"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."