“They wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.” Like the sight of Erin in an outfit that didn’t swallow her whole. Today the horrible suits had disappeared. In blessed contrast, she wore sleek black track pants and a white T-shirt. Curves he’d only speculated about were terrifically displayed. “Much better outfit today.”

“Excuse me?”

Gabriel touched her shoulder, pleased by the absence of shoulder pads. “I hate your suits. The lines are all wrong for you.”

“They’re Chanel,” she protested, though she agreed with him. But the idea of admitting even the obvious galled. “My suits are classics.”

“Maybe at Harvard in 1953.”

Impossibly, Erin’s ramrod-straight shoulders stiffened further. The voice he’d described to himself as sultry emerged on a river of ice. “Mr. Moss, I do not take fashion advice from a man who thinks denim lasts forever.” The cutting glance at the frayed waistband and thinned fabric should have brought him to his knees. Instead, the obvious scorn enchanted.

“Direct hit.” Duly chastened, he skated a hand down her forearm to cover hers on the bike. He lifted her left hand and examined the graceful lines and the absence of jewelry. She wore a wide band of silver on her right ring finger, with a raised onyx in the center. Indecipherable inscriptions surrounded the band. “What does this say?” he asked, tilting the ring into the light.

Bemused for a moment by his touch, the question caught her. “It’s nothing,” she insisted, too forcefully. “Just a pretty design I liked.”

“In the spirit of partnership, I won’t call you a liar. Plus, I’m hungry. Any interest in having lunch with me? I spar better after I’ve been fed,” Gabriel teased.

Erin struggled against laughter and, he hoped—caring more than he should—against saying no. Laughter wrought a transformation in her that captivated him. The soft brown eyes danced with merriment. The lovely, haughty face transformed into beguiling. Again he thought of fairies and angels and other unearthly beings of loveliness. “Have lunch with me,” he repeated softly.

“Mr. Moss,” she began.

“My name is Gabriel. Gabe to family, a few close friends, and those who think I owe them money.”

Sidetracked and unwilling to break the fragile concord, she inclined her head quizzically. “Are you a gambler?”

“Depends on the stakes. And the prize.” Gabriel studied her then, his eyes running over her in an almost physical caress, a look that promised delights she could scarcely fathom.

Beneath his silver gaze, her blood quickened and her breathing stuttered.

“Have lunch with me, Erin.”

Captivated, she moved toward him. It was a single step, taken despite logic and consequence.

It was folly.

Erin halted. Nothing had changed. The handsome, tempting man who entranced her with laughter and kindness could never be more than the brother of her friend. “I can’t,” she declined with genuine regret.