A Blind Fall

chapter thirteen

He couldn't stop whistling as he stood in the elevator, his hands shoved in the pockets of his maroon pants. It was all he could do to curb the urge to begin dancing like a mad man. Ignoring the glares other passengers were shooting him, his Italian leather shoe began to tap rhythmically on the floor of the elevator.

How many Americans called Gabrielle Olivers could be vacationing in France?

One, he hoped. A short, curvaceous thing with brownish green eyes that were partly blind. He couldn't help grin to himself at the prospect of seeing her again. It was impromptu and unexpected. When she'd walked away from him, he'd been torn between being happy for meeting such a beautiful woman and sadness for their short acquaintance. So when his friend and partner, Oscar, sought him out for a favour to deliver a piece of furniture to one Gabrielle Oliver at the hotel she was booked in, he'd been surprised at his fortune.

On probing more information about this Gabrielle Oliver from Oscar, the man had gone and disclosed she was the same woman at the charity auction and nothing else of importance since the man was as tight lipped as they come. Curious, he'd wanted to know why his friend had bid for her and why he couldn't deliver the dressing table himself. Without so many words, Oscar had insinuated they were acquainted to each other back in their home country and again he'd refused to divulge his reasons for making Gordon make the delivery.

And who was Gordon to refuse a friend, especially when a treasure awaited him at the end of his act of kindness. So as his men -and him- alighted from the elevator, anticipation nearly killed him. They'd already acquired her room number from the bag of bones they'd found at the reception -with a bit of monetary persuasion and painfully faked flirtations of course- and he couldn't just wait to see her.

Of course Oscar hadn't known Gordon had met Gabrielle again and he didn't intend to let the man know, despite their friendship. Something about the way Oscar had made that bid made Gordon suspect a motive. The man had even gone and danced with her before following her out where he took forever before returning to the hall. A man simply didn't go through that much trouble for some mere woman whose only claim to him was they shared a nationality. Never. Gordon knew this from experience because if Oscar hadn't mentioned Gabrielle Oliver in his request, Gordon would have comfortably delegated the task to one of his men.

"Sir," one of them called, jerking him into reality. "We are here."

Gordon grinned to himself and knocked on the door. Impatient, he knocked again this time harder and longer before stepping away.

***

Gabrielle groaned hurrying to swallow the chunk of sandwich in her mouth before downing some wine. Because Josse hadn't shown since morning to inform her of her schedule and neither had the stylist appeared to torture her with fittings, she'd relaxed with the thoughts of having the day to herself. Now she believed she'd celebrated too soon, the rap at the door signalled there was no such thing as solitude.

Grudgingly, she stood from the high stool in the kitchenette where she'd been with her computer continuing with the plot of her story, utterly happy with the flow before hunger took it's toll on her, and padded to the door. Knowing it was either Josse or the stylist, she clutched the handle and yanked the door open.
"Hello, Gabrielle."

It was neither of whom she'd thought it was and the last person -not to be rude- she'd ever imagined to be knocking at her door was standing there with a blinding, dimpled smile. He looked sleek in a maroon suit paired with a crisp white shirt whose top three buttons were undone, exposing the skin of his neck and a fair amount of chest. His hands were in his pockets causing the already snug pants to accentuate his thick, manly thighs further. On one wrist was a huge, gold watch that no doubt must have cost him at least Gabrielle's newly acquired house back home.

Suddenly she was aware of her disheveled, shaggy state. Her hair hadn't seen a brush since the last event she'd attended which was the resort's opening party a day ago. She wore a brown, knitted top that reached exactly where her cutoffs ended; a little over her butt. She probably had bread crumbs on her mouth or a huge onion stuck on her teeth. Dang!

"Um, it's nice to see you again," that sonorous voice with a tinge of accent broke her stupor.

She smiled and nodded nervously. Praying there wasn't anything stuck on her teeth, she said, "yeah, it is." Remembering her manners, she jumped. "Oh! Please come on in."

As she stepped out of the way, he entered the suite confidently, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed and a surveying eye taking in the surrounding. "This is nice." He observed.

"Y...yeah?" She didn't know why it all seemed too cramped up with him there.

Twirling back to face her, he smirked. "It would look better with that." He pointed the splendid dressing table incorporated with a butterfly shaped mirror. One she remembered too clearly.

She frowned. "How did_"

He cut her off. "Why don't you show my men where you want it and then I'll explain that to you over dinner?"

Blinking at his quite annoying interruption, she turned to one of the suit clad, tall men and motioned to her room. "End of the hallway, to your left." At their nods, she turned to him. "Thank you for the delivery but I can't_"

Again he interrupted. "My, will you look at that, some Marcello, huh?"

At first she was confused until she caught the half empty bottle of wine sitting on the island in the open kitchenette. How on earth had he seen that far? "Uhh, yes."

He flashed her a toothy grin that almost made her forget his impeccable manners. "That's one of my babies. It's been in storage for the past three decades, so I take that back. It was one of my father's babies. He'd just began his reign as  Marcello wines' president."

Then it clicked. In their introduction a night ago he'd introduced himself as Gordon Marcello but she'd been too flustered by his unappreciated observation which had earned him a heel on his toe, to ever consider he was the Gordon Marcello.

His throaty chuckle regained her attention to him. "Oh, forgive me if I sounded a bit cocky. It's just that I take pride in knowing I'm part of making one of the world's most appreciated wines. It rubs on me sometimes."

A bit cocky, my broke behind! "You sound extremely cocky." She accused before she could stop herself. The red on his face matched the colour of his precious family wine. Serves him right. Gabrielle celebrated mentally and quickly thought up what she knew would be a knockout. "Which is rather uncalled for as I prefer a DRC but I don't know where the room service had their ears when I placed an order."

The required effect -embarrassment- didn't occur as expected. Instead, all humour dried off his face and a hard expression took its place. She wanted to run, especially when his raspy, evil chuckle came through. "Gabrielle," he sounded amused yet dangerous. In two, long strides he invaded her space. "Where have you been?"

She didn't have the courage to answer so she swallowed as he continued quietly. "Obviously not in my exquisite world of the crème del a crème." She could feel his breath on her face as he circled her like a predator. She stiffened as he stopped behind her, two fingers coming up to push the wave of her unkempt hair from her neck, leaving a trail of goose bumps there. He continued huskily. "But I can't begrudge you belle. Do you know why?" He leaned impossibly close until his lips brushed her ear. "Because myself I have been missing out on the splendour in your world," he unceremoniously cupped her chin and brought her face to face him. "You."

Gabrielle swallowed, hard. They were perilously close, their lips an inch apart. If she didn't command her legs to move, their lips would surely meet. But if she moved, her awkward angle would bring forth similar results. How had it escalated so fast?

Then he unpredictably distanced himself, a smile on his face. "Please have dinner with me, Gabrielle."

What the... what with the chivalry now. Too curious and burning with questions she'd only find answers to if she agreed to dine with this beguiling character, she nodded slowly. "Yes."

***
A/N

Gordon is definitely beguiling.

How's everyone?