Managed: A VIP Novel Part 19

"Amusing as always, Darling."

Who could blame me for being suspicious? Gabriel Scott is out of his suit and wearing a soft, gray long-sleeve thermal and black sweats. This is shocking enough-but at least I've seen it before. The fact that he's lounging in his bed, while eating some sort of dessert out of a bowl, is what has me flabbergasted.

"You're staring," he says dryly as he...

"Are you watching Buffy?" My voice has a tinge of a squeal.

He rolls his eyes. "Deal with it."

"I'm just so..." My hand flutters to my chest. "Are you sure I'm not being punked?"

A snort escapes him. "You're not famous, so no. I, on the other hand, have my moments of doubt that you aren't here to punk me."

I'm so happy, I have to fight grinning like a loon as I kick off my shoes and crawl onto the end of the bed. "If I were to punk you, I'd change out all your suits for polyester."

At that, his eyes finally slide to mine, and his skin actually pales. "That's just cruel, Darling."

"Stop calling me that." I steal his spoon.

"It's your name."

"Are you sure that's what you're calling me by?" I ask suspiciously, as he moves his bowl out of reach.

"What else would I be doing?" There's a glint in his eye that leads me to answer in a sing-song voice.

"A term of endearment? Declaring your undying lurve for me."

His nose wrinkles. "You're going to put me off my pudding."

"Pudding? Is that what you're eating?" I lunge for the bowl, but he's too quick, and I end up sprawled across his chest.

We both go still, me clutching the spoon in one hand, my other palm pressed against the firm swell of his pec, him with one arm still outstretched, his other one pinned beneath me.

His breathing goes deep and strong as he peers down at me. My attention drifts to his lips, beautifully sculpted and softly parted. How would he kiss? Would he start off slow, taking little nibbles, testing the waters? Or would he be the type to go all in, possess my mouth with his?

Heat floods my body, fluttering through my belly.

Gabriel's lids lower, and his breath catches.

In the background, someone is shouting Buffy's name. It's enough to snap me out of whatever fog that touching Gabriel has pulled me into.

"You smell like apple pie," I whisper inanely.

His gaze darts from my mouth to my eyes. "It's crumble. Apple crumble."

"Why did you call it pudding?"

"It's what we Brits call dessert." He's still staring at my mouth. Dessert indeed.

My lips part, sheer l.u.s.t making them plump. "Give me a bite."

With an audible swallow, he slowly takes the spoon from my hand. I don't look away from his eyes as he scoops up a bit of the crumble.

The spoon shakes just a little. Cool metal slides over my lower lip, and hot crumble fills my mouth. I barely suppress a moan, my lips closing around the spoon as he slowly draws it back out. He grunts in response, a short, helpless sort of sound that he quickly smothers.

"Delicious," I say, licking the corner of my lips.

The wall comes down once more, and he's back to his implacable self. With gentle hands he moves me to the side. "Off you go," he says lightly. "You're making me miss Buffy."

It takes me a moment to settle myself. I push my hair away from my face and snuggle back into the nest of pillows propped against the headboard. "I cannot believe you're watching this. With pride, even."

His big shoulder lifts on a shrug as he goes back to eating his crumble. "You're living here now; it's not as though I can hide my viewing preferences. And I'm not about to forego the small pleasures I get to enjoy."

"Geeking out on sci-fi shows and eating desserts?" I make a sound of amus.e.m.e.nt. "Try to contain yourself, party man."

He cuts me a look. "For the first few years of Kill John's existence, I f.u.c.ked, drank, and partied my way across the globe. I can safely say I'm worn out on that life and completely bored with it."

My brain stutters on the word f.u.c.k coming from his lips in that crisp accent. He's used the word before, but we were fighting at the time. Now I'm paying attention. It's so tempting to ask him to repeat himself that I have to bite my inner cheek.

"What is that look all about?" he asks, catching my struggle. "I've learned many of your looks. But not that one."

"You know my looks? I don't think so."

Gabriel nudges me with his elbow. "You're blus.h.i.+ng."

"Like h.e.l.l." My cheeks burn.

The low rumble of his amus.e.m.e.nt lifts the little hairs along my arms, and my nipples tighten. d.a.m.n it. He's not allowed to affect me like this.

"The guys were giving me s.h.i.+t," I blurt out, my common sense weakened by his nearness. "About you. They implied that you were a cold fish where s.e.x is involved. That you don't...er...do that anymore."

G.o.d, I can't look at him. I brace for his ire, but he laughs. Not long or very loud, but his chest shakes, and he wipes a hand over his face as he tries to get control of it.

"And you, what?" he asks, his eyes gleaming with mirth. "Thought I was a virgin?"

"No." I kick his foot lightly. "No. I just...Gah! You said f.u.c.k, and it got me thinking about it."

"f.u.c.king?" he asks, grinning wide enough to flash his white teeth.

I look away so I can't be charmed any further. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," he teases in a tone so unlike him-so like me-that I meet his gaze.

"No, I don't," I agree quietly.

And it's his turn to squirm. He stabs at his crumble with his spoon but doesn't take a bite.

"Is it true?" I can't help asking. "Are you...abstaining?"

"Jesus," he says, letting the spoon clatter to the side of the bowl. "Please, for the sake of my appet.i.te, refrain from trying to phrase things delicately, chatty girl. It is painful to witness."

He'd look pretty good wearing that dessert right about now. "Then answer the question, suns.h.i.+ne."

For a second, I think he'll refuse, but he sighs in defeat and rests against the headboard. "s.e.x for me has always been..." He frowns as if trying to think of an explanation, then shrugs. "A release, I suppose. Hard, fast, mutual but impersonal satisfaction."

That really shouldn't sound appealing, but it does-at least when I picture him doing it. He's strong enough that it would be brutal in the best kind of way. I sit back as well, crossing my legs before me.

Gabriel continues in a dispa.s.sionate tone. "Living this life, looking the way I do, it's easy to get off whenever, however I want. I won't lie. I took advantage often. But then Jax happened." He stares down at his hands as they close tight around his bowl. "Everything felt false, ugly. Like we were all tainted by a lie, and those around us were liars. The amount of supposed close friends who jumped s.h.i.+p, turned their backs on Jax was staggering."

He glances my way, and his eyes are red at the edges. "Don't misunderstand; I expected it. I simply didn't expect it to bother me."

"Of course it would. They're your family. Anyone can see that you love them."

He stills as if he's absorbing my words. "Most people believe I'm incapable of feeling anything."

Outrage punches through my chest like a burning fist. In that moment, I know I'd go to war for this man. Even if he hated every second of it. No one should have to face the world without someone at their back. Especially not someone as dedicated as Gabriel.

"Idiots," I snarl.

He slowly shakes his head. "No, love, it's what I want them to see."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"It helps. I was never particularly affectionate. But after Jax, I couldn't stand to have anyone touch me. Especially strangers. It makes my skin crawl, smothers me."

With a groan, I flop into the pillows. "And there I was on the plane, wrapping myself around you like cling film."

His mouth quirks, and he looks at me from under the thick fringe of his lashes. "Yes, well, I'm all cured of you. Call it a trial by fire. Or aversion therapy."

"Lovely. I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy now. No." I hold up a hand. "Don't hold back how you really feel."

He snorts and grabs my hand, his long fingers wrapping around my smaller ones. He gives me a squeeze before gently setting my hand down on my thigh and moving his away.

"Our situation aside, casual contact irritates me, which means casual s.e.x no longer holds any interest. In truth, I find it repellant now."

It's probably wrong that I'm relieved. But if I had to watch him hook up with women during the tour, I don't know how I'd handle it. Jealousy is not fun and also hard to control. Yet it also bothers me, thinking about him consigning himself to being alone.

"What about having a relations.h.i.+p?" I ask.

"Most people bore me."

I laugh, but my heart hurts. "This you make very clear.

A frown knits his thick brows. "I've never been affectionate or normal, Sophie."

He says it like a warning, or maybe a badge of honor. And yet I hear the worry behind it all, as if he fears he might be defective. I know that particular fear very well.

"Hey, what's normal anyway? We're all a bit crazy."

"Some more than others," he can't seem to help but murmur with a small, teasing smile about his lips. "And I don't usually have dessert. Crumble is special."

That catches my attention. "How so?"

He pokes as his desert before answering with a secretive smile. "Mary made this for me."

"Mary." The name tastes of bitterness in my mouth.

He glances at me, his brows drawing together before his expression smoothes into amus.e.m.e.nt. "Glorious woman. Excellent baker. The best, really."

"I prefer apple pie."

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d gives his spoon a lazy lick. I ignore that tongue. And those firm lips that are just a bit glossy with apple-cinnamon filling. "How American of you. Don't fret, love. I'm certain Mary could bake a luscious pie too."

"Maybe you should ask her to sleep with you at night. Then you can have your pie and eat it too."

"Good suggestion, Marie Antoinette. Only I think she'd turn me down. She's constantly telling me I'm too young for her." He shrugs. "Eighty-year-old women are p.r.i.c.kly that way."

I grab his spoon and take an irritated bite of his beloved crumble while he chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I can't believe I let him goad me.

"a.s.s," I tell him around my mouthful of food.

"You wear jealousy well, Ms. Darling. Makes you all flushed and breathy."

"Deluded a.s.s," I amend. When he won't stop grinning, I poke his chest. "So why is crumble so special?"

All the happy smugness falls off his face, and regret pangs inside my chest. His gaze drifts off as he speaks. "My mum used to make it for me as a special treat. The only crumble I've found that tastes even close to my mum's is made by Mary, who owns a bake shop here. I always order a batch when I come to town."

I want to ask him about his family and why his mom doesn't make him crumble instead. But agitation has settled on him like a heavy blanket he's trying to shrug off. I can't bring myself to pick at that scab.

With an ease I don't feel, I take the bowl from his unresisting hand and help myself to another bite of crumble. It's rich and b.u.t.tery, crisp and spicy.

Kind of like Gabriel himself.

"Now then," I tell him around the mouthful, "you've completely lost points for being Team Jacob."

He snorts.

"So you'll have to redeem yourself." I wave the spoon at him threateningly. "Who was better for Buffy? Angel or Spike?"

Gabriel takes the spoon and bowl back. "Angel is a teen girl's dream, all sad sighs and mental angst. Spike is for when she grows up and realizes satisfaction is hers for the taking."

My grin slowly unfurls. "You, sir, are a romantic."

He glances at me in affront. "I just said all that romantic babble was childish."

"Only a romantic would put so much thought into that answer."

"You annoy me," he grumbles without heat. "And for the record, I was lying about Jacob. I think they're both prats."