Managed:a VIP novel(36)

While we have our drinks, a few techs mess about on the stage, setting  up for a concert. I lean closer to Gabriel to be heard above the noise  of the house music. "You know who's playing?"

He gives me a slightly smug look. "Patience, chatty girl."

By the time we're finished with our drinks, the lights are dimming.  Gabriel sets our glasses on the bar and grabs my hand. His grip is warm  and solid as he leads me through the crowd, closer to the stage. It  doesn't surprise me at this point that people step out of his way.

He doesn't stop right in front of the stage, but a little ways back, so  we're buffeted on all sides by people. The lights go dark and then pop  up again in flashes of red and yellow. The band comes onstage, and  people cheer. The lead singer is a woman. Aside from her, there are  three guitarists, a drummer, and a guy manning a mixing board.

Gabriel moves slightly behind me, as if bracing himself between me and others. I feel the warmth of his body along my skin.

And then the band starts playing. The music isn't what I expected. It  isn't rock. It's flamenco with a modern twist-funk, hip-hop, even a bit  of Bollywood, blending into a sound unlike anything I've ever heard.  Happiness is a lightning strike through my system. I jolt and turn my  head.

Gabriel's smiling eyes look down at me. He doesn't say a word, doesn't  need to. But he does pull a little rosebud on a stem from his back jeans  pocket. When he picked that up, I don't know. I'm too shocked, standing  there gaping as he tucks it behind my ear.

"There you go, Darling," he says in my ear. "Now we dance."

He puts his hands on my hips and begins to move us to the rhythm of the  song, picking up the pace as my body starts to respond. And I'm so  shocked by the fact that he is willingly dancing, I can't even form a  coherent thought. So I don't. I let the music take me, let Gabriel's  capable hands and swaying body guide me.

And he can dance. I don't know why I'm surprised. His footwork is better  than mine, and I follow his lead, laughing and going more on enthusiasm  than finesse. He doesn't seem to mind. His eyes lock with mine, and the  dancing people around me fall away. There's just him, his hips moving  with mine, my heart pounding in my chest.

Warm hands glide up my sides, the barest of touches. I shiver, sway  closer, my arms settling around his neck. His body is hot and tight. His  palms skim along my arms and up to my hands. Fingers intertwining, he  lifts my hands overhead, taking total control.

This isn't dirty dancing; he keeps a bit of distance between us, ever  the polite and controlled Gabriel. Doesn't matter. He's dancing with me,  and I'm alive with the joy of it.

With a flick of his wrist, he spins me outward, my skirt swirling around  my thighs, and then he brings me back, dips me, and twirls me again.

I laugh and laugh. I've never danced like this, the moves traditional  and a bit old fashioned. I love it. He took my dream and made it real.  For me.

Our gazes clash and lock. There's a smile in his eyes, and a question. Is this what you wanted?

How do I tell him I'm looking at what I want? Boyfriends have always  come easy to me. They were guys who complimented my body, told me I was a  good time, easy to be around. What they really meant was I wasn't  someone they'd get attached to. And if I'm truthful, I didn't get  attached to them either.

This is different. I'm already attached.

Gabriel has seen all that I have to offer, and still he doesn't take  what he has to know I'll willingly give him. Fully falling for him would  be akin to tossing myself off a bottomless cliff. Down, down, down I'd  go, nothing to hold on to and no way back to solid ground.         

     



 

My smile is bright and painful, but I can't let him see what's bothering  me. I don't want to answer those questions. He seems satisfied, his  smile moving from his eyes to embrace his whole face.

We dance until dawn and tumble home laughing, me more than a little tipsy.

And never once does he try for more.

Which cements it. I have to pull back, learn from him and put up walls  around my heart. And when this tour is over, I have to get as far away  from Gabriel Scott as possible.





Chapter Sixteen





Sophie







In an attempt to keep myself occupied with work and not with thoughts of  a certain roommate, I head out early to the venue we have lined up for  tonight's performance. It's a small space, and they're having a highly  publicized meet-and-greet before the actual concert.

The air is humid and thick by the time I arrive. The crowd outside the  doors is amped up, and not in a good way. The potential for things to  get out of control is high. Even thought I spent only one year as a pap,  I can spot the signs. There's a certain agitation rippling through the  crowd, an edge of desperation I don't like.

I vetted out a good spot to catch the guys exiting their limos, and to  take pictures of the onlookers as well. It tells a better story for this  night, and it keeps me away from Gabriel. I'm trying not to regret my  decision given the nasty tinge that's in the air right now.

Teenage girls vie for position, jostling each other, throwing elbows in a  not so subtle manner. They haven't devolved into fights, but it's a  close thing. Glares and shoves are increasing. Security looks annoyed,  and they aren't exactly kind with their attempts to keep the fans back,  resorting to shoves as well.

Around me are fellow photojournalists. Many of them I don't know, but some are familiar.

Even though I don't want to, I search the crowd for Martin's face,  fearing that he'll decide to pay Kill John, and me, a visit. I'd rather  see him coming than be sucker-punched by him suddenly showing. I've done  this each and every night, all the while cursing him to hell. But,  thankfully, he's nowhere to be found.

"How'd you get a job traveling with Kill John?" Thompson, one of my old  colleagues, asks me as he sucks on a cigarette. He's got a bloated look  about the face, his skin grayish in the harsh marquee lights. "You  fucking them?"

"Yes, all of them." I don't bother looking at him. "It's kind of a train  situation. I hear they've got an opening for a bottom, if you're  interested."

"Cute." He tosses down his cigarette butt, not bothering to snub it. The  glowing stub comes close to my open-toed sandal. "I should quote you,  brat."

"Because your credibility is so reliable," I mutter.

The weasel stomps out his cigarette, barely missing my toe. I don't react, though I want to.

Never get emotional. A good mantra, but not one that's easy to follow.  I'm regretting my plan more and more as bad memories of desperate days  fill my head and make my stomach churn. I hated being a pap. Hated who I  was and how I felt-as though I was covered in mud from the inside out.

My phone buzzes.

Brenna: We're coming around the block

Go time. I'm about to tuck my phone back into my pocket when another text chimes.

Sunshine: 30 seconds ETA

His text does for me what Brenna's can't: make me feel cared for, and make me care back.

Keeping my distance from him isn't going to work, not when we're in  constant contact, anyway. But I can't bother worrying now. Kill John's  motorcade is in sight.

The crowd erupts into pandemonium. Girls scream, shoving turns rough.  All of us are so packed together that we seem to undulate like a raging  sea.

I brace my feet and start snapping, capturing chaos.

The first large SUV pulls up to the curb. The guys are in there. Gabriel, Jules, and Brenna will be in the next one.

Jax is the first to exit, and it's like he's touched a live wire to the  crowd. Everything amps up. My view behind the camera shakes as I'm  jostled. But I get the shot of Jax's face-the flinch and then the  smoothing of his features into some bland neutrality. He smiles, but  he's not really there.

None of the guys are. Not this time. The crowd is just too wild for them  to linger. They move toward me at a steady pace. At my back, people  shove and push. I'm in a good spot and clearly that's not sitting well  with more than a few girls.

"I can't see!"

"Get out of the way!"

"Move, I was here first."

"Fuck you."

Those last two were not aimed at me, but I'm in the middle of it.  Suddenly arms are flailing, hands slapping. I duck a few blows and edge  away. But that fuckface Thompson shoves me right back into it. I'm  glaring at him when someone grabs my hair and pulls. Hard.         

     



 

Tears prickle behind my lids, my scalp screaming. I lower my head and  twist my body, my elbow connecting with the wrist of my hair puller. The  girl lets go with a squawk.

Someone grabs for my camera, and I slap the hand away. Around me, other fights break out.

In my periphery, I see Jax. His gaze catches mine, and he frowns, slowing down.

No, no, no. Get out of here.

The other guys are pausing too, seeing me in the melee. Not good. The  crowd surges again, crushing me into Thompson and a security guard. A  blow hits me right in the eye, and I see stars. It hurts so badly, I cry  out. Another blow comes. Pain sparkles and tears.