I grin at the disgust in his voice, but a small jolt runs through me as I think back on that night. "You remember all of that?"
His hand sifts through my hair, spreading lovely little shivers down my spine. "I remember everything you say, Darling. You talk, I listen."
I almost tell him I love him then. The words bubble up and dance on my tongue. But my mouth refuses to open. Fear holds me back, as if by saying it I'll somehow start the beginning of the end. It makes no sense, but I can't shake the feeling.
I kiss the underside of his jaw, where the scent of his cologne blends with the warmth of his skin, and hug him close.
He holds me until room service arrives. Given the speed at which they show up, I'm guessing we get preferential treatment. A perk, I suppose, of Kill John renting the entire floor.
Gabriel pulls on his suit jacket and tugs his cuffs into place as I pretend to find interest in my meal. But my appetite is gone.
"Don't poke at your soup," he says. "Eat it."
"I'm waiting for it to cool down."
Apparently I'm terrible at lying because he hovers at the end of the couch, peering at me as if he can pull the thoughts from my head by sheer will.
"I should stay," he says finally.
When he pulls his phone from his pocket as if to start texting, I touch his hand. "No, go. I swear I'm all right. I'm just having an off night. It happens."
I need him to go so I can hunt down that fuckwit Martin and tell him to eat shit and die-or something to that effect. I can't do that with Gabriel around. I'm fairly certain his version of telling Martin to eat shit would probably lean more toward actually kicking the shit out of him.
That would be kind of satisfying to watch, but the idea of Gabriel getting into trouble with the law or having his reputation tarnished horrifies me.
He must see my urgency, because he sighs and leans down to kiss me. This kiss isn't quick, it's soft and languid, as if he's luxuriating in my taste. And I melt under his touch, kissing him back, my hands threading into his thick hair.
High color stains his cheeks when we finally break apart, both of us breathing faster. His forehead rests against mine as he cups my nape. "Sophie," he says. "My darling girl."
Tears threaten. He's too tender. Too wonderful. I close my eyes, run my thumbs in circles along his temples. "I'll be here when you get back."
Making a sound of agreement, he kisses me once. Then once more. Gentle, kisses. Kisses that feel like love.
"Sophie, I … " He takes a breath, shaking his head. When he steps back, I feel the loss of him like a cold hand to my skin.
He tugs his cuffs in place once more and searches my face. I don't know what he sees, but his voice is soft when he finally speaks. "Be well."
"I will." But my promise is empty; because this sickness won't go until I make a stand against Martin.
Gabriel
I hate meet and greets-the inane parties both before and after each concert, where press, fans, fan club runners, other people of fame, and record industry heavy hitters all congregate into one, boring, who's-looking-at-who cluster. They're the bane of my professional existence.
Over the years, I've perfected a remote look that keeps people at arm's length during these torturous hours. Only the very brave or the very stupid approach me. The very brave have my respect and are usually intelligent enough to converse with briefly. The very stupid are easily dealt with.
It is inevitable, however, that I must talk with people throughout the night. And this night is extremely long. I've forced myself not to text Sophie more than once, lest I "mother hen" her. But I want to.
I don't like the wan, yet agitated expression she had earlier, or the way she trembled in my arms, even though she clearly wanted to hide her upset. Something is wrong. Something more than the carsickness she claims.
Whatever the problem is, I want to make it better. It is imperative that I do. My entire life has been dedicated to looking after people I care for, and she sits at the top of the list now.
I should have stayed with her. I'm feeling … possessive-yet another emotion I don't any familiarity with.
Men can't go around introducing their woman as, "Mine; Touch her and lose a finger." Can they? I doubt Sophie would appreciate being labeled as such. Or perhaps she would if I told her to label me in the same manner?
"Scottie, dude, you're drifting."
"Pardon?" I find Killian standing next to me.
"Completely spaced out." His grin is annoying. "I guess the vacation did the trick."
"I'm cured of the compulsion to check my phone every two minutes," I tell him grimly.
"Uh-huh, that's exactly what I was referring to."
I ignore his smug look. "It was … " The best time of my life. " … I enjoyed it very much."
Killian makes a noise of amusement. "Good to hear."
He doesn't say anything further, but he doesn't move away either.
Sophie believes I should try harder with them. I clear my throat. "I'm thinking of taking Sophie to the chalet for the New Year. Would you and Liberty like to join us?"
I grimace. That probably sounded as stilted coming out of my mouth as it did in my head. By the way Killian's lip twitches, I am correct. Bugger.
But he answers before I can say another word. "Liberty and I would love that."
"Shouldn't you ask her before committing?" I know that much about women.
"No need. We have mind-melded." He leans in. "Besides, she's behind you."
Startled, I step back and find Liberty grinning so wide, her cheeks bunch. "Hey, Scottie." She gives me a punch on the arm. "Can we go skiing, and eat fondue, and do other James Bond-type things?"
"Such as jumping off cliffs and deploying parachutes with the union Jack on them?" I drawl.
"Yes. But I need stars and stripes on mine. It's my patriotic duty."
"I'll put it on my to-do list."
"Hee!" She hugs me before I can get away. "This will be the best New Years ever!"
Killian laughs, but then looks around. "Anyone seen Jax?"
I disentangle myself from Liberty and nudge her in Killian's direction. "Not since the concert ended. He was a little off tonight."
Killian scans the room. "He looked like shit. And now he's gone."
When Jax disappears, we all worry. It is an automatic reaction now, no matter how trustworthy he seems. Instantly, I'm alert, my lower back clenching.
"When did you last see him?"
"Walking off stage."
"That was … " I glance at my watch. "Forty-two minutes ago."
Killian waves over Whip and Rye. "You guys seen Jax?"
Our worry is contagious. Rye frowns. "No, man."
"I saw him go into the bathroom when we got off," Whip says.
Rye jogs away to search the bathroom, while Killian heads for Kip, our head of security.
I move that way as well, and reach them just as Kip tells Killian he saw Jax go upstairs, hanging on to a groupie.
"And some guy," Kip adds.
"A guy?" Killian repeats, confused.
"Yeah, kind of sleazy looking. He had Jax by the other arm. But Jax waved me off." Kip shrugs. "So what could I do?"
Do your bloody job and tell me what was happening, I think with a silent snarl.
Killian's gaze darts to mine. "Jax is not into dudes."
"I know that," I snap, then take a breath. "Look, we don't know what's going on; we're simply being cautious. And I do not want to call attention to us, so let's calm down."
Killian's jaw tenses, but he nods.
"Keep on with your duties," I tell Kip. "Come with me, Killian."
Rye finds us as we walk across the room, his expression is grim. "Not in the bathroom."
"Apparently he went upstairs," I say. "Stay here and be you."
He knows exactly what I mean, but he doesn't appear happy.
"Some days it sucks being the class clown. Text me when you find him, or I'm gonna be pissed." He salutes us and runs off, jumping on the couch between two women. "Ladies, who wants to do shots?"
Liberty is with us, and I touch her elbow to slow her down. "Go tell Whip to stay down here. If we all go, people will notice."
Killian and I fall silent as we wait for the elevator.
"We have no real reason to worry," I tell him.
"He's probably fucking some girl."
"Right."
A row of numbered lights track the elevator's descent to our fifth floor level. Killian and I both watch it.
"Why do I feel like it's something more?" Killian whispers, staring at the lights.
My heart gives a pained thump. "I don't know." But I feel the same.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sophie
Turns out I don't have to hunt Martin down. He finds me. Of course the bastard does it his way, texting me to say he's off to the concert-where I can't follow without being seen by Gabriel-and then smugly adds that he'll text again when he's free.