Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)

Chapter XXV - Dinner Date

Gabrielle watched Vincent lying flat on the bed, his expression blank as he stared up at the chandelier glittering above him. They had retreated to their hotel suite the moment he declared himself "violently unwell"—a direct consequence of every sadistic theme-park ride she had dragged him onto.

She sat perched on the settee nearby, pouting absently at him, lost in thoughts she didn't entirely understand herself. She didn't even register his gaze shifting to her until he frowned.

"What mischief is twisting that pretty little face of yours now, munchkin?"

She jumped at the sound of his voice.
"Huh?!"

He pushed himself upright, immediately groaning and clutching the back of his head. The man looked as though his soul truly had been left dangling at the top of the last ride she'd forced him on.

"I said—what's going on in there?" he repeated, tapping her knee gently.

She pouted again.

"Gabrielle," he sighed, kneeling before her, "where is that mind wandering now?"

Only then did he notice the small bruise on her knee—dark violet, blooming against her pale skin. He lifted her leg slightly, brushing his thumb over the mark with unexpected tenderness.

"What happened here?"

"Huh?" she said again, dazed.

He stared at her incredulously.
"And here I thought I left my soul behind. Apparently, yours went first. Come back to me, baby."

He cupped her cheek, his fingers drifting instinctively to the back of her neck, guiding her gently towards him for a kiss.

But just as their lips were about to meet, Gabrielle felt as if icy water had been dumped over her head. Panic flickered. She pushed him sharply.

"I—I'm hungry," she blurted, heart racing.

Vincent froze, then lowered his hand slowly. Instead of pressing her further, he simply bent his head and kissed the bruise on her knee.

"Do you want to order something up?" he asked quietly, his thumb sweeping across her cheek. She pouted again, and—despite himself—he smiled. She had no idea how impossibly adorable she was.

"No private dining," she muttered. "Anywhere but... here."

What she didn't say—and what she desperately refused to admit—was that his nearness was suffocating her. Not unpleasantly. Quite the opposite. It unsettled her in all the ways she hated to feel unsettled: warm, breathless, aware.

He reached for her chin.
"Gabrielle... are you sure you're alright?"

"I told you I'm hungry!" she snapped.

"Alright. What do you fancy then?"

"Y-you..."

His brows shot up, his grin slow and wicked.
"Say that again?"

"You decide!" she finished abruptly, mortified.

He chuckled. "Baby, if it's up to me, I'd very much love to—"

He didn't finish—because she smacked the back of his head with her palm so hard he yelped.

"Bloody maniac!" she hissed, face flaming.

"You suggested it!" he muttered—but that only earned him a kick to the back.

"Ouch! Gabrielle!"

"Idiot!" She snatched the nearest pillow and hurled it at his head.