Free Surge: (#7 The Beat and The Pulse) by Amity Cross Page B

he declared, shifting my focus from my knickers to business.
    I leaned back and studied him. “Why are you telling me this?”
    He smiled, flashing his perfect teeth. “Courtesy?”
    Yeah, right. “The same courtesy you showed my fighter in the octagon?”
    Gabe tilted his head to the side in thought. “Hmm, that’s interesting.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
    “ Your fighter,” he said, emphasizing the word your .
    “So?” I shot back, beginning to feel sick. Maybe I should call it a night.
    “Did he do something to hurt you?”
    “Who?”
    His gaze met mine, and I fixed on Gabe’s stormy gray eyes. They really were striking. Paired with his scruffy beard and tattoos, they almost glowed.
    “Dean Hayes,” he replied, not once moving away from me. It was like he was getting closer, or it might’ve been the alcohol distorting my balance.
    “Dean Hayes?” I asked, blinking about a million times.
    Reaching out, Gabe plucked the glass from my fingers and placed it back onto the bar. “Any man who drives his woman to drink like this doesn’t deserve her.”
    “And who deserves me?” I asked, curling my lip. “You?”
    He didn’t answer. He just downed the rest of his drink. “You going to the Gala next week?”
    “Of course.” I didn’t know what game he was playing, but I wasn’t interested in his theatrics. Not tonight and not ever.
    “You got a date?”
    I leaned forward and glared at him. “No.”
    He just smiled, which enraged me further. “No, you haven’t got a date?”
    “No. I don’t need one,” I declared, offended. “I meant no, I don’t want you to take me.”
    “Who said I was asking?”
    “Ugh!” I exclaimed. “You’re so infuriating!”
    Infuriatingly arrogant and sexy. Two traits I was usually fired up by. The fight and the fuck. It was what had fueled Hamish and me through all the on and off again we’d endured and was probably the reason we’d both hung on for so long.
    Gabe smirked and stood, holding out his hand. I glanced at his open palm, then back up into his eyes. He was way too calm and collected for my liking.
    “Are you going to take it?” he asked with a chuckle.
    “I’m not going anywhere with you. I can’t trust you.”
    “I’m just making sure you get back to your room safely and don’t wind up sleeping in a stairwell,” he teased, his lips quirking.
    Oh damn, his lips .
    “I’m not drunk,” I complained.
    Leaning forward, he whispered, “I won’t tell anyone.”
    With a sigh, I placed my hand in his, and he tugged me to my feet. He was just making sure I got back to my room, right?
    Gabe couldn’t wipe the shit-eating grin off his face as he led me to the elevator. On the ride up, he kept glancing at me, and I kept inching away until I was squashed in the corner. When we arrived at my floor, I weaved around him and strode down the hall, wobbling slightly in my six-inch heels.
    “This is my room,” I declared, standing beside my door.
    He didn’t respond straight away, so I stared at him. I studied his face, his tattoos, and his lips. Especially his lips.
    He turned, smirking as he caught me staring.
    “Josie,” he murmured, stepping closer.
    “Gabe,” I replied, beginning to feel hot under the collar.
    I raised my hand and played with the button on my blouse, the one below my cleavage, and everything began to tingle. Tingling was bad.
    “I’m all up for a revenge fuck,” he teased, his gaze dropping to my breasts, which I’d accidentally been flashing him with.
    “I don’t think…” I faltered even though everything inside me began to clench at his blatant proposal.
    “It’d be the perfect revenge.”
    Before I could comprehend his offer, his mouth closed over mine and we fell back against the door, his hands burying into my hair. I needed to feel a man’s touch so bad. I parted my lips and let his tongue twine with mine. My hands had a mind of their own as they roamed over his body. I ran my palms