Page 10 of Touched By Destiny
“Same, but Gabriel’s always exercising,” Richard said, dropping into a seat at the round table in the kitchen the Marwoods used for breakfast. “He has killer calves and could really rock a dress.”
“I remember when Maribeth insisted I try on a skirt,” Eric commented as he strolled in wearing a loose button-down and faded jeans ripped at the knees. “It was terrible. I have stick legs.”
“You do not,” Richard retorted sharply. “You have stunning legs, and the only reason she didn’t put the thing in your closet was because you weren’t comfortable in it. I don’t want you to feel anything less than completely confident in everything you do and wear.”
“If everyone is so concerned with my comfort, why do I have a drawer nearly full of thongs?” Eric muttered.
Gabriel immediately choked on his coffee, and Rosalind helpfully slapped his back as he tried desperately to get air in his lungs. The image of Eric in a thong was entirely too much for his beleaguered brain, and he was pretty sure the short circuit caused by those beguiling thoughts was permanent. The image of Eric’s lithe frame in nothing but a scrap of black fabric was quickly replaced by the dour thought that permanency was no longer something Gabriel had, and all he could see were his skeletal toes.
“Are you okay?” Rosalind asked.
“Fine, thanks,” Gabriel lied. “Must’ve swallowed too fast.”
“Go have a seat at the table next to Eric, and I’ll get you a plate,” Rosalind coaxed.
Gabriel wasn’t sure why everyone insisted he sit next to Eric at meals. It was highly unlikely that an assassin would jump out from behind the long drapes to stab the man while he ateeggs and bacon, but he couldn’t fault the Marwoods for trying to keep their son safe at every opportunity.
As Gabriel filled his belly with the delicious food David and Rosalind had prepared, Maribeth shuffled in bleary-eyed and chugged an entire cup of coffee next to the pot before joining them for breakfast. Clark was the last to arrive, but his stride was crisp, and he’d probably already spent a couple of hours working. The man was addicted to his job, and Gabriel had easily adapted his sense of duty to his own career.
It was a far cry from the lazy schedule he’d once kept while employed by Samael Wolfebrier. But Gabriel had been kept like a pet. Samael had insisted he pamper himself with spa visits and spray tanning, and spend hours working on his golf game or whatever sport or activity caught his interest. The only time Gabriel had worked was when Samael wanted to intimidate someone with his resurrected goon or there was a body that needed to be buried in an unmarked grave far from any hint of civilization. As usual whenever he thought of those dark days, a parade of the dead flowed through his mind.
Forcing himself to remain focused on the here and now, Gabriel caught Clark’s eye. “I need five minutes on your schedule on Monday.”
“For you, I have five minutes anytime,” Clark replied. “Are you too busy to meet with me today?”
“There’s no rush, it can wait until Monday,” Gabriel replied. Perhaps by then Gabriel would be able to get the words out without bawling and would’ve accepted that his death was inevitable. There were plans that had to be made, and Gabriel couldn’t afford the luxury of feeling sorry for himself or being frightened of slowly dying alone. Or so he told himself as a wave of terror slid icily down his spine.
“If you’re sure, we’ll talk first thing on Monday.”
Gabriel stood and grabbed his plate. “Great, I’ve got a few things to take care of. Eric, I’ll meet you outside in thirty?”
Those dreamy blue eyes met Gabriel’s, and he allowed himself to wonder about the lucky man who’d spend eternity with Eric. Whoever the bastard was, he’d never be good enough for him.
“Um, yeah, thirty minutes is good.”
“Gabriel, you didn’t even finish your breakfast,” Rosalind protested.
Refusing to admit that the turbulence in his head and heart had killed his appetite, Gabriel said nothing as he guiltily dumped the remains of his meal into the trash and plunked his plate into the dishwasher cleverly disguised as a drawer. Gabriel headed back to his little house and slumped against the wall. The tears slipped down his cheeks as his ass hit the floor. He didn’t want to die. And he was terrified. It was a hell of a way to start a fucking day.
???
Eric wiggled into the snug pants his brother had picked out and pulled a matching black tank top over his head. The final piece of his outfit was a dark shirt so sheer Eric feared ripping the damn thing as he slipped it on and carefully buttoned it. Glancing in the mirror, Eric wondered what he’d gotten himself into. His curls were shiny and perfectly placed, and his eyes were enhanced with smoky liner and several coats of mascara to make his lashes appear thicker and exaggerate their length.
His face was contoured with powders and liquids he couldn’t hope to name, and his slightly too-plump lips were poutier than ever thanks to the pink gloss gleaming in the lights.
What the fuck was he doing?
Some makeup and another tight outfit weren’t going to grab Gabriel’s attention. If the man were attracted to Eric, he would’ve done something about it by now. Gabriel was direct and honest and was more likely to quit his job than climb into bed with Eric.
Idly wondering how big a fit his brother would throw if he stayed home, Eric yelped when someone knocked loudly on the bathroom door.
“Eric, get out here so we can see,” Richard ordered.
With a sigh, Eric pulled the door open.
“Do a twirl,” Richard insisted after fussing with Eric’s shirt so it lay perfectly. Like Eric, Richard’s face was expertly painted. Richard had opted for a more dramatic look and had paired his dark eyeliner with glittery silver eyeshadow. He’d painted his mouth a slick red, and his pants were black leather. The sculpted muscles of his chest and belly peeked through a snug T-shirt of matte and sheer fabrics. Although Richard was a few inches shorter than Eric, they stood nearly the same height thanks to a pair of heeled boots.
“Gabriel’s going to swallow his tongue,” Maribeth predicted. Her black hair hung in gorgeous waves, and the almond-shaped eyes she’d inherited from her mother twinkled with excitement. She wore a scrap of a dress in the same metallic gray as Richard’s eyeshadow. It bared her long legs and exceptional tattoo sleeve, and it accentuated her curves beautifully. If Eric hadn’t already seen her do it before, he would’ve doubted it was possible to dance in the tall, skinny sandals she’d picked.