Managed (VIP 2)

It breaks the tension, and everyone laughs. Well, everyone except for me and Gabriel.

Because his gaze has landed on mine. And I can’t look away.

Why him? Why is it that one direct look from this man has the ability to paralyze my body, take my breath, make everything hot and sticky along my skin?

I didn’t lie that day on the plane. He is the most devastatingly attractive man I’ve ever met. But what I feel when I look at him, when we silently assess each other, has nothing to do with how he looks.

His male beauty isn’t what makes my heart ache like a tender bruise. It isn’t what has my insides swooping to my toes and my lips suddenly turning sensitive. And it certainly isn’t what makes me want to cross the small distance between us and wrap my arms around him, hold him close.

Because he looks so very battered. Thinner about the face, shadows beneath his aqua eyes. His gaze conveys pain, yearning, need. I see it, even if I’m fairly certain he doesn’t want me to see. I’ve always seen the loneliness.

Maybe because it matches my own.

We’re both experts at hiding our true selves behind a public mask. I make jokes and smile. He plays the robot.

The karaoke machine stops with a click. I still can’t look away from Gabriel. I’ve missed him. Too much.

He hasn’t acknowledged anyone, hasn’t even budged from his stance just inside the door.

“Time to go,” Jax murmurs, and everyone shuffles, grabbing instruments, their stuff—Killian takes the tequila.

They leave without another word.

Gabriel’s voice is rusty when he finally uses it. “You’ve been well?” His gaze flicks to the mic still in my hand and a flash of humor lights his eyes before neutrality settles back into place.

I’m sweaty and flushed, my heartbeat still rapid from abruptly stopping my dance.

“Don’t I look well?” It’s a cheap tactic, but the insecure part of me needs some sort of sign. And he still hasn’t moved from the doorway.

He glances at my breasts, the swell of my hips, making all those places perk up, become tender with the need to be touched. He meets my eyes again.

“Very well indeed.”

Damn, that shouldn’t fill me with heat. I set down the mic, take a swig of my beer. It’s warm and flat now. “You should have let them stay.”

“I didn’t ask them to go.” He says it softly, his expression a bit perplexed and a bit pissed off.

“You didn’t have to. You show up and everyone scatters like cockroaches to the light.”

His nostrils flare in clear irritation. I ignore it.

“Why is that? Why don’t you let anyone in here?” I take a step closer. “Why don’t you let anyone in?”

“You’re in here,” he retorts hotly, his gaze cutting away, as if the sight of me pains him. “You’re in.”

“Am I?” My heart pounds now, pushing the blood through my veins with too much force. It makes me jumpy, in need of comfort.

Gabriel frowns at me. “You have to ask?”

I take another step, aware that he stiffens when I do. “Were you really off doing business?”

“What else would I be doing?”

Another step. Close enough to catch his scent. Heat radiates off him despite his cool outward appearance. He stares down his nose at me. Arrogant bastard.

“You look like shit,” I tell him.

He scoffs at that. “Well, thank you, Darling. I can always count on your candor.”

“Yes, you can.” I look up at him. “You’ve lost weight. Your color is off—”

“Sophie,” he cuts in with a sigh, “I’ve traveled all day. On a bloody plane. I’m tired, and I want to sleep.” He inclines his head, his chin set in defiance. “Shall we?”

For a second, I can only blink. “You honestly expect me to sleep with you now?”

That stubborn, blunt chin rises. “You promised me every night if I wanted it. Well, I do.”

“Not until you tell me where you’ve been.”

“What?”

I lean in, my nose nearly brushing the lapel of his perfect suit, and breathe deep. I straighten with a glare. “You may have had a shower, but your suit stinks of cigarettes and perfume.”

His eyes narrow to laser-bright slits. “What are you implying?”

“Were you off fucking someone?”

There. I said it. And I’m sick with the idea.

“That is none of your business.”

I don’t care if he says it without inflection, it still feels like a slap to the face.

“It is if I’m sleeping with you,” I snap.

He takes a step into my space. “I told you at the beginning, this isn’t about sex.”

The tips of my breasts brush his chest with each agitated breath I take. “You’re right. It’s more than that. We are more. And you fucking know it.” I poke his hard shoulder. “So stop being such a coward and admit it.”

With an actual growl, he backs me against the wall, his arms caging me in. Our noses bump as he bends down.