Managed (VIP 2)
“Here is what I will admit: I was not ‘fucking someone’ and it pisses me off that your first suspicion went directly to that.”
He’s so close, his angry heat feels like my own. I can’t move or avoid his eyes. I don’t try to. “Why shouldn’t I think that when you smell of other women?”
“Because there is only you!”
His shout rings out, broken and desperate. But it’s the rage in it, as if he hates the truth, that has me flinching.
Even so, his confession sits between us. And I can’t help but put a hand to his waist. Tension vibrates through his frame. But he doesn’t pull away, just stares down at me, breathing hard.
“Gabriel, you think it’s any different for me?”
He pulls back at that, his expression going blank.
I don’t let it stop me. My voice stays soft. “Why do you think I push?”
“Because you can’t help yourself, stubborn, chatty girl.” His gaze darts over my face. “Even when you should.”
“Why should I, Gabriel?” I use his name to keep him from retreating. I know how much he craves hearing it. Even now, when he’s angry, his lids flutter each time I utter it. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you. I do. We dance around it night after night. And it’s a fucking lie. I’m tired of the lie. Tell me why you resist.”
His lips pinch. “I have already told you. I will fail you, Sophie. Christ, look at me. I left when you were in need.”
“Did you do it to prove that to me?” I press, tears threatening. “Is that why?”
That clearly doesn’t sit well with him. “No. I needed a break, time for myself.”
Oh, that hurts. And yet he’s been a solitary man for so long, can I blame him for wanting his space?
Exhaustion lines his face as he watches me with cautious eyes. “I can’t be the man you expect me to be, Sophie.”
The faint yellow of a bruise on his cheek catches my attention. I lift my hand to touch it, and he takes a step back, evading my hand. “Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?” he counters. “In the end, the result is the same.”
I should walk away, save what’s left of my pride. But I’ve never been able to hold back from engaging with this man. “Are you going to tell me where you were?”
“No.”
Jesus, I want to stamp my foot. On his. “Why not?”
He’s fully away from me now, retreating to the kitchen to grab the kettle and fill it with water. “Because I don’t want to.”
“Asshole.”
“Admitted that already, love.”
My back teeth click, as he fusses with his tea leaves.
“Teatime, is it?” I grind out. “Having a problem that needs soothing?”
“Yes,” he says without turning. “You.”
A gasp of pain leaves me before I can hold it in.
He turns at the sound, and his brows lift in apparent surprise. “Chatty girl?”
I blink rapidly. “You are an asshole. And it isn’t something to be proud of.”
I grab my shoes and head for the door.
“Sophie.” He makes a grab for my arm, but I evade his reach.
“Don’t,” I say, wrenching the door open. “I need to be away from you for a while.”
He runs a hand through his thick hair and grips the ends as if he needs to hold something. “At least tell me where you’re going so I don’t have to worry.”
A bitter laugh leaves my lips. “Oh, the irony.” I glare at him. “Guess what, Scottie? I’m not telling. Because I don’t fucking want to!”
I slam the door behind me and head out into the night.
Chapter Nineteen
Gabriel
* * *
“You tug at those cuffs any harder and they’re going to fall off.”
I don’t bother turning to acknowledge Killian at my side. It will only encourage him. And I don’t have it in me to pretend I’m impenetrable right now. I hurt Sophie last night. I ruined her fun and then made her think she was a problem to be solved.
I didn’t realize how badly I was mucking things up until she stormed out. I’d only thought to protect my private life as I’ve always done, by putting up a wall and sniping at anyone who tried to look over it.
The method still works; she left. Cut me off at the fucking knees. I’m stuck walking on stumps and trying to pretend it isn’t agony.
Around us, stagehands, lighting engineers, and sound techs scurry to and fro, getting ready for the concert. On the other side of the massive screen we’re standing behind, the crowd fills up the stadium. Their murmurs and laughs create a constant hum.
“Shouldn’t you be in the dressing room getting your hair artfully disheveled?” I ask him.
“Libby does that for me in her own special way,” he answers easily.
Of course she does. Every damn person on the tour has been treated to the sounds Killian and Libby preparing for concerts. And celebrating the conclusion of each show. I don’t know how they ever thought they were being secretive.