Rock Hard (Rock Kiss 2)

Guessing he was simply making conversation, she said, “I’ve never really seen live music. Molly says it’s amazing.”

Gabriel shifted gears, the car smooth as a cloud on the city streets. “Do you plan to visit her?”

“If my boss ever permits me a vacation.”

That boss grinned. “I just can’t live without you, Ms. Baird.”

Not wanting to think too hard about the way her stomach fluttered at those playful words, she said, “How about you? Do you have a best friend?”

“My brothers and I are all close, and I have a few mates who might as well be blood. We met playing rugby in high school.”

“Do you miss it?” she asked softly. “Playing professional rugby?” Charlotte would’ve never brought up the subject if she’d thought it would make him sad, but he still seemed to find pleasure in the game.

Two weeks ago, he’d called her into the office to show her a replay of his brother Daniel’s maiden test try, his pride in the twenty-one-year-old apparent. Then there was his coaching, and the fact he sometimes mentioned staying up late or waking predawn to catch the live feed of an international match.

“No,” he said now. “Not saying it didn’t hurt like a bitch when I realized I’d never play again for my country. I was twenty-five and my body refused to heal right. It didn’t matter what I did, I couldn’t control it.”

That would’ve been intensely frustrating for a man like Gabriel, used to being the master of his own destiny. “How did you end up in business?”

“My parents always drummed it into my skull that playing sports was a career with a limited lifespan. Unless I wanted to go into professional coaching or sports commentary afterward, I sure as hell better have a backup plan.”

“Wow, this is some backup plan.” Gabriel owned the boardroom.

A grin. “No one took me seriously at first. Despite the fact I had an MBA, they figured I was playing at business.” His grin widened. “Then I bought up an ailing company, turned it around, and started sweeping contracts out from under my competitors’ feet.”

Fascinated by this glimpse into his history, Charlotte nudged at him to tell her more about that first company, and the deep, masculine sound of his voice wrapped around her.

GABRIEL COULD FEEL CHARLOTTE getting more and more tense the closer they got to her home. When he’d offered to drive her, he’d had no ulterior motive. Once in the car though, he’d been considering if he could coax the delectable Ms. Baird into a kiss.

Now he knew that wasn’t about to happen. She’d been fine all day, but something about having him near her home was ratcheting up her fear. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as his mind gave him all sorts of dark reasons why having a male in her home might terrify Charlotte.

“Which way’s the best option?” he asked as he neared a fork in the road, fighting to keep his tone easy even as anger rose in a hot wave under his skin.

“Left,” she said, hands locked tightly together in her lap. “It’s a little quicker.”

Shifting gears, he took the car left. “Are you still catching the bus in the mornings?” He would’ve organized a car for her except that he was sure she’d balk when she realized it was coming from him rather than the company budget.

The restraint didn’t sit well with Gabriel; he liked to look after the people who belonged to him. And regardless of their personal relationship, Ms. Baird belonged to him.

“Yes.” A short pause before she added, “It’s pretty efficient except when it rains. Everyone seems to slow down to a crawl then.” She played with the strap of her purse, the burst of conversation followed by silence until they hit her street. “There.” She pointed out the long drive that serviced multiple town houses.

“Which number?” He was pleased to note the drive was well lit, security lights coming on automatically as his car passed the other town houses.

“The one right at the back.”

He brought the car to a halt a couple of seconds later.

“W…would you mind waiting?” A flush of red on her cheekbones as she made the request.

“Of course I’ll wait.” Gabriel would’ve done so for any woman, but the fact Charlotte had fought her embarrassment to ask gave him another disturbing insight into the emotional scars that marked her.

Getting out, he came around to her door. She’d already opened it, but he placed his hands on her waist and put her on the ground. He was half expecting her to protest the handling; he’d done it precisely so she’d snap at him, the spark back in her eyes, but she just headed for her door, keys in hand and stride a little jerky. Deactivating the alarm using the keypad on the wall just inside the door once she’d opened it, she turned in the doorway.

Suppressed panic on her face, as if she didn’t know what to do now.

It wasn’t the cute panic of a woman unsure about the protocol but happy to have him there. He saw real fear in her eyes.

Shoving down his simmering anger at this further evidence of what had been done to her, he smiled and said, “Have a good night. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty tomorrow.”

A startled blink. “What?”

“Remember I mentioned Rotorua? I got a call about that while you were away from the office.” When she’d bought him ice cream. The reminder eased his tension—Charlotte might have scars, but she liked him, even if she wouldn’t admit it. Her fear wasn’t directed specifically at him. “End result is that we decided to move the meeting up. You and I are heading down to Rotorua tomorrow to speak to a local Maori arts collective whose work I want to feature as part of our arts partnership deal.”