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.
The MC called for more volunteers and Sinead’s hand shot straight up in the air. Okay, then. He’d cheer her on. People nearby clapped and hooted. She jumped up and was almost away before she cupped her hand to his ear. Her warm breath rushed across his neck and he had to tell himself not to reach for her. Not to kiss her.
“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