Page 69 of The Beast

Chapter Twenty-One

I wake up slowly, drifting up from sleep like a swimmer rising toward light.

For a moment, I don’t remember where I am. The surface beneath me is velvet, not cotton. The air smells like old wood and something else—something warm and male and achingly familiar.

Gabriel.

Memory floods back. The confrontation. The confession. The desperate, devastating sex on this couch, surrounded by his paintings.

I open my eyes.

He’s propped up on one elbow, watching me. The cold mask is gone, replaced by something softer—something that looks almost like the man I fell in love with years ago. His free hand is tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder, feather-light touches that send shivers across my skin.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi.”

“You’re beautiful when you sleep.” His fingers drift up to my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear. “You always were. I used to watch you for hours.”

“That’s creepy.”

“Probably.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “I was creepy about a lot of things when it came to you. Obsessive. Possessive.” The smile fades. “Turns out those tendencies didn’t go away when I thought you’d betrayed me. They just got darker.”

I should respond to that. Should say something meaningful about last night and the impossible tangle of emotions sitting heavy in my chest.

I don’t.

Instead, I sit up, covering myself with the throw blanket. “What time is it?”

Gabriel checks his watch. “Almost four in the morning.”

“We should...” I trail off. Should what? Go back to my suite, where David is probably waiting with questions I don’t know how to answer? Pretend last night didn’t happen, even though I’m wildly glad it did?

“Come back to my place,” he says, sitting up. “We can talk. Get some real sleep.”

I should probably say no. It’s going to be light in just a few hours, and I have things to do here at the Monarch. But I just spent hours in Gabriel’s arms. A Gabriel who loves me—not a Gabriel who’s been tormenting me.

So I say yes, and soon we’re both dressed and in his Porsche, then tumbling out into the Obsidian’s parking garage before hurrying through the sub-basement hallways to the rhythm of men pounding each other in the ring, even at this hour.

I glance sideways at him, but he just shrugs as if to say You know who I am now, and you came. Deal with it.

So, yeah. I’m dealing.

Unlike the hall, his apartment—quarters?—is quiet. Familiar, even. But now, I’m looking at it through different eyes.

The thought reminds me of my first time here, and my eyes dart to where I’d seen the crumpled photo of me and David and that kiss.

It’s gone.

I glance at Gabe and find him looking back at me. “I tossed it,” he says. “Yesterday, actually.”

“Oh?” I try to sound casual, but inside, I’m gleeful. Before, this apartment had felt like enemy territory. Now, it feels like hope.

“I can make coffee,” he says. “And there’s a real bed, if you want to sleep. And a shower.”

“Coffee,” I say, both because it’s so freaking normal and because I could use some. “Coffee would be good.”

He grins, and some of the tension he’s still carrying eases. “Coming right up.”