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The return trip to the airport was quiet. Mikel rode with Raul, while Gabriel had withdrawn into his private thoughts. Quinn was relieved when his hand stopped shaking.
Once they boarded the plane, Raul pulled Gabriel into a quick embrace before saying, “Are you okay, hermano? That wasn’t easy for me. I can only imagine how you felt.”
Gabriel gave the prince’s shoulder a squeeze. “I feel relieved that we’ve identified two kidnappers. Thank you for your part in that.”
“I did nothing.” Frustration laced Raul’s voice. “In fact, Mikel thinks I almost blew the operation.”
“I did not say that,” Mikel disagreed. “Your input is invaluable to the investigation.”
Raul shook his head. “I want to do more.”
“Patience, primo,” Gabriel said. “Let Mikel and Quinn do their jobs.”
The steward appeared. “Señores, señorita, may I request that you take your seats? We have clearance to taxi for takeoff.”
Quinn went back to the seat she’d occupied on the flight out. As they taxied out of the private hangar, she made a mental list of where she would probe Dupont’s background. Her fingers itched to get to her computer keyboard to get started.
She started when she felt a presence beside her and turned to find that Gabriel had settled into the seat beside her again. Before she could decide what to say, he had tilted the seat back and closed his eyes.
She took the opportunity to study his face—discreetly, since Mikel and Raul were seated not far away. In repose, Gabriel looked less austere and duke-ish. The shadows that often darkened his silvery eyes were hidden, and his dark hair flowed away from his temple in beckoning waves that made her long to comb her fingers through it.
That reminded her of the kiss on the street when she’d felt the firm softness of his lips, buried her fingers in the thickness of his hair, crushed her breasts against his chest, all while his strong fingers had traced the curve of her butt. Acting. Playing a role. Except the liquid heat coursing through her hadn’t been an act.
He had been acting, though. She forced herself to stop looking at his lips.
Despite the lounging angle of his seat, his posture showed tension. His face was pointed straight up so she could see the bold outline of his brow, nose, and chin. His hands were clenched on the armrests, and his long legs were crossed stiffly at the ankles.
He had been shaking after his encounter with Dupont and Kodra. Maybe it had been more than the rage at finally being face-to-face with one of the men who had held him captive. Maybe recognizing Kodra had triggered a flashback. Maybe now, Gabriel was struggling with PTSD.
Should she try to talk to him? Offer him the comfort of touch again? Why did Mikel think she could help Gabriel through this?
She huffed out a sigh of inadequacy and stared out the window while her thoughts circled uselessly.
“Quinn.” His breath stirred the hair on the back of her head so she turned back carefully. She didn’t want to be too close to that full, sensual mouth. His seat was upright, and his head was angled toward her.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “I was worried.”
He brushed away her concern with a fluid gesture. “I’ve decided to take your advice.”
“Did I give you advice?” She riffled through her memories of their recent conversations, coming up empty.
“About my music.”
“Well, I’m definitely not qualified in that department, so I would ignore whatever I said.” Then she remembered his drunken visit to her house. In fact, she’d been a little drunk then, too, now that she thought about it, or she would never have told him that maybe he could still play the guitar.
He lifted his dark, slashing eyebrows in a way that reminded her he was a duke. “You don’t think I should get a second opinion?”
“Oh, that.” She pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Maybe that was good advice.”
Fortunately, he laughed, the baritone melody of it rolling through her bones before the amusement faded from his face. “The day you first told me about Kodra, I was going to sell my guitars. I thought that would help me move forward. But today, seeing him has freed something inside me. I can feel all the primitive emotions I had shut down. The rage. The desire for him to suffer as I did. The sense of bitterness that he’s walking around…and laughing.” His eyes narrowed with the intensity of his purpose. “I want to try to put that into the music. To see if that is what was missing before.”
She knew nothing about music, so she went with blandness. “That sounds like a good plan.”
“It’s not a plan. It’s a flimsy, grasping-at-straws last gasp of a hope.” He sat back. “I will go back to practicing full-time.”
“And then?”
He met her gaze, so she saw the fear darkening his eyes. “I get that second opinion.”
