing at Nora. She wasn’t looking at the picture anymore, but was staring up at me, a flicker of something passing over her expression. I hesitated, waiting for her to ream me out for not inviting her to watch the fireworks with us. But, to my surprise, she said nothing. She simply squeezed my shoulder, communicating more in that one gesture than she ever had out loud.

That’s the thing about true friends—they see things about you that are invisible to the naked eye. The simple act of adding a photo to my workspace would have probably gone unnoticed by a casual observer. But to Nora, who’d spent the last three years peeling me back layer by layer, it wasn’t a small thing. She knew what adding the photo meant.

It meant what Juliet and I had was real.

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