It started off as a battle of wits. Me: the ordinary girl with a big mouth against Him: the sexy bastard with a big...ego.
I thought I’d hit the jackpot when I was upgraded to first class on my flight to London.
That is until HE sat down next to me. Gabriel Scott: handsome as sin, cold as ice. Nothing and no one gets to him. Ever. He’s a legend in his own right, the manager of the biggest rock band in the world, and an arrogant ass who looks down his nose at me.
I thought I’d give him hell for one, long flight. I didn’t expect to like him. I didn’t expect to want him. But the biggest surprise? He wants me too. Only in a way I didn’t see coming.
If I accept his proposal, I leave myself open to falling for the one man I can’t manage. But I’m tempted to say yes. Because the real man beneath those perfect suits and that cool façade just might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I just might be the only one who can melt the ice around his heart.
Let the battle begin…
Review by Jen Skewes
Gabriel Scott manages one of the biggest bands in the world, Kill John. He's cold, calculating and arrogant. But he has one weakness....
Gabriel Scott: handsome as sin, cold as ice. Nothing and no one gets to him. Ever.
Sophie Darling (seriously, her last name is Darling) has been upgraded to first class. Luxury-you are all hers! Things are going so well, right up until she hears the voice of an arse complaining that he bought two seats in first class so he wouldn't have anyone next to him. Sophie can't wait to confront this douche-until she takes a long look at the godlike figure sitting next to her.
This guy is one-hundred percent the most gorgeous man I've ever seen.
Sophie is sassy, intelligent and takes no prisoners. Mr. Perfect is about to meet his match. But that weakness he has....yeah she finds out about that quickly. She might have some fun with it, but she also helps him out when he most needs it, and least expects it.
As much as these two are like oil and vinegar, Gabriel proposes a business proposition to Sophie. He can fight his well ordered life rocketing out of control, but sooner or later, he is going to have to face the fact that he wants Sophie. Needs Sophie. Must have Sophie. But Gabriel has the nasty habit of pushing people away from him before they can hurt him first.
I wasn't able to lower my pride enough to ask any of my crew if they knew where she was. But it was a close thing. I'd been tempted to beg. That chafes too.
Sophie is everything he needs, even if he just doesn't know it yet. She's fun and warm and light. She's a magnet that attracts people to her and she never takes that for granted.
"Why is that? Why don't you let anyone in here?" I take a step closer. "Why don't you let anyone in?"
But Sophie holds all the cards-she has the power to bring Gabriel to his knees. If she hurts him, intentionally or not, will he ever trust her?
"I can't be the man you expect me to be, Sophie."
Just about now I'd like to wring Mr. Perfect's neck. Grab him by his silk tie and yank a little too hard on it. This guy just keeps swimming against the current. But when he does finally let his guard down...
She's turned me on my head, made me a better man, made me live for the moment.
In all this time, I had yet to see Gabriel without a shirt. He hides his body like a pious Victorian, never letting me see anything other than him fully dressed and polished. Now I know why. Had he let me get a glimpse, I might never have been able to form a coherent thought around him.
This man’s chest is a work of art. It’s every fantasy I’ve had about a man’s body made real. I don’t even know how that’s possible, but I’m not about to complain. God, he looks touchable. Olive skin, tight little brownish nipples, a smattering of dark chest hair over the most incredibly honed—
“You’re staring.” His tone is dry.
“Yes, I am.” I drag my eyes up and find his expression bemused.
A thick brow lifts. I try to mimic the look and fail when both of my brows lift as one. His lips twitch in amusement.
He shifts his weight, causing his abs to clench. Good Lord. He’s not some overdeveloped gym worshiper, just solid and strong, that perfect balance between defined musculature and healthy male—
“You’re still staring, Sophie.”
“You think it’s easy looking away from all this splendor?” I ask his belly button, licking my lips when he huffs out a laugh and just a little bit more of his lower abs are revealed, slanting toward the thick bulge of his cock, which is lamentably hidden behind his slacks.
“You’re impossible,” he mutters, though there is humor in his voice. He strolls farther into the room and then practically kills me when he sits in one of the low-slung armchairs. That body, sprawled out on display, those thick, long thighs braced as if to take me in his lap—it’s too much.
I want to straddle him and lick my way from the hollow of his throat to the tip of his cock.
He eyes me as if he knows what I’m thinking, and the air thickens. So many things we left unsaid. I’m remembering his lips now, surprisingly soft, but strong with purpose.
From the way his lids lower, I wonder if he’s remembering things as well. But he doesn’t move. Tension glides over his body and snakes around the room. I feel it in my throat and down my spine. We’re closing up again, retreating.
Slowly, I toe off my shoes and set my gear down, never breaking eye contact. “I was being completely honest,” I tell him. “I see you like this and I want to stare forever.”
He snorts, shaking his head even as he rests his temple on his knuckles. “What do you mean ‘like this’?”
He tenses. It does lovely things to that chest. I focus on his face, mainly to maintain some semblance of decorum.
“You think this is me undone?” he asks quietly.
“It’s a start.” I reach for my camera bag. “Will you let me photograph you?”
There is safety to be found with the camera between us. A way for both of us to hide until we’re comfortable around each other again.
“You sound surprised.” Holding my camera, I sit in the sofa opposite him. “Don’t tell me no one has asked to take your picture before.”
“They’ve asked. I never saw the point.” He shrugs. “I’m not the story.”
You’re my story. You always were.
“This is just for me,” I say instead. “No one else.”
His shrewd gaze pins me. “Why do you want this?”
So I can have a bit of you forever. “Pictures capture moments in time. I want this one—when you finally let me see a sliver of the man behind the clothes.”
His nostrils flare on an indrawn breath, and he slowly lets it out. When he speaks, his voice is a rasp. “Take the pictures.”
Kristen Callihan is an author because there is nothing else she’d rather be. She is a three-time RITA nominee and winner of two RT Reviewer’s Choice awards. Her novels have garnered starred reviews from Publisher’s Weekly and the Library Journal, as well as being awarded top picks by many reviewers. Her debut book FIRELIGHT received RT Magazine’s Seal of Excellence, was named a best book of the year by Library Journal , best book of Spring 2012 by Publisher’s Weekly, and was named the best romance book of 2012 by ALA RUSA. When she is not writing, she is reading.