The Risk-Taker (11 page)

The experience swamped her, filled every sense. The taste of his lips against her mouth. The chocolate they’d had for dessert and the bitter tang of strong black coffee. The scent of both mixed with the wild spice of arousal—his and hers.

His breath soughed softly against her. The fire crackled and popped. She wanted to feel the warmth of it mixed with him against her skin.

Her hands curled over his shoulders and she pushed against him. Immediately Gage moved away, putting space between them. He stared down at her, his pupils dark and open with longing.

“What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing,” she promised, scooting out from under him, anyway.

Slowly, she stood and turned her back to the fireplace. Gage started to follow her, but she shook her head and he stilled.

Heat seeped beneath the layer of her clothes. Too warm. Even for the thin lounging pants and matching emerald-green top she’d thrown on.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Hope reached for the hem and in one smooth motion yanked the shirt off over her head. Her hair rained back down around her and she shook it impatiently out of her face. She wanted to see his expression.

And she wasn’t disappointed. He watched her with sharp, calculating eyes, tracking even the slightest twitch.

She hadn’t bothered putting on a bra, or panties, although he hadn’t realized that just yet. After being constricted all night by the outfit she’d chosen, it had felt fantastic to just be.

And liberating that she could be that way with Gage.

She started to push the pants off of her hips, but before she could he stopped her. His fingers clamped over hers, stilling her.

Somewhere between the couch and her spot in front of the fire he yanked his own shirt over his head. With one hand he held both of hers. The other swept the curling ends of her hair over her shoulder so that they fell down her back.

Orange, gold and red light flicked across his skin. She’d been so frenzied last night that she hadn’t noticed the tiny jagged lines that crisscrossed his stomach.

Hope ran her fingers across them, surprised to feel the skin smooth except for the coarse hair sprinkled over his chest and abs. She wanted to bend down and press her mouth to each and every one of the scars.

Instead, Gage pulled her tight against him. Her breasts flattened to his chest. The rough hair teased her already-distended nipples, making them ache. His hands brushed down the length of her spine, disappearing beneath the forgiving waistband of her pants to cup the heavy curve of her rear.

He filled his palms with her, using the grip to boost her harder against him. His fingers flexed and dipped into the dent between her cheeks. The barest hint of his fingertips caressed the damp swirl of her sex.

She gasped and arched against him. With nothing more than a flex of his wrists, her pants slid down her thighs to pool at her feet, leaving her clothed in nothing but an iridescent glow.

He kissed her. Devoured her. Her spine arched backward beneath the onslaught of his desire. But it still wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Throbbed with a deep need for more.

Gage broke away from her, grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it to the floor at her feet. He dropped to his knees and tugged her down with him. Cupping her head in his huge hands, he guided her down to the floor and the waiting cushion.

She burned. Not from the fire, but from him. He stretched out beside her, the perfect backstop to bounce and deflect the warmth straight back at her.

With a single fingertip, he ran it from her temple behind her ear, across the hollow at the base of her throat, through the valley between her breasts, over her ribs, across a hip, along the outside of her thigh, to the peak of her knee and shin to the very tip of her toes. The caress was soft. It tickled. Hot, smoldering eyes followed the path, taking in every naked, accessible inch that he’d touched.

Hope was suddenly self-conscious. She’d never been before, but with Gage... He saw way too much. She almost wished for the frenzy. That mindless need was a shield, a protective wall she could hide behind.

Without a single word he’d stripped that away from her and laid her absolutely bare.

Hope moved to cover herself. It was way too late for the gesture, but she needed to do something.

Her palm covered the juncture of her thighs.

His thumb and forefinger wrapped around her wrist, his hand so large the fingers overlapped. “Don’t,” he admonished, gently tugging her away.

A buzz of annoyance shot through her.

“Why do you get to avoid me, but I can’t avoid you?”

A smile tugged at his mouth, pulling it into a lopsided grin. “Let’s just say it’s your turn. Do you know how much courage it took to ask you out even when you obviously thought it was a joke? How much it hurt every time you said no?”

“Please,” she scoffed. “If it bothered you so much why did you keep asking?”

He leaned over and pressed his open mouth to her shoulder. “The possibility of you saying yes was more important than the reality of you saying no.”

His body covered hers and she let him, any thought of protecting herself evaporating away like the smoke disappearing up the chimney. He seduced her with soft words and teasing kisses.

Last night they’d come together in a conflagration of need. Tonight was different. More.

Gage touched her everywhere. He parted her thighs and claimed her as his. He left his mark not just on her skin but deep inside where no one but she could see.

Somewhere along the way his pants disappeared and a condom appeared. Wrapping an arm beneath her leg, he pushed her knee up and out, opening her to him.

With slow, sure strokes, he brought them together. He settled deep inside her, filling her as nothing and no one else ever had. She could feel him straight through to the center of her soul.

Together they found a rhythm, rocking back and forth together to prolong the pleasure of each other. His mouth and hands touched her everywhere, stoking the blaze inside her higher. The pressure built, a steady climb to the highest peak.

In and out, Gage buried his face in the crook of her neck. His fingers tightened at her hips. She gripped his shoulders, searching for purchase in the middle of the relentless surrender.

The first ripple of release surged through her, taking her by surprise because it came out of nowhere. A sound caught in the back of her throat. But Gage wasn’t through. He kept pushing her, demanding that she give him more. Give him everything.

And she couldn’t say no. Couldn’t have stopped him even if she’d wanted to.

The pressure built again, an overwhelming band of tension and need. It didn’t take long to snap again, her entire body quivering.

But he still wasn’t through. Gage kept going, showing her that this was just the beginning. She was certain each peak he drove her to was the last she could possibly take. And each time she was wrong. There was always more.

Hope lost track of how many times she came. Two, three, six. They were just numbers and didn’t actually mean anything.

Her head thrashed against the floor, the pillow long gone. Her fingernails raked down his back, possibly peeling skin. Every muscle in her body throbbed and sobbed and shook. She was exhausted and energized. Her throat was so sore from screaming his name that she’d given up saying anything.

All she could do was feel.

At last he joined her. It was Hope’s turn to surge against him, crashing them together over and over again. His hands grasped her face, holding her steady. His eyelids flickered, but he refused to break the connection as he stared straight into the center of her.

She felt the kick of his release deep inside her. The surge of him sent her over the edge one last time. Her muscles were a quivering mass of jelly, but somehow she found the strength to wrap her thighs around him, holding him tight against her.

Together, they collapsed to the floor in the aftermath.

Sweat glistened across their skin, gleaming in the firelight.

Hope wanted to say something, but she had no idea what. And really, she’d already done enough.

He’d done exactly what she’d always been afraid of—made her care. And unlike before, she’d done nothing to protect herself.

11

T
HE
PHONE
ON
H
OPE
’
S
desk
rang. She wasn’t happy. It had taken her a while to get into the rhythm of work...she kept thinking about last night with Gage. And every time she did, something fluttered uncomfortably inside her chest.

Tasks that should have taken her a few minutes were requiring hours. She wanted desperately to get some writing in, but all the paperwork, organization and delegation were getting in the way. She’d assigned a handful of pieces to their writing staff, jealous of every one. But she couldn’t spare the time right now to take any for herself.

Ripping the offending interruption off the cradle, Hope ground out, “Hope Rawlings,
Sweetheart Sentinel,
” and hoped that whoever was calling wouldn’t add to her to-do list.

“Ms. Rawlings.” It was the smooth, deep voice of the managing editor from the
Atlanta Courier.
Hope immediately straightened in her chair. Guilt, hope and dread all blended into a poisonous mix.

“Mr. Rebman, what can I do for you?”

“I hear you’ve become rather close with Gage Harper in the last few days. I was hoping that meant you’d have a piece for me soon. If so, I’d like to run it on Wednesday.”

Hope sputtered. “How...what...?” Wednesday was Valentine’s Day. Why would he want to run a piece about the capture and torture of a soldier on Valentine’s Day? She’d had the
Sweetheart Sentinel’
s Valentine’s Day edition planned for weeks. Full of heartwarming fluff pieces.

The timing struck her as wrong.

“Wednesday? Why tomorrow?”

“According to my sources, the piece you’re writing should fit perfectly as the headline feature for our Valentine’s edition. Scarred soldier returns from a harrowing experience, rekindles old flame with a woman he hasn’t seen for years and ends up happily ever after.”

Silence buzzed down the line. She had no idea how to respond to that, but the sinking sensation in her stomach didn’t think it was a good idea at all.

“This gives me the best of both worlds, Ms. Rawlings. Exclusive content about one of the most sought-after stories and a warm, fuzzy, hearts-and-flowers ending on the most romantic day of the year. Any possibility he’s going to ask you to marry him?”

“No!” Hope jumped out of her chair, her heart racing painfully in her chest. She modulated her voice and answered again. “No.”

“Too bad, but I suppose it is a little quick. We’ll spin it to give the impression that outcome is inevitable.”

The hell they would. Anger—where had it been before now?—suffused her, sending a ripple of heat through her.

Reaching behind her, Hope grabbed her chair and carefully sank into it.

“Sources. You said you had sources. Who are they?”

“One of our brightest writers has been in Sweetheart for days.” The man cackled. “Get this, somehow he’s managed to convince Gage Harper’s sister to talk to him. Something about Cupid or couples. I didn’t get it. I don’t care how he’s doing it, but the girl has been spilling her guts for days. Intimate details about their family, how their father was hard on him growing up. Until he told me you had an in with Gage himself, I thought Brandon’s position was genius.”

Rage blinded her. Her hand gripped the edge of the phone so tightly she was surprised it didn’t crumble to pieces.

“I have to admit, you surprised me, Ms. Rawlings. I honestly didn’t think you had it in you to get the job done. Journalism can be a dirty business. You didn’t strike me as ruthless enough.”

Oh, she could be ruthless all right. And Brandon was about to figure out just how much.

Hope had no recollection of ending the call. She could have offered Mr. Rebman her firstborn child and she wouldn’t remember. Her brain had been spinning with options on how to handle the situation.

She was going to have to tell Lexi. And Gage.

“Crap.” Hope dropped her head into her hands. How was she supposed to do that without revealing how she’d gotten the information? Without telling them both that
she
was supposed to be writing a story about Gage.

It wasn’t the same.

Yes, she’d maneuvered things so that she could be paired with Gage, but...she hadn’t exactly done anything to get the story, had she? What little he had told her she wouldn’t have been able to use, not without talking to him about it first.

And that was the difference between her and Brandon. Yes, she’d manipulated the situation for her own purposes, but she’d never intended to be truly underhanded. She’d always meant to convince him to give her the story, not steal it from him without his knowledge.

Hope rubbed her palms against tired, gritty eyes. Suddenly, she was exhausted. She hadn’t exactly been spending the past few nights sleeping. Just thinking about how she’d left Gage this morning, mumbling grumpily into her pillow, made her insides turn to hot, achy goo.

God, she didn’t want to tell him about Brandon. She knew he wouldn’t handle it well. Obviously, she’d have to tell Lexi. And for a brief moment she fantasized about just telling her friend and leaving Gage completely out of it. But then the wary way he’d watched Brandon the previous night at dinner surfaced and she realized this wasn’t information she could keep from him.

He deserved to know he’d been right about the other man.

But she’d definitely tell Lexi first.

At least that was the plan until soft lips pressed against the fingers covering her eyes.

“Rough day?” his warm voice asked.

Hope bolted upright in her chair and nearly cracked her forehead against his chin.

Gage stumbled backward, his hips landing on the edge of her desk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

A bouquet of flowers hung by his side. She knew from the pretty cellophane wrapping that he’d picked them up at Petals. And since four huge stargazer lilies—her favorite—dominated the bright bouquet, she knew Tatum had been fully aware they were meant for her.

And that she approved of Gage. If she hadn’t then her friend would have sent him in here with a handful of red roses—the flower that required no imagination.

Hope’s chest tightened. It took a lot to win over Tatum.

“Oh, hell,” she breathed out, staring at the happy flowers bouncing back at her.

Following her glance, Gage held them out to her.

Slowly, she dropped her hands to her lap, then sat on them and looked up at Gage with wide, beseeching eyes.

“What is wrong with you, woman?” Gage grunted, reaching for her hand and hauling it out from beneath her. The long, thin wire-wrapped stems were stiff against her palm when he pried her fingers open and shoved the bouquet into her hand. “I think it’s a little late to start that ‘no’ crap again, don’t you?”

Not if she wanted to keep any part of herself safe and protected. Sex she could handle. Sex with him was rough and wild. For those few hours she could be reckless right along with him.

Flowers were...not wild. Too sweet. Just the cloyingly thick scent of them made her chest ache. Terribly.

She opened her mouth to say thank you. But the words wouldn’t come. Not past the tight lump in her throat.

“Tell me what’s bothering you,” Gage demanded in a hard voice.

Oh, shit.
How could she explain that she didn’t want him to be romantic? That she could handle this—whatever this was—as long as she kept some distance between them. Last night had cut too damn close. But she could handle that. Somewhere in the light of day she’d convinced herself what had happened was nothing new. She’d always cared about Gage. So they’d added sex to the mix. They were both adults. It was hormones. Biology. Nothing more.

Flowers. His lopsided smile. Popping in unannounced at her office. Those were part of something they didn’t have. Couldn’t have.

She must have looked dumbfounded because he pressed her. “Why were you rubbing your eyes? Do you have a headache? Did something happen?”

Yes! She grabbed desperately at the excuse. “I had a phone call.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Everything okay with your dad?”

She waved away the conclusion he’d jumped to, but not before noticing that his first concern had immediately been her family. “As far as I know. No, this had nothing to do with me. Actually, it was about you. And Lexi.”

Gage’s eyes clouded with confusion.

Hope sucked in a deep breath. Stalling, she leaned forward and straightened the file folders spread across her desk so they were perfectly in line.

“For God’s sake, just tell me.”

“Brandon isn’t a nurse. He’s a reporter for the
Atlanta Courier.
”

“What?” Gage vaulted away from her desk. Every muscle in his body tightened. His hands fisted, the white bandages glaringly obvious. “He lied.”

“Apparently,” she said dryly.

He stared at her, his eyes dangerously dark. She’d never seen him this...quiet and deadly. This was not good.

“Where is he?”

“How should I know?”

“You know everything that happens in this town, Hope. Find him. Now.”

Her back stiffened. She resented being ordered around like some private. “We are not on a battlefield,” she growled. “You might want to temper your authority issues and try again.”

He squared off with her. Before, even though she could see it, all the seething energy that was clamoring for an outlet had been directed at someone else. Now it was pointed straight at her. And she didn’t like it.

His jaw was so stiff she could have cracked pecans on it. His hand whipped out and ripped the flowers from her hand. She’d forgotten she was still holding them. Cellophane crinkled accusingly.

“Never mind.”

He stalked out into the hallway. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. She could have stayed there and let him go, but she didn’t. Instead, she snatched up her cell phone and started dialing. “Lexi, where’s Brandon?”

She shot into the hallway. “Damn, he’s fast,” she breathed when she realized he was already halfway across the bullpen to the back door. Dread bubbled through her blood.

“Here with me,” Lexi answered.

Gage’s palm hit the door with a metallic thud. Every pair of eyes in the place popped up to watch him stride angrily out the door, strangling a bouquet of flowers between his fingers.

Great. Everyone in town was going to think she’d just sent him packing.

“Tell him to run,” Hope yelled into the phone, not bothering to wait to hear her response.

Two things became crystal clear. First, she’d never catch up to Gage with these damn heels on. Hope didn’t even pause, but flicked her ankles and let each shoe clunk against the wall and fall drunkenly to the floor.

Second, Gage was going to kill someone.

“Call Sheriff Grant and tell him to go to Sugar and Spice right now,” she said to Erica as she breezed past her cubicle.

The alarm at Sugar & Spice beeped a warning when Gage opened the back door. From the alley Hope could hear Lexi’s confused exclamation. And the sickening thud of flesh on flesh.

Here they went again. Hope sighed. Was it only several days ago that she’d watched him let that guy beat the crap out of him? Brandon’s image swam across her brain. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance. At least the gym rat had known what he was getting into.

Not that she had much sympathy for Brandon. She just didn’t want him to press charges. Or write an exposé on Gage going berserk.

Hope ignored the bite of pebbles against her bare feet. She raced inside in time to see Lexi standing between the two men. Blood flowed down Brandon’s face from his already-swollen nose. Gage was trying to move Lexi out of the way, but she was fighting him.

Every time Gage found an inch, Brandon, coward that he was, would scoot back behind Lexi, perfectly content to use her as a human shield. Hope really didn’t like the bastard.

“Lexi, get out of the way,” Gage growled.

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” Lexi shot her a wild-eyed glance. “Hope, help me.”

“As much as I abhor physical violence, trust me, he deserves whatever Gage wants to do to him.”

“But—” Lexi began.

Hope cut her off. “However, you staying right where you are is probably the best way to keep your brother out of jail for murder.”

Brandon’s eyes widened to the size of silver dollars.

“Or maybe just assault with a deadly weapon.”

“He doesn’t have a weapon,” Lexi cried.

“Have you seen his biceps and thighs? Trust me, the man is always packing.” A shudder that had nothing to do with dread raced down her spine. Damn desire. Such inappropriate timing.

The dark glare that Gage sent her said he knew exactly what thought had crossed her mind and didn’t like the timing, either.

Hmm...maybe she could use that. Channel that aggression down another avenue.

Gage reached over Lexi’s shoulder and grasped Brandon’s collar. He gathered the material into his fist and squeezed. The other man’s skin turned bright red and his chest rose and fell on strangled breaths. Gage wasn’t holding onto him that hard...it was pure adrenaline-fueled terror that had him close to hyperventilating.

“This as— Prick lied to you, Lexi. He’s a reporter.”

“What?” Her friend spun between the two men.

“He’s using you to get to me.”

“Is that true?” Lexi asked, her tone every bit as harsh as Gage’s now.

“No.”

Hope snorted. Gage growled. The man changed his mind about keeping up the lie. “Yes, I’m a reporter.”

She’d never seen her friend ready to kill. But the way she leaped up off the floor and went straight for his throat... Apparently bloodthirstiness ran in the family. Not that she blamed Lexi. If the situation didn’t require someone to keep a level head, she might have been in the thick of things right with them.

Gage strangled a startled laugh. Before Lexi’s hands could connect, his strong arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her backward. Lexi flailed for several seconds before coming to the conclusion that she couldn’t fight Gage’s strength. Who could?

She stilled, her arms and legs dangling like loose, useless noodles, Gage’s arm and hip keeping her off the floor. With as much dignity as that position would allow, she ordered, “You have thirty seconds to get out of my store or I’m going to have you arrested for trespassing and disturbing the peace.”