Page 90 of Gabriel

Page List

Font Size:

We fell into a heavy silence, both aware that once we hit the shore, the real storm would begin.

Amara

The time of reaching Albania’s shores was quickly approaching.

Elira and the crew had been tied up with looking for the best way to enter the Albanian waters, which left me to tend to our “prisoner” most of the time. Although, after some heartfelt begging on my part earlier, Elira did take over guard duty while he took a shower. I didn’t trust myself not to peek through the door and venture into voyeurism.

There was only so much self-control a woman could exercise.

Gabriel haunted my every waking thought, even when we weren’t stretched out on his bed or the couch, half lost in horror films.

Somehow, without either of us naming it, we’d slipped into a predictable but intimate routine.

He showered first thing in the morning, emerging clean-shaven and freshly dressed like this wasn’t a hostage situation but a floating vacation home. Breakfast came next with black coffee, warm arepas, and Colombian music I couldn’t translate playing softly in the background. Then I’d retreat to the office under the pretense of doing work, staring blankly at a screen, too distracted to focus. By lunch, I was back in his orbit, andI stayed there through lazy afternoons, dinner, and whatever movie marathon we’d land on that evening.

It shouldn’t have felt normal. It definitely shouldn’t have felt good.

But it did.

Still, it was the nights that undid me with dreams of Gabriel.

He starred in them like Fabio on the cover of every over-the-top ’90s romance novel. In those dreams, he looked at me in a way that told me I was his to ruin and worship in equal measure and then I’d wake up aching, confused, and furious with myself for wanting any of it.

It was unbearable.

It was also part of the reason I found myself at the end of the hallway leading to his cabin—once again.

Elira was busy charming the captain and half the crew into doing her bidding, her flirtatious laugh traveling on the wind.

She was probably halfway to convincing the first mate to take a fall for international smuggling just for fun. Because that was what she did in her free time: torture. She could roll people around her finger like cigarette paper, then light the whole thing on fire without breaking eye contact.

I made sure Gabriel got the best cabin on the yacht. I told myself it was my psychological warfare strategy.

I would disarm him by ensuring his comfort.

But honestly, a part of me just wanted to see how sexy he could look in the morning sprawled on the high-thread-count sheets.

It turned out, he looked obscenely good.

Hair tousled, jaw shadowed, his usual composed intensity softened. There was a moment—just a flicker—where he blinked like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was, the sheets draped low on his hips, and I swear my rational brain just… short-circuited.

I’d intended to throw him off-balance.

But now?

Now it felt like he was the one flipping the script, and I was the one sliding toward recklessness. Preferably under those sheets.

It was a dangerous fantasy. One I had no business entertaining. And yet, I couldn’t stop.

I stared at the polished door for a beat longer than I should’ve, coffee mug in one hand, the other still resting lightly on the doorframe. The hallway smelled faintly like him: sandalwood and sharp citrus, clean leather, and danger.

God, I hated how much I noticed that.

This was supposed to be simple, but when he smiled at me and opened up, I forgot everything and everyone. It made me wonder just how messed up I might actually be.

I sighed and glanced back down the hallway toward the bridge. I should go join Elira, but I knew I wouldn’t.

I was too busy staring at the door and wondering if Gabriel would smirk when he saw me again.