Managed: A VIP Novel Part 17

"Are you firing me?" That sounded embarra.s.singly shrill.

He halts too, frowning down at me. "What?" A smile lights his eyes. The f.u.c.ker. "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 gla.s.s 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 c.o.c.ks his head as if I'm a peculiar puzzle. "Are you embarra.s.sed 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 f.u.c.k's sake." I don't even mention that he now knows my exact height and weight too. f.u.c.king s.h.i.t.

A snort of annoyance leaves him. "Fine." He walks briskly toward me, and I stiffen, but he turns, opens the laptop, and with a few hard clicks, pulls up a file. "Here," he says, turning the screen my way. "My health report. Or did you think I was exempt?"

"Honestly, I did." I can't help it. I read. So sue me, it's right there in front of me, and he saw mine. I now know he's six foot three, one hundred and eighty-five pounds when last weighed, and in perfect health. "Why do you do this?"

"Insurance, in some instances. And it's a safety precaution. If you're going to work for the biggest band in the world, we're going to know all we can about you." His gaze clashes with mine. "I won't apologize for it, if that's what you want."

"No," I shut the laptop. "I just got a little freaked, okay? Is this why you brought me here? You can see I'm not a criminal, or in debt." Shut up, Soph. You're babbling like a freak. "And no cooties to speak of."

Gabriel's lids lower, and the look he gives me is calculating. "No cooties at all," he agrees.

I flush, thinking of how we could f.u.c.k hard and fast without fear of any consequences. And just maybe he's thinking the same thing.

Only he abruptly stands and walks to a bar across from the door. "Would you like a drink?"

"No tea?" I'm nervous now that I know this isn't about firing me.

He glances over his shoulder at me. "Would you like some?"

"No." I need something stronger. "Bourbon?"

With a nod of approval, he pours us both a good helping. I don't miss the way his hand trembles just once as he pa.s.ses me the gla.s.s. He gives me a tight smile and takes the seat across from me.

The coach is absolutely silent as we sip our bourbon and watch each other warily. He still hasn't told me anything, and I'm pretty sure I just made a fool of myself. So, yeah.

Gabriel expels a soft sigh and gently sets his gla.s.s on a small, chrome table. The click of gla.s.s to metal is like a gunshot to my overtaxed nerves.

"I can't sleep," he tells me with a small, self-deprecating shake of his head. I stare at him, unable to respond, and he meets my eyes. "Not a f.u.c.king wink."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. I empathize. I can't sleep either. I've become some mental princess and the pea. My bed is too hard, the pillow too soft. I toss and turn, my eyes wide open. I'm either too cold or too hot. It's a freaking nightmare. And I think way too much about a certain grumpy man who currently sits in front of me, looking a bit like sleep-deprived death warmed over.

His smile is brief and weak. "I slept that night." Blue eyes meet mine. "When it rained."

Something hot and strong rushes through my limbs. I slept then too. So well. All warm and snug, wrapped up in strong arms. Sometimes, when I'm really weak, I close my eyes and try to remember the exact feeling of Gabriel's hard body behind mine. Try to recall his exact scent. If I'm lucky, I drift off to sleep thinking of that night.

He thinks of that night too. I might turn into a puddle of mush. I manage to keep still, though.

Gabriel leans forward, bracing his forearms on his bent knees. "I want to hire you."

My mushy feels solidify a bit. That wasn't what I expected. I take a hasty sip of bourbon and lick my dry lips. "I'm... Okay, I'm not following."

A dull flush washes over the high crests of his cheeks. "I want you to sleep with me."

"Uh...what?" I can't form better words.

"Just sleep," he clarifies quickly. "I...b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l...I sleep when you're there. I have to sleep." For a second, he looks so weak, the circles under his eyes deeper and bruised. So weary. "You can stay here, travel with me. The compensation will be-"

"Sunshine," I cut in. "Are you seriously trying to pay me to sleep in a bed with you every night?"

And holy h.e.l.l, if his tense, straining body language is anything to go by, he wants this badly. I'm so shocked I have to take another sip of my drink. G.o.d, the idea is tempting. But dangerous. He hasn't said, "Sophie, I want you and can't live another night without you." He's trying to hire me, for f.u.c.k's sake.

He sits straight, his jaw clenched. "Look, I know it's ridiculous."

"It is," I agree, heartily.

His expression goes blank. "You're right."

He moves to rise, and I reach out, laying my hand on his stiff forearm. "It is ridiculous because you don't have to pay me for that."

If anything, he looks even more put out. "Yes, I do. This isn't... If I don't pay..." He shakes his head with an exasperated breath. "It isn't right not to pay."

My fingers curl around the hard muscle of his arm. "Do you need this?"

He pulls at his cuff. "The fact that I'm humiliating myself ought to tell you as much."

I give him a watery smile. "All I'm trying to say is, even if you don't consider me a friend, I consider you one. I help my friends. And it wouldn't be right for me to take money from a friend. Besides, you're offering to let me stay here. This is flat-out luxurious compared to being cramped in with five other people."

His expression is so perplexed, my heart hurts for him.

"You'll do it?" he asks.

That's what I just said, wasn't it? I didn't even think it over, just blurted out my answer. I should be thinking this over. How am I supposed to live with this man? I'm attracted to him-total understatement. And he expects me to sleep next to him every night? Torture. And yet so very appealing. I want this. For reasons best ignored. Focus on the now. I've always operated on instinct. It has yet to fail me. And my instincts had me agreeing from the start. I'm not going back on that.

Gabriel sits quietly, fidgeting with his cuffs, though clearly trying not to. The man has the most ferocious scowl, and I've never seen grumpy look so hot. Inappropriate visions of a naughty schoolgirl and the punishing headmaster fill my head. Down, girl.

He makes a noise of impatience mixed with self-disgust. "I apologize for putting you in an awkward position. It was badly done. Let me walk you back-"

"Show me the bedroom."

He blinks at me as if I've spoken in a language he can't understand.

I start walking to the back of the bus, kicking off my shoes as I go. He watches me the way someone might track a stray racc.o.o.n who's found its way inside. But I notice he stands as well, slowly following.

The bedroom is as gorgeous as the living area. With the glossy, mellow wood paneling, it's cozy and warm. His bed is a king, taking up most of the s.p.a.ce. I crawl onto it, sinking into the cream-satin covers.

Gabriel stands at the threshold, his gaze darting from me to the s.p.a.ce beside me. I lay on my side, resting my head on my hand. This isn't going to be easy. Stretched out on his bed, with him looking on, this feels like something more.

It feels like seduction. I've never been good at lying to myself, either. I want his weight on me, the solid strength of his muscles shifting and bunching as he moves between my legs. I want that heat, to feel his c.o.c.k sliding thick and wide into my empty, aching s.e.x.

But he didn't ask for that. And the fact that he needs me for something non-s.e.xual means something to me. I'm not just a pair of t.i.ts and a.s.s for him to get off on. He could get that anywhere. We both know it. He needs me for this.

I let my head fall to the pillows. "Don't leave me hanging, sunshine."

"It's..." He glances at his watch. "Ten-fifteen in the morning."

"And I'm tired. I need a nap."

I really do. I hadn't realized how very exhausted I am until I said it out loud.

A calculating gleam enters his eyes. My nipples pulse in response. d.a.m.n.

Slowly, he takes off his jacket, the move pure suit p.o.r.n. He takes his time, hangs it up, slips off his shoes, and removes his cufflinks. Muscles strain against his fine, white shirt. I watch him with a lazy sort of attention. The intimacy of his action soothes in a strange way, and my lids grow heavy.

He pauses at the edge of the bed. "Every night?" It's a husky rasp, with more yearning than I think he realizes.

Soft warmth blooms in my heart. "Naps too, if you want them."

His gaze is liquid heat. "I want them."

He crawls onto the bed. The wary, hesitant man is gone. Gabriel moves with grace, nearly prowling, hot eyes on me, his body coming flush with mine. I start to pant as he deftly rolls me to face the wall and curls himself around me, pressing my back to his front. He does it all as if he's had this planned in his head for some time, as if he's been thinking in great detail about what he'd do with me once in his bed.

His arm wraps around my middle, snaking up between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s before I can even blink. He cups my shoulder, holding me close-snuggling me.

I tremor, a swarm of bees b.u.mping around in my belly. This feels too good. My skin is burning, my heart racing. He has to notice. I feel the rapid thud of his heart against my shoulder blades and know he's agitated too.

We struggle with the newness of the situation for a few seconds, and then he sighs, his warm breath stirring my hair, and his hard body eases. It's so peaceful, that sound, that I sink into his hold. We're over the covers, but I'm so warm, so secure, that it doesn't matter.

Gabriel's lips press against the crown of my head. "Every night, chatty girl."

The possession in his voice is absolute. I'm in so much f.u.c.king trouble.

Chapter Ten.

Gabriel

"So, what are we going to tell people?" Sophie's big brown eyes gaze up at me with worry as we make our way to the practice room set up at a local recording studio.

Kill John is going to do a run through of a new song before we set off again, and I want to see if they're up to snuff. Sophie, of course, will be there to take photos.

Having gained two hours of sleep-a b.l.o.o.d.y miracle, by my count-I'm feeling so relaxed and mellow that I nearly hum one of their tunes. I might very well be losing my mind, but I don't b.l.o.o.d.y care.

"About what?"

"About me rooming with you." She waves an arm in exasperation.

She's adorable, really. And so fantastically soft and rounded and warm. G.o.d, she's warm when she sleeps, her lemon tart scent stronger, earthier somehow. I'm tempted to turn us around and demand more nap time.