Managed:a VIP novel(35)

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.