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?
She shook her head. “I didn’t know you were here.”
He nodded and his lips twitched. “Ah, so it was someone else who got me a glass of water to take my migraine meds. Someone else who took off my shirt. Sponged my head and chest with a wash cloth to cool me down. Right. Must have been some other gorgeous blonde woman who’s always being kind and taking care of people.”
Oh, wow. The memory came back to her in black and white images, not quite fitting together. She had helped him. She’d touched him. Unbuttoned his shirt and laid him down on the bed while she knelt beside him, then she’d practically given him a sponge bath. He’d been burning up with fever. Now she remembered.
Still, there was no reason for the image of her palms sliding over the contours of his damp chest, down the ridged path of his abs. Her eyes slid over his body again. Yes, her ab-memory was correct.
Ribbed, for her pleasure.
He even had a golden happy-trail of raspy hair from his chest to the waist of his trousers. Probably lower. His skin was tanned a toasty colour too, everywhere she could see. Her fingers twitched where they clutched at the sheets.
But wait, did he call her gorgeous? He had to be trying to butter her up.
Of course. He wanted to stay.
The crazy storm blustered on outside, rattling the windows, and here he was lying in her bed without a care in the world.
He sat up, leaning on his elbows. “You didn’t remember any of it, did you? I wondered if you were half asleep. Or drunk. Too many Singapore Slings, I guess. That explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“The kiss.”
“What kiss?” Shivers passed over her skin like phantom fingertips, stroking all over her body in tiny circles.
“You kissed me. Then told me to rest and tucked me into bed.”
She gasped, pressing her fingers to her lips. “I did not. If I’d kissed you, I’d remember. I’d know how soft your lips were. I’d know whether they tasted like ice cream and the beach the way I imagined …”
Oh. My. God.
She’d kissed him all right.
Now he grinned at her like the cat who’d got the cream. Except he hadn’t, of course. Gotten any. No cream, not even a lick of it. It didn’t even count as a real kiss when one of them was half drunk and the other out of his mind with a migraine. Although from what she remembered, it had been a gentle, delicious kiss.
She shook her head again. “If I’d kissed you properly you wouldn’t be so smug. You’d be begging me for another kiss and all sad and mopey because I won’t.”
“Won’t what?”
“Kiss you again.”
“Kiss me again.” He bit his bottom lip. It was all damp and glistening. Lord, she did want to kiss him.
She stared at him – his eyes, his mouth. His face was dead serious now. The smirk had dropped right off his dial, replaced by a tense-jawed concentration wholly focused on her lips. His eyes burned with white-hot laser beams, searing her from three feet away. Although he was suddenly closer. When had he moved closer?
He hadn’t. She was the one who’d moved closer. She wasn’t sure how it had happened, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was leaning into him and breathing too fast. Should she kiss him?
She hovered, still leaning towards him. The sheets pooled around her legs, leaving her sitting beside him in a semi-sheer white T-shirt which did nothing to hide the hard points of her nipples. At least she was wearing knickers this time and not a towel. Still, she was more naked.
He raised one eyebrow and stared at her. “I dare you to kiss me again.”
She blinked. “What? How old are you, Gabriel Anderson?”
The grin was back. He looked like a teenager when those dimples showed themselves. “A few years older than you, I’ll bet. But I still remember some things. Like when a girl kisses you, it’s a good sign. It means she likes you.”
“I do not like you. I find you infuriating and annoying. And too Australian.” Seriously, he was like a commercial for surfing and barbeques. But he was certainly good looking. Even more so without his shirt on.
“You like me. I can tell.” His gaze strolled lazily down her body and landed on her breasts, circled there until her flesh swelled and pushed against the soft cotton. “I like you very much, Irish.”
Lucky she was already sitting, because her legs evaporated. She kind of fell forward until she had to grab his hard shoulder to steady herself. Months of pent-up desire wreaked havoc on a girl’s muscle control.
His eyes reeled her in. “Kiss me again. I double-dare you.”
So, she did. Of course she did. Not because of the dare. She wanted to. No one could blame her. Not even her brain, which fled on a little holiday as soon as her mouth brushed his too-full, too succulent lips.
Delicious man.
Gabriel hadn’t expected the kiss last night. He’d sunk into heavy sleep with the taste of her, teasing him. Sending him on dream adventures where he’d wrapped her in his arms on some tropical beach and kissed her until she sighed and moaned.
And he didn’t expect the kiss now, even though he’d goaded her into it.
But she leaned into him and her scent surrounded him, wrapped right around him, blocking out the rest of the world. Some kind of flowers, sweet and light as springtime. Her lips touched his and he groaned.
The noise had a weight to it, reverberating all the way up from his stomach and shaking his bones. She licked across his lower lip and hummed into his mouth. Like she was singing a song only for him. He was a goner.
When she gripped his shoulder and leaned over, pushing him down into the mattress, he could only go along with it. Her tongue flicked into his mouth, tangling with his.
Next thing he knew, Sinead was rising up above him and straddling him, lowering herself over his body. She flexed her hips and pressed her soft heat into his groin. Only a tiny scrap of white cotton covered her. Heat surged through his system and all the blood rushed south, so he lost his damn mind.
A goner? He was dead meat. Lying powerless at her mercy, waiting to be taken to heaven.
What a way to go.
Her lips opened and she tasted him. His mouth, his lips, his tongue. Sweet and salty and so, so, good. The way he stared up at her, as she pressed herself into his body …
He was all open, boyish innocence and wide eyes, blue as the summer sky. Not the arrogant CEO now. Not half.
Jaysus.
She thrust her tongue into his mouth. Tasting him, wanting more. Kissing with eyes wide open, soaking up his admiration and handsomeness like a sponge.
That look of his was almost enough to tip her over the edge. Her body, her sanity, balanced on a precipice, teeter-tottering on the point of no return. Heat drummed through her belly and legs, pulsing at the point between her thighs. She almost had him where she wanted him, but not quite. She hadn’t taken her clothes off, but she didn’t have time for minor details like that.
He groaned and God help her, she pressed her hips into him. The hard, solid length of him still clad in trousers. Fizzy tingles of pleasure fanned out from her centre to every nerve she had. If her body had wiring, she would’ve lit up like a Christmas tree strung with lights.
Ding, twinkle, flash!
Shifting slightly, a wave of pleasure rolled through her. She gasped, an incoherent noise in her throat.
He broke their insatiable, ongoing kiss and chuckled darkly. All deep and rumbly. “Slow down, Irish.”
“Oh, Gabriel. I don’t think I can.” She didn’t think she could stop now, even if she wanted to. She rocked her hips and pressed into him again.
His eyes rolled back in his head and he tightened his grip on her hips. “You’re a firecracker. I want you too,” he whispered.
She squirmed as he kissed the delicate skin along her throat and licked the shell of her ear. Shivers danced over her sensitized skin as he blew hot air over the damp spot where his lips had been.
Then he hypnotised her with whispers about the things he wanted to do to her. Dirty things. Delicious things.
So fecking sexy.
The pressure built inside her, swirling and brewing like a storm. He reached under her shirt to cup her bare breast. She leaned into his touch and he rolled her hard nipple between his fingertips. She gasped at the sensation, his slightly rough fingers rasping over her sensitive skin. Tingles zipped here, there and everywhere. It was almost too much. It had been so long, and Gabriel seemed to know how to push all the right buttons.
He thrust his hips forward and she moved with him, then her mind went blank.
She gasped, and closed her eyes as she fell over the edge. Floating. A surge of hot pleasure overtook her and she rode it, she rode him.
Warmth washed over her whole body, like a wave lapping at the shore. Finally, she collapsed across acres of his hot, bare chest. Her lungs burned, full of heat but no air.
After about fifty years, she came to. Inch by inch, she regained her senses and found herself back in her body, in possession of limbs. She’d flopped over him, boneless as a jellyfish washed up with the tide. Very attractive.
She found her arms, her hands, and pushed up over him. “How embarrassing. I didn’t even get to undress.” She glanced down at her own body, at the front of her T-shirt which was hanging off one shoulder. She hadn’t undressed, but she wasn’t wearing much of anything.
“You were so hot. And I’m ready to go anytime.” He laughed, the rumbly rolling sound making her belly flip.
He took her hand and placed it over his thick erection, straining against the thin fabric of his trousers. So hot and hard, all for her.
She breathed out, a long sigh of a breath which said she hadn’t quite finished with him. Not even close. It had been a long time since she’d wanted to worship at the temple of a man’s holy place. But she wanted to. Whatever madness had gotten into her, it wasn’t done with her yet. She was more than ready to return the favour with Gabriel. In fact, she was itching to unwrap him and bask in what she hoped would be a glorious sight.
“Let me take care of you, Gabriel.” She sat up slowly, unbuttoned and unzipped, setting him free.
He closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m all yours, Irish.”
She stroked him, lightly at first. Her fingers trembled, and so did he. Then she took in the view before her. The whole shebang. The entire package. All his glory. Everything tightened and heated inside her again.
This was going to be fun. She was a lucky girl. Very lucky indeed. So, she went to town on him.