Managed (VIP #2)(70)

They leave without another word.

Gabriel’s voice is rusty when he finally uses it. “You’ve been well?” His gaze flicks to the mic still in my hand and a flash of humor lights his eyes before neutrality settles back into place.

I’m sweaty and flushed, my heartbeat still rapid from abruptly stopping my dance.

“Don’t I look well?” It’s a cheap tactic, but the insecure part of me needs some sort of sign. And he still hasn’t moved from the doorway.

He glances at my breasts, the swell of my hips, making all those places perk up, become tender with the need to be touched. He meets my eyes again.

“Very well indeed.”

Damn, that shouldn’t fill me with heat. I set down the mic, take a swig of my beer. It’s warm and flat now. “You should have let them stay.”

“I didn’t ask them to go.” He says it softly, his expression a bit perplexed and a bit pissed off.

“You didn’t have to. You show up and everyone scatters like cockroaches to the light.”

His nostrils flare in clear irritation. I ignore it.

“Why is that? Why don’t you let anyone in here?” I take a step closer. “Why don’t you let anyone in?”

“You’re in here,” he retorts hotly, his gaze cutting away, as if the sight of me pains him. “You’re in.”

“Am I?” My heart pounds now, pushing the blood through my veins with too much force. It makes me jumpy, in need of comfort.

Gabriel frowns at me. “You have to ask?”

I take another step, aware that he stiffens when I do. “Were you really off doing business?”

“What else would I be doing?”

Another step. Close enough to catch his scent. Heat radiates off him despite his cool outward appearance. He stares down his nose at me. Arrogant bastard.

“You look like shit,” I tell him.

He scoffs at that. “Well, thank you, Darling. I can always count on your candor.”

“Yes, you can.” I look up at him. “You’ve lost weight. Your color is off—”

“Sophie,” he cuts in with a sigh, “I’ve traveled all day. On a bloody plane. I’m tired, and I want to sleep.” He inclines his head, his chin set in defiance. “Shall we?”

For a second, I can only blink. “You honestly expect me to sleep with you now?”

That stubborn, blunt chin rises. “You promised me every night if I wanted it. Well, I do.”

“Not until you tell me where you’ve been.”

“What?”

I lean in, my nose nearly brushing the lapel of his perfect suit, and breathe deep. I straighten with a glare. “You may have had a shower, but your suit stinks of cigarettes and perfume.”

His eyes narrow to laser-bright slits. “What are you implying?”

“Were you off f*cking someone?”

There. I said it. And I’m sick with the idea.

“That is none of your business.”

I don’t care if he says it without inflection, it still feels like a slap to the face.

“It is if I’m sleeping with you,” I snap.

He takes a step into my space. “I told you at the beginning, this isn’t about sex.”

The tips of my breasts brush his chest with each agitated breath I take. “You’re right. It’s more than that. We are more. And you f*cking know it.” I poke his hard shoulder. “So stop being such a coward and admit it.”

With an actual growl, he backs me against the wall, his arms caging me in. Our noses bump as he bends down.

“Here is what I will admit: I was not ‘f*cking someone’ and it pisses me off that your first suspicion went directly to that.”

He’s so close, his angry heat feels like my own. I can’t move or avoid his eyes. I don’t try to. “Why shouldn’t I think that when you smell of other women?”

“Because there is only you!”

His shout rings out, broken and desperate. But it’s the rage in it, as if he hates the truth, that has me flinching.

Even so, his confession sits between us. And I can’t help but put a hand to his waist. Tension vibrates through his frame. But he doesn’t pull away, just stares down at me, breathing hard.

“Gabriel, you think it’s any different for me?”

He pulls back at that, his expression going blank.

I don’t let it stop me. My voice stays soft. “Why do you think I push?”

“Because you can’t help yourself, stubborn, chatty girl.” His gaze darts over my face. “Even when you should.”

“Why should I, Gabriel?” I use his name to keep him from retreating. I know how much he craves hearing it. Even now, when he’s angry, his lids flutter each time I utter it. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you. I do. We dance around it night after night. And it’s a f*cking lie. I’m tired of the lie. Tell me why you resist.”

His lips pinch. “I have already told you. I will fail you, Sophie. Christ, look at me. I left when you were in need.”

“Did you do it to prove that to me?” I press, tears threatening. “Is that why?”

That clearly doesn’t sit well with him. “No. I needed a break, time for myself.”