She must have gasped, because Gabriel spoke all reassuring and hot in her ear again. He squeezed her waist, making her skin tingle through her silk shirt. That was one way to get her mind off the chaos.
Glancing at her, then to the crowd near reception, he rubbed her back. Up and down. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”
She shivered under his touch and hoped her reaction wasn’t obvious. “I know, it’s bad though. All these people. I hope no one’s stuck outside in the storm.”
Their heads swung to the full-length windows facing the street. Staff were taping them with sheets of cardboard. It probably wouldn’t make a lick of difference. Through the uncovered panes of glass was a torrential downpour the likes of which she’d never seen. As if a hundred high-pressure fire hoses exploded and rained down on the hotel from all directions.
With a tug on her upper arm, Gabriel pulled her with him, towards a bank of elevators. Her knee twinged as she struggled to keep up. Gabriel stormed ahead of her. She frowned and stopped to catch her breath. “Hey, weren’t you supposed to be helping me along?”
He stopped and looked back, his expression tense, jaw clenched. “I didn’t mean to rush you.”
“Sure, I’m fine.” Nodding, she kept walking, trying to keep an eye on his back, and on the floor at the same time.
Was he was thinking about the bed waiting upstairs? The one with her name on it.
Hers, not his.
CHAPTER FIVE
His brain was about to explode, which would leave a nasty mess all over the silk-covered walls for some poor cleaner. A bastard of a job. How did you clean brains off silk?
Bloody hell, he was losing it.
He was descending into that weird twilight stage before he blacked out. Images more like dreams playing through his mind, noises amplified twenty times louder than normal. The light burned his retinas.
They were at the suite before Sinead spoke.
She tipped her head to the side. “So, thanks for your help getting me upstairs. I’ll be okay now.” Her hair hung over one shoulder, glowing silver in the moody lighting.
After the elevator ride where she’d given him the silent treatment, Gabriel didn’t like the tone of her voice now. She was trying to get rid of him. Like hell.
He was sick, about to get a whole lot sicker. It was mayhem downstairs and he didn’t have another option. This was his suite as much as hers. There were times when it might pay to be a gentleman. This wasn’t one of them.
“Right. I’ll take the couch. I only need a spare pillow and blanket. I’ll stay out of your hair.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Ah, I don’t think so. It’s been a pleasure, Gabriel. But I’ll be getting to bed now. Alone.”
Subtle as a sledgehammer. He could be plenty blunt too. “If you’re worried about your virtue, My Lady, I promise not to defile you. Not even with my eyes. I feel like death warmed up and I’m about to fall down flat with a migraine. Happy now?”
Her narrowed eyes said don’t mess with me. She composed her features into a sweet expression, fluttering her eyelashes. “Aye, I’m bursting with sunbeams and there’s rainbows coming out my arse. But I’m still not letting a strange man in my bedroom.”
She unlocked the suite’s door with her swipe card quicker than he could blink. Then she flicked her rose-petal scented hair over her other shoulder. “Goodnight, Gabriel.”
She slammed the door in his face.
What the …? Had she really kicked him out and left him in the hall for the night? All signs pointed to yes.
He stepped back and stared at the door. Really stared. Like if he concentrated hard enough, she’d take pity on him or he’d summon her by telepathy and she’d let him inside.
So when he heard a click and the door actually opened a crack, he blinked a couple of times to make sure it wasn’t his mind playing tricks. Light spilled into the hall through the narrow gap, then it widened. Sinead stuck her head into the doorway, then a pale hand followed, dropping something that landed at his feet with a hushed plop.
One pillow, and one blanket. Exactly what he’d said he needed from her. Nothing more, nothing less. His gaze roved up, searching for some sign of reprieve in her face. There was none.
The door clicked shut. Sinead was still on the other side of it. The comfortable side. He was not. Which left him with precisely no options, except to slide his sorry butt down the opposite wall until the floor connected with it and jolted his tailbone.
He sat for a while, resting his head on his hands, knees drawn up to his chest. His head pounded ominously.
About time he called Ryan. He didn’t want to talk about work, he only wanted to talk to his best mate. He couldn’t call his Mum because she was so far gone, she wouldn’t recognise his voice. He found his phone in his shirt pocket and scrolled through his contacts, then hit Ry’s name.
The call rang out. The message tone sounded, and he went blank. What to say? He’d been kicked out by a woman he hardly knew, who he liked more than he should. Plus, she was his best prospect of a bed for the night. He was sleeping in the hall like a vagrant. And if all that wasn’t bad enough, he had a banging migraine and he was stuck in Singapore in the middle of a typhoon.
Not the sort of stuff a bloke dumped on his friend in a voicemail message.
He ended the call, kicked the door with a clunk and sank down on his side. He stuffed the pillow under his aching head.
Where the hell were his migraine meds? On the plane in his checked luggage? No, of course not. He’d dumped his carry-on bag in the suite when he’d barged in on Sinead earlier. The meds were in his bag, on the other side of the door. Resting comfortably by Sinead’s bed.
He kicked the bloody door again for good measure.
Sinead pulled back the covers and arranged a pile of pillows on the bed, making it all pretty and perfect. A thud from the hallway told her Gabriel had flopped in a heap near her door. Most likely. She wouldn’t risk sticking her neck out again to check. She was annoyed at him for trying to trick her. So she told herself. Maybe she was also slightly worried she might invite him inside and wrap herself around his hard body.
Things weren’t going at all to plan. She’d failed in her bubble bath and girly night-in goals, letting him talk her into dinner. Then she’d ended up at karaoke with him. She’d almost invited him upstairs, but then he’d pulled the invalid card. She should have tested her high heel sprinting skills and made a dash for it long before the Singapore Slings.
Rounding the end of the bed, she tripped over something low and square. Gabriel’s overnight bag. Shite. He’d probably be looking for it.
Flight attendant school hadn’t prepared her for this scenario. She’d earned an A+ in tray carrying and advanced smiling, but this? Stranded with a handsome first-class passenger who wants to sleep with you, and you’ve locked him outside your hotel suite without his luggage or a place to sleep. What do you do next? She didn’t want to take it out to him. If she were sitting a test, she didn’t think the correct answer would be ‘search through his bag and personal belongings’. Actually, it would probably get her fired.
She stared at the offending bag. Willed it to disappear. Her X-ray vision obviously wasn’t working. Who knew what he had in there? Work papers, a laptop? Probably a change of underwear and snacks.
Nothing important, surely. It would keep until morning. And there was absolutely no reason for guilt about holding onto the man’s bag, or for making him sleep in the hall. No reason at all. Her stomach twisted a little, but it was probably all the cocktails going down.
She strolled into the bathroom and took care of necessities, then stripped off her clothes. In her own bag, she found a deliciously clean and fresh white T-shirt and matching knickers.
Once she was changed, she fell into bed. Sure, she was exhausted, but she still had a tiny bit of energy to make snow angels with her arms and legs in the perfectly neat hotel sheets. 1000 thread count, no expense spared. The fabric was smooth
and soft as her hair when the fancy hairdresser in Paris ironed it straight.
Curling up on her usual left hand side of the bed, scrunched in a tight ball, she hugged herself. Gabriel popped into her mind, probably sprawled on the hard floor outside with his pillow and blanket. Part of her was tempted to ask him in. Scrunching her eyes closed, she dismissed the thought. She’d be smart, not soft and emotional. She let the sound of the storm carry her off to dreamland.
“Good night,” she whispered.
To no one in particular.
Thunk, thunk, splice.
Gabriel squinted his eyes open, letting in the bare minimum light. Weren’t brains meant to be soft and squishy grey matter? Not sharp and stabby swords of torture tearing his skull open. He had no bloody idea where he was.
Cold, dark space, a hard floor and thin blanket. Pins and needles down one side of his body, a numb leg on the other. His head was kind of jammed against a wall. He’d guess his office floor (it wouldn’t be the first time), or jail (it would be the first time), except the blanket covering him was plush and warm with an expensive feel, like cashmere.
He raised himself up to sit, rubbing his dead leg with the palms of both hands, rasping over the blanket and his trousers. Looking around, he registered more details. He was in a corridor, outside a hotel room door.
The night’s events rushed back with the sound of the howling, whipping wind. The storm. Sinead. Drinks and karaoke. The hotel suite and a door in his face. Last but not least, a killer migraine.
His vision splintered, red and black. Searing pain burned behind his eyes, scrunched tightly closed. Meds. He needed them, now.
The meds were in his bag, on the other side of the door. He lifted his head and focused. It wasn’t too far away, only a metre. Then he’d tackle getting inside and crossing the room. How would he get in? The concierge would open the door if he could find his phone. Slipping his hand into his back pocket, he found something else. His key card to the suite. He’d had the damn thing the whole time.
“Bingo.” He slipped it out of his pocket and held it up in the dim light. He doubted Sinead would’ve opened up if he banged on the door, but since he had his own key, he’d use it.
He dragged his butt to the door and opened it with a soft click. At least Sinead hadn’t locked the inside latch. His head was pounding like someone had taken a meat mallet to his temple.
Doof, doof, doof.
Then he got the shakes. Crap. If this kept up, he’d be flat on his back in a second. His fingers trembled as he pushed the door open with his palm, cool wood giving way until he almost fell through the doorway. He managed to stay on his feet. The last thing he wanted was to wake Sinead and freak her out, thinking he was some kind of creeper. He might end up in jail after all.
The room was dead silent. Only a gold ribbon of light from the bathroom draped across the bed and lit his path to where she slept. His bag was right beside the bed, he could see it now in the low light. His footsteps faltered. She looked tiny, all curled up on one side of the king sized bed, draped in white cotton sheets. And so damn beautiful it was hard to breathe. The weird clench in his gut happened again, like he was being tugged towards her. As if there was some kind of connection between them.
Crazy. He rubbed his aching right temple.
Concentrating on stealthy footsteps on the thick carpet, he made his way to her side of the bed and his bag, a black blocky outline. He was only inches away from her now. He bent down and grasped his bag, trying to open it. The bag’s zipper tore like a fault line through the sleeping earth. An earthquake would’ve been quieter, even with the wind still howling outside. He glanced up at Sinead, whose eyelashes fluttered, but she still slept peacefully.
He opened up his bag. Fumbling for his wash bag, he managed to grab it and find the small box of pills. He hated taking painkillers, but he needed them. Man, he needed them.
Gripping the pills in one hand, he quickly stood upright. Big mistake. Burning, searing, red-rimmed light filled his vision.
He had to sit down. He found the edge of the bed and lowered himself onto it. Just a second. He’d be okay to move soon. Maybe. His head fell into his hands and all the air whooshed from his lungs. He groaned.
“Gabriel?” Sinead’s voice cracked and she sat bolt upright. “What are you doing in here?” She held the sheet up to her chin and her eyes were wide.
Damn it. He’d scared her, the last thing he’d meant to do. He met Sinead’s gaze and shook his head, but immediately regretted it. The room tilted and went blurry. With his head in his hands, he closed his eyes and groaned again. “Sorry, it’s the migraine. Needed my meds.”
“Are you okay?” Her voice was so soft he could’ve he’d imagined it. “Do you need water?”
Suddenly she was at his side, sitting on her knees with a glass of water in her hand. An angel all in white, her hair a halo of silver. He took the glass gratefully, gulped the water and got the meds down.
Then he was flat on his back. Not sure how, but there was the ceiling straight up. She was there, whispering. Shooshing and stroking. Touching his forehead. Something cool. So cool. So good.
His shirt came off, her fingers making quick work of buttons and pushing it open, when he couldn’t. Then the cool, down his chest. A cloth with cool water. Her fingers followed, the lightest touch.
Gabriel wanted to thank her. But the words wouldn’t come out right. “Sorry I – I didn’t mean to scare you. I just need to rest.” He gripped his head, right hand covering his eyes. The sharp pain blocked out everything.
Until he focused on her voice.
She leaned in, over him. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Her words repeated over and over.
Strands of hair brushed his shoulder. Her lips, softer than air. A tug on his lower lip. A kiss. Was he hallucinating now? No, he could feel the trace of her kiss on his lips.
“Rest now.” She spoke near his ear, warm breath against his skin.
Sheets and blankets covered him, her hand smoothing them down.
Everything went black.
Her eyes popped open to blackness. No, not total dark, a sliver of light fell across the bed. It was late at night, close to dawn. Sinead lay still, curled on her side. Something woke her. The harsh sound of the wind and rain beating relentlessly at the windows. She closed her eyes again. Her body felt too heavy, and her head ached with exhaustion.
She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms sticking out of rumpled sheets. Dread crept over her skin like a shadow. It could have been a hangover from her dream – flashes of lightning and twisted, tangled limbs, glimpses of a man’s strong chest and back, defined and highlighted by lamp light. A deep, rumbling voice calling her name.
She’d dreamed of him. Gabriel. Finding him at the bottom of her bed, looking after him. Taking off his shirt and seeing him stretched out, abs and golden skin on full display. The touch of him under her fingertips, soft and hard at once.
Someone groaned. “Sinead – you there?”
She flipped over and whipped her head up. This wasn’t a dream. Her gaze snagged on fleshy ridges of muscle, the type of torso Yuki called abtastic. A sound came out of her throat like a strangled cat caught on a barbed wire fence.
Man. Hot man. Hot, half-naked man. In my bed.
She pinched herself on the thigh, hard. He was still there, and she was fully awake. So she scuttled up the bed like a startled crab when someone lifted up its rock, exposing its hidey-hole to the world. Pulling the bedcovers up to her chin, she leaned back on the bedhead and gave him a proper looking over.
He was most definitely there, and most definitely asleep. Her gaze tracked upwards from the sheet at his waist, over hill and vale of man pecs and shoulders.
She reached a sculpted jaw, full lips and the eyes she knew were as blue as her lonely heart, though they were closed.
Gabriel.
Shirtless and stunning, making her want him. Making her want things beyond all reason.
; A ridey ride of a man.
He stretched his arms above his head and clutched his forehead. Her heart pounded at a gallop. Ridey or not, he was waking up. And he was clearly out of order being in her bed.
“Get out of my bed or I’ll box your head off!” She pointed at him, waving her hand around as if to shoo him away.
Her brain was bombarded with questions, banging around in there, trying to get out.
Why was he in her bed?
How did he get in the room?
Why did he have to be so delicious?
Why did her resolve to stay away from him melt like a scoop of gelato in the sun as soon as he looked at her with half an eye?
And shouldn’t she be scared of him?
“Good morning.” The words dragged out of his throat, snagged on something solid, like chunks of testosterone. He opened one eye, only a crack, and his lips tipped up in a micro-smile.
Words tumbled out of her mouth. “What do you mean ‘good morning’? I seem to recall you being on the other side of the door last night. Did you break in to my room? I’ve a good mind to call the police.”
Both his eyes popped open “The police might be busy with restoring order and directing traffic, but go ahead. I didn’t so much break in as use my swipe card to enter the suite which, you may have forgotten, is registered under my name through my business account. All above board and legit.”
“Oh.” She twisted the ends of her hair around her index finger until it cut off the circulation. She let go, so the strands unfurled and the tip of her finger went from blue to pink again. “There was still no reason to barge in and sleep with me. So rude.”
“You didn’t seem to mind last night.” His lips tipped up in a knowing grin, so dimples appeared on either side of his lush mouth. The dimples were overkill. And what use did a man have for such full lips? Actually, there would be a few kissing-related purposes. Hidden parts of her body heated and tightened.
La, la, la.
Not thinking about kissing. Not any kind of kissing.
And what did he mean, anyway, she “didn’t seem to mind last night”? Oh, God. What exactly had happened between them?
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