Page 29 of His Untouchable Heart

I told her about the jet. The resort. That she’d need to avoid the foundation’s usual channels. I gave her just enough to move, not enough to worry.

She didn’t ask questions.

Not at first. But there was a pause. A long one. And in that pause, I could feel the weight of everything she wasn’t saying. The hesitation. The trust. The decision.

She said, “Okay.”

Just that. One word. But it settled in my chest like an anchor.

After we hung up, I gazed at the phone for a beat before resuming my packing. Not long after, I departed to check out the cabin I had rented.

*********

The tarmac was quiet, with only the low hum of the idling plane and the occasional rush of wind across the concrete. I pulled the rental car up to the edge of the hangar and killed the headlights before the engine stopped turning.

I sat there for a moment, both hands on the steering wheel, watching the staircase lower from the jet’s open door. My pulse had been steady all evening, right up until now.

Now, it pounded.

It wasn’t fear, exactly. Just a deep, restless pressure in my chest as if something big was about to happen, and there was no undoing it once it did.

The door opened.

Gabrielle stepped out, silhouetted in the soft wash of cabin light behind her. Hair pulled back, travel bag slung over one shoulder, a long sweater falling around her in a way that made her look smaller than I remembered—but no less powerful.

When she caught sight of me, she paused on the stairs, just for a second. And then she moved.

I was out of the car before her feet touched the ground. Neither of us spoke.

She walked straight into my arms.

The hug was fierce. Familiar. Her body folded into mine like it was meant to be there. I didn’t realize how tightly I was holding her until she exhaled against my chest.

Then she tilted her face up to mine, and I didn’t think—I just kissed her.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful. It was the kind of kiss that had been simmering under my skin since the last time we touched. Her hands fisted the front of my jacket, and I pressed my mouth harder against hers before I could lose my nerve.

But I was the one who pulled back.

“Not here,” I whispered, forehead resting against hers. “Not now. We need to talk first.”

She didn’t argue. She just nodded once, eyes searching mine in the dark.

And I knew—whatever came next, we would face as a couple, not as boss and assistant.

We drove in silence for a few minutes, the soft hum of the road filling the space between us. The city had long since fallen behind us, replaced by winding streets and clusters of trees swaying gently in the early morning breeze. Out here, it was quiet—private—the kind of quiet that asked for truth.

“You should call in sick tomorrow,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “Use the call-out line. No emails. No contact with the gallery or foundation staff.”

She turned toward me slowly. “That bad?”

“I don’t know what’s going on yet. But whatever it is, I don’t want you anywhere near it until I figure it out.”

She didn’t argue. Just nodded once, thoughtful.

After a beat, she asked, “Does Judge Valencia know? About us, I mean.”

I gripped the wheel a little tighter. “I don’t know. He didn’t say anything, but… it felt off. The way he sent me out here so abruptly. Wilma, at the foundation, didn’t even know I was coming today. She was expecting me tomorrow. That’s not normal. The judge did mention he wanted to buy one of the paintings in the collection if things worked out. But I’m not sure if that has anything to do with sending me here early.”

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