We walked past the guest that seemed to be curious about me and why was Gabriel holding my wrist like a little child, but he didn’t care.
“Formal party starts in an hour. We still have time,” he said while dragging me upstairs.
The Stark’s three-story mansion was probably just as extensive as my mother’s mansion in Phoenix, but this was definitely much modern. We strolled through the French marble floors of the passage at the second level until Gabriel opened the last door at the left-wing. He shoved me inside, and just right after he shut the door, he crushed his mouth with mine—relentlessly kissing me like a hungry lion.
Gabriel Stark was the lion and I was the mouse.
I slid my arms around his neck, and when I was going to respond, he stopped the kiss and his eyes glared back at me.