Page 5 of Fragile

I worried my lip, toying with how to answer. “Maybe I should come back when Asher’s here?”

“Nonsense. I can show you the apartment.”

I moved forward and he stepped in front of me, blocking my escape. My breath caught in my throat as awareness pooled into me, making me hot all over. His shoulders were so broad as he towered over me like a silent threat.

“You really are as intimidating as they say,” I admitted before I could stop myself.

Gabriel then tilted his head and regarded me with a mocking expression. “And who pray tell are they?”

My head was spinning, the man’s mood changed as fast as the British weather.

Rolling my shoulders, I replied, “Most people that know you I would say.”

I watched dumbfounded as he interlocked his fingers and cracked his knuckles. The gesture appeared aggressive and should have scared me but for some reason a thrill shot through my core. Gabriel then lowered his hands, exhaled noisily, and shoved them into the pockets of his jeans before shooting me a boyish look.

“Fuck. Look, I apologise. Put it down to Big Brother's protective mode or some shit like that. Please stay and see the room.”

I chewed the inside of my lip whilst I watched him warily. Did I honestly want to stay alone with him in his apartment, surrounded by his angsty testosterone?

The correct answer was yes. Why? Because I was desperate and that was the only reason why. I was screwed. “Maybe we should start again. Wipe the slate clean?” I suggested hopefully.

Gabriel delivered what I would describe as a genuine smile and my God! It was a look that knocked me for six, like a blast of charm, hitting you in the face.

“Why not? We can chalk it up as our first fight.”

“OK,” I said in a small voice, fidgeting with the strap of my camisole, aware that my bra strap was showing. “I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “It’s fine. Come on, I’ll show you the room first and then you can have a look around,” he said, his hand grazing my elbow as he motioned towards the other end of the living room.

I followed his lead, aware that my skin fizzled where his fingers had been.

The place was huge and had the entire works; the living space was open plan with a living room, kitchen, and dining area. The floors were polished marble and the soft furnishings were all high-end. The walls were all painted neutral and natural light spilled into the space through large windows which boasted London’s skyline.

I noted that the dining table was littered with books and an open laptop. I had probably interrupted Gabriel’s studies. Did I feel sorry about that? Not really.

We walked toward the kitchen. It was of a contemporary design with main units, the oven, cooker and hood and then a separate breakfast counter. The counters were all granite, and the large fridge freezer and other appliances were all Smeg, no expense spared then. Gabriel gave me bits of information about housekeeping as we perused the area.

I eyed the huge flat-screen TV that was mounted on the wall in the living room section surrounded by leather sofas. It was showing a football game but the sound was turned down low. The sofas there were all extremely expensive looking. I thought about how amazing a movie would look on a screen that size. I usually watched stuff on my phone, although it wasn’t top of the range by any measure.

Two corridors led off to what I found out were bedrooms. Gabriel explained there was one main bathroom with the master room aka ‘his’ room which had an ensuite. Of course, he would have to have the best.

The views were amazing, I could even see the London Eye poking out between distant buildings. Everything about the apartment screamed wealth and quality. Gabriel pointed to his brothers’ room and his own. He didn’t take me inside those two rooms and I was thankful for that.

“How did you get here? Did you drive?” he questioned. He was standing so close now, his large, muscular body dwarfing my own.

“No, I don’t drive. I took the Tube,” I informed him. Again, I felt inferior for not having passed my driving test. As if I could afford the lessons anyway.

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “It’s the best way to travel in London. Parking is a bitch, not to mention the congestion charges,” he said, half to himself. Hypocrite, Ash said Gabriel had a car with a driver who ferried him all over London.

I batted off the thought and tried to relax, clenching my fingers together before me, feeling jittery.

He twisted his head to the side and looked down at my hands. “You’re a bit of a fidget? You don’t have to worry. I’m not about to pounce on you. As I said downstairs, I don’t bite on Sundays,” he stated with a mocking expression. Great, which alluded that he did on other days; smashing.

I shifted my head to look up at him, still unimpressed from his earlier treatment of me. I don’t bite. Whatever! I knew from Ash that he did.

Gabriel Thomas Knight was twenty-four years of age, heir to the Knight family's millions and currently in his last year of Law School. A man soon to follow in his father’s footsteps as a shark of the courtroom. If there was one thing this man did well, it was bite and I imagined he had the sharpest of teeth.

We eventually arrived at a bedroom door at the end of a long corridor and Gabriel pushed it open and gestured for me to proceed him.

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