Sophie
I STALL until the last second to get myself on Gabriel’s bus. Dusk has settled over the parking lot where the buses are already idling, a snakelike caravan that holds Kill John’s tour. Gabriel’s bus is toward the end, a glossy black tube against the orange sky.
His driver, a very nice older gentleman named Daniel, greets me with a nod and a smile. “Made it by the skin of your teeth.”
I think he knows I was stalling.
“Thanks for driving us,” I tell him at the door. “You need anything?
Coffee? Dinner?”
“No, miss. I have a very nice setup in the front. Scottie makes certain of that.”
As well he should since he’s relying on Daniel to keep us alive and safe while driving all night. I asked Brenna about the drivers. They sleep during the day in whatever hotel we stop at and stay up all night driving when we’re on the move again. Most of them have been on multiple tours with the band.
Then again, Gabriel truly does make certain every small detail of the tour is attended to. Earlier today, he had Sara, one of the interns, pack up my things while I was goofing off with Jules and put them away in his bus. You’d think I’d find this invasive, but truthfully, I’ve been living out of my suitcase, and not having to go through the awkward task of unpacking, asking where I should put this or that while he looks on, is a relief.
Instead, I received a text from Sara telling me where everything is. I thanked her profusely and sent her a Starbucks gift certificate. Her delight in a free frap makes me consider sending Gabriel’s entire staff certificates. All of them seem to spin constantly like cogs in the well-oiled Kill John machine, with Gabriel at the helm. And while he isn’t cruel, he isn’t exactly handing out praise for their efforts, either. It’s clear he expects jobs to be done right the first time, and that goes for his as well.
The other buses are closing their doors, everyone tucked in for the trip.
I can stall no longer, and after wishing Daniel a good night, I step up into the relative cool and quiet of the bus and close the door behind me with a definitive thud. The pristine interior is empty, Gabriel nowhere to be seen. I admit, I’m unpleasantly shocked. I’d expected him to be lounging in a chair with his feral grace and vaguely admonishing expression. Is he running late?
I glance around as the bus lurches forward. Bracing my legs, I wait until I’m accustomed to the gentle rocking. I’m about to call out, or maybe buzz Daniel to warn him that he’s left his boss behind, when Gabriel’s deep voice comes from the bedroom.
“About bloody time. Were you trying to miss the bus, Darling?”
Relief swamps me so strongly I have to sag against the kitchenette countertop. “I like to be fashionably late,” I call back.
“Just remember,” he retorts, still talking from the depths of the bedroom, “the caravan waits for no one.”
“It waited for me just now.” I stroll toward the bedroom but come to an abrupt halt at the threshold. For a second, I can only gape at the sight that greets me. It’s so shocking, I turn around to check whether there are cameras rolling and I’m being punked.
“Why are you looking about like that?” Gabriel drawls, not taking his eyes from the TV.
“Just checking to make sure I hadn’t wandered into an alternate reality.” “Amusing as always, Darling.”
Who could blame me for being suspicious? Gabriel Scott is out of his suit and wearing a soft, gray long-sleeve thermal and black sweats. This is shocking enough—but at least I’ve seen it before. The fact that he’s lounging in his bed, while eating some sort of dessert out of a bowl, is what has me flabbergasted.
“You’re staring,” he says dryly as he…
“Are you watching Buffy?” My voice has a tinge of a squeal. He rolls his eyes. “Deal with it.”
“I’m just so…” My hand flutters to my chest. “Are you sure I’m not being punked?”
A snort escapes him. “You’re not famous, so no. I, on the other hand, have my moments of doubt that you aren’t here to punk me.”
I’m so happy, I have to fight grinning like a loon as I kick off my shoes and crawl onto the end of the bed. “If I were to punk you, I’d change out all your suits for polyester.”
At that, his eyes finally slide to mine, and his skin actually pales. “That’s just cruel, Darling.”
“Stop calling me that.” I steal his spoon. “It’s your name.”
“Are you sure that’s what you’re calling me by?” I ask suspiciously, as he moves his bowl out of reach.
“What else would I be doing?” There’s a glint in his eye that leads me to answer in a sing-song voice.
“A term of endearment? Declaring your undying lurve for me.” His nose wrinkles. “You’re going to put me off my pudding.”
“Pudding? Is that what you’re eating?” I lunge for the bowl, but he’s too quick, and I end up sprawled across his chest.
We both go still, me clutching the spoon in one hand, my other palm pressed against the firm swell of his pec, him with one arm still outstretched, his other one pinned beneath me.
His breathing goes deep and strong as he peers down at me. My attention drifts to his lips, beautifully sculpted and softly parted. How would he kiss? Would he start off slow, taking little nibbles, testing the waters? Or would he be the type to go all in, possess my mouth with his?
Heat floods my body, fluttering through my belly. Gabriel’s lids lower, and his breath catches.
In the background, someone is shouting Buffy’s name. It’s enough to snap me out of whatever fog that touching Gabriel has pulled me into.
“You smell like apple pie,” I whisper inanely.
His gaze darts from my mouth to my eyes. “It’s crumble. Apple crumble.”
“Why did you call it pudding?”
“It’s what we Brits call dessert.” He’s still staring at my mouth. Dessert indeed.
My lips part, sheer lust making them plump. “Give me a bite.”
With an audible swallow, he slowly takes the spoon from my hand. I don’t look away from his eyes as he scoops up a bit of the crumble.
The spoon shakes just a little. Cool metal slides over my lower lip, and hot crumble fills my mouth. I barely suppress a moan, my lips closing around the spoon as he slowly draws it back out. He grunts in response, a short, helpless sort of sound that he quickly smothers.
“Delicious,” I say, licking the corner of my lips.
The wall comes down once more, and he’s back to his implacable self. With gentle hands he moves me to the side. “Off you go,” he says lightly. “You’re making me miss Buffy.”
It takes me a moment to settle myself. I push my hair away from my face and snuggle back into the nest of pillows propped against the headboard. “I cannot believe you’re watching this. With pride, even.”
His big shoulder lifts on a shrug as he goes back to eating his crumble. “You’re living here now; it’s not as though I can hide my viewing preferences. And I’m not about to forego the small pleasures I get to enjoy.” “Geeking out on sci-fi shows and eating desserts?” I make a sound of
amusement. “Try to contain yourself, party man.”
He cuts me a look. “For the first few years of Kill John’s existence, I fucked, drank, and partied my way across the globe. I can safely say I’m worn out on that life and completely bored with it.”
My brain stutters on the word fuck coming from his lips in that crisp accent. He’s used the word before, but we were fighting at the time. Now I’m paying attention. It’s so tempting to ask him to repeat himself that I have to bite my inner cheek.
“What is that look all about?” he asks, catching my struggle. “I’ve learned many of your looks. But not that one.”
“You know my looks? I don’t think so.”
Gabriel nudges me with his elbow. “You’re blushing.” “Like hell.” My cheeks burn.
The low rumble of his amusement lifts the little hairs along my arms, and my nipples tighten. Damn it. He’s not allowed to affect me like this.
“The guys were giving me shit,” I blurt out, my common sense weakened by his nearness. “About you. They implied that you were a cold fish where sex is involved. That you don’t…er…do that anymore.”
God, I can’t look at him. I brace for his ire, but he laughs. Not long or very loud, but his chest shakes, and he wipes a hand over his face as he tries to get control of it.
“And you, what?” he asks, his eyes gleaming with mirth. “Thought I was a virgin?”
“No.” I kick his foot lightly. “No. I just…Gah! You said fuck, and it got me thinking about it.”
“Fucking?” he asks, grinning wide enough to flash his white teeth. I look away so I can’t be charmed any further. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he teases in a tone so unlike him—so like me—that I meet his gaze.
“No, I don’t,” I agree quietly.
And it’s his turn to squirm. He stabs at his crumble with his spoon but doesn’t take a bite.
“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.
“Ass,” I tell him around my mouthful of food.
“You wear jealousy well, Ms. Darling. Makes you all flushed and breathy.”
“Deluded ass,” I amend. When he won’t stop grinning, I poke his chest. “So why is crumble so special?”
All the happy smugness falls off his face, and regret pangs inside my chest. His gaze drifts off as he speaks. “My mum used to make it for me as a special treat. The only crumble I’ve found that tastes even close to my mum’s is made by Mary, who owns a bake shop here. I always order a batch when I come to town.”
I want to ask him about his family and why his mom doesn’t make him crumble instead. But agitation has settled on him like a heavy blanket he’s trying to shrug off. I can’t bring myself to pick at that scab.
With an ease I don’t feel, I take the bowl from his unresisting hand and help myself to another bite of crumble. It’s rich and buttery, crisp and spicy.
Kind of like Gabriel himself.
“Now then,” I tell him around the mouthful, “you’ve completely lost points for being Team Jacob.”
He snorts.
“So you’ll have to redeem yourself.” I wave the spoon at him threateningly. “Who was better for Buffy? Angel or Spike?”
Gabriel takes the spoon and bowl back. “Angel is a teen girl’s dream, all sad sighs and mental angst. Spike is for when she grows up and realizes satisfaction is hers for the taking.”
My grin slowly unfurls. “You, sir, are a romantic.”
He glances at me in affront. “I just said all that romantic babble was childish.”
“Only a romantic would put so much thought into that answer.”
“You annoy me,” he grumbles without heat. “And for the record, I was lying about Jacob. I think they’re both prats.”
I laugh and laugh, loving the way he eventually nudges me with his elbow. I get myself a bowl of crumble and give him another serving, then settle down next to him to watch Buffy.
I feel like I’m sixteen again, in my parents’ basement with the hottest guy in school. Only I’m on thousand-dollar sheets in a million-dollar bus, driving through Europe. And Gabriel is no teen boy.
His long, lean body sprawls across the bed in complete repose, and I have to ignore that fact or I’ll do something rash like slide my hand down his firm abdomen and slip it into his loose sweats.
By the time he reaches for the remote and turns off the TV, I’m a freaking mess. My mouth is dry, and my heart is trying to pound its way out of my chest.
“You can wash up first,” he offers, subdued and not fully meeting my eyes.
If it weren’t for the fact that Gabriel is waiting his turn, I would dither in the bathroom for far longer. As it is, I scrub my face, brush my teeth, and put on the baggiest shirt and shorts I can find.
My face flames as I scurry under the covers, all awkward and bumbling, sending a pillow to the floor in my clumsy attempt to haul the sheet up to my nose.
I wait in total silence for him to take his turn in the bathroom. And when he comes out, I can’t bring myself to watch him make his way to the bed. It’s too intimate, too real.
Gabriel is far more graceful in sliding into bed. I cringe, imagining that unlike me, he’s probably unaffected. Why should he be? He has made it clear I’m nothing more than a snuggle buddy. I probably rate somewhere between stuffed animal and oversized pillow.
The room plunges into darkness. I can hear myself breathing—too loud and too fast. I can hear him breathing—too steady and too controlled.
Fuck. What was I thinking? I can’t do this.
The silence is so thick between us now that I’m suffocating in it.
Gabriel turns my way, and I immediately roll to my other side, facing away from him. It’s basic self-preservation. If we’re face to face right now, I don’t know what I’ll do. But I’m pretty sure it would end with me being utterly embarrassed.
He doesn’t seem to mind. No, he moves closer. Goosebumps break out over my skin as his body comes into contact with mine. A heavy, muscular arm settles around my waist. And I forget to breathe.
What the hell is wrong with me? I napped with him earlier, and I was fine. Well, not fine. I wanted to stay in his arms forever. But I wasn’t all out of sorts.
I wasn’t fighting a shiver the way I am now.
His warm breath caresses the top of my head. “Relax, Sophie.” I release a breath. “I’m trying.”
His voice is a whisper in the dark. “Are you uncomfortable?”
Uncomfortable? His big hand gently presses my belly, taking in the soft swell, which really sucks, but the way he keeps his hold there makes me think he either doesn’t notice or likes what he feels. Wishful thinking.
And then there’s the fact that he’s so close. All I have to do is turn and I’ll be wrapped around him like paper on a present.
“No,” I squeak out. “I’m good.”
I can feel him nod. The bed creaks as he eases closer. And then I feel it. Oh, fucking hell. Just no. He can’t do this to me.
It’s big, it’s hard, and it’s nudging my ass.
We both freeze. Well, Gabriel freezes. His dick? It nudges me again, that blunt head pushing into the small of my back as if to say hello.
“Involuntary reaction,” Gabriel says in a strangled voice. “Ignore it.” His hard-on says otherwise.
I swallow with difficulty. “Your hard dick is poking me in the ass. I can no more ignore it than if you slapped me in the face with it.”
He stills, a sound gurgling in his throat. I’m about to apologize for being so crude, when he bursts out laughing.
Oh, how he laughs. He laughs with his whole body, shaking the bed as he flops onto his back and just laughs. The unfettered, deep, rolling laughter is so unlike his usual reserved self that I find myself grinning.
In the dim light, his body is little more than a silhouette, his teeth a flash of white across his face. He wipes his eyes as he giggles and snorts and laughs like a giddy boy. And I love every second of it.
Gabriel should always be like this, uninhibited and free. And if I have to suffer through his cock prodding my ass every night to get him there, I’m more than willing to make the sacrifice.
 |
Gabriel
IT’S BEEN SO LONG since I’ve full-out laughed that my abs are sore. Apparently laugh muscles aren’t the ones I work with my morning sit-ups. This ache feels different. Good and full, as if exhausting myself from laughing put something back in me that I’d lost. I rest my hand on my stomach and stare up at the ceiling, letting the sensation sink in.
At my side, Sophie flops her head back against the pillows, drawing my attention. She’s beaming at me as if I’ve made her night, and she’s so bloody gorgeous, my breath hitches.
This girl. I could lose myself over this girl. Who would have thought? My smile fades as reality sets in, hard and uncomfortable. “Chatty girl,
what are we doing?”
The light in her eyes dims. “What do you mean?”
“This.” I gesture between us and sigh. “Me asking you to be my sleep partner. It was a mistake.”
“What?” She comes up on her elbows, moving into the light slanting through the windows. “Why? What’s going on, sunshine?”
I hate the hurt that’s clouding her sweet face, but I’m doing us both a favor. I pinch the corners of my eyes to ward off an incoming headache. “Lack of sleep has addled my judgment. It was unfair to ask you sleep with me like a goddamn security blanket night after night.”
“Gabriel—”
I can’t stand the soft almost-pity I hear in her voice, and I cut her off. “We’re adults, not children. Sleeping together every night will lead to expectations. Mistakes.”
Silence looms. I don’t want to see her expression.
“I’m attracted to you,” I blurt out. Heat swamps my cheeks as frustration claws at my gut.
Sophie swallows hard, and I risk a glance. Her eyes are wide and darting over me, but a smile is pulling at her lips. I hate that smile. It holds too much hope.
“Sophie, I have no capacity for relationships. I’ve never had one, never wanted one.”
Her nose wrinkles. “That sounds lonely, if you ask me.” I’m beginning to agree.
“I’m too busy to be lonely.” Also true. Months can pass in a blink, and I will not have noticed.
The bed creaks as she eases closer. The lemon-sweet scent of her surrounds me. I know how smooth her skin is and how soft her body feels. I hold myself still, refusing to grab hold.
Her face hovers above me.
Don’t do that. Don’t dangle in front of me like some carrot. I’m holding back by a thread here.
I pinch my eyes closed. Her delicate fingers touch my shoulder. “Truth, Gabriel? I’m attracted to you too. But I think you know that.”
Of course I know. That only makes the temptation sharper. It would be so easy to use her. Sophie deserves more.
“This job is my life and the entirety of my focus,” I say. “This tour is long and tight-knit. I cannot worry about hurt feelings or regrets. And I cannot do casual with you, Sophie. You deserve much better.”
Her voice is gentle and thoughtful. “I get that. I don’t want casual either.
I’m through being someone’s fun time. I want more.”
I’m proud of her for demanding better. I still can’t look at her. “Which is why I said it was stupid of me to ask you to do this.”
She hums in agreement. And though I’ve cleared the air, I hate that sound. I don’t want her to leave. Lonely, cold, and sleepless nights loom ahead. I might not survive it. I’m more relaxed than I’ve been in over a year, and I haven’t yet had the pleasure of sleeping next to her.
“Thing is,” she says. “I don’t want to go back to the other bus.” I turn to look at her sharply, my insides clenching.
She faces me without flinching. “I like it here with you. And maybe… Well, maybe I need you too. Maybe we need each other for whatever it is we have between us.” A flush suffuses her rounded cheeks. “So maybe we don’t analyze it or expect things from each other. But let’s just…I don’t know…hang out.”
“Hang out,” I repeat like a stunned parrot.
“Yeah,” she whispers with an encouraging smile. “Watch cheesy TV, eat desserts—”
“Dessert was really a one time thing—”
“It’s on the roster, bud. These hips don’t grow themselves.”
“I wouldn’t want to be responsible for their demise,” I murmur. No, don’t flirt. Don’t think of her spectacular arse.
She waggles her brows. Which is adorable and ridiculous all in one. “And we cuddle.”
I want those cuddles. I don’t fucking care if it makes me weak or foolish. I want them enough to ignore how much I’d love to roll over and sink deep into her body. For now, I can stand it. I think I can stand almost anything if I can get some rest and have her company.
“All right.” My voice is rough, unsteady. I clear my throat. “Then I suppose there’s only one question left to ask.”
The tension visibly flows out of her body with a breath, and she rests her head in her hand, looking me over with inquisitive eyes. “What’s that?”
“Do you prefer the left or right side of the bed?”
