She could feel the buzz of energy running through him. The charge had transferred to her when their skin touched. And it wasn’t pleasure.
His eyes were watchful and hyperaware, taking in every detail around them. There’d been a hardness in the golden-brown depths—still was twenty minutes after they’d left and were settled into the comfort of her living room.
Hope had purposely changed into something comfortable and made them both a warm cup of tea while Gage lit a fire. She wasn’t sure how to take it that he hadn’t immediately tried to get her into bed when they’d walked in the door.
Part of her was relieved, because in his current mood, she wasn’t sure she’d have been up for that. He obviously had something on his mind and she didn’t want to be the nameless, faceless distraction he used to ignore it.
Tucking her bare feet beneath her, she curled up into the armchair directly across from the fireplace. Gage crouched in front of it, poker in hand, and stared at the fledgling flames, ignoring the cup she’d placed on the hearth beside him.
How easy it had been to fall straight back into the comfort of their past friendship. It was almost as if those twelve years, and that final fight, had never happened. Although, even if they hadn’t mentioned it, both of them remembered.
“Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
Gage glanced over his shoulder and then, with a steady grace that always managed to surprise her, stood. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Now who’s lying?”
His jaw flexed and his molars ground together. He glared at her, but didn’t argue the point. They both knew she was right.
“Are you still worried about your sister dating Brandon?”
“Yes.”
But even as he said the word Hope knew that wasn’t the real problem. His mixed emotions over that might not be helping, but the surly, bottled-up anger went deeper than that.
“Is it what happened in Afghanistan?” she asked slowly. Part of her wanted him to say no. She wasn’t sure she could deal with the details if he decided to open up. What he’d been through...her imagination had filled in enough blanks and nothing she’d come up with had been good.
“No.”
She should have felt relief, but she didn’t. “Then what, Gage? Talk to me.”
A bitter sound erupted from his throat. Rubbing his hands over his face, Gage sank onto the sofa.
Neither of them had bothered to turn the lights on. Firelight flickered, but it wasn’t enough to let her see the expression on his face.
And she wanted to see him. To help him. To solve whatever had tightened his shoulders with unforgiving stiffness. She hadn’t seen him this...tense since the night of the cocktail party.
Slowly, she rose from her chair and transferred to the cushion beside him. Her arm brushed against his shoulder. She tried not to let it hurt when he shifted away from her, but it was difficult to stifle the reaction. Of course it hurt.
She didn’t want it to, but what was it Jenna had said? Oh, yeah. Not wanting to care and not caring weren’t the same thing.
Boy did she understand what her friend had meant. She hated to see anyone so tied up in knots. Especially someone as brave, protective and honorable as Gage.
Finding the strength to push through, she laid her hand on his thigh, bracing to be rebuffed again. But he didn’t move away this time.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
She grasped his chin and made him look at her. “Tell me.”
“No,” he growled, fire and anger and bitterness staring back at her. “Let it go, Hope. This has nothing to do with you.”
She narrowed her own eyes. Part of her begged to coddle him. To stroke his hair and kiss his lips and promise him whatever was wrong would be okay. But he’d hate that. And it wouldn’t get either of them anywhere.
It certainly wouldn’t help him.
So she stuffed down her own protective instincts and decided to fight fire with fire.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with me? Just a few days ago you showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night. Sadness, guilt and dread exhausting you to the point of collapse. You didn’t keep that to yourself, you self-righteous bastard.”
A snarl curled his lips. In one surge he had her flat on her back. She hadn’t even had time to brace for the impact...but maybe that was better.
She could see it, that wild, reckless passion that had always scared her, filling him up. It flushed his sun-tinged skin, glowed at her from flashing eyes and crushed her beneath the weight of what she’d goaded from him.
For the space of a heartbeat she wondered if she’d gone too far. And then his mouth crushed hers and she didn’t care. His hands ripped at her clothes, fighting to find bare skin. His lips punished her, sucking the blood to the surface of her skin and leaving marks she’d wear tomorrow.
And the whole time he argued with himself—and her.
“Do you think I want you to know what I’ve done? That I’ve killed men?”
“Only in self-defense,” she argued, holding onto him because he was the only solid thing around her.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
His mouth latched onto her shoulder. She expected the draw as he tugged on her skin, but it never came. Instead, the soft edge of his tongue brushed against her.
And she knew the anger he’d been using as a shield was gone.
“I’ve seen terrible things,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. With anyone else she probably wouldn’t have even noticed the miniscule sign of vulnerability, but she was so attuned to him now...there was no way she could have missed it.
“But I refuse to tell you about them. I don’t want to relive the memories. All I want to do is forget.”
His hot mouth traveled up the sharp edge of her collarbone. “Try to forget,” he whispered.
And her heart broke. The damn thing just cracked wide-open. She’d been holding it closed with everything she had, but it wasn’t enough. Not when the strong, honorable man he’d become was this damaged.
His mouth played across her skin. His fingers pulled at the neckline of her shirt, exposing more of her that he could taste. The frenzy of anger had left him, but she almost wished for it back.
That she could deal with. This...she wasn’t sure. Not and keep herself protected, anyway.
Gage pulled back. He stared down at her with cloudy, shadowed eyes. “I don’t want it to touch you, Hope. Ever. You or Lexi or my mom and dad.”
“But it does. It touches all of them because it touches you.”
He pressed his forehead against hers. “But I don’t want it to.”
Hope kissed him. She didn’t know what else to do. How else to get through to him. He was so damn strong, her soldier.
No, he wasn’t hers. At least not past tonight. Or tomorrow. Or this week. But for now that was enough.
Touching him was enough.
Why hadn’t she realized that so much sooner?
Hope opened for him, spreading her lips and thighs and soul wide so that he could have a soft place to land.
Last night had been all about the rush. The first discovery of each other. This time—now—was all about savoring.
Her toes dug into the end of the sofa, giving her purchase so she could rub against him. She luxuriated in the sensation. The drag of his body against hers. The rough abrasion of cloth and skin. Her eyes slid closed and she just felt.
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 op
en 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
THE PHONE ON HOPE’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 minut
es 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 Risk-Taker Page 12