Beautifully Broken (The Montebellos Book 6)

this bad, no. We get blizzards most years. I’m snowed in from time to time. This is the first Christmas though.”
“Will your family be disappointed if you miss it?”
“They’d prefer that than for me to attempt to join them given the weather.”
“Of course.”
His smile was wry. “That’s only half true. They’re going to be furious.”
She winced. “Really?”
“Hell yes, really.” His brow furrowed and she had the sense he was speaking almost without wishing to.
“Yaya is old. She had a stroke in the summer. We’re all very aware of how special each Christmas is to her.”
“If that’s true, why come here at all so close to the date? Didn’t you realise the blizzard was expected?” She pushed. “Surely you could have got out ahead of it?”
His face bore a mask of rejection, and she knew she’d hit on an important point.
“But you wanted to be stranded here?”
“It would have been dangerous to drive, even more so to fly.”
“Liar,” she challenged, not sure where her certainty came from, but only that she knew she was right. “Ignore my questions, if you want, but don’t lie to me.”
“What makes you think I’m lying?”
“Because you’ve told me again and again how much you want to be alone. You’re glad you were snowed in, because it means you get to stay here and brood. Right?”
He stared at his wine and she waited, until it became clear he wasn’t going to answer. Time passed, each second growing thicker and thicker until finally the cloying intensity of it forced her to stand, intending to clear their plates. Only he surprised her by reaching out, curving his fingers around her wrist. Her eyes jolted to his and just like that, her tension shifted, morphing into a drugging sense of awareness. She gasped, her pulse in her throat, her heart hammering her ribs from the inside out.
His thumb moved across the delicate flesh of her inner-wrist, stirring her to a fever-pitch of awareness, so she let out a soft, delicate moan, that might have been a garbled version of his name.
“You seem to know a lot about me,” he said, the words like steel. She bit down on her lower lip, not sure how to respond.
“I don’t, I suppose.” But it was a lie. For some reason, she felt like she did know him, in a way that made very little sense.
“No?”
She shook her head, unable to speak. Her throat was bone dry, her tongue thick.
“Yet you sound so certain about why I come here. You think I’m avoiding my family?”
“I think you’re avoiding something,” she whispered.
He stood, surprising her, his body instantly dwarfing Isabella’s.
“Why?”
Again, speech eluded her.
“Is it not possible that I simply enjoy my own company?” He moved again, so there was no space between them. Her breath hitched in her throat.
“You don’t think I might come here just to work and be alone?”
She shook her head, her eyes latched to his. They were darker than the night, and she felt as though she were drowning in their depths.
A shiver ran the length of her spine; not of fear but of hope and need.
His hand on her wrist shifted, moving to her hip. She gasped, the touch sending sparks of desire all through her body.
“You seem to know so much about me,” he drawled softly, danger in the syllables. “It seems only fair that we redress that balance.”
Her eyes held a plea. “How?”
“Do you want to sleep with me?”
She gasped again, a quick rush of indrawn breath. “Gabe…”
“Afraid to answer?” He lifted her sweater, so his finger connected with bare flesh. A shiver of awareness spun through her.
He pressed a finger to her lips, holding her eyes, a hint of mockery in the depths of his. “Don’t answer, if you wish, but do not lie to me, cara.”
She groaned softly. The truth was so obvious; did she need to own it?
“What do you think?”
His lips twisted cynically. “I think you have no idea who I am,” he said, after a moment. “Despite what you might believe.”
A shiver ran through her. “Why do you say that?”
“Because if you did, you’d run a mile.”
“So you don’t sleep with women?” She pushed. “You’re celibate or something?”
His laugh was a harsh bark but he didn’t step back from her and she was grateful, even though his proximity was making it impossible to breathe.
“I sleep with women. Many women, whenever the mood takes me.”
A blade of jealousy sliced through her. She blinked away, the heavy sense of rejection wrapping around her so it was almost impossible to breathe.
“I have no difficulty getting laid. But you’re different.”
Her heart trembled.
“Why?” A whispered plea.
“I don’t know.” His lips curved downwards in a frown. “I know only that resisting you is driving me crazy.”
“So don’t resist me.”
“That would be even worse.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
He made a face of agreement.
“I’m not saying we should get married,” she said unsteadily. “I’m surprised you think sex is such a big deal.”
“I’m surprised you think it isn’t,” he countered swiftly.
“I didn’t say that.” Her cheeks grew pink. “I’m sure compared to you I have no experience. In fact, compared to your usual…erm…lover…I’m undoubtedly unqualified and disappointing. So maybe you’re right. We should just forget about this.”
It was the last thing she wanted to do.
“How many men have you been with?”
It was a deeply personal question but it didn’t even occur to Isabella not to answer. They’d crossed some invisible threshold, something between them had changed inexorably.
“Two.” A whisper, embarrassed acknowledgement.
“Two?” He repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “Only two?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, and everything. I suppose you loved both men?”
“One of them,” she whispered. “Or thought I did.” But she didn’t want to contemplate Andrew in that moment.
“So why the hell do you want to have sex with me?”
She flinched at his tone and crude description. His fingers on her stomach were so light she could almost believe he’d dropped his hand. She inched forward, so their bodies were pressed more tightly together.
His eyes narrowed warningly. “Not because I’m