“Lizzie? Your wishes?”
Voice as soft as the breeze on a hot, summer day, she dipped her chin. “I wished I could see you without anyone else around.”
His girl didn’t pull any punches.
Not that she was his girl or anything like that. This was just one night—an agreement they’d come to early on for a challenge that no longer existed. But maybe that was the point—it was easier, less intimidating, to chalk up their connection to lust, need, all based upon a stipulation that mutually benefited them both.
Uncomplicated sex.
“Turns out your wish came true,” he said, slipping his thumbs beneath the neck of her sweater so he could touch her skin. Warm. Soft. God, he couldn’t wait to get his mouth there. Was she one of those silent-in-bed types? Or the kind of bed partner who woke up all the neighbors with her moaning? “Tell me your next wish.”
Blue eyes blinked up at him. No liner. No mascara. All Lizzie Danvers.
She was utterly gorgeous.
“I want to see that ink of yours,” she said. “Maybe run my hands all over it.” Her breathing hitched, her shoulders pulling up beneath his palms. “Maybe do the same with my tongue.”
His cock went from half-mast to full-blown how-ya-doin? in a matter of seconds.
“Your wish is my command, princess.” Hands grasping the back of his T, he drew off the fabric and tossed it to the floor beside them. Then met her gaze, trying to get a read on whether or not she approved of his mass.
Most women did.
Most women weren’t Lizzie Danvers, though—flirty, sweet, ambitious as all get out. Not for the first time did he realize how similar they were. Non-college graduates. Paving their own way in the world. Unwilling to stop and catch their breath with worry that it’d all come crashing down around their shoulders. Physically, his tattoos were the equivalent to her powders and whatever other pretty shit she swiped onto her face.
But in this moment, she’d stripped her armor. The highlighted hair, the expensive makeup, the fancy clothes were all gone.
Gage still had his armor. The scars on his body from years on the job; the tattoos he’d ordered Owen to inscribe into his skin, so that he’d never forget the past; the plate in his right leg from when he’d been the unlucky recipient of a gunshot three years ago.
Cool fingers landed on his sternum, and all thoughts fled.
His gaze cut down to her upturned face, at her rapt expression as she traced his ink. “I want to know what they all mean,” she murmured, her breath whispering against his skin. “Knowing you, they’ve all got secret coding.”
A rise of panic cut off his laughter. “You’re thinkin’ too highly of me, princess. Sometimes a tattoo is just a tattoo.”
“Or,” she countered with furrowed brows, “a tattoo is never just a tattoo. My butterfly has meaning.”
He couldn’t resist teasing her. “Metaphorical meaning. Tell me, are you itching to fly away from N’Orleans?”
“When I was younger, yes.” Nail scraping across his nipple, she bit her lip when he released a groan. “Other cities always seemed more enticing. Prettier . . . cleaner.”
She was driving him crazy with that swirling finger of hers, making it hard to think coherently when all the blood was rushing south. He caught her arm, gently rotating her inner forearm until it faced the ceiling. Faced his lips. One kiss to the pulse at her wrist succeeded in pulling a whimper from her lips.
Fuck, it sounded erotic.
Keep it slow, don’t rush.
He was stepping out of his element here, allowing foreplay outside of the bedroom, taking just as much satisfaction when her eyes narrowed with the search for the perfect verbal comeback as he did when her lips parted and her pupils dilated with desire.
“But now you’re here,” he continued, striving his damn best for affability, “and you’ve got that tattoo on your butt that no longer correlates to a need to leave the city. So maybe what I said is true—a tattoo is just artwork, nothing more.”
“Hmmm . . .” Her free hand skated up his hard stomach. “If that’s the case, then are these just random names you’ve chosen out of a hat? From a baby name book?” Blue eyes flashed with mirth. “Are you listing your future sons and daughters here, Gage? Keep tracking of all the possibilities?”
His breath caught, and this time it had nothing to do with her wandering hands or the teasing note in her voice. Stop, he warned himself, don’t go there. She had no idea that she’d struck a nerve—and he had no plans to divulge that information. It wasn’t for her to know. Hell, he got enough shit from Owen about it all.
“Stop tattooing their names on your body, Gage. There’s nothing you can do to help them. You’re not a goddamn martyr.”
No, he wasn’t.
He was so far from that it was almost laughable.
But it was his way of keeping their memories alive: giving them recognition for each hardship they’d faced. It was his decision to—
“Bethany.”
Every muscle in his body went tight. “What?”
“Bethany.” Lizzie flashed him her customary smile, all white teeth and plump lips and a wry upturn of the right corner. “Sorry, my mother’s name is Beth, short for Elizabeth. You can see that she and my father were incredibly creative when it came to naming me.”
Gage forced his limbs to ease up with a sharp inhale through his nose. “Creativity must be genetic, considering you call your brother Danny.”
“Oh, that?” With her finger still idly tracing Bethany, his mother’s name, she gave a little shrug. “I was obsessed with the movie Hocus Pocus when I was a kid—have you seen it? Halloween? Witches? Anyway, the little girl in the movie was named Danny, spelled with an I and not a Y, but I loved that movie so much.”
The sound of deep, masculine laughter was surprising—only to realize that it belonged to him. Only this woman, with her fear of needles and her knack for sarcastic humor, could make him laugh when his mood was on the downturn. No one else could do that. Just her.
“So, what? You just nicknamed your brother after a girl from a movie?”
“Yup.” The P popped, and Gage felt his own mouth move upward in a grin. “That’s exactly what I did. Danvers. Danny. I mean, to my six-year-old self, it was a grand idea. Totally brilliant.”
“And it caught on?”
Her smile deepened. “Oh yeah. Even the kids in his grade started up. He used to hate me for it, but the years have done him good. If he gets a little bit of a twitch whenever I say his name, he just closes his eyes, no doubt pretends I don’t exist, and continues on his way.”
“You’re evil.”
“I prefer to think of myself as unique.”
“That, too.”
“Gage?”
“Yeah, princess?”
Her palm pressed flat against him, chin tipping back so she could meet his gaze. “You’re not going to tell me what all these names mean, are you? Even if I make it my wish?”
Mouth opening, he cranked it shut and looked away to stare beyond the window at the car headlights streaming down Camp Street. Besides Owen, no one knew what they stood for, what they represented. In a low voice, he said, “I’m sorry. Make another wish.”
Disappointment clung to her expression when he glanced back. “Worth a try, right?” She gave a humorless laugh that burrowed into his chest like serrated blades. “I have a problem with wanting my friends to tell me everything. Sometimes I have to remember that boundaries are a thing.”
“Lizzie, I—”
“A kiss.”
“What?”
“My next wish.” Her gaze was defiant, the tilt of her chin even more so. “That’s what I want, a kiss. I don’t really know the laws of wish-making, but I figure two rejections on your part can’t amount to good karma. So, unless you want your life to take a turn for the worse, I highly suggest that you—”
She didn’t finish her sentence.
Gage didn’t let her.
His mouth c
rashed down on hers, and she released a surprised yip. Adorable. Fucking adorable, and he couldn’t even believe that “adorable” was a word crossing his mind. Hot. Sexy. Delicious. Those were all the words he regularly thought of when kissing a woman, and Lizzie Danvers was certainly all of that.
But she was also adorable.
Her blue eyes were wide with shock as he moved his mouth over hers, her hands bent like chicken wings as though she had no idea where to put them.
Gage pulled back just far enough to say, “You look terrified.”
A quick shake of her head. “Of course I’m not.”
“Don’t tell me that I just popped your kiss virginity, aside from the quick one I gave you a few weeks ago.”
“What?” If it were possible, her eyes grew rounder, saucer-like. Any more of that, and they’d pop clear out of her head. “I’m not . . . I am not a virgin. I’ve had boyfriends!”
“I looked up Scott Manson, Lizzie. The guy looks like he doesn’t know his dick from his elbow.”
Teeth biting on her lower lip, she muttered, “I should not find that funny.”
“Because it’s true?”
“Maybe.” A drawn-out pause. “Not that it means I haven’t been kissed before. I have, for the record.”
“Obviously not by someone who knows what they’re doin’.”
Incredulous laughter spilled from her lips. “If this is you trying to be romantic . . .”
“This is me realizing I’m going to blow your mind, and I’m not about to waste the opportunity.” Gage cracked a grin at her dropped jaw. Yeah, he’d gone there. But he had a feeling she liked it, a lot. Mentally rubbing his hands together in anticipation, he dropped a hand to the curve of her ass and gave a soft thwap.
“Gage!”
God, she was beautiful when her cheeks burned red with a natural blush. Raising his hands, he wiggled his fingers. “Did I do that?”
Her lips quivered as they fruitlessly tried to stay in a straight line. “I hate you.”
They both knew that was a lie. “You can hate me even more in two minutes, I promise. I’ll give you every opportunity to hate me, but first . . . up against the wall.”
“I’m not getting my mug shot taken, Officer. You’ve got the wrong girl.”
He tossed his head back and laughed, the sort of laughter that hurt your cheeks and teared up your eyes and genuinely felt like gray clouds parting way for the sun. Fuck, this girl . . . she made even the darkest days feel brighter. “The mugshot and handcuffs will come later,” he said, dragging his thumb beneath his eyes, “for now . . . up against the wall, Miz Danvers. You’re about to be properly kissed.”
One brow arched high as she considered him. “The wall’s a necessity?”
“If we had rain, we could reenact the scene from Spiderman, but we’ll have to make do with the wall.”
“Like in every romance novel ever.”
“Only trying to meet the expectations you’d originally set out in your bad boy video.” Gage jerked his chin to their right. “The wall, princess. Hop to it.”
Without even a hint of hesitation, she took one step in the right direction, then two, then drew to a sudden halt. Slowly, so slowly that the hackles rose on his back, and Gage suddenly understood what it meant to fear a woman, he watched as his soon-to-be one-night-stand planted a hand on her hip, turned around, and flicked back her hair.
“On one condition.”
“Yeah?”
Blue eyes darted down his chest, settling on his crotch. Mouth hitching up with humor, she announced, “I get the chance to return the favor and slap your butt, too. Bend over, Harvey, there’s a new officer in town.”
20
“You want to what?”
Oh God, his expression. Beyond priceless.
It took everything in Lizzie’s power not to clutch her belly and laugh hysterically. Striving for a straight face, she oh-so-woodenly replied, “Slap your butt, Gage. You heard me.”
She’d never seen him look quite so flabbergasted before. His Adam’s apple dipped down twice, as though he couldn’t quite swallow his shock correctly. “I . . . Jesus, I—”
Oh, this more than made up for the little spank he’d given her—a spank which had widened her eyes . . . but one that she’d liked anyway. Because it’d been playful, teasing, and because the hand behind the spanking belonged to Gage, and she—
Well, Lizzie had a crush.
It was small.
Okay, it wasn’t that small. But she was a far step away from Valentine’s Day gifts and internet stalking, so she figured she was still in the black.
So, harmless crush and all.
Unfortunately, she’d pulled a complete high school move when his lips had landed on hers. Years of kissing knowledge had gone straight out the window, zipping into nonexistence, until all she could do was stand there. Awkwardly. Stiffly. Secretly panting inside for more, more, more.
Yeah, she’d made a muck of it all, as was generally her way when it came to the opposite sex . . . until now.
“Turnabout’s fair play, don’t you think?” Lizzie teased, sidling up next to him, placing a hand just above the waistband of his work pants. “One little love-tap, Officer. I promise you that you’ll like it.”
Too preoccupied with feeling up his abs, it wasn’t until she was up and over his bare shoulder, hanging upside down as her hair tangled in her face, that she realized he’d caught her again—just like at the Barataria Preserve.
She didn’t give him the satisfaction of squeaking or squealing or yipping or shouting his name. Instead, Lizzie proclaimed, “I like the way you think!” and then proceeded to play the drums on his firm ass.
His rich laughter was muffled by the curtain of her hair, but it was no more than twenty seconds later that she found herself flat on her back, antique sofa beneath her, legs spread with his lean hips settled in between.
Gage turned her emotions inside out.
Then add in the glimmer in his black eyes? No wonder she’d taken one look at him at Inked on Bourbon and thought him. It’s what her heart said now, too, however reckless it was: him, him, him.
“Decided that you didn’t feel like kissing me against the wall?” she teased, scooting down on the sofa so that he rested over her completely, and so that the telltale bulge in his pants pressed . . . right . . . there. They both groaned at the contact, and heat swept over Lizzie’s chest.
Was it the wrong time to hope that he had better skills than Scott?
Gage’s warm breath over her neck sent a shiver skittering down her spine. “I figured I’d rather have you under me, in case you get out of hand.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Kiss me and I’ll forgive you for pulling a stereotypical dick, upper handed mo—”
Firm, masculine lips slipped over hers, swallowing the rest of her words, and possibly taking her heart right along with it. It was silly to think such a thing—it was just infatuation—but when he shifted his weight to brush back her hair with his fingers, treating her like finely spun gold silk . . . Lizzie trembled under the weight of lust and emotion and the almost desperate wish that they would last longer than one night.
The kiss was everything a kiss should be: barely-there caresses, a hint of tongue, noses brushing as angles switched to find the perfect fit.
If every kiss in her life up until this moment had simply been preparation, then she was dreadfully far behind in her kissing education.
Because this was a kiss.
Gage’s calloused hand cupping her jaw.
The nip of his teeth as he demanded entrance into her mouth.
The nudge of his cock against the apex of her thighs.
A gentle rolling of his hips that dug her nails into his back, and had her chest pushing against his.
Everything about him was tightly leashed, as though he thought she might need the time to adjust to everything that he was.
Raw.
Hard.
Dominant.
Lizzie didn
’t need time, and she certainly didn’t need him thinking that he might break her.
She sank her hand beneath the waistband of his pants, cupping his butt, tugging him tighter against her.
“Jesus.” His curse echoed in the studio, and not for the first time did Lizzie stop to admire his contrast to the space. Light walls, furniture, flooring, were a sharp juxtaposition to his black ink, inky hair, hair as dark as his onyx eyes. When he looked down at her, there was an almost unholy light to his gaze, matched only by his roughly uttered, “I’m running the show here, princess.”
Propping up on her elbow, she nipped his left earlobe. “My studio,” she whispered, touching her tongue to the same spot to soothe the sting, “my rules. Pants off, Officer.”
He offered only a moment’s hesitation before lifting to his feet. Blunt-tipped fingers went to the button of his pants. Flicked it open. Drew the zipper down to half-mast. “Might be the time to tell you that I’m not wearing underwear.”
Lizzie bent an arm behind her head and watched him steadily. Most guys probably wouldn’t appreciate being called beautiful, but Gage Harvey was just that. Darkly beautiful. Ruined beautiful. And for tonight, all hers.
It’d have to be enough.
With a little finger wave at his crotch, she said, “I suspected that when I had my hand down your pants. Don’t worry, I’m prepared.”
“Trust me, you’re not.”
And then down his pants went, circling his ankles before he toed off his shoes and kicked the cargo material away.
Oh.
This time she squeaked, and there was nothing she could do to keep the sound from emerging. His cock was thick and long, a dusty pink that thrust forward like a compass.
Him, center point.
Her, north.
A giggle slipped out, and the cocky grin on Gage’s face inched downward. “It’s bad form to laugh at a guy when he’s naked, Lizzie.”
“I wasn’t . . .” Her free hand soared through the air, trying to find the words to explain that she was, certifiably, nervous. And when she was nervous, ridiculous things tended to pop out of her mouth.
He dropped to his haunches in front of her. “Only one way to reaffirm my masculinity.”
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 279