Managed (VIP 2)

“Is it true?” I can’t help asking. “Are you…abstaining?”

“Jesus,” he says, letting the spoon clatter to the side of the bowl. “Please, for the sake of my appetite, refrain from trying to phrase things delicately, chatty girl. It is painful to witness.”

He’d look pretty good wearing that dessert right about now. “Then answer the question, sunshine.”

For a second, I think he’ll refuse, but he sighs in defeat and rests against the headboard. “Sex for me has always been…” He frowns as if trying to think of an explanation, then shrugs. “A release, I suppose. Hard, fast, mutual but impersonal satisfaction.”

That really shouldn’t sound appealing, but it does—at least when I picture him doing it. He’s strong enough that it would be brutal in the best kind of way. I sit back as well, crossing my legs before me.

Gabriel continues in a dispassionate tone. “Living this life, looking the way I do, it’s easy to get off whenever, however I want. I won’t lie. I took advantage often. But then Jax happened.” He stares down at his hands as they close tight around his bowl. “Everything felt false, ugly. Like we were all tainted by a lie, and those around us were liars. The amount of supposed close friends who jumped ship, turned their backs on Jax was staggering.”

He glances my way, and his eyes are red at the edges. “Don’t misunderstand; I expected it. I simply didn’t expect it to bother me.”

“Of course it would. They’re your family. Anyone can see that you love them.”

He stills as if he’s absorbing my words. “Most people believe I’m incapable of feeling anything.”

Outrage punches through my chest like a burning fist. In that moment, I know I’d go to war for this man. Even if he hated every second of it. No one should have to face the world without someone at their back. Especially not someone as dedicated as Gabriel.

“Idiots,” I snarl.

He slowly shakes his head. “No, love, it’s what I want them to see.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

“It helps. I was never particularly affectionate. But after Jax, I couldn’t stand to have anyone touch me. Especially strangers. It makes my skin crawl, smothers me.”

With a groan, I flop into the pillows. “And there I was on the plane, wrapping myself around you like cling film.”

His mouth quirks, and he looks at me from under the thick fringe of his lashes. “Yes, well, I’m all cured of you. Call it a trial by fire. Or aversion therapy.”

“Lovely. I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy now. No.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t hold back how you really feel.”

He snorts and grabs my hand, his long fingers wrapping around my smaller ones. He gives me a squeeze before gently setting my hand down on my thigh and moving his away.

“Our situation aside, casual contact irritates me, which means casual sex no longer holds any interest. In truth, I find it repellant now.”

It’s probably wrong that I’m relieved. But if I had to watch him hook up with women during the tour, I don’t know how I’d handle it. Jealousy is not fun and also hard to control. Yet it also bothers me, thinking about him consigning himself to being alone.

“What about having a relationship?” I ask.

“Most people bore me.”

I laugh, but my heart hurts. “This you make very clear.

A frown knits his thick brows. “I’ve never been affectionate or normal, Sophie.”

He says it like a warning, or maybe a badge of honor. And yet I hear the worry behind it all, as if he fears he might be defective. I know that particular fear very well.

“Hey, what’s normal anyway? We’re all a bit crazy.”

“Some more than others,” he can’t seem to help but murmur with a small, teasing smile about his lips. “And I don’t usually have dessert. Crumble is special.”

That catches my attention. “How so?”

He pokes as his desert before answering with a secretive smile. “Mary made this for me.”

“Mary.” The name tastes of bitterness in my mouth.

He glances at me, his brows drawing together before his expression smoothes into amusement. “Glorious woman. Excellent baker. The best, really.”

“I prefer apple pie.”

The bastard gives his spoon a lazy lick. I ignore that tongue. And those firm lips that are just a bit glossy with apple-cinnamon filling. “How American of you. Don’t fret, love. I’m certain Mary could bake a luscious pie too.”

“Maybe you should ask her to sleep with you at night. Then you can have your pie and eat it too.”

“Good suggestion, Marie Antoinette. Only I think she’d turn me down. She’s constantly telling me I’m too young for her.” He shrugs. “Eighty-year-old women are prickly that way.”

I grab his spoon and take an irritated bite of his beloved crumble while he chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I can’t believe I let him goad me.