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After giving half-ass statements to the relentless paparazzi, Gabrielle scurried to the upstairs lounge of The Bridge like a frightened lab rat. She cursed herself for the thousandth time for not wearing track shoes because she’d been running from Hugh, the press, and nosey-ass celebrities ever since she got there.
Patrons looked up from their tables and then continued with their conversations when she entered. Gabrielle didn’t care what they said behind her back as long as they left her the hell alone.
“Jesus.” She relaxed at the booth in the far corner, feet throbbing.
Alan, one of the club’s longtime servers, scampered toward Gabrielle’s table with an infectious smile. “Good evening, Miss Montane. Can I get you something?”
“Some new feet would be nice.” She took off her right sandal and rubbed her foot. “Feet feel like I’ve walked a hundred miles.”
“In those shoes I can imagine.”
“Wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t been running in them.”
“People been bothering you, huh?” He tapped his little pad. “For what it’s worth, it’s terrible how Futero treated you. You’re a class act compared to a lot of the celebrity douche bags in this town.” His bowtie wiggled as he spoke, “I donated to the Gabrielle Montane Foundation last month.”
“You did?” She flattened her hands on the table. “I appreciate that and am grateful for your gratitude.”
“How could I not give to a charity that helps children fight cancer?” He touched his chest, sighing. “See what I mean? You care about things other than money and fame. That’s why everyone loves you.” He touched her shoulder. “Futero will regret letting you go.”
A tear tickled her eye. “I needed to hear that.” She hugged him. “Thanks so much.”
He giggled. “I love working here. Where else would I get a kiss from Scarlett Johansson and a hug from Gabrielle Montane in the same week? I can go die now.”
She laughed, sitting.
Hugh wandered in with his hands in his pockets.
“Oh, jeez.” Gabrielle ducked, attempting to hide.
“There you are.” Hugh walked up to the table. “My ears are burning.” He sat beside her, but he must’ve sensed the annoyance behind her glare because he moved across from her instead.
“Alan,” Hugh said. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Always a pleasure, Mr. Macintosh. How’s your new movie going?”
“Fatal Honor?” Hugh tapped the table. “Still in the beginning stages. Not even close to filming yet.”
“I know it’ll be a hit.” Alan gushed. “How can it not being produced by Ian Delfino, directed by you, and starring Dash Phillips?” He whistled. “This thing’s gonna be bigger than Avatar.”
“We intend on it to be.” Hugh took off his sports coat and laid it beside him. “You see this lovely woman in front of me? Why does she not have a drink?”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d stop talking about me in the third person,” Gabrielle said. “You’ve been doing it all night.”
“Sorry.” He clasped his hands, winking. “I can’t believe this magical moment of us being together has arrived. “
“What would you like?” Alan asked.
“Scotch for me.” Hugh grabbed a toothpick from the dispenser and shoved it into his mouth. “Would you like sex on the beach, Gabrielle? I’m not just talking about the drink.”
She groaned. “I’m fine, Alan.”
“Make that scotch on the rocks,” Hugh said.
“Right away, sir.” Alan chuckled as he left the table.
“Where’s Sierra?” Gabrielle asked.
Hugh rolled the toothpick around in his mouth. “I don’t care at the moment.”
“I see.” Gabrielle rubbed her other foot.
“I don’t wanna talk about anyone but us.” He stabbed his finger into the table. “We can’t keep denying this attraction.”
Her shoulders dropped. “Hugh, this is the first time I’ve ever spoken to you.”
“I know you want me.” He tilted his head. “Women love me. They worship me. Am I supposed to believe you’re different?”
She wiggled her aching toes. “Yep.”
“I don’t buy it.” He sat back.
“I don’t give a damn. I know you’ve been between more women’s legs than a gynecologist and if you think that impresses me you’re wrong.”
He licked the corner of his mouth, his straggly bangs covering his hooded eyes which were the color of pine. “You’re not attracted to me? I have no effect on you?”
Hell, Hugh repulsed her, but she wasn’t blind. There weren’t many women who could resist that bad boy charm and those rugged, Irish-American good looks.
He stroked the faint, five-o’clock shadow that graced his round chin and robust jawline. “Earth to Gabrielle?”
And, that earring.
“Whether I find you attractive or not has nothing to do with anything.”
“Sure it does.”
“Go wash your face, Hugh.” She faked a smile. “Seems you need to cool down.”
“Nothing cools me down, Gabrielle.” The toothpick bobbed in his mouth. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I’m serious, Hugh. Back off. I want you to leave me alone. That’s why I came here tonight. To put an end to your foolishness.”
Alan returned. “Here you go, Mr. Macintosh.” He set the drink in front of Hugh then left.
“Leave with me.” Hugh’s eyes darkened. “I get you alone for five minutes, and I bet you’ll be singing a different tune.” He yanked the toothpick from his lips and sipped the drink.
“What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?”
He gaped at her.
She exhaled. “Besides that.”
“There’s nothing you can do. Gabrielle, this is fate. You’ve tried to avoid me but look at us tonight. Sure, it took a long time for me to get close to you but I have. If something’s meant to be it’s gonna happen.”
She puckered her lips. “I have no say in the matter?”
“Nope.” He slurped scotch. “It’s destiny. The first moment I saw you, I knew you were supposed to be mine.”
“You need help, Hugh.”
“No. What I need are those long, chocolate legs wrapped around my neck while my tongue reminds you why you’re so thankful to be a woman. That’s what I need.”
Gabrielle shook her head, batting her eyes. “I’m gone.” She got her shoes and slid to the edge of the booth. “I’ll call my own ride.”
“Uh-uh.” He jumped up, blocking her. “You’re not going anywhere, sweet thing.”
She looked him up and down. “You and what army’s gonna stop me?”
“You think I’m gonna just let you go after all the trouble it took to get to this moment?” He put his arms around her, his smoky cologne making her gag.
“Hugh—”
“Sh.” He pressed his middle against her. “You feel that? I’m big, Gabrielle. You have no idea.”
“Hugh, if you don’t let go of me—”
“I know you’re curious.” He swayed her. “All we have to do is leave and then tomorrow you’ll wake up in my arms and everything will become clear.” He gripped her buttocks.
“It’s clear.” She kneed his crotch.
“Ah.” Hugh stooped over, holding himself.
People took out their cellphones, recording and taking photos in sync.
“What the...” He huffed and puffed, face red. “That hurt!”
“Good.” Gabrielle got her purse out the booth. “Remember that sensation the next time you put your hands on me. Oh, wait. There won’t be a next time because you’re gonna stay the hell away from me. You got that?”
Alan rushed to them. “Is everything all right?”
Hugh frowned, flinching. “Just peachy.”
“Hugh?” Gabrielle grabbed him by the hair.
“You like it rough, huh?” He beamed. “My kind of woman.”
“Listen for the last time,” she ordered. “I’m dead serious. There will never, ever, ever be anything between us but my knee if you come near me again.”
She stomped out the lounge, barefoot.