“Sinead?”
She’d gone so quiet, the silence was thick as snow on the ground in Aspen when he’d last gone skiing. She did it again, staring at her lap, folding her elegant hands over and over each other. A nervous tic.
He wanted to smooth things over but he was rusty at this kind of thing too. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve been having a great time so far.”
She looked up and offered a hint of a smile.
He’d have to put her at ease again. He grasped at a familiar and relatively safe topic. Work. “Tell me about being a flight attendant. I’ll bet you love the travel. You must have been to some amazing places.”
Sinead frowned. What was her reaction about? Work might not be a safe topic after all.
“It’s a good job. I’ve seen half the world and know my way around an airport with my eyes closed. But it’s been five years and I could do with a change. More of a challenge, I suppose. Not to mention I live in a tiny shoebox in London that doesn’t feel like home.”
Her eyes flicked sideways, avoiding his gaze.
“Sinead, are you all right?”
She smiled for a moment. “Aye. Sorry about that. It must be the jet-lag talking.” He doubted it was jet-lag. She was upset about something, but it wasn’t his place to ask. But he could help cheer her up. Show her a good time.
Thinking fast, he stood and reached for Sinead’s hand.
“What do you say we go check out the karaoke? Little known fact about me: I can really belt out a show tune.” He grinned and raised his eyebrows. It had the desired effect, even if the thought of karaoke made him want to cut and run.
Sinead laughed, clear and true, chiming like crystal glasses striking in celebration.
She grinned and shook her head “Oh, is that so?”
Then she was on her feet, standing in front of him. She took his hand, wrapping her fingers around his. It was perfect, their hands pressed together, like they fit.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done more of this. Talking, spending time with a woman, holding hands. He never realised what he’d been missing.
Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed the smooth skin on the back of her hand. Only the briefest contact, but it raised his temperature, and hers too, judging by her reaction. Her quick intake of breath, the way her breasts rose and fell, the flare of heat in her eyes. That was something.
He wanted more. More of her laughter, more of her heat. He wished he could take her straight upstairs to their suite.
CHAPTER FOUR
Gabriel led her manfully, through to the hotel bar. Sinead’s heart was still fluttering like it was being brushed by fairy wings, dancing in her chest. Tinkerbell and her friends were having a party in there. The way he’d kissed her hand. Heat pulsed through her body, making her legs weak.
Oh my goodness. She’d had past encounters of the naked and horizontal variety which had barely raised her pulse.
Gabriel on the other hand … Wow.
He was full of surprises. Based on their first couple of run-ins, she’d never have picked him as a gentleman. Gruff and sexy, demanding and handsome – check, check, check and check. But gentlemanly? Not exactly. He’d upset her with his comments about being different from the women he usually dated. But she’d judged too soon. He’d apologised and now he was taking her to karaoke, although it probably wasn’t his cup of tea.
Was it really only a matter of hours since they’d met? It seemed like days ago already.
They found a table against the wall of the crowded bar. She slunk into the leather seat and kept her eyes on him as he settled in opposite her. He folded his long, limber self into the metal framed chair and crossed his arms on the dark wood table. His forearms were on full display with his sleeves rolled up, muscles and tendons taut and tempting. A wave of warmth rolled up her chest and neck to flush her face. God, even his arms were making her blush.
She hoped their evening was only getting warmed up.
But she never did this. Meeting a man, talking for a while, then seriously entertaining ideas of how best to separate him from his clothes. And wrap herself around him instead.
She’d never had a one-night stand. But the more the idea rattled around her brain, the more she wanted it. Wasn’t it something every normal, red-blooded, woman of the world should experience?
Rationalising her bad behaviour, so her mother would say. No. The voice of doom had no place in her head tonight. In her Ma’s book, she’d probably burn in hell simply for looking at a man like she’d been looking at Gabriel. Seeing as she was already on fire, it was a little late to start worrying.
A screech from the front of the room had her whipping her head around. A woman was belting out a tune on the small stage at the end of the bar, furthest from the street entrance. Her high voice was muffled by the feedback from the speakers. It was a bit squealy.
“So, Gabriel. What do you think?” She didn’t like it. The whiny pop-song might have been top of the charts in Asia, but she couldn’t get the gist of it. And that was before the woman on stage murdered it.
“Man, that’s some crooning. What’s the word for it? Warbly?” His cheeky grin was highly flammable, or so it seemed to her lady parts.
“What’s your type of music then? You mentioned show tunes. Something like Oklahoma! or CATS?” Her lips tugged up at the corners.
Gabriel answered with a full-throated chuckle which rumbled across her skin and through her belly like a roll of thunder. He didn’t laugh often, but when he did there was such an open and sunny look on his face, it was almost boyish. It was addictive. She loved being able to turn his frown upside down. She wanted more of his laughter, his humour.
“Oh, no. My musical taste is eclectic, but it runs more to the Nirvana side of the equation, with a bit of Hilltop Hoods thrown in. How about you?”
“Little known fact about me,” she mirrored his earlier comment, “when I was a teenager I followed a couple of punk bands around the festival circuit, Glastonbury, Reading, the whole scene. I even shaved off all my hair like Sinead O’Connor. My favourite band of all time is The Sex Pistols. But I love my pop songs too.”
“I never would have picked you as a punk, but I’m impressed. Although I don’t think I approve of your being a skinhead. I can’t imagine you without your beautiful blonde hair.”
She stilled, afraid to break the spell as he reached across the table and stroked his fingers through the lengths of her hair. Already trembling, she gasped under the light but sensual touch. She couldn’t hide her reaction, but bit her lip to keep from groaning.
His hand hovered next to her cheek for a split second as if to touch her face, to feel her skin. “You have beautiful skin too. Irish cream.”
She wanted him to touch her, willed him to. It was so strange, she’d never been so drawn to a man in her life.
He dropped his hand down onto the table in front of him. Her heart sank with disappointment.
“I reckon it’s time for another drink. What do you say?” Gabriel avoided her eyes.
She could have sworn he was blushing too, even through his suntan.
Two Singapore Slings later and Gabriel’s head was about to explode. Not from sitting so close to Sinead, although she was definitely getting under his skin. It was an all-too-familiar foe. A migraine.
He was an idiot, it was official. Too many drinks in his system and probably one of his food triggers. He should’ve checked the ingredients of the meal. It must have contained MSG.
The synapses in his brain were firing randomly and a full-blown migraine was coming. But he didn’t want a bloody headache to ruin his night with Sinead. He pressed his hand to his forehead. The acupressure move was supposed to help. No luck so far.
The darkened bar was completely packed, spotlights illuminating the stage. A bunch of people stood jammed in near the stage, swaying and shouting. He’d agreed to karaoke, mostly so he could stay close to Sinead a while longer. Now it was hurting his brain.
“Wish me luck?” Then she was off, weaving through the crowd.
“Luck!” He wasn’t sure if she’d heard him, but she looked back and winked over her shoulder.
A wash of heat stole over him. Damn, she owned him with a wink.
Now he was eager to see her in action. She was a wannabe rock star and she’d really loosened up with the potent cocktails.
She bounded up to the low stage. The crowd was lapping it up, shouting and applauding after the last act, or victim. He could do without more pounding bass beats, keeping time with the pounding inside his head.
He sat higher in his seat and craned his neck for a better view. She spoke to the MC and chose a song from the database. The music started and he groaned. Not because of the throbbing pain in his head, because of the song.
“Not bloody Kylie,” he whispered. The singing budgie wasn’t his favourite Aussie export. He rubbed his temples with both hands.
Sinead was centre stage with a microphone in one hand, doing the weird dance from the music video. Even though he wasn’t a fan, it was the type of song your brain absorbed by osmosis. She wasn’t wearing the famous white jumpsuit with the plunging neckline, but he pictured it anyway. She already looked damn fine up there, shimmying and shaking, even sexier than when she’d danced to the Macarena song back on the plane. The Kylie outfit would be the icing on the cake though.
“La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la … ”
She launched into the song and as she started on the lyrics, he had to admit she wasn’t half bad. At least she was giving it everything she had.
Gabriel’s ears pricked up at the words of the song. Could the lyrics be meant especially for him? She couldn’t get some guy out of her head, and his loving was all she could think about.
This song wasn’t so bad after all. Sinead strutted across the stage like a real rock chick. Her tight jeans gave him a fine view of her assets, along with every other bloke in the bar.
One guy yelled out. “Hey Kylie! Wanna do the locomotion with me?”
Laughs broke out from the punters near the stage. A jolt of jealousy struck him like a punch in the gut. He couldn’t stand the idea of these guys looking at her, let alone laying their hands on her. Weird, seeing as he’d never experienced anything like it. Ever.
Sinead seemed to be oblivious to the effect she had on the guys in the crowd. She was in the zone. Now Sinead sang about wanting the guy every day and every night. Asking him to stay.
Absolutely. He wanted to stay with her and he was going to get her. Now. He stood up and steadied himself. Most of his body was ready to leave, but his brain, and a killer migraine, had other ideas. The hazy aura in the corners of his vision slowed him down. This migraine was going to hurt. Based on past experience, he reckoned it would hit full-force in about half an hour.
Then so many things happened at once, he wasn’t sure what came first. Sinead fell off the stage with a massive crash, singing as she went down.
“La, la, la, la, laaaaaahhh!”
Shit! She’d taken a headlong stage-dive into the crowd. He had to help her. No one had any warning. No-one had tried to catch her or help her to crowd-surf, not like at a music festival.
Bloody hell.
“Sinead!” His voice got lost in the crowd.
He was on his feet and moving, pushing and stomping his way through people. A space opened in the crowd at the front of the stage but he still couldn’t see her.
Then from behind him, a sound like tearing metal and cracking glass made him spin. He swivelled on the spot and took in the scene. A window had shattered at the bar’s entrance. Shards of glass and half a palm tree had blown inside. The typhoon had hit. Literally. Wind rushed through the open windows, howling and creaking.
People screamed. A woman somewhere behind him laughed hysterically. He staggered back from the windows like everyone else as water rushed across the floor.
Where the hell was Sinead? He had to get to her.
Everyone was going nuts, running around, bashing into each other, looking for the nearest exit. Through the hustle of the crowd in front of him, he spotted a flash of white-blonde hair near the floor, a few metres ahead.
He shoved past people and tripped over a table. He groaned, the air whooshing out of him.
Shit, shit, shit.
He looked up, and there she was. Finally. Sprawled across the floor on her front, half propped-up on her elbows. Looking lost and scared. He skidded to her side and dropped to a crouch.
“Gabriel? Is everyone freaking out because I can’t sing and I fell off the stage?” Her voice was tiny.
“Of course not! Are you hurt?” He pushed her hair back from her face and cradled her head in his hands. She looked beautiful, but too fragile.
“No, I’m okay.
She was okay. He breathed a sigh of relief.
She sat up, still resting against him. “I didn’t see what happened. What’s going on?”
“It’s the typhoon. The windows shattered and the bar’s flooding. We need to get out of here.”
He wrapped an arm around her waist, loving her softness, having her close. Heat prickled across his skin. She hooked her arm through his as he helped her slowly stand. His hand squeezed tighter, holding her steady.
She winced. “Ow, my knee.” Bending, she rubbed the sore spot.
“Hurt?”
“Bruised, or sprained. I’ll survive.”
He nodded. An emergency siren sounded. The woop-woop noise nearly split his ear-drums and didn’t help his damn headache. His whole skull vibrated with the clanging. He grasped his forehead with both hands.
“Are you all right? What happened to you?” Sinead tilted her chin up, still holding onto his arm.
“It’s a migraine. I get bad ones sometimes.” This wasn’t how he imagined things going, but he had to try. “It’s a big ask, but I might need to share your suite after all.”
Sinead dropped her hand from his arm like he’d zapped her with electricity. Not the good, panty-melting kind. The drop your hairdryer in the bathtub kind. The shock could kill you.
God, she was stupid. Of course it was the bed he really wanted. Most likely he wanted to shag her and then steal her room.
Migraine, my arse.
She stepped back a pace and yelped when her knee throbbed, and a shot of searing pain zipped up her leg.
He stared at her, face crumpling like a balled-up tissue. “Sinead? Did you hear what I said? I’m seriously about to fall flat on my face.”
What to do? Screams and shouts rang out around them, standing still as statues while the crowd flowed around them. People were skedaddling, that was for sure.
A puddle of water formed around her feet and she sploshed as she shifted her feet. She breathed in deep and caught a strange whiff of ozone. Jesus, Gabriel was right about one thing. The storm was barging in, flood water heading their way.
It was like a scene from Titanic: some people losing their marbles and others fleeing and pushing others out of the way. Only she wasn’t buying Gabriel in the role of Jack. Not selfless enough.
Locking her fingers together in front of her, she told it to him straight. Kind of. “I’ll need a hand getting upstairs. Then we’ll see about getting you settled.”
It was the truth as far as it went. She didn’t mention the part about him not having a hope in hell of getting into her bed.
He moved close to her body. She could’ve purred and rubbed against him like a cat. But that would be bad. A bad, bad idea. She couldn’t remember why, or much of anything, when he wrapped his arm around her waist. She could feel muscles on his muscles, for goodness sake.
He spoke low and deep in her ear.
“Here, lean on me.”
She’d flake out at his feet if he kept that up. Her mind went places she wasn’t supposed to be interested in. Gabriel talking low and dirty in her ear, naked and hovering over her, kissing her deep and slow, waiting for her to …
“Are you coming, or not?” He squinted and sounded puzzled. The question nearly had her laughing, except it wasn’t funny at all.
So she hadn’t had a boyfriend for a year. Not even a man to hold her hand or put his arm around her. There was no need to become a quivery mess, a volcano filled with molten lava, ready to blow at the slightest touch.
Nope, no need at all.
She let him lead her across the bar, their footsteps falling in sync. He was going slow, helping her balance. Her knee throbbed like it was huge and red. It was hard to see in the low light. Glass crunched underfoot and she sloshed through water to her ankles – her little boots would be ruined.
Stupid thoughts. Stupid boots.
They reached the side exit, where a long line of people were jostling and shoving, trying to get out. A man near her staggered into her shoulder. She glanced up and she nearly lost her dinner. Oh, no. He was bleeding from a great gash in his head, red rivers down his face and droplets on his shirt.
Gabriel tugged her towards him. “Let’s go, right now. Are you with me?”
Was she with him? It was a good question. One she didn’t have time to ponder as he yanked her arm and pulled her behind him into the hotel foyer. It was like a transplanted refugee camp right off the evening news. Hotel staff in black uniforms handed out pillows from huge trolleys, stacked high. Blankets and air-bed mattresses too. Emergency services were just arriving, pushing through the front doors with stretchers.
Gaze skimming the open area, she took in the families, small children huddled on the floor wrapped in blankets, more than a hundred people altogether. The hotel foyer was dripping with opulence, plush carpets and marble staircases, chandeliers and all. Now it was oddly practical and hospital-like. People with bandages around their limbs, a makeshift first-aid area near the reception desk.
Girl on a Plane Page 6