Now I’m at a loss. He insists this isn’t about sex. Maybe it truly isn’t for him. And there is no way in hell I’m telling him I want more now. Not with Gabriel “Ice Man” Scott back in control.

Call it pride, self preservation, whatever you want, but I’m not caving. No matter how badly I want to.

So now, I’m focusing on work. Which isn’t exactly a punishment.

Tonight’s concert is hot, frantic, and energetic. The boys play with renewed enthusiasm and verve. I swear there’s magic in the air. I crawl and scurry around their moving bodies, getting breathtaking shots: Killian midair, his guitar in one hand, his legs kicking out. Jax bent over his Gibson, his corded forearms flexing, his bare chest gleaming in the red glow of the lights. Rye standing on a massive amp, his hips thrusting, lower lip caught in his teeth. And Whip, arms flying, sweaty hair in his face as he beats the shit out of his drums.

I capture as much as I can, little slices of life held forever in an image. Pure, honest, and good moments that will never happen again. That I have saved them fills me with pride.

And when Killian sings “Hombre Al Agua” by Soda Stereo, a ’90s-era Spanish-language rock band, the crowd goes absolutely ape.

Such power Kill John has in this moment, holding thousands of people utterly in thrall. It’s a thing of beauty. I’m so caught up in it, I let my lens lower and just grin, dancing along to the music. I feel Gabriel’s gaze, as I inevitably do, and look up.

His eyes meet mine, a one-two punch to the heart and gut. He never smiles when he’s working, never shows any emotion. But tonight I nearly lose my balance, because he does. He so does.

His teeth flash white in that tanned, perfect face, the little dimple breaking out one side. Holy hell, I can’t breathe.

He stands in the shadows, so beautifully sculpted, he appears untouchable. A rock. But that smile is my undoing. It holds all the joy of the crowd. It reflects my awe and excitement. He knows what I’m feeling. He knows because, unbelievably, he feels it too.

I realize he loves this part of the life; he’s just never shown it. He lets me see it now. This is the man behind the curtain.

They’ve had him all wrong. He isn’t cold or unfeeling. He’s just hiding. I want that unleashed—all that strength and simmering emotion he holds beneath the surface.

One day I’m going to get it. Screw pride, I’ll push and I’ll tease. It’s the only way I know how to break down his walls. And if, at the end of the day, he doesn’t want me, I’ll find a way to live with the loss.

A stagehand steps between us as he hustles to get Jax’s next guitar ready. By the time the stagehand passes, Gabriel has moved off, strolling along the edges of the backstage, his eagle gaze roving for potential problems. A record exec waylays him, and they stop to chat.

Killian plays a hard riff, and I snap out of my haze, turning my attention back to the concert. Time flies in a whirl of sound and colors. I capture as much as I can, little slices of life held forever in an image. Pure, honest, and good moments that will never happen again. That I have saved them fills me with pride.

By the time the concert is over, energy zings through me. I’m usually tired, but not tonight. The guys are talking about going clubbing, and I’m all for it. After a much-needed cool shower, I’m changed and raring to go. I put a coat of red on my lips and leave the bathroom, only to find Gabriel waiting for me.

I’ll never grow accustomed to the sight of him. He’s just too beautiful. He’s leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, his hands tucked into the pockets of well-worn jeans. A white T-shirt stretches tight across his broad shoulders and strains against the swell of his biceps.

If there was any justice in the world, he’d look awkward out of his suit. But he wears all clothes well. The corner of his mouth quirks as he looks me over. “I thought I might find you in your nightie.”

He almost sounds disappointed.

“You gonna put me on a curfew, sunshine?” I grab a little clutch from the closet and tuck my lipstick, phone, and room key into it.

“Would you stick to it?”

“What do you think?”

He laughs, low and brief. “I think I’d have to sleep with one eye open.”

God, don’t remind me that we sleep together. Not right now, when only I get the intimacy of seeing him like this in the privacy of our room. When he’s watching me get ready as if it’s his right.

I’m finding it harder and harder to refrain from throwing myself on him.

Instead of that, I give him a long look-over, not because I need to, but because the view is just so pretty. “I’d have never guessed you own jeans.”

“Lived in them from the ages of ten to twenty-one,” he answers easily.

“Before you became The Man in the Suit.”

“The Man in the Suit is off duty now.” His eyes track my movements. “Where are you going?”

“The boys are hitting the clubs.”

“So I’ve heard.

“Thought I’d tag along. You going as well?”

“No. I’ve other plans.” He pushes off from his perch by the door and stands tall. “Come out with me.”

It’s given as an order, but softly, with butter-smooth persuasion behind the demanding words.

“Where are you going?” It’s a stall tactic, me asking, because who am I kidding? I’ll go wherever he goes. But I don’t want him knowing that.

He flashes another rare, full smile, further crumbling my resolve. “It’s a secret. You’ll have to come along to find out.”

I place my hand over my heart in dramatic fashion. “Damn you, sunshine, you’ve used my one weakness against me.”

“Curious as ten cats. Yes, I know. Which means you’re helpless to resist.” He inclines his head toward the door. “Come along, chatty girl. The night is young.”

It’s two in the morning. But Madrid is just getting warmed up. I move to do up the tiny buckles of my high-heeled sandals but pause. “These okay for where you’re taking me, oh secretive one?”

His gaze slides over my bare legs to where my sky blue sundress flirts with my thighs, and his lids lower a fraction, his expression turning hooded. “You’re good.”

Oh, that voice, so growly and gruff, deep and rich like hot cocoa and buttered toast. He talks, and I want to eat him up. I both love and hate what his voice does to me. One man shouldn’t have so much power. Two words shouldn’t be able to make my thighs clench and my skin turn hypersensitive.