A Wish, A Kiss, All Amiss Ch. 03

———————————

Dear readers,

There is no sex in this chapter. This is my first long(ish) story on Literotica, and I'm still trying to figure out how to work sex into EVERY chapter.

———————————

Chapter 3

Gabriel tried to stifle a yawn at the thirtieth-minute mark of the speech about how art and literature could change the world because it changed people, and people made changes happen in the world. And global warming. He felt the tension in his sinuses, and he made a conscious effort to tighten his jaw, squashing another yawn.

He never liked these publisher parties. There were few ideas on earth worse than giving a writer a microphone, a podium and an audience; for no writer enjoyed other writers' words as much as they enjoyed their own. But of course, if they sat through the endless ramblings, they could get to the alcohol, and no writer could resist the promise of the green fairy—and gratis.

Since Gabriel had no patience for other men's words, and had a steady supply of quality liquor, when he received the invitation to the party weeks ago, he left-swiped and deleted it without even opening the email, but last week, he found himself searching in his trash folder for that exact invitation.

"Celebrate this year's literary achievements with writers, editors, and the giants of the industry."

He had better go to keep an eye on his editor before she smart-mouthed her way to wiggle out from their agreement, or worse, she might make the connection between the publisher and The Order, thus ruining his chance to freedom, so he clicked yes on the RSVP, donned his black tie attire and drove his way to the edge of the city to attend this gala.

He was not here because he wanted to see her, spend more time with her, or listen to her talk about anything that quick brain of hers could come up with. In fact, she was seated on the other side of the big hall at the editor's table, and he was stuck with a bunch of writers.

But he did see her at the entrance, in a floor-length black evening gown that sheathed her curves and bared her shoulders and arms with a simple bodice that came together at her collarbone. She moved towards her table, extending one graceful leg before the other; the skirt of the dress parted at the side of her shapely leg just above her knee, and that was when he stared, at the black pump, the stretched calf, the dimple of her knee, and a hint of the soft smooth skin of her thigh.

Her pink lips curved; she smiled at the other editors, and then chose that moment to turn her head and met his eyes. There were countless glamorously dressed people swimming in the space, but they saw only each other.

Their gaze held for a moment before her colleague came to lead her to the table.

Once she was seated, Gabriel could not see Rosaline so clearly anymore through a sea of elaborate hairdos, so he let out that overdue yawn at the speaker.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

"Be polite." The text message from Rosaline read.

He lifted a corner of his mouth. Apparently, she could see him just fine. He started typing.

"I am being polite."

"He's won awards." She texted back, then immediately another one. "Multiple."

"I leave literary criticism to people who didn't go to uni." He bowed his head low, his fingers busy typing.

Her reply came without a beat. "You should at least credit where that line came from."

"Great artists steal." He wrote.

"Steals the best-selling writer."

"Who you didn't recognize when you first met."

"Whom. You were not my genre." A beat, then a text of correction. "You are not my genre."

"But am I your type?"

He set his phone down on the table, willing himself to stop staring at it. He looked up to search for her, but saw only her lowered head. Gabriel checked the message window again, the ellipsis galloping like a wild horse, thudding in his ears.

"You would rather be a type than a league of your own?"

God, he liked this girl.

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

The applause came entirely too early and unbidden, marking the commencement of the actual party. The mass came untethered from their assigned seats as they gravitated towards the open bar, chattering and circling around the floating hors d'oeuvres. His phone was too quiet.

Gabriel stood up; even with his height, he could not find her in the crowd, but then the ellipsis started its dance again. "I'm sending compliments your way."

What?

He looked up from his phone and met three starry-eyed girls from, and he assumed, marketing. At least, they knew how to market themselves well; sparklingly dressed, showing off the expanse of skin and layered in makeup, they smiled at Gabriel.

He got outsmarted by the smart mouth.

He put on his dazzling smile. The sooner the marketing girls were out of his way, the sooner he could get to his girl. "Ladies, what can I do for you?"

By the time that he found out what they wanted—or rather, decided that he could not give them what they wanted—Rosaline had disappeared into the ever-moving crowd. Getting himself a tonic water at the bar, he observed the space. The ceiling-to-floor windows looked out to a vast garden that merged itself into the forest. The light oak floor was lit with recessed spotlights, obscuring the divide between the outside and in. A light drizzle had just started, dampening the air and the grass, forcing the party inside.

In the midst of the migration, Gabriel caught a glimpse of those black pumps by the door that opened to the garden. He ordered a glass of gin before making his way over to Rosaline.

"That was some compliments you sent," he said.

She swirled around to face him, and a smile splayed on her face. She was beautiful, the makeup making her lashes thicker, her eyes rounder, and her pink lips softer.

He handed her the gin. She twirled the tumbler and sniffed the clear liquid, and gave him an appreciative look.

"I hope you guys had fun," she said.

"You have no idea."

She smirked. "I have ideas."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, Nadia"—she paused when he stared at her with a blank face—"blond, blue dress, blue eyes?"

He continued to look as though his most recent memory was created three seconds ago, and she rolled her eyes.

"The one with the biggest boobs—"

"Ah, now I remember, do continue." He grinned. He had no idea which girl she was talking about because he was too busy looking for the girl standing in front of him.

"Asshole." Insulting him, no less.

"Arrogant asshole," he corrected her.

She smiled. "Anyway, Big Boobs et al. from marketing were excited to work with you, wanted to meet you in person, yadi yadi yada, they want to fuck you."

"All of them?"

She nodded. "Careful, you sound like you can't handle all three of them at the same time."

He laughed. He could handle all one hundred of those girls; there was just that one girl he could not, and he should not, but talking to that one girl was more invigorating than thinking about his freedom.

"And you?" he asked.

"What?" Her head tilted.

"Is that what you want?" He leaned against the window.

"To fuck you?" She wetted her lips, then immediately her brow furrowed in mock concern. "Are you sure you can handle a fourth one? You didn't sound so confident."

He did not want the first three. "I meant if you want me to go after them."

She shook her head, and looked to one of the marketing girls. "It's up to you. You have many choices."

He turned to her, searching for her eyes. She seemed determined of something, like she was convinced of her choices.

He shook his head and excused himself when he saw Linda march towards her with a writer in tow.

Since then she never left his sight, busy making visits to different tables, until a man of average—average in height, build, and face—handed her a drink, put his hand on her back, and opened the door and ushered her into the wet garden. He lowered himself to whisper in her ear, and the muscles in her shoulders bunched up.

When they did not come back immediately from the rain, Gabriel put his drink down on a nearby table and made his way towards the glass door, zigzagging through the crowd.

Then he felt a pat on his arm.

"Gabriel," Nadia said, holding two drinks in her hands.

He looked towards the garden. Rosaline and the man had turned a corner and vanished into the tall hedgerows.

Nadia offered him one of the glasses.

"No, thanks, I'm driving," he said.

"Oh, can you drive me back to the city later tonight then?" Her big eyes batted at him.

Gabriel tried not to frown. "The night is still young; are you sure you want to book your ride so early?"

"There are not that many Ubers around here."

Gabriel blinked a little harder than necessary to hide his impatience.

"Try a normal taxi."

She laughed as if he were three years old and had just made his first joke. "Ubers are taxis."

He shook his head and glanced at the garden. "Can we do this conversation later?"

"We can go into the garden." Nadia turned to look at the garden, and Gabriel thought he could maneuver himself away, but she pressed her breasts against his arm.

"No," he said, extracting his arm from her breasts to gesture towards the window. "It's raining outside."

Nadia pouted. "But it's romantic to have a walk in the rain."

"We don't want to get you wet, now, do we?" he said.

"We can get an umbrella."

Gabriel smiled. "Excellent idea. Why don't you go get an umbrella and I will see you in a bit?"

Nadia tried to suppress an excited squeal, and bounced her way towards the reception desk.

Gabriel went straight for the glass door.

The average-looking man appeared around the corner of the hedgerow; Gabriel watched him stride his way back to the indoor hall. His gait was urgent, eyes focused, nostrils flared, and jaw tightened.

Shit.

Gabriel pushed past the man at the door, bumping into his shoulder. The man turned his head and glared at Gabriel. "Watch it," he spat.

Once the glass door closed behind him, the chattering was drowned by the crisp dripping of the rain hitting the leaves, water trickling in the background; a fresh smell of grass and summer lingered in the air.

Rosaline was a small shadow sitting on the bench in the gazebo, her back towards Gabriel, arms folded themselves around her chest, hands covering the bare skin of her upper arm.

Gabriel started unbuttoning his dinner jacket to shuck it off.

"Hey," he said softly, not wanting to startle her.

She turned towards his voice over her shoulder but did not reply before turning her back to him again.

"Are you cold?" he asked, rounding the bench to sit next to her, leaving a safe distance between them.

She looked at him. There was helplessness in her eyes that hit him harder than the pang in his chest. He should not have wasted so much time being nice to Nadia. He should have followed them straightaway.

She nodded, and he handed her his jacket. When she did not take it, he asked, "Who is going to insult me if you die from the cold?"

"No one dies from the common cold," she said.

He arched his eyebrow at her. "I thought everyone dies."

"Yes, but not from the common cold."

"Only you will."

She cut him a look, snatched the jacket from his hand and draped it around herself. He smiled.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I have a new idea to discuss with my editor."

"OK. What?"

"I don't remember it anymore," he said with a grin. "Boobs and all, you know, taking up space."

She rolled her eyes and turned away from him. Silence fell between them, the rain misting the ground with a soft white noise.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

"What do you mean what happened?" she replied immediately, which was never a good sign for an answer to a question like this.

"Did he hurt you?"

She turned around to look at him, and slowly she shook her head. Gabriel let go of the breath that he did not know he was holding.

*****

He was making it so difficult for Rosaline. Her newly-formed plan was going fine before she entered the venue; she had booked her ticket yesterday, and arrived at the publisher's party on time, fully prepared to make her last appearance, and thank Linda, subtly, of course, for helping her all those years ago. Rosaline had made up her mind about leaving.

Then she saw him, sitting at the writer's table, looking like a sinful promise. She had always thought men looked ridiculous in bow ties, but she stood corrected at the entrance, transfixed by the sight of him. His dark hair was only made darker against the crisp white dress shirt, which was neatly pleated and tucked into the silky cummerbund. The black dinner jacket fitted him with onyx grace, its lapels shimmering like the clearest night sky. Yet the formal ensemble paled against the man, his tanned skin and the glimmer in his eyes.

She ran her finger down the satin lapel of the jacket that was now enveloping her. This man screamed good breeding, from the way he dressed to the way he talked, and the things that he talked about. No, well-bred men did not scream; they stole quotes from books she liked and offered their tailored jackets to keep her warm while wishing her dead from the common cold.

"Who was he?" Gabriel asked.

And they also stalked women.

"Agent pitching some writer."

"He looked angry when he left."

"Men and ego in the face of a rejection," she said. "You can understand, I'm sure."

He chuckled. "You assume I get rejected at all."

She looked up to the ceiling and huffed a dry laugh in defeat.

"And he didn't hurt you?" He moved closer to her, his voice edged with concern.

She looked to him then; a small frown hung between his brows.

"I took care of it," she said.

"What does that mean?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, instead of dying from—I don't know—a gunshot wound or whatever he could threaten me with, I'm here dying only from a common cold."

"You don't need to sound so disappointed."

"I know how to solve my own problems."

There was a beat.

"Did you hurt him?" He looked at her with widened eyes.

She shifted her eyes to the cascading artificial waterfall embedded in the layered stone wall.

"What did you do?" he asked with a low voice. She was focusing on the water streaming out from the hidden nozzle and did not reply, so he pressed again. "Rosaline?"

"He may find himself in need of a toilet?" she whispered into the humid air.

"How in the"—he followed her gaze to the gushing waterfall as realization dawned on him—"you mind-controlled him."

"I'm not proud of it, but considering the urgency of things, I just...gave him a more urgent need."

"Is that why he looked...tensed?"

She gave him a pained look, pressing her lips together, before he burst into roaring laughter, turning her hesitation into a reluctant smile.

"God, remind me to never get on the wrong side of you."

"I told you I took care of it."

"Yes, well, good." A proud smile played on his mouth, lifting one corner of his lips higher.

"I'm hungry," Gabriel said.

"I thought you were tired, what with all the yawning."

"Some writers put me to sleep."

"Is that why I'm so tired right now?" She grinned at him.

He ignored her. "I think I want some döner."

She wanted some döner kebab, too. "You're free to get döner."

His gaze found hers. "Who's driving you home?"

"I'll get a cab."

"No."

"Excuse me?" She scowled.

"You heard me."

"You don't get to tell me what to do." She pulled his jacket around her more tightly, and got a whiff of his scent.

"What if Toilet Man comes back?"

She blinked at him. He did have a point. She might have temporarily defused the situation but she could never fully control her powers.

"I'll ride with the others, Linda," she said. "Or Nadia from marketing."

She did not know why she mentioned Nadia. They barely knew each other; the only reason the marketing girls came to see her earlier was to get to Gabriel, and the asshole had entertained them, smiling like they were funny.

They were not that funny.

"She didn't drive," he said.

"And how do you know that?"

It must have sounded sharper than she thought, because the corner of his lips kicked up. "Are you jealous?"

"Why would I be? I sent her to you." Her cheeks grew warmer; she loosened his jacket around her neck to let in some air, and then some more when he did not move his gaze away, the satisfied grin on his beautiful face burning her skin.

"Unlike someone else here, she made it clear that she couldn't wait to get into my pants—I mean my car."

"Then why are you here talking to that someone else, while you can be burying your face in those big, beautiful—"

He raised his dark eyebrow, amusement in his eyes.

"—blue eyes?" she finished her sentence.

He laughed, shaking his head.

"Do you want döner or not?" He stood up, loosening his bow tie.

If she had the choice, would she rather not spend the remaining time with Gabriel?

"Or would you rather eat the grass that they feed their guests here?"

So they snuck out from the venue like a couple of teenagers. It was quite a drive back to the city through the dark country roads, and the car was so quiet and smooth, the leather seat soft and inviting; she kicked off her shoes, curled up in the seat and cocooned herself in his jacket. It felt good, like she belonged there. She yawned.

"You want me to drive you home instead?" he asked softly.

She shook her head. "You promised döner."

"Döner it is, then." There was indulgence in his voice.

Her smile turned into another yawn.

"You can nap."

"And you won't just take me straight home?"

His dark eyes found her half-mast ones in the rear-view mirror. "Ask me another time."

She let out a soft laugh, blinking slowly, eyelids laden with weights. "I should warn you; I don't have big boobs like Nadia."

He went quiet for a moment.

"Your boobs are fine." His voice low and calm.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"It can be."

"You sound like you spend a considerable amount of time comparing my boobs to other boobs, and decided that they are just fine." She looked down at her own boobs, which were unremarkable at best.

"If you don't want me to think about your boobs, you should stop talking about them." His voice drifted into her from a faraway place as she sank deeper into the seat and the warmth of his jacket.

"As if you actually liked my boobs," she mumbled. "Or me."

She fell asleep.

*****

What did she mean as if he actually liked her boobs? They were perky and perfectly shaped; they looked like they would fit just right in the palms of his hands, and Gabriel liked them enough to wonder about the noises she would make when he put his mouth on her breasts and his teeth on their tips.

If his throbbing erection right now was any indication, he liked her and her boobs just fine; in fact, he liked her too much for his own good.

He was not supposed to like her like this. Sure, he was attracted to her and her soft-looking boobs; he liked her smiles, and even when she insulted him, he liked her, as long as the insult would get her to smile.

But he had to restrain himself from storming back into the hall to hit that book agent when it was only a possibility that he might have harmed her. His heart ached at the sight of her looking sad and cold, but he could not block away the pain, and that scared the hell out of him.

He shook his head, reminding himself that there was only one way this could end—in his freedom from The Order. He could always try to get her into bed for one night. He would wager that once she was out of his system, this compulsive need to protect her would be satiated.

As he pulled into the parking spot, she woke from her nap.