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“Did they belong to a sex cult?” I press.
“Myunclewas Michael Sinclair. He and my aunt adopted me when my parents couldn’t raise me. No one fucked the assistant or pool boy.”
I grin. “It’s a sex cult, isn’t it? It’s always a sex cult.”
The car swerves onto the shoulder and screeches to a halt, and Gabriel Sinclair turns toward me with the full force of his disapproval. “Timothy was right—you don’t know when to stop. My life isn’t some game of twenty questions to entertain you.”
“Oh, no.” I deadpan. “Maybe we need fake relationship counseling.”
“Is my existence some splinter under your skin pointing out all the negatives you see in yourself?” he asks, thunder in his voice. “I’m trying to make this work, and you’re trying to derail everything.”
I open my mouth but no words come out, and before I can find them, Gabe turns back to the road, pulls a U-turn, and accelerates. He’s speeding as we turn south on the road we just passed, and a few minutes later, onto the interstate.
The sudden shift in him unnerves me. “Where are we going?”
He doesn’t glance at me.
“LA.”
Chapter six
Ashley
ThereliefIfeelgiving Gabriel’s little scenic tour a miss is a full-body experience that lasts until he pulls up in front of the Cleveland Hilton, which feels like an oxymoron. There’s no paparazzi, at least. Fortunate, because I’m too worn out to do anything other than pout over how sore my body is from sitting in his damn car for a second day.
Gabriel hasn’t said a word since he threw his itinerary out the window and asked me to book a hotel in Cleveland for tonight. Apparently, driving another hour with me to the boutique hotel he’d already booked was intolerable. I happen to agree.
He hands his keys over to the valet, but the bellhop is on a break. Gabriel simply carries all our things himself.
I follow him inside the hotel and it’s impossible, as tired and over it as I am, not to notice how easily he carries a cartload of luggage. The man is unstoppable, all bulging muscles under a dark gray T-shirt. The mirrored sunglasses and the thick stubble shading his jaw almost trick me into believing this is Gabe with the muscle car, not Gabriel Sinclair who is beige personified.
My eyes drift to his denim-covered ass as he stops at the counter and sets the luggage down. I picture him in the Warwick costume, those black leather pants tight across his firm, perfectly shaped cheeks. Accentuated all the more by that black corseted vest…
Okay. I can see it. Maybe this is what they were looking at when they picked Gabriel Sinclair to replace Dominic Fontana.
Since I’ve found his one redeeming quality, I step close to him at the counter only to discover a problem.
“You only booked one room,” he hisses at me.
I plaster a smile on my face. “I booked the King Suite.” The King Suite has two rooms, therefore two beds. I might have booked it quickly, but I know I read that. I turn my smile at the young woman staring at him with hearts in her eyes and stage whisper, “He thinks I have too much luggage and it needs its own room.” I slap my hand to his chest and laugh. “Joke’s getting old, babe.”
I hate myself right now.
Maybe she senses the affection in my voice is fake and I’m lying. She gives him an apologetic little smile so sweet I want to rip it off. “I’m sorry, sir. The King Suite has one bedroom with a king-size bed and a living room with a sofa bed. We do have a Standard Queen available if you’d like to book a separate room. For the…luggage.”
I’m going to claw her face off, but I notice another woman out of the corner of my eye, discreetly filming us on her phone. Shit.
He’s about to accept when I place my hand on his arm. “Babe,” I say softly but firmly. “Seriously. Let that joke go.”
I barely have to glance to the side before he catches on.
He sighs and offers the receptionist a smile. “Extremely high maintenance, this one.” He pulls it off naturally, like this really is some private joke between us. “The King Suite will be perfect. Thanks.”
“Let me know if you change your mind,” the young woman says, and the sudden smile on her face as she hands him the key card makes me twitch.
I hate her. Thanks to this woman, I want to kiss Gabriel Sinclair so she’ll know he’smyfake boyfriend and I would, except…
He won’t kiss me back. He’ll leave me hanging. I’ll be embarrassed, looking like I’m way more into him than he is into me. Can’t have that, especially after last night.
