He wanted to smooth things over but he was rusty at this kind of thing too. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ve been having a great time so far.”
She looked up and offered a hint of a smile.
He’d have to put her at ease again. He grasped at a familiar and relatively safe topic. Work. “Tell me about being a flight attendant. I’ll bet you love the travel. You must have been to some amazing places.”
Sinead frowned. What was her reaction about? Work might not be a safe topic after all.
“It’s a good job. I’ve seen half the world and know my way around an airport with my eyes closed. But it’s been five years and I could do with a change. More of a challenge, I suppose. Not to mention I live in a tiny shoebox in London that doesn’t feel like home.”
Her eyes flicked sideways, avoiding his gaze.
“Sinead, are you all right?”
She smiled for a moment. “Aye. Sorry about that. It must be the jet-lag talking.” He doubted it was jet-lag. She was upset about something, but it wasn’t his place to ask. But he could help cheer her up. Show her a good time.
Thinking fast, he stood and reached for Sinead’s hand.
“What do you say we go check out the karaoke? Little known fact about me: I can really belt out a show tune.” He grinned and raised his eyebrows. It had the desired effect, even if the thought of karaoke made him want to cut and run.
Sinead laughed, clear and true, chiming like crystal glasses striking in celebration.
She grinned and shook her head “Oh, is that so?”
Then she was on her feet, standing in front of him. She took his hand, wrapping her fingers around his. It was perfect, their hands pressed together, like they fit.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t done more of this. Talking, spending time with a woman, holding hands. He never realised what he’d been missing.
Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed the smooth skin on the back of her hand. Only the briefest contact, but it raised his temperature, and hers too, judging by her reaction. Her quick intake of breath, the way her breasts rose and fell, the flare of heat in her eyes. That was something.
He wanted more. More of her laughter, more of her heat. He wished he could take her straight upstairs to their suite.
Gabriel led her manfully, through to the hotel bar. Sinead’s heart was still fluttering like it was being brushed by fairy wings, dancing in her chest. Tinkerbell and her friends were having a party in there. The way he’d kissed her hand. Heat pulsed through her body, making her legs weak.
Oh my goodness. She’d had past encounters of the naked and horizontal variety which had barely raised her pulse.
Gabriel on the other hand … Wow.
He was full of surprises. Based on their first couple of run-ins, she’d never have picked him as a gentleman. Gruff and sexy, demanding and handsome – check, check, check and check. But gentlemanly? Not exactly. He’d upset her with his comments about being different from the women he usually dated. But she’d judged too soon. He’d apologised and now he was taking her to karaoke, although it probably wasn’t his cup of tea.
Was it really only a matter of hours since they’d met? It seemed like days ago already.
They found a table against the wall of the crowded bar. She slunk into the leather seat and kept her eyes on him as he settled in opposite her. He folded his long, limber self into the metal framed chair and crossed his arms on the dark wood table. His forearms were on full display with his sleeves rolled up, muscles and tendons taut and tempting. A wave of warmth rolled up her chest and neck to flush her face. God, even his arms were making her blush.
She hoped their evening was only getting warmed up.
But she never did this. Meeting a man, talking for a while, then seriously entertaining ideas of how best to separate him from his clothes. And wrap herself around him instead.
She’d never had a one-night stand. But the more the idea rattled around her brain, the more she wanted it. Wasn’t it something every normal, red-blooded, woman of the world should experience?
Rationalising her bad behaviour, so her mother would say. No. The voice of doom had no place in her head tonight. In her Ma’s book, she’d probably burn in hell simply for looking at a man like she’d been looking at Gabriel. Seeing as she was already on fire, it was a little late to start worrying.
A screech from the front of the room had her whipping her head around. A woman was belting out a tune on the small stage at the end of the bar, furthest from the street entrance. Her high voice was muffled by the feedback from the speakers. It was a bit squealy.
“So, Gabriel. What do you think?” She didn’t like it. The whiny pop-song might have been top of the charts in Asia, but she couldn’t get the gist of it. And that was before the woman on stage murdered it.
“Man, that’s some crooning. What’s the word for it? Warbly?” His cheeky grin was highly flammable, or so it seemed to her lady parts.
“What’s your type of music then? You mentioned show tunes. Something like Oklahoma! or CATS?” Her lips tugged up at the corners.
Gabriel answered with a full-throated chuckle which rumbled across her skin and through her belly like a roll of thunder. He didn’t laugh often, but when he did there was such an open and sunny look on his face, it was almost boyish. It was addictive. She loved being able to turn his frown upside down. She wanted more of his laughter, his humour.
“Oh, no. My musical taste is eclectic, but it runs more to the Nirvana side of the equation, with a bit of Hilltop Hoods thrown in. How about you?”
“Little known fact about me,” she mirrored his earlier comment, “when I was a teenager I followed a couple of punk bands around the festival circuit, Glastonbury, Reading, the whole scene. I even shaved off all my hair like Sinead O’Connor. My favourite band of all time is The Sex Pistols. But I love my pop songs too.”
“I never would have picked you as a punk, but I’m impressed. Although I don’t think I approve of your being a skinhead. I can’t imagine you without your beautiful blonde hair.”
She stilled, afraid to break the spell as he reached across the table and stroked his fingers through the lengths of her hair. Already trembling, she gasped under the light but sensual touch. She couldn’t hide her reaction, but bit her lip to keep from groaning.
His hand hovered next to her cheek for a split second as if to touch her face, to feel her skin. “You have beautiful skin too. Irish cream.”
She wanted him to touch her, willed him to. It was so strange, she’d never been so drawn to a man in her life.
He dropped his hand down onto the table in front of him. Her heart sank with disappointment.
“I reckon it’s time for another drink. What do you say?” Gabriel avoided her eyes.
She could have sworn he was blushing too, even through his suntan.
Two Singapore Slings later and Gabriel’s head was about to explode. Not from sitting so close to Sinead, although she was definitely getting under his skin. It was an all-too-familiar foe. A migraine.
He was an idiot, it was official. Too many drinks in his system and probably one of his food triggers. He should’ve checked the ingredients of the meal. It must have contained MSG.
The