“Bastards,” he mutters as they file out the door.
“It’s for your own good,” Killian says.
“We love you too, Scottie boy,” Jax calls.
I kneel and kiss a scuff mark on Gabriel’s forehead. “Poor baby. I’ll make it better. I promise.”
He does not look appeased, but his lip quirks. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sophie
* * *
Gabriel has something to pick up for our trip, and he’s gone when I wake. He’s left me a note that says I should be ready to go by nine. Mother hen that he is, he also set my phone alarm for seven, something I bitch about for a good ten minutes as I bumble my way into a hot shower.
As it nears eight, room service arrives with cappuccino and a little bowl of extra creamy, ridiculously thick yogurt, topped with roasted hazelnuts and drizzled in golden honey. It’s not something I’d have thought to try, but I scrape up every little bit clinging to the glass bowl.
Determination steels my spine. I’m supposed to be taking care of Gabriel, helping him relax, and here he is pampering me, arranging every step of my morning without even being present. I cannot let myself forget that I’m contending with a professional manager of people’s lives. I need to step up my game.
I’m not remotely surprised when a bellhop arrives at eight forty-five to take my bags and escort me down to the lobby. Mr. Scott, he tells me, is waiting.
Wry amusement puts a bounce in my step as I walk through the lobby. Were I someone into high fashion, my heels would be clicking on the marble. But I’m in white flip-flops and a red, cotton eyelet sundress. Gabriel has warned that it will take about four hours to get to Positano, and I intend on being comfortable.
The bellhop leads me out to the front drive, and my steps slow as I catch sight of Gabriel waiting for me.
“Oh, fuck me,” I blurt out.
At my side, the bellhop makes a gurgled sound of shock. I’m too busy staring at my man to care.
Dressed in a crisp white polo shirt, which shows off the deep gold of his skin and stretches around the bulge of his biceps, and slouchy, gray slacks that highlight the narrowness of his hips and drape over his thick thighs, he leans against a red Ferrari, his hands tucked into his pockets.
Move over Jake Ryan.
When Gabriel smiles—a full one, complete with that cute dimple on his left cheek, the corners of his eyes crinkling in joy—I’m tempted to look around before mouthing, “Who me?”
But I don’t do that. I run to him like a loon. He catches me with a soft oof and wraps me up in his arms as I kiss his cheeks, the corner of his eye, the edge of his jaw. Chuckling, he captures my mouth and gives me a proper kiss.
He tastes faintly of tea. His body is warm and solid, and he is mine.
I give his lip one last nibble before pulling back. “Sexy beast, you’re going to melt me on the spot one day, you know.”
He gives the tip of my nose a quick kiss. “If you’re taking requests, I prefer that you melt on my mouth.”
“Sweet talker.” I glance at the car, truly taking it in now that I’ve had my Gabriel fix. “Holy shit, that’s a Ferrari 488GTB Spider.”
He blinks, swaying a little. “You’ve just given me a hard-on.”
He’s not lying; I can feel it rise against my belly. I grin, pressing into him just a little.
“Will you be able to drive? Or should we take care of it now?”
His lips purse, but there’s a glint in his eye that promises retribution. With a subtle shift of his hips, he prods my belly with that hard dick, then moves me away from him.
“Get in the car, chatty girl, before I call this trip off and take you to bed instead.”
“As good as that sounds, the car is calling my name.” And Gabriel needs this vacation. I have plans for him. Most of them dirty, all of them fun.
Gabriel opens the door for me. “Thrown over for a car, lovely.”
I grin. “Not just any car.”
And oh what a car it is. The bucket seats are dark grey leather, buttery soft. They’re designed to hold your ass in place as the car zooms down the road, but I’m not complaining. I touch the gray and red dash as Gabriel closes my door.
He tips the bellhop after the luggage is placed in the front trunk, and a moment later, he’s sliding into his seat. With a push of a button, the car purrs to life.
“Is this what you were picking up?” I ask, stroking the seat leather.
“Yes.” For a second, his expression is so pleased he looks almost boyish, but it soon morphs into the cool loftiness he uses when giving a lecture. “If we’re going to drive along the Almalfi coast, we’re going to do it in style.”
So very Gabriel.
“How did you get your hands on one of these babies? Aren’t they, like, impossible to buy?”
“Not if you’re on a list,” he says as he pulls into traffic.