Sophie
“YOU OKAY, hon?” Jules yells in my ear. She can’t be heard any other way at the moment. Kill John is going full tilt, and music pulses around us.
I must look miserable if she has to ask right now. I give her a wide smile that feels pained. “Just a bit tired,” I shout back.
She nods and says no more, but I catch her quick, worried glance.
I’m a terrible liar. But what do I say? Hey, I think Gabriel almost made a move on me the other night. Only, how lame am I? Because I’m not sure.
God, I must be losing it if I can’t even tell if a man is making a move.
I am wreck. My mind is stuck on last night, going over every moment in detail.
I went to kiss Gabriel’s cheek. And he grabbed me, holding me close as if he’d also been unable to help himself. At first my heart had jumped into my throat, a heated elation rushing through me. I wanted him to kiss me more than I wanted my next breath.
But he didn’t. He stared at me as if I pained him, as if he was pissed.
That look flipped everything on its head.
Had I gone too far by kissing his cheek? Was he telling me to cut it out?
I panicked, so embarrassed I could have cried.
And call me a chicken shit, but I just couldn’t ask him what that look had been all about. Not then.
I might have caved this morning, but by then Gabriel was back to his slightly ornery but always solicitous self.
Now I’m at a loss. He insists this isn’t about sex. Maybe it truly isn’t for him. And there is no way in hell I’m telling him I want more now. Not with Gabriel “Ice Man” Scott back in control.
Call it pride, self preservation, whatever you want, but I’m not caving.
No matter how badly I want to.
So now, I’m focusing on work. Which isn’t exactly a punishment.
Tonight’s concert is hot, frantic, and energetic. The boys play with renewed enthusiasm and verve. I swear there’s magic in the air. I crawl and scurry around their moving bodies, getting breathtaking shots: Killian midair, his guitar in one hand, his legs kicking out. Jax bent over his Gibson, his corded forearms flexing, his bare chest gleaming in the red glow of the lights. Rye standing on a massive amp, his hips thrusting, lower lip caught in his teeth. And Whip, arms flying, sweaty hair in his face as he beats the shit out of his drums.
I capture as much as I can, little slices of life held forever in an image. Pure, honest, and good moments that will never happen again. That I have saved them fills me with pride.
And when Killian sings “Hombre Al Agua” by Soda Stereo, a ’90s-era Spanish-language rock band, the crowd goes absolutely ape.
Such power Kill John has in this moment, holding thousands of people utterly in thrall. It’s a thing of beauty. I’m so caught up in it, I let my lens lower and just grin, dancing along to the music. I feel Gabriel’s gaze, as I inevitably do, and look up.
His eyes meet mine, a one-two punch to the heart and gut. He never smiles when he’s working, never shows any emotion. But tonight I nearly lose my balance, because he does. He so does.
His teeth flash white in that tanned, perfect face, the little dimple breaking out one side. Holy hell, I can’t breathe.
He stands in the shadows, so beautifully sculpted, he appears untouchable. A rock. But that smile is my undoing. It holds all the joy of the crowd. It reflects my awe and excitement. He knows what I’m feeling. He knows because, unbelievably, he feels it too.
I realize he loves this part of the life; he’s just never shown it. He lets me see it now. This is the man behind the curtain.
They’ve had him all wrong. He isn’t cold or unfeeling. He’s just hiding. I want that unleashed—all that strength and simmering emotion he holds beneath the surface.
One day I’m going to get it. Screw pride, I’ll push and I’ll tease. It’s the only way I know how to break down his walls. And if, at the end of the day, he doesn’t want me, I’ll find a way to live with the loss.
A stagehand steps between us as he hustles to get Jax’s next guitar ready. By the time the stagehand passes, Gabriel has moved off, strolling along the edges of the backstage, his eagle gaze roving for potential problems. A record exec waylays him, and they stop to chat.
Killian plays a hard riff, and I snap out of my haze, turning my attention back to the concert. Time flies in a whirl of sound and colors. I capture as much as I can, little slices of life held forever in an image. Pure, honest, and good moments that will never happen again. That I have saved them fills me with pride.
By the time the concert is over, energy zings through me. I’m usually tired, but not tonight. The guys are talking about going clubbing, and I’m all for it. After a much-needed cool shower, I’m changed and raring to go. I
put a coat of red on my lips and leave the bathroom, only to find Gabriel waiting for me.
I’ll never grow accustomed to the sight of him. He’s just too beautiful. He’s leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, his hands tucked into the pockets of well-worn jeans. A white T-shirt stretches tight across his broad shoulders and strains against the swell of his biceps.
If there was any justice in the world, he’d look awkward out of his suit. But he wears all clothes well. The corner of his mouth quirks as he looks me over. “I thought I might find you in your nightie.”
He almost sounds disappointed.
“You gonna put me on a curfew, sunshine?” I grab a little clutch from the closet and tuck my lipstick, phone, and room key into it.
“Would you stick to it?” “What do you think?”
He laughs, low and brief. “I think I’d have to sleep with one eye open.”
God, don’t remind me that we sleep together. Not right now, when only I get the intimacy of seeing him like this in the privacy of our room. When he’s watching me get ready as if it’s his right.
I’m finding it harder and harder to refrain from throwing myself on him.
Instead of that, I give him a long look-over, not because I need to, but because the view is just so pretty. “I’d have never guessed you own jeans.”
“Lived in them from the ages of ten to twenty-one,” he answers easily. “Before you became The Man in the Suit.”
“The Man in the Suit is off duty now.” His eyes track my movements. “Where are you going?”
“The boys are hitting the clubs.” “So I’ve heard.
“Thought I’d tag along. You going as well?”
“No. I’ve other plans.” He pushes off from his perch by the door and stands tall. “Come out with me.”
It’s given as an order, but softly, with butter-smooth persuasion behind the demanding words.
“Where are you going?” It’s a stall tactic, me asking, because who am I kidding? I’ll go wherever he goes. But I don’t want him knowing that.
He flashes another rare, full smile, further crumbling my resolve. “It’s a secret. You’ll have to come along to find out.”
I place my hand over my heart in dramatic fashion. “Damn you, sunshine, you’ve used my one weakness against me.”
“Curious as ten cats. Yes, I know. Which means you’re helpless to resist.” He inclines his head toward the door. “Come along, chatty girl. The night is young.”
It’s two in the morning. But Madrid is just getting warmed up. I move to do up the tiny buckles of my high-heeled sandals but pause. “These okay for where you’re taking me, oh secretive one?”
His gaze slides over my bare legs to where my sky blue sundress flirts with my thighs, and his lids lower a fraction, his expression turning hooded. “You’re good.”
Oh, that voice, so growly and gruff, deep and rich like hot cocoa and buttered toast. He talks, and I want to eat him up. I both love and hate what his voice does to me. One man shouldn’t have so much power. Two words shouldn’t be able to make my thighs clench and my skin turn hypersensitive.
Maybe that’s what makes me raise my foot, pointing my toe to show off my leg to its best advantage. “You’re sure?” I run a hand along my thigh, lifting my skirt to show a bit more skin.
Gabriel’s nostrils flare. The muscled breadth of his chest expands and slowly lowers as he exhales. That he’s visibly calming himself sends a bolt of pure heat straight through me, and my knees almost buckle.
“Sophie,” he says, low and tight.
“Yes?” Damn, that sounded too breathy.
“Cut the shit.”
I grin wide. Gotcha. I give him a shrug and let my skirt settle back around my legs before walking toward the door with a little extra wiggle in my step.
He follows with a grunt, which could mean annoyance or humor—it’s hard to say with Gabriel. But I know this: the man needs to be teased and challenged more than anyone I’ve ever met. Sometimes I wonder if he’s been waiting for it, bored out of his mind.
Or maybe I’m the one who’s been waiting. Everything feels strange now, and nothing is as it used to be. Before I was going through the motions of life. Now I’m aware of every step I take. I’m aware of his hand hovering just behind the small of my back as he walks with me, and of the steady cadence of his breathing as we take the elevator down.
Anticipation zings through me, and it’s not because we’re going out for the night; it’s because I’m with him.
We don’t speak as we make our way downstairs and out to the car he’s hired. Doesn’t matter. It’s a comfortable silence, the kind you have with people you’ve known for ages. I suppose sleeping together all the time will do that for you.
He takes us to a club with a long line around it. Not surprisingly, we pull right up to the front door and someone whisks us inside, much to the interest of the people waiting in line.
Inside, it’s packed. Beautiful women, dressed in next to nothing, undulate and sway to the beat. Their eyes track Gabriel’s movements with blatant interest. A few hands reach out to caress, running over his arms and shoulders. One bold woman makes a grab for his ass.
I don’t even realize I’ve hissed at her like a possessive cat until Gabriel gently grasps my elbow and steers me away. “Put away the claws, chatty girl. My honor is secure.”
“I’m pretty sure referring to women as cats is sexist,” I say, never mind I just thought of myself in the same way.
He doesn’t spare me a glance. “I’ll turn in my feminist card when we get home.”
Home. No, I will not enjoy that word too much. It’s temporary. It’s all temporary. And if I remind myself of this enough, I’ll eventually believe it.
Gabriel makes his way to the bar, and I check out the scene while he orders. He comes back with two icy cocktails. “Black mojitos,” he says, handing me one. “House specialty, apparently.”
It’s so rare to see him drink that, when he does, I notice. “Do you not drink often because your dad…”
“Was an alcoholic?” he supplies dryly. “In part. And I don’t like losing control.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” But I’d like to see it. Not in an ugly way, but Gabriel unleashed in bed? All that icy power morphing into a powder keg of heat and want?
His blue gaze rakes over my face at that moment. “Why are you blushing?”
“Not blushing. I’m hot, is all.” I take a big sip of my drink. God, that’s good. And dangerous. I cannot get drunk around Gabriel. My mouth will spew all sorts of lewd suggestions.
He gives me a dubious look but says no more.
While we have our drinks, a few techs mess about on the stage, setting up for a concert. I lean closer to Gabriel to be heard above the noise of the house music. “You know who’s playing?”
He gives me a slightly smug look. “Patience, chatty girl.”
By the time we’re finished with our drinks, the lights are dimming. Gabriel sets our glasses on the bar and grabs my hand. His grip is warm and solid as he leads me through the crowd, closer to the stage. It doesn’t surprise me at this point that people step out of his way.
He doesn’t stop right in front of the stage, but a little ways back, so we’re buffeted on all sides by people. The lights go dark and then pop up again in flashes of red and yellow. The band comes onstage, and people cheer. The lead singer is a woman. Aside from her, there are three guitarists, a drummer, and a guy manning a mixing board.
Gabriel moves slightly behind me, as if bracing himself between me and others. I feel the warmth of his body along my skin.
And then the band starts playing. The music isn’t what I expected. It isn’t rock. It’s flamenco with a modern twist—funk, hip-hop, even a bit of Bollywood, blending into a sound unlike anything I’ve ever heard. Happiness is a lightning strike through my system. I jolt and turn my head.
Gabriel’s smiling eyes look down at me. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t need to. But he does pull a little rosebud on a stem from his back jeans pocket. When he picked that up, I don’t know. I’m too shocked, standing there gaping as he tucks it behind my ear.
“There you go, Darling,” he says in my ear. “Now we dance.”
He puts his hands on my hips and begins to move us to the rhythm of the song, picking up the pace as my body starts to respond. And I’m so shocked by the fact that he is willingly dancing, I can’t even form a coherent thought. So I don’t. I let the music take me, let Gabriel’s capable hands and swaying body guide me.
And he can dance. I don’t know why I’m surprised. His footwork is better than mine, and I follow his lead, laughing and going more on enthusiasm than finesse. He doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes lock with mine, and the dancing people around me fall away. There’s just him, his hips moving with mine, my heart pounding in my chest.
Warm hands glide up my sides, the barest of touches. I shiver, sway closer, my arms settling around his neck. His body is hot and tight. His palms skim along my arms and up to my hands. Fingers intertwining, he lifts my hands overhead, taking total control.
This isn’t dirty dancing; he keeps a bit of distance between us, ever the polite and controlled Gabriel. Doesn’t matter. He’s dancing with me, and I’m alive with the joy of it.
With a flick of his wrist, he spins me outward, my skirt swirling around my thighs, and then he brings me back, dips me, and twirls me again.
I laugh and laugh. I’ve never danced like this, the moves traditional and a bit old fashioned. I love it. He took my dream and made it real. For me.
Our gazes clash and lock. There’s a smile in his eyes, and a question. Is this what you wanted?
How do I tell him I’m looking at what I want? Boyfriends have always come easy to me. They were guys who complimented my body, told me I was a good time, easy to be around. What they really meant was I wasn’t someone they’d get attached to. And if I’m truthful, I didn’t get attached to them either.
This is different. I’m already attached.
Gabriel has seen all that I have to offer, and still he doesn’t take what he has to know I’ll willingly give him. Fully falling for him would be akin to tossing myself off a bottomless cliff. Down, down, down I’d go, nothing to hold on to and no way back to solid ground.
My smile is bright and painful, but I can’t let him see what’s bothering me. I don’t want to answer those questions. He seems satisfied, his smile moving from his eyes to embrace his whole face.
We dance until dawn and tumble home laughing, me more than a little tipsy.
And never once does he try for more.
Which cements it. I have to pull back, learn from him and put up walls around my heart. And when this tour is over, I have to get as far away from Gabriel Scott as possible.
