Managed (VIP 2)

The elevator arrives at the lobby, and we exit. Across the way, the guys have congregated, drinking coffee in the lounge. They’ve drawn a fair bit of attention, but they don’t seem to care.

At my side, Sophie’s steps slow.

I slow too. “What is it?”

She nibbles on the corner of her lip. “How do you want to play this?”

“This?” I ask blankly.

She glances toward the guys. “I’m thinking you’re not big on public displays of affection. If you’d rather we kept things to ourselves—”

I step into her space, cup her cheeks, and kiss her. Do I care for public displays? No. Can I keep my hands, my mouth off Sophie? Hell no.

When her lips yield to mine, the world falls away. I groan, tilt my head, and go deeper, luxuriating in the feel of her mouth and the taste of her tongue on mine.

I kiss her until I run out of air. And even then it is a struggle to stop.

She utters a happy sigh, her lips returning to mine again and again.

Behind us, someone gives a wolf whistle. I’m guessing it’s Rye by the sound of it. He can sod off.

I end the kiss with one last nibble on her lower lip. “Consider yourself outed,” I whisper against her mouth.

She smiles, her brown eyes dazed. “Wow, you really go all in.”

“For you? Yes.”

She grins. “As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”

I’m dizzy again, sweating a bit. I need a strong pot of tea and a good breakfast. But Sophie’s needs come first. I give her a reassuring peck on her nose. “Don’t worry, chatty girl. All is well now.”

I take two steps. The world goes black.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sophie

* * *

“I do not need to be here,” Gabriel announces. “Get this IV out of my arm.”

Gabriel Scott: worst patient ever. I should have expected as much.

Brenna apparently thinks the same. “Shut up and take your medicine, Colossus.”

He narrows his eyes in warning. “Colossus?”

Brenna gives him a cheeky look. “You know, the Colossus of Rhodes? One of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. They say when it fell, it was quite the spectacle.”

“Hilarious,” he deadpans.

But I laugh, grateful for the emotion. I was terrified when he fainted. Gabriel is eternal in my eyes. Superman in a tailored suit. He cannot topple. To see him take a step and suddenly crumple to the ground as if the strings of life had been cut is a sight I never want to witness again.

Now, he sits stiff and pissed off on our bed, because, according to Brenna, Kill John and company have a strict, no-alerting-the-press-by-going-to-the-hospital-unless-you’re-truly-dying rule. One that pissed me off when my man was lying prone on the floor, but in hindsight, I can appreciate it. I know for a fact that Gabriel would have gone ballistic if he’d woken in a hospital room.

He’s so pissy now that he’s scared away the guys. Only Brenna and I remain. I’m guessing this is because Gabriel never yells at women.

There’s a light knock on the bedroom door, and Dr. Stern lets herself in. She is the band’s on-call physician. Apparently she’s been going on tour with Kill John for years. I met her once—she keeps to herself and flies to all the cities instead of using a coach.

Elegant yet down to earth, she reminds me of the Upper West Side moms who work full time but still take their kids to the Museum of Natural History on Sundays.

“How is my patient doing?”

“Annoyed.” Gabriel lifts his arm. “Would you please remove this?”

The doctor is immune to his evil glare. “When it’s finished. You mind telling me how you felt before you fainted?”

“As though I were about to faint but hoped very much it wouldn’t happen.”

“Stubborn,” I mutter under my breath.

Dr. Stern nods. “And have you felt this way before?”

A mulish expression mars Gabriel’s face. When he doesn’t speak, Brenna stands. “I’m gonna head out.”

As soon as she leaves, Dr. Stern asks him the question again.

With a sigh, he answers. “Yes.”

“How many times, Scottie?” she persists. “And for how long?”

Seconds tick by.

“Since the beginning of the tour. On and off, perhaps ten times. I didn’t count.”

“Jesus,” I blurt out, getting up from my seat and pacing to the window before rounding on him. “What the hell, Gabriel?”

He won’t meet my eyes.

Dr. Stern sighs. “I’d say you’re extremely stressed and overworked. Have you been sleeping well?”

A faint flush hits his cheeks. “Not lately.”

God, it’s my turn to blush.

“You need more than a good night’s sleep, Scottie. In fact, I’d prescribe a long vacation.”

“I’ll go on holiday when the tour is over.”

The promise does not sound very convincing.

Dr. Stern apparently feels the same. “You’re ignoring your health, which is never a good thing.”

“I have not ignored the situation,” he snaps. “Christ, I was willing to turn my life upside down to get a proper night’s sleep—”