by G. K. Brady
Please want me as much as I want you, right here, right now.
She straightened and began brushing at her shoulder, looking far too interested for the invisible something it was. “Daisy would like to attend one of your games.”
His heart did a little flip. “I’d love it. Just say when. There’s a matinee coming up if that would work better with her school schedule.”
“That would be great. Well, um, I really should …”
“What?”
“Go.”
He stepped back and let out a nervous laugh. “So tomorrow?”
She tilted her head. “Tomorrow?”
“Carla’s yoga class?”
“Oh right!” she barked, sounding as nervous as he felt.
“Why don’t you bring Daisy, and I’ll take us out for hot chocolate afterward?”
“I won’t have Daisy with me. There’s no school the next day, so she’s spending the night at—”
“Derek’s?” Fucking Derek! The sudden flare of jealousy had him reeling. Whoa! Get a grip.
“No, Ivy’s actually. They’re going to have a girls’ day together.”
He masked a ridiculous surge of relief. “Ah. Sounds fun. Tea parties and tutus and such?”
“You’re funny.” She gave him a sweet grin.
“Looks aren’t everything.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not your looks I’m talking about, Professor. Those aren’t funny.”
“Worse than funny?”
“Hardly.”
“Uh, thank you?”
She winked. “Just go with it.”
Right. Been doing a lot of that lately. “So about yoga tomorrow.”
“Yes?”
“Can I take you out for hot chocolate afterward?”
“Yes, Professor. I’d like that.”
Chapter 18
Is It Hot in Here, or Is It You?
Carla’s yoga class more closely resembled a reunion of the Super Bowl party guests than a body-twisting meditation session. With yoga togs the only clothing holding her in, Lily’s self-consciousness had her positioning her mat between Natalie and Katie. She faced Gage’s back, and by the end of the session she was more hot and bothered than relaxed because oh, mama, watching all those wonderful muscles flex was almost more than she could take. And with him in shorts and a sleeveless tank, there were plenty of muscles for her to keep track of. It was a wonder she hadn’t jumped his back like a monkey.
At one point, she’d been so busy watching him that she’d humiliated herself by falling over with all the grace of a waterlogged elephant. Natalie had shot her a face-torching wink before jerking her head toward Gage and mouthing, “Nice tush. Just friends? Why?”
Not helping in the least, the object of Lily’s hot-and-botheredness peered over his shoulder at her. “What’s going on back there?”
Sipping wine afterward—because nearly everyone from the class joined them, and the majority opted for a pub rather than a coffee bar—Lily stole peeks at Gage, tracking how he joined in his teammates’ good-natured abuse with self-deprecation. When talk turned to praise, he was vocal if that praise was aimed at the others but fell silent or dodged the spotlight when they bandied his name about for, say, league MVP.
“You keep tearing it up like you are, Admiral,” his teammate Quinn said, “and they’ll have no choice but to toss your name in the Hart Trophy ring.”
“He’s already in the running, and he’s the favorite to win,” T.J. scoffed. He slapped Gage on the back. “Our boy’s got this. No question.”
Gage raised his hands, palms out. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. There’s plenty of question. There are guys playing way better who are way more deserving than me.”
“Like who?” T.J. challenged.
“Like Mikelev! Guy’s been carrying his team on his shoulders all season.”
T.J. smirked. “So have you.”
Gage gave a headshake, his expression one of pure embarrassment. He looked around at his teammates’ faces. “No, everybody on this team’s contributing. Hell, Shanny, if I didn’t have you and Quinn for wingers, my numbers would look a whole lot different.” He pointed at Wyatt. “And look at him! What’s your goals-against average right now? One-nine-eight?”
“Two-oh-one,” Wyatt chuckled.
“That’s un-fucking-believable! You’re the stingiest netminder in the NHL. How can we lose with a goalie who stands on his head, game in, game out? Talk about an MVP.” Gage sipped his beer and steered the conversation toward recent sick—as he called them—plays by his teammates.
Was he really that humble? Shy? Or was he the quiet, still-waters type? Maybe all three. His eyes found hers with a look that flashed and sizzled like a long-tail comet. Her pulse zoomed. Quickly, he cut his gaze to his pint glass, but the effect lingered, leaving Lily a little breathless.
Oh, to know what had passed through that man’s mind. There was probably nothing shy about it. Lily raised her wineglass and hovered it in front of her mouth to hide her fluster.
“So,” he began as he walked her to her car afterward, “what’s on Goldilocks’s agenda the rest of today?”
She glanced up at a low-hanging, snow-heavy gray sky. “Scheduling a few posts for her demanding client, the Professor.”
“Ah. I hear the guy’s a real slave driver. Were you planning to do this work at his place?”
Her eyes darted from left to right and back again.
“Because if you are,” he continued, “I hear he’d like to take you to dinner or, if you prefer, he could be talked into whipping you up something to eat.”
“Really? Something other than a healthy green smoothie?”
He grinned. “Definitely something other than a healthy green smoothie.”
“What sorts of things does he cook? I could post his favorite recipes on Facebook.”
“Well, why don’t you come over and find out?” He playfully touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “His place is on your way home.”
“True.” Before she had a chance to say more, he turned and headed for his Porsche.
“See you there, Goldilocks,” he called over his shoulder.
Planting a fist on her hip, she watched him walk away with a sort of lazy swagger. Pretty sure of yourself, Mr. Cage. Oh, what the hell? Only an empty house waited for her. She’d follow him home and pick up more fan mail. A little voice popped up, warning her it would be dangerous to stick around. She told it to be quiet; skedaddling was her only agenda item once she got the letters.
Gage was waiting for her when she pulled into his driveway, and he motioned her into his wide-open, empty middle garage bay. On one side sat his Panamera. On the other, a white Range Rover.
“Why here, Professor?”
With a shrug, he depressed the garage remote, and the door began humming. “It might snow. This way your car stays dry and toasty.”
Right. Dry and toasty.
They entered his kitchen through the mudroom, where he dropped his gear. Keys and wallet landed on the kitchen desk. Something beeped.
“Be right back.” He hustled off toward the entryway.
He returned a few moments later. “Had to turn off the security cameras. Water?”
Cameras? Her mind rocketed to rifling his nightstand while her heart plunged to her stomach. Oh shit! “Water sounds good,” she choked out.
He grabbed two glasses, filled them, and passed one to her. Leaning his back against the kitchen island, he took a long drink that had his neck muscles on full display and the knot of his Adam’s apple bobbing.
She gulped a lungful of air. “How long have you had security cameras?”
He straightened, looking utterly dumbfounded. “Uh, since the system was installed?”
“I thought you didn’t use your system.” She ducked her face so her flush didn’t give her away.
“I fire it up on occasion to test everything out and because my insurance agent yells at me if I don’t keep it on,” he chuckled.
&nb
sp; “I’ve never noticed the cameras. Where are they?”
He shrugged. “Here and there. That’s good you can’t see them. Means I can spy on you when you’re here and I’m out of town.”
Just kill me now! She ducked her face so her flush didn’t give her away and momentarily recovered her wits. “I should pick up your mail and get going.”
His blue eyes widened. “Whoa. Did I say something wrong?”
“What? No, nothing.” She flapped a hand at him and started toward his office. God, did her face have to broadcast every emotion?
His hand encircled her arm, like a cuff of heat. “That’s not nothing that went through your eyes just now.” He dipped his head and peered deep. “And your face is bright pink.”
He was all up in her personal bubble now, and she tried to break free of his grasp and his gaze.
“Lily,” he said softly. “What’s. Going. On?”
She pulled away and cinched her arms over her chest. “I … You’re not going to like me very much.”
He frowned. “I doubt that, but why?”
She puffed out a hair-lifting breath. Here goes nothing. “When you were gone a few weeks ago, Hobbes jumped on your bed and started coughing up a hairball. I was looking for something to catch it with before she got it all over your comforter, and I …” The words jammed in her throat.
His frown deepened, but one corner of his mouth twitched. “You what? Filled my bed with crackers? Used all my bubble bath? Ruined my prized, nonexistent cactus collection?”
It wasn’t funny, but damn if her catapulting nerves and his ridiculously random scenarios didn’t make her want to explode with laughter. “No, worse.” Fighting the smile tipping her lips, she raised sheepish eyes to his.
“Worse than ruining my cactus collection?”
“I rifled your nightstand looking for tissues.”
His expression didn’t waver. “Okaaaaay? Did you fill that with crackers?”
A little laugh did escape her despite her best efforts to bottle it up. “No, but I didn’t find any tissues. I found other stuff.”
He grabbed her hand and tugged her up the stairs. “Show me.”
“Show you?” she yelped to his back, horrified.
“Yeah, show me what you found that’s bothering you.”
“Nothing’s bother—” She entered the bedroom just as he opened the drawer.
He slapped his palm against his forehead. “Aw, shit! I’ve been meaning to get rid of these forever, but I keep forgetting until I add the next one, and by then I’m in bed and too tired to deal.”
Into the bathroom he marched, and when he reappeared, he held a trash can that he placed on the floor. He slid the drawer out, dumped the contents into the can, and reset the now-empty drawer back in its slot.
His fists went to his hips. “Damning, but only circumstantial. I swear. Any other mysteries we need to clear up?”
A ration of relief, along with a pinch of guilt, lifted her. “Not today, Professor.” The brunette was none of her business, and Lily was content to let her stay hidden from the light.
It’s not like we’re, well, anything to each other anyway.
“Okay,” Gage puffed. “Glad to hear that’s all that’s hanging out there.”
Damn it! That’s what he got for slacking on the decluttering, but it hadn’t been an issue because he’d never had any dates over. Hadn’t wanted any here before the one who now stood in front of him—not that Lily was exactly a date. Or was she? Irrelevant. Whether she was or wasn’t, he hadn’t planned on her being here, although he’d certainly fantasized about it enough. And now that she was here? He wasn’t sure what to do about it. She wasn’t giving clear cues. The way her leggings and sweater clung to her curves, however, gave him a few awesome ideas, cues or not. But he didn’t want to scare her away.
She chewed her thumbnail. “Are you mad I went through your drawer?”
“Hell no.” And surprisingly, he wasn’t. Maybe he was in the grip of lunacy, but the notion that she might have been jealous gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling. He also liked the intimacy, the familiarity of having her look through his drawer. Maybe someday she’d have some of her stuff in there.
The final thought had come out of nowhere, though he couldn’t say it was unwelcome. In fact, it sounded nice.
“I don’t have anything to hide from you,” he tossed out.
When her only response was a nod, he continued. “I hate that you’ve got the wrong idea about me.”
She stepped close to him. So close he could smell her shampoo, the scent of flowers rising from her skin. His body tensed, on high alert. He thought she might rise up on tiptoe and kiss him, and fuck, did he want her to. More than anything in the world.
In a voice soft and husky, she said, “I don’t know that I’ve got the wrong idea.”
He dove into her deep blue pools. “Do you ever think we went about everything the wrong way, Lily? That we got things backward?”
Her brows furrowed in question, and her eyes flicked over him. The space between them seemed to shrink. So did his lung capacity.
“I’m not sure I understand. There’s no … We’re not a we to get things backward,” she replied.
True, but we could be a we. Something told him this wasn’t the time.
Acutely aware they stood a mere five feet from his bed, he tugged on her chain to distract himself. “Is this what I think it is?”
She glanced down. “It was my wedding band. It seemed weird to wear it, but weird to take it off, so this was the compromise I came up with.”
Ah. Late husband’s hanging around her neck. That was distraction enough. With an inner sigh, he gave her a shoulder nudge to guide her out of the bedroom. She grasped his bicep, and electrical current surged through his bloodstream.
Before he knew what happened, before he knew who started it, their lips were touching, and his hands were on her back, running over her dips and flares while his tongue pushed into her sweet, soft mouth. Whether it was her or her lip stuff, she tasted like cherries. Her small hands slid around his waist, under his shirt, sweeping over his skin, shooting chills to every part of his body. One part in particular woke right the hell up.
She pulled back abruptly, seeming to steady herself by hanging onto his arms. He was a little unsteady himself.
“Lily?”
“I’m sweaty. The yoga was intense … um …”
“I don’t care.” He held her gaze. “To me, you smell like a field full of flowers.”
She stepped back, out of his reach, and waved her hand between their bodies. “Okay. Wow. Apparently, there’s still some crazy chemistry happening here.”
He didn’t need a glimpse at himself to know he looked as if he hid Pinocchio’s nose in his gym shorts. But he didn’t care about that either. “Is crazy chemistry between us such a bad thing?”
Her hand flew to her forehead. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m working for you now, and there’s Daisy and … I shouldn’t be … There’s so much at stake!”
Despite all the blood rushing below his waistband, the switches in his brain miraculously began flipping on. And damn if the dizzying endorphin rush that had been coursing through his veins didn’t fizzle under the weight of her statement.
He stepped toward her and ran his hands up and down her arms. “Lily, what if we don’t fight the crazy chemistry and see where it takes us?” he coaxed. With a shrug, he added, “And if I have to, I’ll just fire you.”
Her blue eyes darkened, reflecting amusement. She reached up and traced the healing cut above his eye. Her touch sent tingles dancing along his spine.
“You said no hanky-panky, Professor,” she whispered.
He slipped one arm around her, reeling her in tight. Her scent swirled up his nose and invaded his senses. Her hands landed on his chest. With his other hand, he caressed her cheek, pushing her riotous curls from her face while he studied her. “I never said that. You said that. I simply acknowledged you.”
He placed a finger against her lips. “I.”
Slid the finger away, lowered his mouth to her base of her throat, and hovered. “Never.”
Placed a kiss there. “Promised.”
Another kiss, and he inched up. “To.”
Planted a lingering kiss and moved again. “Keep.”
Softly sucked below her ear. “My.”
With a sigh, she tilted her head to the side, elongating her neck. Fingers tangled in her hair, he tugged her head back, giving him better access to her sweetly salty skin. “Hands.”
His lips on her ear, he whispered, “Off.”
With the tip of his tongue, he traced the shell of her ear. “You.”
She shuddered in his arms, and a sound like a musical, drawn-out “oh” escaped her, pushing his heartbeat into anaerobic territory. He leaned back and gazed at her half-lidded eyes and parted mouth. She looked drunk, mirroring the thought-paralysis taking place inside his own intoxicated brain.
Her plump, cherry-stained lips were too tempting to resist, and he took them gently, ready to stop if she said no. She didn’t resist, instead gliding her hands to his shoulders, so he kept going, continuing the onslaught he’d begun on her neck. Raising up on tiptoe, she hooked an arm around his neck and dropped the other around his waist, cinching herself closer still. He tightened his hold, nearly engulfing her small frame in his arms. Her tongue found his, sparred with it, and softly sucked it into her mouth. His conscious mind cut out entirely, and he angled her head to deepen the kiss.
She met him stroke for stroke, riding the intense wave of the kiss with him, but she pulled away the moment it ended. Her ragged breathing matched his, and her pink cheeks looked as though they were smudged with strawberry juice. “I must smell awful after the workout.”
Somewhere downstairs, a phone was ringing.
Drumming his palm against his chest, he watched her as though he watched a darting chipmunk. He tried to mask his amusement. “You smell perfect. Now if this is your way of telling me I smell awful, then just say it.”
Her eyes flew wide. “No! That’s not … You … You’re not … You smell … really good.”