Gabriel

“I THINK I’m going to refer to this house as The Shoebox,” Sophie calls from the terrace.

She has a point. The bulk of the house is one long, clean rectangle jutting out toward the harbor with glossy wood floors, soaring ceilings, and retractable glass walls that let in the breeze. Compared to being stuffed in a plane, this airiness is paradise, as far as I’m concerned.

Following the sound of her voice, I find her leaning against the reinforced glass rail that runs around the terrace. Behind her, Sydney Harbor glitters in the fading evening light, its iconic bridge and—if you squint—the white sails of the opera house visible just to the right.

But I only have eyes for Sophie, her curvy body golden and tanned, the breeze picking up the ends of her hair and sending them dancing about her smiling face.

Sophie’s hair is pink now. She tells me it’s the color of true love and pure passion. It looks more like cotton candy to me, but I’ll never tell her. I’ve learned at least that much about women along the way. And besides,

I’ll always equate Sophie with delicious treats, so her hair color is fitting in that regard.

I move behind her and wrap my arms around her shoulders. Her skin is cool, and she nestles back against my chest with a sigh.

“I still can’t believe you bought a house here.”

“Twenty fucking hours in a plane to get to Australia. You’d better believe I’m taking my time about going back to London. We might as well be comfortable for the interim.”

“Hey, a good many of those hours were spent fucking, so it couldn’t have been that bad.”

This is true. Struggling to be quiet, and the fear of being caught, made for some truly spectacular make-up sex. I’m such a fan now, I plan on bickering with Sophie tonight in some public place so we can find a way to do it again.

“You know, I might be cured of my fear of plane travel,” I tell her, bending to kiss the curve of her neck. “However, we’ll have to conduct experiments on our return trip to make certain.”

Sophie nudges her sweet arse back against my waking cock. He stirs, wanting to say hello.

“I hear there’s a first-class flight that now has a full shower on board.” Her hands reach back and slide up my hips. “That could be interesting.”

“Sod it, let’s shower now,” I demand, inching up the hem of her skirt.

Rye’s voice breaks through my happy bubble. “Oh, God, my eyes. They burn.”

I sigh against Sophie’s skin. “Why did I invite them here again?” “Because you love them,” she whispers against my cheek.

“I love you. I tolerate them.”

“I want the old Scottie back,” Whip whines. Sophie laughs at that.

“Jesus,” I grumble. “They’re all behind us, aren’t they?”

She cranes her head to look around me. “Yep. All of them.”

“Scottie has left the building,” Jax tells them. “You now have Gabriel to contend with, and he appears to be a randy bastard.”

At that, I smile, because he isn’t wrong. “It’ll happen to you too, John.” “Don’t count on it.”

Poor sod, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.

Finally, I turn and tuck Sophie against my side. Jax, Rye, Killian, Liberty, Brenna, and Whip have all managed to leave their appointed rooms and congregate in the massive living room.

Killian and Libby are tucked up on the sofa as Brenna hands out some sort of fruity-looking cocktail. They’ve taken over my house. And it isn’t uncomfortable or strange to see. It feels right. It feels good.

Rye and Whip appear to be bringing out a small drum kit and portable keyboard. Only then do I notice that Jax and Killian have their guitars.

“Planning to sing for your supper?” I ask.

Jax plucks at his guitar’s strings. “For Sophie.” He gives her a wink. “Because she’s the best hostess.”

She blows him a kiss. “Any requests?” Jax asks.

“Yes.” I lean in to tell him the song I have in mind, adding, “‘From me to you.”

He shakes his head, grinning wide. “No, man, that one is definitely from me to you.”

I pull Sophie onto my lap, and we make ourselves comfortable in a low- slung chair as the guys fiddle with their instruments. Though I rarely let it show, hearing my mates play, seeing their progression from bumbling lads who could barely coordinate a sound to seasoned musicians who create transcendent music, fills me with pride.

Sophie lights up as they begin to play “With a Little Help From My Friends.”

“Beatles for joy,” I tell her softly.

Her head rests on my shoulder, and she places a hand over my heart. “And for love.”

I close my eyes and let the music wash over me. “Always for love.”