Gabriel

GETTING the band ready to start a tour is like herding wild cats. There is noise, there are squabbles, and no one is where they’re supposed to be. I gave up overseeing the details a long time ago. I’ve underlings to perform that thankless task now. And I pay them well. But it still falls to me to make final checks.

I watch stagehands moving to and fro, carrying crates and laughing along the way. For them, this is the experience of a lifetime—a chance to rub elbows with the band they idolize. I envy their joy. My joy ended around six this morning when I woke up and realized I was yet again, as though my life depended on it, wrapped around the woman I had intended to hate. And it had been a bloody uncomfortable realization.

It was bloody uncomfortable to ease my swollen, aching cock away from the swell of her arse and roll myself out of that warm, fragrant bed when all I really wanted to do was wallow there, ease between soft thighs and push…

“Where are we putting Sophie?” I ask Brenna, who stands next to me as the buses are loaded up.

“Why do you care?” She takes a long sip of her coffee.

I don’t know. I’ve gone over the ledge into madness. I give Brenna a look. “She’s a new employee. It shifts the balance. Accommodations will have to be rearranged.”

“We have five new employees,” Brenna retorts. “You know any of the others’ names?” One red brow lifts behind purple cat glasses. “Or job functions?”

Hell. Evasive maneuvers are needed.

“What has your knickers in a twist?” I ask. Before she can answer, Rye strides past. They ignore each other as usual, and Brenna’s pert nose rises a touch higher. I repress an eye roll. “You two really ought to fuck and get it over with.”

I can almost hear her teeth grinding. Her voice is breezy, though, when she finally speaks. “There is entirely too much fucking going around this nosy little bunch, thank you very much.”

“Who?” I can’t help asking.

Brenna’s gaze slides to mine. “Sophie and Jax, for one.”

It’s as if she’s kicked my legs out from under me. The sensation of falling is so strong, the sudden pain in my chest so sharp, I can clearly picture myself on the ground, two stiletto heels implanted in my chest—one of Brenna’s and one of Sophie’s.

“What?” The question lashes out like a whip. And Brenna visibly flinches.

Slowly she lowers her cup from her face and takes a step back. “Ah, yeah, you know what? That’s just speculation.”

“Based on what, exactly?” I grind out.

Brenna looks around as if trying to find an avenue of escape. Not bloody likely.

I take a step into her space. “Talk, you.”

“This morning Jax said he’d hooked up with Sophie, and she confirmed it,” Brenna blurts out. “Though really, she sounded extremely sarcastic when she called the sex ‘moving,’ so it might have been a joke…”

Her words drift off, as the ringing in my ears grows stronger. My heart knocks against my ribs so hard, I feel the reverberations in my throat. Jax? She’s with Jax? She fucking slept in my bed while she fucking fucked fucking Jax?

I turn on my heel, not knowing where the bloody hell I’m going, when my gaze lands on the man in question, who is about to get on his bus.

“John,” I bark out loud enough for my voice to echo over the lot.

Hearing me use his real name makes him pause and look over his shoulder. “What?”

Whatever he sees on my face gets him strolling over to me. I grit my teeth.

“What’s this about you and Sophie?”

The git gives me a stupid grin. “Oh, yeah, just a bit of fun.” He glances at Brenna, who is slowly shaking her head. “Right, Bren?”

I don’t let her respond. “Did you not give Killian a lecture about sleeping with employees when Libby came on board?”

He rubs his chin, and I have the urge to punch it.

Jax snaps his fingers. “Right. He clearly listened well.” Fuckwit.

“Good advice which would apply to you as well, would it not?” Jax nods, still grinning that smug little shitter grin. “It would.”

I take a calming breath, which bursts out of my lungs when Jax smiles wide and says, “But don’t worry, there wasn’t much sleeping involved.”

My breathing goes haywire.

“Careful,” Brenna whispers in my ear. “Your knickers are getting all twisted.”

I wrench my head in her direction, and she pales.

“Ack, joke gone bad, joke gone bad,” Brenna wails, flapping her hands. “Run away. Run away.”

Jax watches her go, a smile on his lips. “What’s with her?… Hey, man.” He holds his hands up. “Easy with the crazy eyes. It’s just Sophie.”

Wrong thing to say.

“What’s just me?” Sophie asks, appearing at my side. I round on her. “You.”

“Me.” She points to her chest then to Jax. “Jax. We all speak good now.”

Jax chuckles, but when I glare at him, he suddenly becomes invested in scurrying off toward Killian and Libby.

Sophie frowns. “What’s that all about?” “Are you fucking Jax?”

Her eyes go wide and shocked. Guilty? I can’t tell. It annoys me further. A flush rushes over her cheeks. “Are you serious with this?”

Yes. No. I don’t fucking know.

“Answer the question, Sophie.”

She glances around before grabbing me by the arm. I let her lead me away because I want an answer. She stops in the narrow gap between my coach and the band’s.

“Look, you,” she hisses, poking my shoulder. “I don’t have to tell you a fucking thing about my personal life.”

“You cease to have one if you start fucking the band members.”

“Members?” she squeaks. “So, what? I’m fucking my way through them now? Is that it?”

The thought is so repellant, bile fills my stomach. My fists clench. “Jax.

Let’s concentrate on Jax now. Did you sleep with him?”

“I cannot believe you’re asking me this,” she snaps. “That you’re actually snorting like some sort of enraged bull and expecting me to answer.”

“I did not snort. I merely asked a question. Which I want an answer to.

Now.”

The flush rushes down to the tops of her breasts. “Fuck you, Scottie. I don’t know who you think you are, but let me tell you, I’m not some empty- headed bimbo you can bark at. I am done with this conversation.”

She turns to go, her expression utterly closed off for the first time since I’ve met her. But I saw the hurt I caused, and the humiliation, before she shut down. The bottom drops out of my gut.

“Sophie.” I grab hold of her and spin her around.

Her shoulders meet the side of the bus before I cage her in. She struggles, even as I press close. My cheek touches hers, and she stills. For a long, painful moment we both just breathe, heavy and agitated.

“You’re right. I have no say,” I whisper into her hair. My lids lower, and I draw in another lungful of her sweet scent. “And I don’t think you’re a bimbo. I only wanted to… That is…” I choke on a curse. “Not with one of the boys, all right? Not them. Please.”

A breath shudders out of her, and I feel it along my neck. My back tenses, my skin prickling. It’s all I can do to remain still, not rock into her softness. I know she’s wondering why I’m demanding this. I won’t be able to tell her she’ll rip my guts out if she does, that I won’t be able to focus for shite if she’s with one of the guys. If she’s been with Jax…

A tremor runs through my body as I struggle to hold still.

Her breath hitches again. If she touches me, I might shatter. But she doesn’t. She simply sighs. “You’re such an ass.”

“Established.”

“A reactionary ass,” she says bitterly. “Who apparently can’t be bothered to realize there’s no way I could have been with Jax last night when I was with you.”

My head hits the side of the bus with a thud as my body sags against hers. Relief and embarrassment are a warm, sticky cocktail swimming

through my blood. “Shit.”

“Yeah, shit,” she repeats with soft sarcasm. “He covered for me when everyone caught me doing the walk of shame back to my room. Though he doesn’t know who I was actually with.” Her small fist nudges my ribs. “Now get off me before someone sees us and they really start talking.”

With a grunt, I push off the bus and take a step back. Her cheeks are flushed a lovely rose, her eyes shining with anger. I feel all of two feet tall. I’m not this man—out of control, possessive, foolish.

I run a hand over my tie. “I spoke out of turn.”

She purses her full lips, her narrowed gaze demanding more. I swallow hard. “I should have asked—“

“No,” she snaps. “You should have minded your business.”

A flush of heat hits my cheeks. “Ms. Darling, I cannot recant my earlier statement. Getting involved with a member of the tour is a bad decision and one that can affect everyone. Which means it will always be my business.”

All true. And I sound like an utter git. Fuck it all.

“You’re talking like a duke again.” She straightens and smoothes a hair back from her face. “Which means you’re feeling guilty.”

“Know me so well already, chatty girl?”

“Yes, I do.” She moves to pass me but pauses. “You’re not fooling anyone. And when you want to admit you were jealous, I’ll be waiting.”

With that, she walks away, her round hips swaying. I appreciate the view, even as I’m mentally kicking myself.

“It will be a long wait,” I call.

She flips me off without missing a step. Hell, I do like this girl. Too bloody much.

Sophie

MEN CAN SUCK IT. Especially hot, suit-wearing, bossy, jealous, chest- thumping men. And he was jealous. Gabriel can deny it all he wants, but that whole freakout had nothing to do with looking out for his “boys.”

Maybe it’s weak of me to admit I’d find the whole incident a turn on if he’d done something physical about his jealousy—thrown me over his shoulder, proclaimed me his before fucking my brains out. Yeah, that would have been hot. But no, it was much more, stay away from my friends, and I’ll stay away from you. Not cool.

And embarrassing, because as quickly as I took him off to finish our discussion in private, I know people saw the start of it. You don’t bite the head off your lead guitarist in public and expect people not to talk. Especially when your guitarist runs away as though his life depended on it; thanks very much, Jax, you weenus.

I’m still fuming when Brenna seeks me out. “So sorry about that,” she murmurs, walking with me to my room.

“Were you going to assign me a bus?” I ask, zipping up my bag. “Or just throw me under one?”

She winces, her nose wrinkling. “I know, I know. I am a gossiping hag. I was low on caffeine and in a pissy mood.” Her gaze travels over me as if looking for battle scars. “I didn’t think Scottie would flip his shit like that. He doesn’t normally have a bad temper, but he’s been a bit off lately.”

“Off?” I ask, despite not wanting to talk about The Incident at all. “Distracted. Snippy.” Brenna shakes her head, her ponytail swaying

over her shoulders. “He’s always fairly deadpan and unflappable, stone cold.”

Gabriel leaning into me, his breath on my cheek, whispering please flashes through my mind. That man wasn’t cold or unflappable. But I don’t want to think about that version of Gabriel. My attraction to him is inconvenient and annoying. I have a job to do—one other photographers would kill for.

But Brenna is still eyeing me with remorse and worry. “I am sorry, Sophie. I didn’t mean to set him on you like that. Do you want me to talk to him?“

And poke the bear? I can imagine how that would go. “No, it’s fine. We worked it out.”

She looks dubious but nods. “Right then. You’ll be traveling with the guys.”

“Really?” I don’t know where I expected to be placed in our traveling caravan, but I hadn’t thought right with the band.

“They like to travel in one coach for camaraderie, and your job is to capture that, so it makes the most sense.”

“And they’re okay with this?”

Brenna grabs one of my bags, and we exit the room, heading down to the waiting cars that will take us to the buses. “Yeah. They’re a pretty open bunch, all things considered. And they trust me when I say you won’t post without permission.”

Translation: Don’t fuck that trust up for me.

“I want to thank you again for this opportunity,” I tell her. “I won’t let you or the guys down.”

Brenna smiles. “I know. I’m a good judge of character.”

I have to laugh at that. “I am too. I just seem to ignore my common sense when I most need it.”

“Shit, if we’re talking about our love lives, I know I have you beat. I’m a train wreck with an atomic bomb on the top.”

Before we enter the coach, Brenna hands me a small key for later use. We’re alone for the moment, and she shows me around. There’s not much to see. The front has a lounge space and a galley kitchen-bar to the side. It’s dark and sleek, and there are three TVs on different walls.

“The guys store instruments and a few small amps in the bins,” she says, pointing to ebony wood cabinets overhead. “And then there are the

bunks.”

Mid-bus is reserved for bunks that line both walls, leaving a narrow hall. Four beds and then a small master bedroom at the very back, with an even smaller bathroom between them.

“Killian and Libby have the bedroom,” Brenna tells me. “You get this top back bunk. It’s with the guys.” Her sherry-colored eyes narrow with worry. “You’re okay with this? Because if you’re not, it’s fine. I can move you to one of the roadie coaches.”

“They all have bunks too, don’t they?” I ask.

“Yes, I’m afraid we get cozy during tour travel. Except for Scottie, who has an entire bus to himself.”

“I’m not surprised in the least.”

“And a word of warning; don’t try to visit him there. He snarls if he finds anyone near his private spaces.”

He left me alone in his house today. Then keeps me at arm’s length in the next breath. I’m beginning to think the man simply doesn’t know how to let people into his life. “I’ll be fine rooming with the guys.”

“You will,” Brenna assures me. “They might be pigs now and then. But they’re good guys. The best. They’ll make you feel comfortable, I promise.”

“Who’s promising what?” Rye says as he hauls his muscled bulk onto the bus.

“That you’ll be nice to Sophie,” Brenna says with a stern look.

The big guy has one of those open faces that easily shows his emotions. He reminds me of a puppy, cute and exuberant. “Of course.” His smile is wide and framed by dimples. “Welcome aboard, lovely Sophie.”

Whip steps up behind him, his blue eyes flashing with impish humor. “Did you tell her about the initiation rites?”

“If it involves anything sexual,” I say blandly, “I offer free nuttings with a hundred-percent guarantee to leave a man incapacitated for an hour at

minimum.”

Whip laughs. “I bet. Naw, you just have to drink a lot and make a fool of yourself at least once.” He runs his hand through coal back hair that reaches his collar. Effortlessly cool rocker. “But I promise to take the lead.”

Jax crams in behind him and gives him a nudge to move on. “Out of the way, pretty boy.”

Killian and Libby follow, and soon we’re all crowded in.

Brenna leaves us as the bus gets ready to go. But she’s right; they all make me feel comfortable and welcome. If I’m going to be stuffed in a bus with minimal privacy and space, bunking with these guys isn’t a bad option at all.

I remind myself of this and refuse to think of Gabriel Scott on his own bus, or how much space he must have to rattle around.

After settling in, I join the guys and Libby in the living area. Libby is putting out a tray of biscuits, but stops to offer me one before I sit.

“Get one now,” she tells me in her soft Southern drawl, “because these jackals will devour them in a second.”

I take a napkin and a flaky, hot biscuit. “You baked?”

She smiles wryly, and her grey eyes light up. “Made the dough before and froze it. Not much room for anything else.”

Killian’s hand reaches down between us, and he snatches two. “Best baker ever.” He gives Libby a quick kiss on her cheek. “Love you, Elly May.”

She rolls her eyes and sets the tray down for the guys. “I’m thinking you’re more loving my biscuits right now, lawn bum.”

“Never.”

They grin at each other, and I take a picture before sitting down. Killian is right; Libby is an excellent baker. And Libby is right; the food is devoured in a blink. I find a seat and simply watch the guys interact.

There’s something comforting about witnessing old friends enjoy each other’s company.

But they don’t leave me out. Whip turns his attention to me soon enough. “So, Bren threw you right into the lion’s den, eh?”

“You guys seem pretty tame.”

He laughs, and I’m struck by the fact that he looks very much like Killian, only blue-eyed instead of dark. “Sadly, we are now.”

“You miss being wild?” I ask, taking a picture because he’s just too pretty lounging in a black leather armchair, his toned body doing nice things for the vintage Def Leppard concert tee he’s wearing.

“Naw,” he says. “I’m kind of liking this tamer phase. More productive, at the very least.”

“He’s just getting old,” Rye says, opening a small fridge and pulling out a few bottles of beer.

“You’re six months older than I am,” Whip points out. “I age better.”

“Like moldy cheese,” Whip says.

Rye plops down next to me on the small banquet. “I’m surprised Scottie was cool with you sleeping on this bus.”

Killian passes me a beer. “Why wouldn’t he be? It’s her job to record us.”

“It’s cute that you described my job with finger quotes,” I tell him, rolling my eyes.

He grins with teeth, so fake, and I snap a pic before he can stop. At this he scowls, but it lacks any heat.

“Brat. I’m not saying I like my every move being chronicled—and post that goof one at your peril—but I’m admitting it’s a needed aspect of the tour, all right?”

I blink rapidly while clutching my chest. “Can’t. Respond. Shock. Too.

Great.”

Libby laughs. “See? You’ll fit in just fine.” “Thanks.” I click beer bottles with her.

“Still not getting why Scottie would complain about Sophie on the bus,” Killian says. “He was adamant that we treat her with…” His voice turns crisp and clipped, mimicking Gabriel’s accent to a tee. “…‘the bloody respect a trained professional deserves.’”

He said that? I become a little less ticked at him. Just a little.

Rye gives an expansive sigh. “Because dumbass Jax made it sound like he’d hooked up with her.”

Killian’s mouth falls open, and he stares at Jax as if he’s sprouted horns. “You told Scottie you slept with Sophie?” he all but squeaks, which is impressive given his naturally low voice.

“It was a joke,” Jax says from his sprawl across the couch. “Calm down.”

Killian shakes his head. “Oh, man. That’s nothing to joke about. You’re dead.”

“Scottie needs to lighten up. And you do too.”

“He has every right to kick your ass.” Killian wings a bottle cap at Jax. “You violated the first law of the man code, Mr. Dead Man Walking.”

Jax frowns. “No way.”

“Yeah, you did,” Whip adds with a laugh.

Even Rye shakes his head. “You didn’t know? Who put you up to even telling Scottie that story?”

Jax sits up straight. “Brenna brought it up to him!”

Rye makes a noise of horror. “That’s just mean. Even for Brenna.”

“Eh,” Jax says, rubbing the back of his head. “I think he was giving her shit for something.”

“Clearly the man was playing with fire,” Rye deadpans. “Truth.”

“What the hell is the first law of the man code?” I cut in.

Killian takes a sip of his beer before answering. “Never encroach upon your buddy’s territory.”

“Territory,” I parrot. “You make us sound like dogs.”

“Soph,” Whip says solemnly, “when it comes to guys and sex, we’re all dogs.”

“True,” adds Rye.

“I’m not Gabriel’s territory for him to piss over.” Not that anyone seems to believe me.

Killian’s dark eyes fill with amusement. “You’re the only one he lets call him Gabriel.”

“Shit,” Jax says with a wince. “You’re right. I missed that.”

“You’re blind then.” Whip gives Jax’s flat belly a slap. “Dude, he saw her first. That’s like calling—“

“If you say ‘dibs’,” Libby cuts in, “I will gag.”

Killian laughs and slings an arm around her. “Aw, honey, no gagging without my helping.”

At this we all gag.

“But still,” Jax says when the guys settle down. “How was I supposed to know? We’re talking about Scottie, for fuck’s sake.”

“What’s so strange about that?” I feel compelled to ask.

“He isn’t known to…er…partake,” Rye says with a shrug. “Partake?” I look around at the guys.

“Fuck around,” Killian supplies. “He’s kind of like a monk.”

Whip nods. “When was the last time anyone saw him with a woman?” “Fucking forever ago.” Rye shudders as if the thought terrifies him. “If

he’s getting any, he’s doing it on the sly.”

Something ugly twists in my stomach. I don’t want to think of Gabriel with women. And really don’t like the idea of the guys discussing his sex life, or lack of one. Gabriel is a proud man; he’d hate this conversation. “We shouldn’t be talking about him this way.”

“You’re right,” Killian says. “No doubt his Scottie Sense is tingling.”

“We shouldn’t be talking about him,” Libby says in a stronger voice, “because it’s rude and none of our business.”

I knew I liked that woman.

Killian kisses her cheek. “Right you are, Libs.” He gives Jax a look filled with warning. “Sleep with one eye open, man.”

“He’s on another bus,” Jax grumbles.

“You look worried,” I point out. I admit this gives my inner toddler some satisfaction.

Jax’s smile is self-deprecating. “Little known fact, honey, Scottie boy is scrappy as shit. I’ve seen him make men twice his size cry for their mommas with a well-placed kick-punch combo. Fucking bare knuckle legend—”

Killian clears his throat loudly and gives a slight shake of his head. But I’m a dog on the hunt now. “Hold on, he’s what?”

“A stone cold badass,” Rye says. “But you didn’t hear it from us. Seriously, he really can kick all our asses so…yeah, no more talking about Scottie, ‘kay?”

He’s laughing as he says it, but I get the feeling he truly doesn’t want Gabriel to find out I know about his fighting. I can respect that. Doesn’t stop me from thinking of his hard body and muscles that strain his properly cut shirts. Is that how he developed those? As a fighter? I can’t picture him getting into a fight out of anger, but a controlled match? I can see that, and it leaves me feeling oddly morose.

They move on to another topic, but I can’t help looking out of the tinted window. There’s nothing but darkness and the occasional flicker of headlights. Somewhere behind us, Gabriel is alone on his bus. I know full well he wants it that way, but I hurt for him all the same. Isolated from his friends, and why? Why does he hide himself away? Does he get lonely?

I hate that fate for him. The urge to be with him instead is so strong, I imagine myself leaping from the window and somehow landing on his bus, straight up Super Girl style. No, Wonder Woman. That way I could tie him down with my lasso when he protests my invasion of his Fortress of Solitude.

I’m in the middle of a Clark Kent/Diana Prince cosplay fantasy when Jax shatters my dream by loudly declaring, “‘Son of a Preacher Man’ is a song that can never be replicated.”

Rye leans back in an armchair and idly plucks on a ukulele he unearthed from somewhere. “Okay, I’ll give you that.”

“Play that song,” Jax says, “and women fucking melt, man.”

“Someone save me from hearing any more of Jax’s seduction routine.” Rye looks around desperately.

“Take notes, son, and learn something,” Jax drawls.

“Etta James singing ‘At Last’,” Killian butts in. “Fucking timeless.” “Beyoncé did a pretty good version,” Libby says.

“Pretty good,” Killian repeats. “But it didn’t top the original. Etta still rules that song.”

Whip taps on his knees as if he can’t keep still. “Don’t let the Bee Hive hear that. They’ll sting you bad, bro.”

Killian shudders. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Bees,” he shouts to the air. “Don’t slay me! I love Queen Bey!”

“Man, I keep waiting for her to break up with Jay Z. Then I’m all in.” “Dude, your dream is dead in the water,” Jax says. “You don’t have a

chance in hell with her.”

“You’re gonna eat your words,” Whip promises. “Our love is destined. She totally winked at me during that charity concert we all did last month.”

“It was windy,” Killian says with a snort. “She had dust in her eyes.” “She had me in her eyes.”

Rye shakes his head, and then his blue eyes find me. “What about you, Sophie? Got a song?”

They all turn to me. I’m supposed to play? Fuck. I love music, but my knowledge isn’t encyclopedic like these guys’. I think for a minute. “‘Sabotage’.”

“Beastie Boys?” Rye gives me a high five. “Excellent.”

“Nobody can replicate the Beastie Boys,” Jax agrees, clinking his beer bottle to mine. He’s relaxed, his pretty green gaze slumberous. I know the guys worry over him, and I don’t blame them, but he appears to be taking things easy now. “Hell, I need to get my blood pumping or I’ll fall asleep.” He looks at Killian. “You got ‘Sabotage’ on your phone?”

“You have to ask?” Killian jumps up and plugs his phone into the input set up in the wall. “Hold on to your butts.”

The familiar hard bass riff pounds through the speakers, followed by discordant record scratches and an angry scream of defiance. Killian immediately starts dancing around, grabbing Libby to join him. She laughs and bumps hips with him.

Jax catches my eye. “At the risk of having Scottie hand me my balls later…” He holds out his hand.

Jax has the most to resent me for. I should feel guilty even being in the same room with him. But I’m comfortable in his presence. He looks at me as if he knows exactly how shitty my job was back then, exactly how soulless I’d become, and he’s sorry for it. It’s that more than anything that has me taking his hand.

I dance full out, swinging my head, hopping around like a mad woman

—there’s no way to appreciate the song but to go wild. And the guys surround me, jumping and thrashing, and likely making the entire bus rock as it hurtles down the highway. We don’t care. We’re young and free. It’s a beautiful thing. And we dance for many more songs.

I almost forget about the man on the other bus. Only when the guys finally crash for the night, when I’m tucked away in my tiny bunk by the bathroom and can’t sleep at all, do I stare into the darkness and think of Gabriel.