Dropping the keys onto the counter, he didn’t bother to turn on any lights as he moved through the house.
“You could have at least left a note.” The hard voice startled him. Bright light flared on in the living room, momentarily blinding him.
He was losing his edge outside the danger zone, which was the only explanation for how his father had gotten the drop on him. If he’d been in Afghanistan it never would have happened.
At least he hoped.
“Excuse me?”
His dad unfolded his body from the sofa, slipping his hands into the pockets of his worn robe as he stood. It was the same dark gray robe the man had owned for as long as Gage could remember. That sense of déjà vu returned, right along with the urge to start spouting excuses for why he’d been out so late.
He bit back the words, clenching his jaw tight and grinding his molars together. He was not a kid, dammit, and hadn’t been for a very long time. It was about time the old man realized that.
“Your mother worries, Gage. And after getting that visit in the middle of the night to tell us you’d been captured, I can’t say that I blame her. Your friend Eli called your sister tonight, said you’d gotten some hard news and suggested we keep an eye on you. When your mother and I got home and you weren’t here...”
He’d have a nice chat with Eli in the morning. Calling his sister. What did the guy think he was doing? But first things first. “Where’s Mama?”
“Pacing in the bedroom.”
“Dammit,” he said without any real heat. Gage bent his head to stare at the ground and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
His dad took a step closer. “Don’t blame your sister.”
He jerked his gaze upward, but kept rubbing at the tightness invading his muscles. “I don’t. Look, I don’t know what you guys went through because I wasn’t here, but I can imagine.”
His father rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I suppose you can.”
“I needed to get out for a while. I took the Harley.”
“So I noticed.”
“That okay?”
“You know you don’t have to ask.”
No, he really didn’t. Growing up he’d wanted nothing more than to take that bike out and open it wide so he could feel the wind slapping back against his face. His dad had never let him touch the thing.
With a sigh, he decided now wasn’t the time to get into it. It was late and he needed to let his mama know that he wasn’t a stain on a road somewhere.
But he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “I’m not the same irresponsible eighteen-year-old boy I used to be.”
“You don’t have to tell me that, son. I was eighteen and indestructible once, too. It’s hard when you figure out you’re not. For me, that was the day you were born and I realized I was responsible for protecting another human being. Kinda changes things. Guess your epiphany was a little different.”
Gage nodded. A lump formed in the back of his throat. He tried to swallow, but it wouldn’t budge. So he ignored it.
“I’ll go tell her I’m home.”
His dad nodded, as well. “You do that,” he said, and then sank back onto the sofa.
Gage saw the slight tremor in his hands before he clasped them tightly together in his lap.
And he wanted to break that damn glass against the wall all over again.
Or kiss Hope senseless so he could forget everything for just a few moments.
Because he couldn’t do either of those things, he settled for knocking on his parents’ bedroom door. “Mama?”
* * *
SHE HADN’T BEEN BOWLING IN...a very long time. It wasn’t exactly high on her list of entertainment choices. But the bowling alley on the outskirts of town had closed to the public and donated all the lanes for the Cupid charity events. So she was standing with Lexi, Willow and Lanie waiting for her chance to get shoes.
And what paragons of fashion virtue they were.
Beside her, Willow sighed when the woman behind the counter handed her pair over. “Red, navy and black saddle shoes. What, exactly, are these supposed to go with?”
“Nothing,” the woman offered with a smile. “They’re ugly so no one will walk off with them.”
“How’s that working for you?”
“Not great. Apparently ugly bowling shoes are in.”
Willow shuddered. “I beg to differ.” As a highly sought-after couture wedding-gown designer, Willow would probably know.
“I’m guessing the teenagers swiping bowling shoes aren’t interested in wedding white just yet,” Hope offered.
Her friend cocked an eyebrow. “You’d be surprised. I just got a call from an eighteen-year-old country music princess. She’s marrying a high-profile race car driver.”
“Beautiful. Maybe you can talk her into wearing these—” Hope held up her own excuse for footwear gingerly between thumb and forefinger “—as the perfect wedding accessory.”
“I’d die first.”
The woman behind the counter chuckled as they walked away.
Hope surreptitiously scanned the crowd of people milling around the twenty lanes. She wasn’t sure which would be worse—Gage showing up or Gage standing her up.
He’d probably consider it payback to leave her hanging. Part of her wouldn’t blame him. At least before last night.
That kiss changed everything, even if she didn’t want it to. As tired as she’d been, she’d lain awake forever, tossing and turning, trying to suppress the buzz of energy that rippled through her whenever she thought of Gage’s hands on her body.
She didn’t want him.
No, that was a lie. She shouldn’t want him. So why was she having trouble remembering that?
Possibly because the memory of that kiss was closely followed by the image of him on her sofa, broken and vulnerable like she’d never seen him before. But that should have made her resolve stronger, not weaker.
The man was a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the right moment to explode. She really didn’t want to be in the vicinity when he did.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t certain that was an option anymore.
If she didn’t have the story...she might have been the one standing him up. Leaving the house, her feet had been leaden, trying to convince her to stay right where she was. But something stronger—and she wasn’t entirely certain it had anything to do with dedication to her work—had her fighting her own instincts and moving forward.
Even now, though, she was contemplating the merits of leaving. The decision was made for her when Gage breezed through the door. He was so pretty. And dangerous. All cloudy eyes, darkly tanned skin and bulging muscles against straining black leather. He frowned, his sharp gaze sweeping purposely across the crowd. Until his eyes snagged on her and he jerked to a halt.
Heat blasted through her and her lips tingled. An expletive ricocheted through her, but somehow she managed not to let it out of her mouth. How was she supposed to concentrate when the sight of him sent her brain on a mental vacation?
The weather, always unpredictable in February, had turned on them. The collar on his jacket was flipped up against the biting wind that had blown in with the pregnant rain clouds. Behind him, droplets pattered against the glass door. Even from here she could tell his hair was damp, turning the coffee-colored strands almost black and making the ends curl against his neck. Had he gotten that wet walking to the door? Or had he ridden the Harley again...apparently without a helmet?
She’d bet money on the last one. Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t had a helmet with him last night, either, had he?
Fury simmered deep in her belly. Stupid man. Why would he take that kind of unnecessary risk? What would have to happen to make him realize he wasn’t bulletproof? Dying, that’s what. Had he given the people who cared about him any thought—his parents, sister, her...everyone in town?
Apparently not.
Hope purposely turned away from him and plopped down into one
of the connected chairs at the lane they’d been assigned to. With some fancy talking she’d managed to get Willow and her date assigned to the same lane as she and Gage. Lexi’s group had already been full, but they did have the lane right beside them.
Lexi settled into the chair that backed up to Hope’s and leaned close. “How are you doing?”
They’d spoken briefly last night at the cocktail party, but not much. The guy Lexi had been assigned to was an outsider, but if last night was any indication, she definitely seemed interested in him. And Hope had to admit the guy—Brandon was his name—appeared equally enamored with Lexi. But then, why wouldn’t he be? The two of them had spent most of the night on the dance floor, seemingly absorbed in getting to know each other.
“Good. Fine.” Her eyes strayed to Gage as he sidled up to the counter and grabbed his own hideous shoes.
Apparently the innocent gesture gave her away. “Uh-huh,” Lexi hummed, doubt filling the sound.
Hope forced her eyes back to the knot she was tying in her laces. “Really. It’s fine.”
Gage stopped in front of them, grasped the ponytail Lexi had pulled her long blond hair into and tugged on it. “You and I need to have a friendly chat later, Piglet.”
Guilt clouded Lexi’s face, but she quickly cleared it away. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
“Then perhaps you should practice not squealing.”
Lexi frowned. “There’s a difference between squealing and protecting, Gage. I’ve only spoken to Eli a few times, but even I know he wouldn’t make that phone call unnecessarily.”
“You spoke to Eli before last night?”
Lexi shook her head. “How do you think he had my number? When you were...” Lexi’s words trailed off and her eyes dulled.
Hope reached out and placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. Lexi gave her a small, weak smile.
“Gone,” she finally said. “We talked several times. He was very helpful and hopeful. A good friend.”
The tight line of Gage’s jaw flexed, but he gave her a single curt nod, acknowledging that she had a point. “He is.”
Hope didn’t quite understand what was going on, but she wondered if it had anything to do with his late-night visit to her house. The middle of a crowded bowling alley was not the place to ask, though.
Apparently feeling her point had been made, Lexi jerked her chin up and turned her back on them. Gage sank heavily into the chair beside hers. His shoulders curved in on themselves for the space of a few breaths before he purposely straightened them.
The chair obviously wasn’t big enough. The hard seats were connected together, nothing more than a row of indented plastic bowls, which meant there was nothing she could do to put space between them. From his left, his wide shoulder and heavy thigh brushed against her. It was either let him rub up against her as he bent down to tie his shoes, or crowd as far into the opposite side of her scooped seat as she could.
She went with that.
She and Gage, along with Willow and her date, Max—an accountant who worked with the only firm in town—were assigned to one lane. The one connected to them had two teenagers who were obviously dating—they couldn’t keep their hands off each other—and another couple she’d never met. They were in their early twenties so she wasn’t surprised that they hadn’t crossed paths before. And if the awkward way they were tiptoeing around one another was any indication, they were seriously interested in each other.
A voice crackled over the intercom, “Everyone ready?” Suddenly most of the overhead lights dimmed, plunging the bowling alley into gloomy shadows. Another set of lights popped on in their place—black lights—making the swirling designs painted on the walls glow.
At the end of the lane the pin mechanism whirred. When it lifted Hope realized the pins were glowing, too. Moody music pumped through the speakers, thumping deep in her chest.
Gage grinned down at her, his teeth gleaming. Shrugging his shoulders, he shed the black jacket, revealing a plain white T-shirt that radiated light.
“This is going to be fun.” His voice was dark, and throbbed with a promise that her body determined had nothing to do with knocking down pins. Suddenly the middle of a Sunday afternoon felt more like midnight.
“I haven’t bowled in years.”
Standing up, Gage rolled his shoulders and neck, cracking it even as he reached for one of the balls waiting in the rack. Without hesitation, he stepped up to the line, settled the ball in his hands, walked a few steps and then let it fly. The rhythmic motion of his body was so smooth and mesmerizing that Hope wasn’t even paying attention to the ball rolling down the lane until he let out a whoop of victory and the clatter of falling pins registered in her ears.
Every last one of them rolled haphazardly across the floor.
“Is there anything you’re not good at?” she blurted out without thinking.
Gage stopped midstride on his way back to the seating pit. Loud enough for everyone to hear five lanes over, he said, “Getting you to say yes.”
Behind her, Lexi snickered. Willow smothered a laugh with her hand. Hope felt heat race up her face. Thank God it was dark and no one would notice.
Gage dropped down beside her, his eyes locked onto her face. No one but Gage.
“Didn’t that hurt your thumb?” she croaked out, trying to fill the space between them with something.
“Yes.”
That was it. No explanation. No excuse. Just a calm, immediate acceptance of the pain. For a game.
“Then why are you bowling?”
“Because I can.” The rough pad of a single finger ran softly down the length of her cheekbone. “Because you’re here.”
Hope jumped up, nearly knocking poor Max out of his chair. To cover her reaction, she grabbed for a ball and walked to the line.
She had no idea what she was doing. Maybe if she hadn’t been flustered, what little she remembered from her infrequent childhood visits to the bowling alley might have resurfaced, but the minute Gage touched her her brain had checked out.
Mimicking Gage’s movements, she settled the ball in front of her, took several steps and sent the heavy weight careening down the lane. Twenty feet down the ball rolled drunkenly into the gutter, nowhere close to hitting a single pin.
With a sigh of dissatisfaction, Hope spun around, not wanting to watch the ball finish its pathetic roll. But as she reached the drop-off back into the pit Gage was there waiting. He blocked the path and wouldn’t let her down.
“You’ve got another turn.”
“What if I don’t want it?”
Gage stood below her, just enough that their eyes were perfectly level. His gaze bored into hers, demanding something from her that she didn’t want to give. “Since when are you a quitter? As long as I’ve known you, when you want something nothing can stand in your way. Including me.”
That was completely different. He was comparing her entire life plan to a silly game. “This game hardly matters, Gage.”
“Maybe not, but you’re still letting it beat you.”
With a grumble of exasperation, she grabbed for the ball as it popped back into the return. “Happy?” Spinning around, she cradled it in her arms and prepared to chuck it down the lane as fast as possible, but she didn’t make it.
He plucked it out of her grasp, leaving her hands frustratingly empty. Did the blasted man want her to bowl or not?
“First—” he set the ball back into the return “—that ball is too heavy for you.”
“It’s the same one you used.”
“Precisely.”
“Are you calling me weak?”
“No, I’m calling you a woman.” His eyes raked her from head to toe, backing up the statement and sending a prickle of awareness seesawing through her. “Your body is built differently and you can’t throw as much weight as I can. Fact, not judgment.”
Her first urge was to say watch me. Logic kept her from spouting off and saying something she’d regret.
He was right, even if she didn’t want him to be.
“All right. Which one should I use?” she asked, waving her hand across the group of waiting balls.
He spun all of them, quickly rejecting four before he finally settled on the fifth. Grabbing the green ball with marbled blue veins, he dropped it into her waiting arms. She had to admit it was a heck of a lot lighter.
Grasping her shoulders, he spun her around and marched her back to the dotted line on the floor. He wrapped his arms around her, the solid length of him pressed tight against her back. Her skin tingled where they touched. He kept talking to her, as if she could actually pay attention to anything he was saying with her brain short-circuiting.
His large hands cradled her own, positioning her grip on the ball.
“We’re going to take three steps forward. Thrust the ball out, let it swing back and on the third step, when it moves even with the lane, let it go.”
“You make it sound easy.” And possibly dirty.
“It is.”
His knees bent, nudging the back of her thighs and sending her forward in the first step of the dance. Suddenly, the ball was whooshing past her hip. “Bend your knee,” he ordered straight into her ear. Her body did exactly as he said, dropping down into a crouch as she released the ball.
It fell onto the surface of the lane with a heavy clunk, but instead of swerving immediately to the side, it stayed in the center, heading straight for the pins at the end.
It was her turn to let out a surprised whoop when it actually connected and several pins rattled onto their sides.
She spun around to grin at Gage. He stared at her, a strange expression on his face. Slowly, her smile faded and her chest tightened.
8
HE WANTED HER.
So what was new? He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted Hope Rawlings. She was strong, determined, beautiful, caring. What man wouldn’t want her? When everyone else in his life had thought of him as a screwup, Hope had always been there telling him he was worth more.
But this was different.
He was different.
No longer a green boy with nothing to offer her but the chip lodged firmly on his shoulder. The problem was he didn’t think that would matter. If she hadn’t wanted him back then, when they’d been closer than he’d ever let any woman get, then why would she want him now?
The Risk-Taker Page 8