Managed (VIP 2)

Not happening. Her skinny jeans might hug her legs and highlight her arse to an alarming degree, but they, at the very least, provide some coverage.

And what the bloody hell am I doing commenting on her clothing?

“I apologize,” I bite out. “I’d hand someone their arse if I heard them say as much to a woman.”

Her eyes widen, and she gapes at me.

I count down the number of seconds until I can safely make my escape.

Too late. Sophie goes up on her toes as she lays the back of her hand on my forehead. I want to bat it away, tell her to leave off. But she’s closer now, her soft breasts nearly touching my chest, her scent surrounding me. Her fingers are cool, soothing.

“Are you feeling all right?” she asks, clearly mocking.

“Go away,” I mutter. A lie. I want to lean down and rest my head on the pillows of her fantastic breasts. Burrow right in and happily die there.

She ignores me anyway. “I mean, I did hear that apology, didn’t I? I’m not dreaming?”

“If this were a dream, it’d be a nightmare.”

Her berry pink lips part on a smile. “There’s the Sunshine I know.”

I want to shut her up with my mouth. Take. And take. And take. Lick up her words, drink in her laughter. I can’t. I won’t.

“I’m not myself today.” Truth. “I think one of the boys spiked my drink. They’d just love to find out if I truly do walk around with my knickers in a twist.”

Her laugh has a husky quality to it. Again I want to take her mouth. Her lips are plush, mobile—always volleying something back at me.

“Don’t we all?” Her slim fingers pluck at the waist of my trousers, and my cock stirs. “Come on,” she murmurs, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Give me a peek. I promise, I’ll only tell…everyone.”

I wonder what she’d do if I pulled her hand against me, let her get a feel of my thickening cock, ordered her to give it a nice squeeze.

Nothing I’d want her to, that’s one certainty.

Sophie is a tease. Not in a malicious way, but because it’s her nature to make life a joke. I envy that ability to laugh at the world. But I won’t mistake her sexual innuendoes for anything more than her enjoyment of getting under my skin.

I button my suit jacket, covering my growing interest. “And ruin the mystery? I think not.”

“I’ll find out one day,” she calls after me as I walk away.

One can only hope. I don’t turn around, so she can’t see me smile. But as her light laughter drifts off, it occurs to me that I spent a few minutes without thinking about pain or exhaustion. My steps slow as my heart rate kicks up.

Sophie.

The last time I had a proper sleep was with her snoring away in my bed. My bed. She makes it better.

A thought races through my mind, strong and demanding. I kick it aside because it’s rubbish and insane. But desperation makes men do stupid things. And even though I tell myself I absolutely cannot consider what my body is begging me to do, I know I will.

“Fuck me,” I mutter. I’ll take one more night to talk myself out of it. But I’m a man at the end of his rope. I’ll do anything to get back on that boat, even debase myself in the worst way I can imagine.

* * *

Sophie

* * *

The next morning, I’m packing my camera when Gabriel approaches. He’s so stiff, his back appears in danger of snapping should a strong breeze blow our way. Which is saying something. I haven’t seen him this tense since the plane.

“What’s up, sunshine?” I glance at him. “Someone piss in your porridge?”

“Lovely.” He watches me for a second, the wrinkle between his brows growing deeper until he’s full-out scowling.

“Seriously, you look grumpy even for you. Who pissed you off?” I grin at him. “Do I have to break some skulls?”

He finally huffs out a small laugh, his shoulders easing a fraction. “I can see it now, you nipping at someone’s ankle like an angry Pomeranian.”

“So you’re familiar with my methods.”

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, and he lowers himself to a crouch, handing me my flash. Too soon, his relaxed expression fades back to seriousness. Not that I mind; the man is a freaking work of art when he’s stern. So hot, I hold back the urge to fan myself. I busy myself packing.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he finally says in a low voice.

The anxious way he looks at me, as if he’s dreading what he has to say, sends my heart pounding. God, is he firing me? But he can’t. Brenna’s my boss. Try to remain calm. “Shoot.”

His fingers twitch, and he rises with me. “Not here. Are you free now?”