Hope pivoted on her heel and looked at the front door, wondering who could be knocking on it at this hour. No one used her front door, not even the pizza delivery guy, which made her pause. She couldn’t actually remember the last time it had been opened....
A shadowy figure paced past the two narrow windows that ran on either side of the wooden panel. Male. Tall. Impatient.
Hope scowled and moved closer to see if she could identify the person audacious and rude enough to knock on her door at one in the morning.
“I know you’re up, Hope. I just saw you drive in.”
Gage. Hope slapped a hand across her stomach to try to stop the uncomfortable flip-flop thing it decided to do. The sensation was relief. Really. That was all. Relief at realizing the hulking figure wasn’t a burglar trying to break into her house. Yeah, because burglars usually knock.
“Hope,” he called again.
The man really was rude. She should ignore him. Let him pace out there as long as he liked. He’d disappeared from the party hours ago and then had the audacity to show up on her doorstep in the middle of the night?
But there was something in the agitated way he paced across her front porch. Or maybe it was the tone in his voice. Hopeful and desperate. Not once had she ever heard Gage Harper desperate. Not even that night when she told him they could never be together.
He’d always had a self-confidence that was intimidating and appealing all at the same time. Gage had always known what he wanted and didn’t have a problem going after it; sometimes despite knowing he shouldn’t. That kind of bravery...well, she reluctantly had to admit, probably made him an excellent soldier.
She had two choices. She could stand here and ignore him until he left. Or she could open the door and find out what he wanted. Everything inside her jangled a warning and told her to leave him out in the cold.
But her brain said letting him in was the logical choice. After all, if she had luck on her side—and maybe he’d had a few drinks since she last saw him—he might just spill his guts and save her an entire week of uncomfortable encounters. After all, she was supposed to be cracking him open like the spiny chestnuts that littered her dad’s backyard.
With a sigh, she crossed to the door and jerked it open.
“What are you doing here?”
Gage stopped midpace and turned to look at her. His gaze started at the tip of her head and worked downward, although it got snagged right around the neckline of her dress.
Something dangerous flared deep in his eyes. Instinct kicked in and Hope stumbled backward, away from him and the unwanted wave of awareness that swamped her. Her hand found her throat again, wrapping around it protectively. With a gasp she realized thanks to her opened zipper the neckline was gaping and showing a heck of a lot more skin than she’d intended.
Spinning away, Hope reached for the zipper to jerk it back up, but her fingers were suddenly clumsy and the tab kept slipping through her grasp. Her shoulders strained as she contorted herself, trying to get the damn thing to cooperate.
Rough fingers brushed her hands away. A sure grip seized the tab. She could feel his hesitation, the pause as he decided whether to pull the zipper up or down.
Her breath caught in her lungs and held as she waited, too. Hope had no idea which she really wanted him to do. She knew what she should want, but apparently that didn’t necessarily translate.
The sound of the teeth grinding together was louder than it ought to be. When the zipper reached the top of the dress Hope finally let the air leak from her lungs. Prematurely.
Gage ran a single finger across the top of her dress, letting it dip down beneath the line of fabric as he caressed her from one shoulder blade to the other. Hope jerked away, stumbling forward.
He stood there, his arms hanging innocently at his sides and his feet planted wide. He’d shut the door behind him, closing them both into the darkness of her home.
Having him there made her restless.
Hope’s mouth twisted. “What are you doing here?” she asked him again, hoping this time he might actually answer her.
“I have no idea.”
That was not what she’d expected.
Hope shook her head. What was she supposed to do with that statement? Gesturing toward the living room, she told him to sit while she changed. If they were going to talk she definitely needed to get out of this dress. Not only was it starting to strangle her, but every time the zipper shifted against her spine her skin also tingled.
She debated about what to put on. What she really wanted was the soft pants and worn T-shirt she liked to sleep in. But somehow that felt too intimate, although Jenna would have argued that point with her. Hope could hear her voice right now, “Intimate is lace nighties and thin little straps that just beg a man to tear them off of you. Intimate is not paint-splattered and so big that you can walk on the hem of your pants.”
Her friend might have had a point...if Hope had any intention of seducing Gage. Which she didn’t.
Finally, she settled on a pair of stretchy leggings and a soft, roomy sweater that skimmed her thighs and was so threadbare she’d never wear it out in public. But it was so comfy. The kind of thing just made for a Saturday at home.
Technically it could still be considered Saturday since she hadn’t been to bed yet.
Funny, the exhaustion she’d been fighting when she walked in the back door was nowhere to be found as she padded back down the staircase in bare feet.
She slid to a stop halfway down, shocked by the vision that waited for her.
Gage was sprawled in the corner of her favorite sofa. The spot had the best light—soft in the morning, sunny in the afternoon. And when the moon was big and full, beautiful silver light illuminated it so brightly that she could read without needing a lamp.
Tonight the moon was dark, leaving him almost totally in shadow and making him look like a wounded angel. The bruises on his jaw only emphasized the impression. His head was dropped back against the overstuffed pillow. His eyes were closed, the inky circle of his lashes casting a shadow that made him appear even more vulnerable.
Vulnerable and Gage Harper—two things that did not go together. Ever. Even when he was putting himself out there, he had the ability to make you think that he was masterminding everything to work out exactly the way he wanted. She, better than most probably, knew that wasn’t necessarily the case since he hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted from her. But still, he’d always been so strong.
Tonight he looked broken, not that he didn’t have every right to be. He’d been through a lot in the past several weeks. Hope’s chest tightened uncomfortably as she watched him. Dread reared up unexpectedly and twisted through her. She should go upstairs and forget he’d even come by.
But she couldn’t do that. Not tonight. Not when he looked like he really needed someone.
If his hand hadn’t been moving rhythmically over Tigger’s back she might have thought him asleep. Aside from that small, steady motion he was utterly still.
She could hear the motor of Tigger’s purr all the way to the stairs. A spurt of jealousy surprised her.
Clenching her jaw against the illogical reaction, Hope continued the rest of the way down. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, her hand wrapped around the newel post, ready to bolt back up at the first sign that she needed an escape.
“He doesn’t usually like people. Men especially.”
Gage cracked his eyes open, looking at her from beneath weighted lids. “What makes you think he likes me?”
“He’s sitting still. And purring.”
His gaze dropped down to the cat. As if to prove her point, Tigger stretched his body up, following the path of Gage’s hand to make sure he kept stroking.
“You missed him trying to take a chunk out of my hand. But we appear to have settled on an accord.”
“So it would seem.”
He lifted Tigger off of his lap and set him onto the floor. Her cat huffed, frowned up at the man wh
o’d been petting him and stalked away with an indignant twitch of his tail.
Gage held his hand out, beckoning her to come sit beside him. With a shake of her head she rebuffed him. Instead, she curled her hands over the edge of her wingback chair.
The sooner she figured out what he wanted the sooner she could get him out of her home. Having him here made her...edgy.
Lines crinkled his forehead and his lips pulled down at the corners, as he unconsciously mimicked the glare he’d just received from Tigger. She wanted to reach out and smooth away the tension, to fix whatever had upset him. But that wasn’t her job and Gage Harper wasn’t her responsibility.
Thank God. She pitied the woman who fell in love with the man sitting on her sofa, his thumbs bandaged from war, his jaw bruised from a fight he’d gone looking for and bone-deep sadness clouding his golden-brown eyes. He was the kind of frustrating, egotistical, mind-numbingly reckless man who sought out trouble just for fun.
Life was hard and painful enough without asking for torment.
In a few weeks Gage would leave again, returning to the kind of life where bullets and bombs were part of breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. The kind of existence where being captured, tortured and killed were constant possibilities. Her gaze fell to the hand he’d let drop back into his lap. The white bandage wrapped around his thumb made her heart ache.
Spinning away, Hope headed for the window. Maybe looking outside would be safe. Her eyes fell on the monstrously intimidating machine parked at the curb at the end of her front walk. Of course the damn man couldn’t drive a nice, sensible sedan with side-curtain air bags and crumple zones. Nope, he had to lodge the equivalent of a rocket engine between his thighs and laugh at the wind and a need for speed.
Not that it was any of her business what he drove. The only thing she wanted from him was the story.
This was the perfect opportunity to press for her story. He’d come to her in the middle of the night. But she couldn’t do it. The questions wouldn’t come.
Maybe it was the way he’d looked when she’d come down, tired and...alone.
Hope heard the creak of her sofa, but didn’t move. She felt the heat of him as he walked up behind her. His palms flattened against the glass on either side of her head. Her focus shifted from the Harley out her door to the reflection of the man who’d driven it.
She expected to find him watching her, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was staring up into the endless night, a terrible expression on his face—grief and fury and guilt all raging inside him.
God, it hurt just looking at it. She couldn’t imagine living with whatever was inside him.
Hope waited, her entire body tight with the desire to help him. But she had no idea how. What could she say when she didn’t understand what was wrong?
Slowly, his gaze shifted downward until it snagged hers in the reflection.
“I...learned something disturbing about a friend tonight.”
He stared at her, not saying more. And still, Hope waited. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his. His breath panted in and out in short, shallow spurts. He let her see his internal battle, but that was as far as he let her in and it wasn’t helpful because she didn’t understand his turmoil. Was he trying not to say more or struggling to find the right words to tell her?
Their breaths mingled together, fogging the cooled glass and eventually obscuring his reflection. She needed to see him.
Twisting, Hope pressed her back against the window, putting as much space between them as his angled body would allow. It wasn’t enough, but considering he had her trapped it would have to do.
“Tell me,” she offered, quietly. It was the only thing she could do, let him know she was there and ready to listen, just like she’d always been when they were younger.
How many times had Gage come to her, upset over an argument with his father? How many times had she listened, giving him a sounding board and a place to vent?
Gage’s eyes searched her face, sadness dulling their golden-brown depths. His lips parted and she thought he might kiss her. But then he closed them again and just shook his head.
Slowly, he bent his elbows. His body drew nearer. The heat of him increased, like the warmth of a fire.
He was going to kiss her. It was the logical expectation given the sequence of events. He’d only done it once before, their junior year during the Cupid festival. She’d been so surprised and overwhelmed. And then he’d laughed, like the whole thing was a joke. Her heart jerking inside her chest, she’d played along. Smacking his shoulder and acting outraged.
She wondered if he hadn’t pretended that day, would things have been different. If he’d owned up to wanting her then, instead of waiting until he was leaving for a life filled with danger, could she have found the strength to tell him no?
Every cell in her body strained closer to him, wanting exactly what it shouldn’t.
Kissing him back then had made her head fuzzy. She didn’t like fuzzy. How much more potent would he be now?
Hope was desperately afraid she wouldn’t survive the experience, at least not with her resolve intact.
Which is why she should have been grateful when his mouth overshot the target. Instead, he buried his head into the crook of her neck. His forehead rolled back and forth against her shoulder. His mouth, lips closed in a tight line and far from seductive, brushed against her skin. She felt the touch, anyway. The energy of it blasted straight through to her toes.
Her hands slid up, grasping his hips and holding on. His shirt bunched in her hands. A man this strong shouldn’t be this exposed. Something about it was wrong. Hope wanted to hold on to him. To protect him—which was laughable since he was the toughest, most capable person she’d ever met—until whatever had made him vulnerable passed and he could pull back the edges of his hard outer shell.
They stayed there, wrapped together; the pane of glass pressed tight against her back as cold seeped through the bulky threads of her sweater. She didn’t try to move.
“Thank you,” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse and raspy.
“Fo—” Her own voice cracked. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “For what?”
Gage lifted away from her, pulling back until he could look straight into her eyes again. A single finger trailed softly across the curve of her cheek. “Letting me in.”
The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on her. She might have opened the door to him, but he was the one keeping her out. Keeping everyone out if she had to bet. Something had definitely upset him. And the fact that he’d come to her instead of his parents, his sister or any of the other friends he still kept in touch with, told her that he didn’t really want to talk about it.
No doubt he’d come to her fully expecting to be rebuffed, so she’d been a safe choice.
She shrugged. What could she say?
His fingers tangled into her hair, tugging at the strands until she had no choice but to tip her head backward.
The kiss came out of nowhere. Maybe because she’d expected it earlier and let her guard down when it didn’t happen. Because she hadn’t been braced for it, the touch of his mouth overwhelmed her.
It should have been just as wild as he was. She waited for the danger and speed that he thrilled to, to spill out from him and flood her. Instead, it was sweet. Gentle. And probably more devastating.
Fierce and demanding she could have fought against. But the sweet coaxing and aching vulnerability that filled the warm question his mouth asked...how could she combat that?
He’d definitely improved from their first kiss, which meant she’d never stood a chance. Opening to him was the easiest—and most dangerous—thing she’d ever done. And the minute she did he swooped in and took much more than she’d meant to give.
His hands in her hair tightened, arching her neck and pulling her up onto tiptoe so he could get closer. His mouth ground against hers, finally giving her that biting taste of danger she’d expected. Too late.
Her own
body betrayed her. Her hands grappled, getting tangled in his clothes as she searched for a better hold on him. One she’d never find.
Somehow her leg found its way to his hip, hooking around the jutting edge to press him tighter against her. If her hands couldn’t do the job right...
Gage pulled away from her, breaking their kiss. A protesting sound rumbled through her chest. Where the heck had that come from?
They both panted, desperate to replace the oxygen they’d denied themselves. Just how long had they been locked together?
He stared at her with hot, serious, smoldering eyes. For a man who’d finally gotten a taste of what he’d always wanted, he did not look happy. Being kissed senseless and then frowned at had always been her secret fantasy, right?
He backed away, disentangling his hands from her hair. “I shouldn’t have come.”
She really wished she could agree with him on that. She wanted to. But she couldn’t be upset that he’d come to her when he needed someone.
Without another word he left.
Hope stayed right where she was, sagging against the window. The rumble of the Harley rattled the pane of glass, echoing down her spine and jangling her already-sensitive nerve endings.
7
GAGE’S CHEEKS WERE FROZEN from cold and exposure. His fingers were stiff. He wasn’t used to the South Carolina weather yet and had forgotten how cold it could get in the middle of the night.
He might have ridden until the sun came up if his aching thumbs hadn’t forced him to give up. The weakness bothered him, but what could he do? They’d heal eventually or so the doctors had told him. Part of him wished they wouldn’t, that they could stay a visible and painful reminder of the mistake he’d made so he wouldn’t do it again.
The house was dark. His parents’ car was in the garage so he knew they were home from the party. Although at 3:00 a.m. he would have expected them to be.
Letting himself into the house, he had an unpleasant flashback to his teenage years, sneaking in past curfew and hoping no one would notice. He shook the memory away. He was far from a teenager now.
The Risk-Taker Page 7