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.