Page 103 of Angel

It blended with the ocean breeze blowing through our open terrace doors.

Angel sliced into his meat and chewed, sitting back with a thoughtful expression.

Resting his fork on the rim of his plate, his eyes locked onto mine across the table.

We were still feeling our way around each other with every conversation, but the savage attraction between us simmered with each look.

His visit to the gallery still made me burst with happiness, and every time his eyes lingered on my mouth, my pulse did a reckless little jump.

‘The band got booked for the amfAR gala at the Cannes Film Festival,’ he rasped. ‘Wanna come, babe?’

‘For real?’ I murmured.

‘As a heart attack. Can you take the time off work?’

A smile broke across my face. ’ I’ve got quite a bit of holiday accrual. I’ll ask Toni, the gallery owner; she should be OK. As long as I’m not the only woman on the jaunt.’

‘Sofia’s coming too,’ Angel added, leaning back in his chair with a quirk to his mouth that sent a pleasant shiver straight down my spine. ‘We’re plugging the new album, so get ready for a wild ride.’

The thought of escaping to Europe with Angel, Sofia and the rest of the band sounded heavenly.

The next morning, after confirming with Toni I could book in the time away, I dialed Sofia’s number.

‘Tell me you’re already packing,’ I demanded the second she answered.

‘I’m looking at three open suitcases on my bedroom floor right now,’ Sofia laughed back, her voice bright with excitement. ‘We’re going to drink champagne on the French Coast, shop until our cards melt, and ignore all the men altogether and their label meetings. This is OUR trip, girlfriend!’

‘I’m so happy you’re coming with,’ I told her, leaning on the marble counter in the kitchen as a surge of affection for Sofia swept through me.

She was now more of a real sister to me than Evangeline, I thought, as we chatted and planned for the whirlwind excursion.

Two days later, the Knight One Gulfstream private jet cut through the clouds above the Mediterranean.

The cabin, packed with the band, Sofia, Mason, Bluey, the band’s sound tech, and me, was luxurious and well-appointed.

We settled in, sipping fresh espresso and nibbling from the snacks the crew brought around.

Jude and Sofia snuggled in one of the double front seats while Reign, Deacon, Levi, Bishop, Mason, and our Bluey argued over poker hands in the back.

Angel sat beside me, stretching his long legs across the aisle.

Resting his calloused hand on my knee, his thumb stroked circles over my denim jeans.

That subtle touch set off a slow burn under my skin as we exchanged glances, the undeniable pull between us escalating.

The awkwardness from Evangeline’s call in Capri and my unintended love utterance was fading, replaced by unquestionable need once again.

I wondered how it’d play out in Cannes.

Tamping down my desire, I took an inhale and spoke to deflect the amplifying savage desire.

‘So what’s the show design for amfAR?’

‘It’s an acoustic setup,’ Angel rasped. ‘Stripped back, raw, righteous, bare instruments only and lyrics.’

Damn, only he could speak about a performance and make me wet.

His eyes fell to my nipples hardening under my top, and he came closer, nipping my earlobe.