Gabriel

“EVERYTHING FOR FRANCE is basically set. But Chrissy called about the final T-shirt numbers in Rome. The vendors are expecting high sales and… Scottie? Scottie? Mr. Scott?”

Jules’s voice buzzes like a fly in my ear and pulls me from the fog that’s taken up residence in my head. I blink, force myself to focus. She peers up at me with a frown.

“Why did you stop speaking?” It’s nearly a snap, but I don’t like what I see in her expression. The boss cannot afford to be worried over. I am the one in control. At all times.

Jules flinches, and I feel it in my gut. Perfect. I’ve upset the girl for no valid reason.

“Sorry, sir. I thought…” She grimaces.

“You thought what?” I have to will myself not to lean farther into the soft embrace of my chair. I shouldn’t have sat down. It’s too tempting to slump, and usually I stand when hearing a progress report. Better to focus.

Jules’s freckles stand out like cinnamon flecks over her round cheeks. “I thought you…” She swallows hard. “Well, I thought you weren’t listening.”

I wasn’t. Not with the attention I usually give. My head is fucking pounding like my brain is trying to jackhammer its way out of my skull. The floor is either defective and slanted or I’m imagining things. Given that no one else has commented on it, I’m guessing I’m the one off kilter.

“You were speaking of vendors.” I know I heard something about shirts. Hell. I want to rub my face in the nearest pillow. But it won’t work. I can’t sleep. I cannot fucking sleep. And I’ve tried. Every fucking night I try. But nothing has worked, save for one night in London. We’re in Scotland now.

At this point, it’s so bad I’m nearly weeping by three in the morning when, yet again, I’m staring up at the ceiling, unable to shut my brain off.

“Yes, the vendors,” Jules says happily. She rattles on again, and I try to keep my eyes open.

It wouldn’t even matter if I closed them. My body wouldn’t shut down anyway. There’s a weight on my chest that makes breathing a chore. Weakness. I loathe it. But I’m getting weaker every day, and I don’t know what to do.

Brenna would tell me to visit a doctor. The mere thought of doing so sends cold dread down my spine. A violent protest screams in my mind. No doctors. Never. I had my fill of them when I was a lad. And nothing short of death will get me to go back.

Best knock on wood, a nasty voice in my head whispers.

The pain in my head expands outward, down my neck, digging into the tops of my shoulders.

Jules keeps nattering on about contracts and dates. My jaw throbs.

Breathe. Get through this. Then you can crawl to your room and take a hot shower. The lure of taking a sleeping pill is so strong at this point, my hands fist tight. Jax nearly died swallowing a bottle of those bloody pills, mixed with heroin. When I think about it—and I try very bloody hard not to think about it—nausea churns my guts and bile surges upward.

I swallow hard, grab my water bottle. My hand shakes as I lift it to my lips. No way to hide the fact other than drinking fast and setting my arm down as soon as possible. The shakes are getting worse.

“What should I tell him?”

With a jolt, I glance at Jules, who waits expectedly. Fuck.

“What do you think you should tell him?” Teaching moment. That works.

She frowns, her brow knitting in confusion. Or it doesn’t.

“You’ll need to make these decisions one day, yes?” I prompt. Arse.

You’re cocking it up. Get your head back in the game.

Her mouth opens and shuts before she tentatively speaks. “I…uh…I don’t think Jax will be asking me if I want to join him for poker. I thought that was your…uh…guy thing.”

Sod it.

“Well, you never know.” I clear my throat. “And, really, he should be asking me directly about personal things, which is your answer.”

I lever myself out of the chair, ignoring the way the room sways. “You are my assistant, not my bloody personal calendar. Tell Jax as much.”

“Right.” Likely, she’s mentally telling me to go bugger myself.

That sits heavily on me as well. I’ve never given my work or my crew anything less than one hundred percent. I am ashamed of myself. If only I could get some rest.

“Oh, and I’ll have those personnel files sent to you by the end of the day,” Jules calls toward my retreating back.

“Very good.” I have no earthly idea what she’s talking about. A vague memory prods at the corners of my mind, but I’m distracted.

A whiff of lemon tart and warm woman spice drifts through the air. My cock reacts as if it’s being tugged. Annoyed at myself, I look up, knowing exactly who I’ll find.

At some point, Sophie has gone and had her hair colored. It’s now a pale rose gold, shining like a nimbus around her smiling face. The color sets off the dark warmth of her eyes and the pink in her lips. Hell.

“Hey there, sunshine,” she says, perky as ever. Her bouncy tits are barely restrained in some sort of off-the-shoulder black knit top. Which means the only thing holding the fabric up are her breasts. One good tug…

“Eyes up, hon.”

Immediately, my chin lifts. She’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “Is that appropriate attire?” Shut up. Just shut up now, you git.

She apparently feels the same. Her hand lands on one well-rounded hip. “As opposed to what? The tit parade we all see on a nightly basis around here? At least I’m wearing a shirt.”

She has a point. Damn it.

“Or maybe I should trade in these jeans for a micro-mini? The guys seem to love those.”

Not happening. Her skinny jeans might hug her legs and highlight her arse to an alarming degree, but they, at the very least, provide some coverage.

And what the bloody hell am I doing commenting on her clothing?

“I apologize,” I bite out. “I’d hand someone their arse if I heard them say as much to a woman.”

Her eyes widen, and she gapes at me.

I count down the number of seconds until I can safely make my escape.

Too late. Sophie goes up on her toes as she lays the back of her hand on my forehead. I want to bat it away, tell her to leave off. But she’s closer now, her soft breasts nearly touching my chest, her scent surrounding me. Her fingers are cool, soothing.

“Are you feeling all right?” she asks, clearly mocking.

“Go away,” I mutter. A lie. I want to lean down and rest my head on the pillows of her fantastic breasts. Burrow right in and happily die there.

She ignores me anyway. “I mean, I did hear that apology, didn’t I? I’m not dreaming?”

“If this were a dream, it’d be a nightmare.”

Her berry pink lips part on a smile. “There’s the Sunshine I know.”

I want to shut her up with my mouth. Take. And take. And take. Lick up her words, drink in her laughter. I can’t. I won’t.

“I’m not myself today.” Truth. “I think one of the boys spiked my drink. They’d just love to find out if I truly do walk around with my knickers in a twist.”

Her laugh has a husky quality to it. Again I want to take her mouth. Her lips are plush, mobile—always volleying something back at me.

“Don’t we all?” Her slim fingers pluck at the waist of my trousers, and my cock stirs. “Come on,” she murmurs, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Give me a peek. I promise, I’ll only tell…everyone.”

I wonder what she’d do if I pulled her hand against me, let her get a feel of my thickening cock, ordered her to give it a nice squeeze.

Nothing I’d want her to, that’s one certainty.

Sophie is a tease. Not in a malicious way, but because it’s her nature to make life a joke. I envy that ability to laugh at the world. But I won’t mistake her sexual innuendoes for anything more than her enjoyment of getting under my skin.

I button my suit jacket, covering my growing interest. “And ruin the mystery? I think not.”

“I’ll find out one day,” she calls after me as I walk away.

One can only hope. I don’t turn around, so she can’t see me smile. But as her light laughter drifts off, it occurs to me that I spent a few minutes without thinking about pain or exhaustion. My steps slow as my heart rate kicks up.

Sophie.

The last time I had a proper sleep was with her snoring away in my bed.

My bed. She makes it better.

A thought races through my mind, strong and demanding. I kick it aside because it’s rubbish and insane. But desperation makes men do stupid things. And even though I tell myself I absolutely cannot consider what my body is begging me to do, I know I will.

“Fuck me,” I mutter. I’ll take one more night to talk myself out of it. But I’m a man at the end of his rope. I’ll do anything to get back on that boat, even debase myself in the worst way I can imagine.

Sophie

THE NEXT MORNING, I’m packing my camera when Gabriel approaches. He’s so stiff, his back appears in danger of snapping should a strong breeze blow our way. Which is saying something. I haven’t seen him this tense since the plane.

“What’s up, sunshine?” I glance at him. “Someone piss in your porridge?”

“Lovely.” He watches me for a second, the wrinkle between his brows growing deeper until he’s full-out scowling.

“Seriously, you look grumpy even for you. Who pissed you off?” I grin at him. “Do I have to break some skulls?”

He finally huffs out a small laugh, his shoulders easing a fraction. “I can see it now, you nipping at someone’s ankle like an angry Pomeranian.”

“So you’re familiar with my methods.”

A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, and he lowers himself to a crouch, handing me my flash. Too soon, his relaxed expression fades back to seriousness. Not that I mind; the man is a freaking work of art when he’s stern. So hot, I hold back the urge to fan myself. I busy myself packing.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he finally says in a low voice.

The anxious way he looks at me, as if he’s dreading what he has to say, sends my heart pounding. God, is he firing me? But he can’t. Brenna’s my boss. Try to remain calm. “Shoot.”

His fingers twitch, and he rises with me. “Not here. Are you free now?” I pause and really look him over. He’s nervous. I wouldn’t believe it if I wasn’t right here in front of him, watching the color work over his tanned skin and his hands fidgeting at his sides. The fact that he wants to talk right

now freaks me out even more.

“Sure,” I tell him past the lump in my throat. “What’s up?”

His lips compress. “I’d rather talk in private. Come to my bus?”

I’m so shocked he wants me alone, I can’t even form a joke, only squeak out a small okay.

The walk back feels like the Green Mile. I’ll set one foot in Gabriel’s bus—the bus he’ll only let his driver and the occasional maid enter—and an axe will swiftly fall to cut off my head. And it suddenly pisses me off. I’ve done nothing wrong. Why the private talk?

I grit my teeth and march alongside a quiet Gabriel, who has solicitously taken my camera case in hand. His other hand hovers around the small of my back, not quite touching but close enough that I feel its heat. He’s guiding me along.

Probably afraid I’ll bolt, I think darkly. But no, I’m going to lay into him something good. I thought we were…well, not friends exactly. I don’t know if he’d even let anyone other than Brenna and the guys be his friend anymore. But we were something.

I’m horrified to realize I’m on the verge of tears. It hurts thinking he’ll soon dismiss me. He might not be doing that at all. Maybe you should chill out.

I glare at the bus as it comes into view, but hold my tongue. Well, I do until he opens the door. I halt, unable to take another step.

“Are you firing me?” That sounded embarrassingly shrill.

He halts too, frowning down at me. “What?” A smile lights his eyes.

The fucker. “There you go again with your wild imaginings.”

“Don’t give me that. You’re taking me aside for a private chat. What am I to think?”

“That I want to talk privately,” he suggests as if I’m batty. “Besides, Brenna’s the one who hired you.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

He rolls his eyes and his hand finally touches my back, nudging me forward. “Would you get in here and calm yourself?”

“You’re acting weird,” I counter, but I step inside. “Wow.”

I was expecting black leather and gray walls—standard luxury coach fare. Instead I’m greeted with glossy burled wood paneling, milk glass sconces, and smoke velvet chairs. It’s like a 1930s rail car.

“Have a seat.” Gabriel gestures to the small living area toward the front. I sink into a Deco style club chair and clutch the arm of it. Next to me is a small table where he has a laptop out and a pile of papers beside it.

He moves to tidy it, but his phone rings. Glancing at it, he grimaces. “One moment. I’ve been waiting for this call.”

Mutely, I nod and watch him walk off toward the back. The low sound of his voice is soothing but not enough to stop me from being twitchy. My eyes roam everywhere. Aside from his work, and two car magazines tucked into a side panel, there’s nothing personal in here.

I don’t know if it’s snooping or plain old nerves that prompts me to pick up one of the papers on the table and read it. But as soon as I do, my eyes glaze over from the boring contract language. And then I see the folder below it. My name pops up like a neon sign. I toss the contract aside and pick up what is obviously a file on me.

Gabriel walks back into the room, and his steps slow as he sees what I’m holding. But he doesn’t say a word.

I do. “You have a file on me?”

“Of course. I have files on all our employees.” He nods toward the table. “Jules sent the newest hires over for review.”

“Why you?”

“Because, as they say in America, the buck stops with me.”

I flip through the folder, even though I know most of what will be in there. I filled out the numerous forms, after all.

“Jesus, you have my health report. Did you read it?” His thick brows knit. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s an invasion of privacy,” I offer, snappish. I didn’t mind giving Brenna the information, but he’s been reading everything, down to my last pap test.

“Sophie, why are you upset? This is standard procedure.” He cocks his head as if I’m a peculiar puzzle. “Are you embarrassed that I know you’re healthy and have never been convicted of a crime?”

“Excuse me if I feel a twinge violated that you know everything, down to the fact that I use a birth control shot, for fuck’s sake.” I don’t even mention that he now knows my exact height and weight too. Fucking shit.

A snort of annoyance leaves him. “Fine.” He walks briskly toward me, and I stiffen, but he turns, opens the laptop, and with a few hard clicks, pulls up a file. “Here,” he says, turning the screen my way. “My health report. Or did you think I was exempt?”

“Honestly, I did.” I can’t help it. I read. So sue me, it’s right there in front of me, and he saw mine. I now know he’s six foot three, one hundred and eighty-five pounds when last weighed, and in perfect health. “Why do you do this?”

“Insurance, in some instances. And it’s a safety precaution. If you’re going to work for the biggest band in the world, we’re going to know all we can about you.” His gaze clashes with mine. “I won’t apologize for it, if that’s what you want.”

“No,” I shut the laptop. “I just got a little freaked, okay? Is this why you brought me here? You can see I’m not a criminal, or in debt.” Shut up, Soph. You’re babbling like a freak. “And no cooties to speak of.”

Gabriel’s lids lower, and the look he gives me is calculating. “No cooties at all,” he agrees.

I flush, thinking of how we could fuck hard and fast without fear of any consequences. And just maybe he’s thinking the same thing.

Only he abruptly stands and walks to a bar across from the door. “Would you like a drink?”

“No tea?” I’m nervous now that I know this isn’t about firing me. He glances over his shoulder at me. “Would you like some?”

“No.” I need something stronger. “Bourbon?”

With a nod of approval, he pours us both a good helping. I don’t miss the way his hand trembles just once as he passes me the glass. He gives me a tight smile and takes the seat across from me.

The coach is absolutely silent as we sip our bourbon and watch each other warily. He still hasn’t told me anything, and I’m pretty sure I just made a fool of myself. So, yeah.

Gabriel expels a soft sigh and gently sets his glass on a small, chrome table. The click of glass to metal is like a gunshot to my overtaxed nerves.

“I can’t sleep,” he tells me with a small, self-deprecating shake of his head. I stare at him, unable to respond, and he meets my eyes. “Not a fucking wink.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I empathize. I can’t sleep either. I’ve become some mental princess and the pea. My bed is too hard, the pillow too soft. I toss and turn, my eyes wide open. I’m either too cold or too hot. It’s a freaking nightmare. And I think way too much about a certain grumpy man who currently sits in front of me, looking a bit like sleep-deprived death warmed over.

His smile is brief and weak. “I slept that night.” Blue eyes meet mine. “When it rained.”

Something hot and strong rushes through my limbs. I slept then too. So well. All warm and snug, wrapped up in strong arms. Sometimes, when I’m really weak, I close my eyes and try to remember the exact feeling of Gabriel’s hard body behind mine. Try to recall his exact scent. If I’m lucky, I drift off to sleep thinking of that night.

He thinks of that night too. I might turn into a puddle of mush. I manage to keep still, though.

Gabriel leans forward, bracing his forearms on his bent knees. “I want to hire you.”

My mushy feels solidify a bit. That wasn’t what I expected. I take a hasty sip of bourbon and lick my dry lips. “I’m… Okay, I’m not following.”

A dull flush washes over the high crests of his cheeks. “I want you to sleep with me.”

“Uh…what?” I can’t form better words.

“Just sleep,” he clarifies quickly. “I…bloody hell…I sleep when you’re there. I have to sleep.” For a second, he looks so weak, the circles under his eyes deeper and bruised. So weary. “You can stay here, travel with me. The compensation will be—”

“Sunshine,” I cut in. “Are you seriously trying to pay me to sleep in a bed with you every night?”

And holy hell, if his tense, straining body language is anything to go by, he wants this badly. I’m so shocked I have to take another sip of my drink. God, the idea is tempting. But dangerous. He hasn’t said, “Sophie, I want you and can’t live another night without you.” He’s trying to hire me, for fuck’s sake.

He sits straight, his jaw clenched. “Look, I know it’s ridiculous.” “It is,” I agree, heartily.

His expression goes blank. “You’re right.”

He moves to rise, and I reach out, laying my hand on his stiff forearm. “It is ridiculous because you don’t have to pay me for that.”

If anything, he looks even more put out. “Yes, I do. This isn’t… If I don’t pay…” He shakes his head with an exasperated breath. “It isn’t right not to pay.”

My fingers curl around the hard muscle of his arm. “Do you need this?”

He pulls at his cuff. “The fact that I’m humiliating myself ought to tell you as much.”

I give him a watery smile. “All I’m trying to say is, even if you don’t consider me a friend, I consider you one. I help my friends. And it wouldn’t be right for me to take money from a friend. Besides, you’re offering to let me stay here. This is flat-out luxurious compared to being cramped in with five other people.”

His expression is so perplexed, my heart hurts for him. “You’ll do it?” he asks.

That’s what I just said, wasn’t it? I didn’t even think it over, just blurted out my answer. I should be thinking this over. How am I supposed to live with this man? I’m attracted to him—total understatement. And he expects me to sleep next to him every night? Torture. And yet so very appealing. I want this. For reasons best ignored. Focus on the now. I’ve always operated on instinct. It has yet to fail me. And my instincts had me agreeing from the start. I’m not going back on that.

Gabriel sits quietly, fidgeting with his cuffs, though clearly trying not to. The man has the most ferocious scowl, and I’ve never seen grumpy look so hot. Inappropriate visions of a naughty schoolgirl and the punishing headmaster fill my head. Down, girl.

He makes a noise of impatience mixed with self-disgust. “I apologize for putting you in an awkward position. It was badly done. Let me walk you back—”

“Show me the bedroom.”

He blinks at me as if I’ve spoken in a language he can’t understand.

I start walking to the back of the bus, kicking off my shoes as I go. He watches me the way someone might track a stray raccoon who’s found its way inside. But I notice he stands as well, slowly following.

The bedroom is as gorgeous as the living area. With the glossy, mellow wood paneling, it’s cozy and warm. His bed is a king, taking up most of the space. I crawl onto it, sinking into the cream-satin covers.

Gabriel stands at the threshold, his gaze darting from me to the space beside me. I lay on my side, resting my head on my hand. This isn’t going to be easy. Stretched out on his bed, with him looking on, this feels like something more.

It feels like seduction. I’ve never been good at lying to myself, either. I want his weight on me, the solid strength of his muscles shifting and bunching as he moves between my legs. I want that heat, to feel his cock sliding thick and wide into my empty, aching sex.

But he didn’t ask for that. And the fact that he needs me for something non-sexual means something to me. I’m not just a pair of tits and ass for him to get off on. He could get that anywhere. We both know it. He needs me for this.

I let my head fall to the pillows. “Don’t leave me hanging, sunshine.” “It’s…” He glances at his watch. “Ten-fifteen in the morning.”

“And I’m tired. I need a nap.”

I really do. I hadn’t realized how very exhausted I am until I said it out loud.

A calculating gleam enters his eyes. My nipples pulse in response.

Damn.

Slowly, he takes off his jacket, the move pure suit porn. He takes his time, hangs it up, slips off his shoes, and removes his cufflinks. Muscles strain against his fine, white shirt. I watch him with a lazy sort of attention.

The intimacy of his action soothes in a strange way, and my lids grow heavy.

He pauses at the edge of the bed. “Every night?” It’s a husky rasp, with more yearning than I think he realizes.

Soft warmth blooms in my heart. “Naps too, if you want them.” His gaze is liquid heat. “I want them.”

He crawls onto the bed. The wary, hesitant man is gone. Gabriel moves with grace, nearly prowling, hot eyes on me, his body coming flush with mine. I start to pant as he deftly rolls me to face the wall and curls himself around me, pressing my back to his front. He does it all as if he’s had this planned in his head for some time, as if he’s been thinking in great detail about what he’d do with me once in his bed.

His arm wraps around my middle, snaking up between my breasts before I can even blink. He cups my shoulder, holding me close—snuggling me.

I tremor, a swarm of bees bumping around in my belly. This feels too good. My skin is burning, my heart racing. He has to notice. I feel the rapid thud of his heart against my shoulder blades and know he’s agitated too.

We struggle with the newness of the situation for a few seconds, and then he sighs, his warm breath stirring my hair, and his hard body eases. It’s so peaceful, that sound, that I sink into his hold. We’re over the covers, but I’m so warm, so secure, that it doesn’t matter.

Gabriel’s lips press against the crown of my head. “Every night, chatty girl.”

The possession in his voice is absolute. I’m in so much fucking trouble.