Читать книгу Girl on a Plane: A sexy, sassy, holiday read - Cassandra O’Leary - Страница 10

His brain was about to explode, which would leave a nasty mess all over the silk-covered walls for some poor cleaner. A bastard of a job. How did you clean brains off silk?

Bloody hell, he was losing it.

He was descending into that weird twilight stage before he blacked out. Images more like dreams playing through his mind, noises amplified twenty times louder than normal. The light burned his retinas.

They were at the suite before Sinead spoke.

She tipped her head to the side. “So, thanks for your help getting me upstairs. I’ll be okay now.” Her hair hung over one shoulder, glowing silver in the moody lighting.

After the elevator ride where she’d given him the silent treatment, Gabriel didn’t like the tone of her voice now. She was trying to get rid of him. Like hell.

He was sick, about to get a whole lot sicker. It was mayhem downstairs and he didn’t have another option. This was his suite as much as hers. There were times when it might pay to be a gentleman. This wasn’t one of them.

“Right. I’ll take the couch. I only need a spare pillow and blanket. I’ll stay out of your hair.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Ah, I don’t think so. It’s been a pleasure, Gabriel. But I’ll be getting to bed now. Alone.”

Subtle as a sledgehammer. He could be plenty blunt too. “If you’re worried about your virtue, My Lady, I promise not to defile you. Not even with my eyes. I feel like death warmed up and I’m about to fall down flat with a migraine. Happy now?”

Her narrowed eyes said don’t mess with me. She composed her features into a sweet expression, fluttering her eyelashes. “Aye, I’m bursting with sunbeams and there’s rainbows coming out my arse. But I’m still not letting a strange man in my bedroom.”

She unlocked the suite’s door with her swipe card quicker than he could blink. Then she flicked her rose-petal scented hair over her other shoulder. “Goodnight, Gabriel.”

She slammed the door in his face.

What the …? Had she really kicked him out and left him in the hall for the night? All signs pointed to yes.

He stepped back and stared at the door. Really stared. Like if he concentrated hard enough, she’d take pity on him or he’d summon her by telepathy and she’d let him inside.

So when he heard a click and the door actually opened a crack, he blinked a couple of times to make sure it wasn’t his mind playing tricks. Light spilled into the hall through the narrow gap, then it widened. Sinead stuck her head into the doorway, then a pale hand followed, dropping something that landed at his feet with a hushed plop.

One pillow, and one blanket. Exactly what he’d said he needed from her. Nothing more, nothing less. His gaze roved up, searching for some sign of reprieve in her face. There was none.

The door clicked shut. Sinead was still on the other side of it. The comfortable side. He was not. Which left him with precisely no options, except to slide his sorry butt down the opposite wall until the floor connected with it and jolted his tailbone.

He sat for a while, resting his head on his hands, knees drawn up to his chest. His head pounded ominously.

About time he called Ryan. He didn’t want to talk about work, he only wanted to talk to his best mate. He couldn’t call his Mum because she was so far gone, she wouldn’t recognise his voice. He found his phone in his shirt pocket and scrolled through his contacts, then hit Ry’s name.

The call rang out. The message tone sounded, and he went blank. What to say? He’d been kicked out by a woman he hardly knew, who he liked more than he should. Plus, she was his best prospect of a bed for the night. He was sleeping in the hall like a vagrant. And if all that wasn’t bad enough, he had a banging migraine and he was stuck in Singapore in the middle of a typhoon.

Not the sort of stuff a bloke dumped on his friend in a voicemail message.

He ended the call, kicked the door with a clunk and sank down on his side. He stuffed the pillow under his aching head.

Where the hell were his migraine meds? On the plane in his checked luggage? No, of course not. He’d dumped his carry-on bag in the suite when he’d barged in on Sinead earlier. The meds were in his bag, on the other side of the door. Resting comfortably by Sinead’s bed.

He kicked the bloody door again for good measure.

Sinead pulled back the covers and arranged a pile of pillows on the bed, making it all pretty and perfect. A thud from the hallway told her Gabriel had flopped in a heap near her door. Most likely. She wouldn’t risk sticking her neck out again to check. She was annoyed at him for trying to trick her. So she told herself. Maybe she was also slightly worried she might invite him inside and wrap herself around his hard body.

Things weren’t going at all to plan. She’d failed in her bubble bath and girly night-in goals, letting him talk her into dinner. Then she’d ended up at karaoke with him. She’d almost invited him upstairs, but then he’d pulled the invalid card. She should have tested her high heel sprinting skills and made a dash for it long before the Singapore Slings.

Rounding the end of the bed, she tripped over something low and square. Gabriel’s overnight bag. Shite. He’d probably be looking for it.

Flight attendant school hadn’t prepared her for this scenario. She’d earned an A+ in tray carrying and advanced smiling, but this? Stranded with a handsome first-class passenger who wants to sleep with you, and you’ve locked him outside your hotel suite without his luggage or a place to sleep. What do you do next? She didn’t want to take it out to him. If she were sitting a test, she didn’t think the correct answer would be ‘search through his bag and personal belongings’. Actually, it would probably get her fired.

She stared at the offending bag. Willed it to disappear. Her X-ray vision obviously wasn’t working. Who knew what he had in there? Work papers, a laptop? Probably a change of underwear and snacks.

Nothing important, surely. It would keep until morning. And there was absolutely no reason for guilt about holding onto the man’s bag, or for making him sleep in the hall. No reason at all. Her stomach twisted a little, but it was probably all the cocktails going down.

She strolled into the bathroom and took care of necessities, then stripped off her clothes. In her own bag, she found a deliciously clean and fresh white T-shirt and matching knickers.

Once she was changed, she fell into bed. Sure, she was exhausted, but she still had a tiny bit of energy to make snow angels with her arms and legs in the perfectly neat hotel sheets. 1000 thread count, no expense spared. The fabric was smooth and soft as her hair when the fancy hairdresser in Paris ironed it straight.

Curling up on her usual left hand side of the bed, scrunched in a tight ball, she hugged herself. Gabriel popped into her mind, probably sprawled on the hard floor outside with his pillow and blanket. Part of her was tempted to ask him in. Scrunching her eyes closed, she dismissed the thought. She’d be smart, not soft and emotional. She let the sound of the storm carry her off to dreamland.

“Good night,” she whispered.

To no one in particular.

Thunk, thunk, splice.

Gabriel squinted his eyes open, letting in the bare minimum light. Weren’t brains meant to be soft and squishy grey matter? Not sharp and stabby swords of torture tearing his skull open. He had no bloody idea where he was.

Cold, dark space, a hard floor and thin blanket. Pins and needles down one side of his body, a numb leg on the other. His head was kind of jammed against a wall. He’d guess his office floor (it wouldn’t be the first time), or jail (it would be the first time), except the blanket covering him was plush and warm with an expensive feel, like cashmere.

He raised himself up to sit, rubbing his dead leg with the palms of both hands, rasping over the blanket and his trousers. Looking around, he registered more details. He was in a corridor, outside a hotel room door.

The night’s events rushed back with the sound of the howling, whipping wind. The storm. Sinead. Drinks and karaoke. The hotel suite and a door in his face. Last but not least, a killer migraine.

His vision splintered, red and black. Searing pain burned behind his eyes, scrunched tightly closed. Meds. He needed them, now.

The meds were in his bag, on the other side of the door. He lifted his head and focused. It wasn’t too far away, only a metre. Then he’d tackle getting inside and crossing the room. How would he get in? The concierge would open the door if he could find his phone. Slipping his hand into his back pocket, he found something else. His key card to the suite. He’d had the damn thing the whole time.

“Bingo.” He slipped it out of his pocket and held it up in the dim light. He doubted Sinead would’ve opened up if he banged on the door, but since he had his own key, he’d use it.

He dragged his butt to the door and opened it with a soft click. At least Sinead hadn’t locked the inside latch. His head was pounding like someone had taken a meat mallet to his temple.