“True.”
Laughing together, we head out for the venue. And I pretend the whole way that I’m not both dreading and anticipating seeing Gabriel again.
Having worked multiple concerts at this point, I know the places he haunts backstage and how to avoid him. That doesn’t stop me from catching glimpses of his sharp, stern profile now and then. And each time I do, my stomach cramps, and my heart gives an unruly thump.
I want to look longer, but I know he’ll notice me if I do. I swear the man has a sixth sense that way. Even skulking in the shadows, I can tell he’s scanning the area, a dark scowl on his face. Looking for me? Or just in his usual work mode? It’s hard to tell without studying him for too long.
And I hate that my awareness is constantly on him. I barely notice the concert as I tuck myself behind a stack of crates on the far to the side of the stage. Leaning against a concrete wall, I close my eyes and let the music pour over me, the pulsing throb of it vibrating my bones.
I don’t think I can stand it if Gabriel seeks me out, only to apologize and expect everything will go back to normal. I cannot go back to what we were.
Maybe it’s because my eyes are closed and my other senses are more alert, or maybe it’s because I’m just that attuned to him, but I feel it the second Gabriel comes to stand next to me.
I don’t have to look to know it’s him; even in the dank humidity of backstage, I catch his scent. And no one else but him makes my skin tighten and my heartbeat go into overdrive just by being near.
He stands so close, my shoulder blade brushes against the sleeve of his jacket.
Keeping my eyes closed, I swallow hard and try to remain passive. My body betrays me, sending happy little zings of pleasure through my chest and along my skin.
I’m pissed at him, yet it doesn’t stop me from thinking, Finally, you’re here. What took you so long?
We stand there, listening to “Apathy,” neither of us moving, even though the crowd is going wild. The song ends, and Jax and Killian begin to talk about a new song they’re going to play.
Backstage, it’s quiet enough that I hear Gabriel when he speaks, his words stilted as if he’s forcing each one out.
“I am a cold man. Any happiness or warmth I’ve felt died when Jax tried to take his life. Until you.” His ragged breath gusts over my cheek. “You are my warmth.”
My heart stops, my breath hitching painfully.
His voice gains strength. “The second you are out of my sight, I want you back where I can see you.”
I want to turn and tell him I miss him too. All the time.
But then he moves. The tips of his fingers skim the curve of my shoulder, and I stiffen in shock. We have held each other night after night, without hesitation or fear. But outside of bed, Gabriel rarely makes prolonged physical contact.
And this touch isn’t friendly or fleeting. It’s an exploration, tender but possessive. My knees go weak, my head falling forward as he caresses my neck, a slow sweep over my skin as if savoring the moment.
His voice is low but powerful at my ear. “If I can see you, know that you’re all right, I can breathe a little easier, feel a little human.”
I lean into his touch and he cups my nape, holding me steady. Holding me. I need his touch so much it hurts.
“Then why did you leave me?” My voice isn’t strong; I can’t seem to find my breath.
His fingers tighten a fraction. Before he can answer, another song starts up. Music crashes over us, and there is no more talking. I can only stand there in the dark with Gabriel.
He does not move for a few beats, and then his fingers slide slowly up into my hair to cradle me. I don’t resist when he eases me closer, turning me into him.
With a sigh, I lean against his side, my head on his shoulder as he massages me with steady strokes.
Unable to help myself, I rest my hand on his firm stomach. A sigh rumbles through him, and though he does not move, it feels as if his whole body is melding with mine.
In the dark, we are hidden. Music pulses around us—loud, rhythmic sounds of angst and rage and defiance—but here there is stillness. I close my eyes, breathe him in. Fine wool, spicy cologne, the indefinable scent of Gabriel’s body. He is my drug of choice.
When he touches my cheek, all the nerves along my skin prickle with awareness. He is a man of business and should have smooth hands, but his skin is slightly rough and very warm.
The tips of his fingers press into my jaw as he tilts my head back. I catch the the pained look on his face, as though he’s hurting, and the regret, as if he’d do anything to make us right again. His expression subtly shifts to one of intent.