"I'm sorry, Gage. That wasn't fair. What or who you've been waiting for is none of my business." Her voice was soft as she rubbed her forehead, brows drawn tight. "It's been a crazy few weeks with the wedding, finals, the betterment committee, my brothers, finding out about us—look, just sign. I'll get it back to the lawyers and we can go back to being…friends."
Friends? Did he want to be friends with Racy?
Yeah, he did. That and so much more.
And it was time for a little less talk and a lot more action.
Chapter Eleven
G age spun her around so fast, Racy didn't have time to react.
She could only feel. Feel his arms clamped around her as he pulled her hard to his chest. Feel his mouth, coaxing hers open, and the warm, wet heat of his tongue seeking, then finding hers. Feel his hands trailing down her back until they slid beneath her pajama top to grip her hips and press her flush against him.
The shock faded and something carnal and wild took its place. She had to admit, in the middle of the madness of her out-of-control life, she'd dreamed of this moment so many times over the last two weeks.
Now it was here.
She was back in Gage's arms and he was devouring her with kisses. Kisses she returned, loving the dark, whiskey-flavored taste of him. Kisses different from what they'd shared in the early-morning hours in his living room. This time, his mouth had a frantic need, an unrestrained passion that reminded her of the first time he'd kissed her in Vegas.
Desperate to touch him, she was limited as to how far she could reach thanks to his hold on her. The smooth material of his dress pants danced under her fingertips and she stretched her hands, cupping the tightness of his backside.
A groan rumbled in his chest at her touch, making her bold. She mimicked his action by pulling him against her and rose on tiptoes, rotating her hips against the hard ridge pressed against her. Her hands moved higher and met bare skin.
It wasn't enough.
He'd freed her mouth, his lips moving to her neck. Her head fell to the side, the not-so-gentle nips on her skin just below her ear causing a moan to rush past her lips.
She fisted his shirt and tugged. "Gage, let me go."
"No, never."
A thrill at his possessive tone shot through her, and she smiled, dropping her head to the damp cotton material covering one shoulder.
"Yes." She punctuated her request with a not-so-gentle bite.
"Hey!" He straightened, his arms going lax around her. "Why'd you do that?"
"So I can do this," she whispered, sliding her hands over the defined muscles of his chest, parting his tuxedo shirt even farther. Her nails, a demure manicure in deference to the wedding, stood out against the dark hue of his skin. She looked up when his hands gripped her waist again. His eyes had turned a dark blue, almost black in color. A flash of fear crossed his features. He thought she was going to push him away.
She should.
Her practical angel, complete with flowing white robe and halo, sat at one shoulder and lectured on how history repeating itself wasn't a good thing. But a little devil, dressed in red lace and Prada high heels, urged her to listen to her heart, and all the other throbbing body parts, and enjoy herself.
Racy decided.
Her angel disappeared in a huff. The devil left with a satisfied smirk.
When her hands reached the top of his shoulders, she pushed his shirt down his arms, forcing him to release her a second time so it could fall to the floor. The relief in his eyes blazed to something hot and passionate.
She then leaned forward to trace the outline of his collar bone with her lips, balancing herself by holding tight to his defined biceps. One strong hand came up and fisted in her hair, holding her in place as his signature scent of the great outdoors, mixed with the heat of his skin, filled her.
The faint tang of expensive champagne stayed on her lips as they caressed their way up his neck until, tender and sensitive from the day's stubble on his chin, they hovered at his mouth. "Hmm, bare skin…much better."
"My thoughts exactly," he rasped.
She wasn't prepared when he spun her again and walked her backward toward the four-poster bed. The desk, now behind Gage, came into view and the divorce paperwork lying there stood out like a bright neon sign. She closed her eyes and bumped into the corner post, her head protected from the solid wood by his hand still tangled in her curls.
His mouth captured hers again and he cradled her face. His fingers moved against her scalp as he continued to kiss her senseless. Small pulls on her hair made her realize he was searching for, and removing, the numerous bobby pins of her wedding hairdo. She raised her hands and quickly removed four, letting them fall from her hands.
He pulled back from her mouth and whispered, "Let me."
The full press of his body had her again on tiptoes, fitting him perfectly against her. The flannel material of her pajamas rubbed her breasts and belly, causing her nipples to harden and her stance to widen as she welcomed him between her legs. She reached for the post behind her for balance, then dropped her hands to his arms.
"No, I like this better." He stopped his ministries to her hair, grabbed her wrists and placed her arms back over her head.
"Gage…"
She started to lower them, but he again put her hands on the post, gently curving her fingers, making it clear he wanted her to hold on.
He looked down at her, a grin raising one corner of his mouth. "Don't make me get my handcuffs, lady."
"Are they fur-lined?" Racy peeked at him through the curly lengths of hair that partly covered one side of her face, unable to stop her own smile. "Mine are red and fuzzy. You know, to protect the delicate skin of one's wrists in case—"
"When and where," he cut her off, "did you last have a reason to use those?"
Never, but she wasn't going to tell him that. "A lady doesn't speak of such things."
One finger gently moved the curls, tucking them behind one ear. "When did you last do this? Make love to someone?"
She swallowed hard. His assertions earlier that she was too scared to be involved with anyone—especially him—had hit a little close to home. But she wasn't going to lie. She couldn't.
"Last summer. With you."
"And before that?"
He'd asked her the same question in their Vegas hotel room, moments before he'd joined his body with hers, surrounded by bubbles in that oversize tub. When she'd told him it had been over a year, he'd slowed, allowing her body to get used to him. He'd been so deliberate and gentle, she'd sworn she was going to explode from the need to have him deep inside her.
"You know the answer. You asked me in—"
"Vegas." He finished the sentence with her, his eyes bright. "You remember that?"
She nodded, tightening her hold to the post. "I remember."
His mouth came crashing down again and it took all her strength not to let go. Her body arched, pushing her fabric-covered breasts against his chest. Then she felt his fingers making quick work of the buttons. He parted the top and broke free from her mouth, his gaze on hers as he covered, then cupped her breasts with his hands. She jumped at his touch.
"Cold hands?"
Racy nodded. Then his thumbs rasped over her nipples, and she was powerless to keep her eyes open. A low mew escaped, despite biting down on her bottom lip. Wet heat from his mouth engulfed her as he pulled first one nipple, then the other, between his lips.
He knelt before her, his mouth and hands concentrating on her breasts, stomach and hips. His lips slid over her belly button, his tongue playing with the tiny martini-glass-shaped charm that hung there.
"This is so sexy." His voice rumbled against her skin. Her stomach muscles clenched, causing the drawstring waistband to slip even farther down her hips. "When'd you get it?"
"Ah, the weekend after Vegas."
He paused, his fingers tightening on her hips. "Why?"
Racy's breath hitched. "Huh?"
"Why did yo
u get it?"
"I've wanted one for a long time."
He pulled back. She knew he was looking up at her. A dip of her head told her she was right when her gaze collided with his.
"Why?" he repeated.
"I needed a distraction," she finally admitted, knowing his pit-bull determination wasn't going to let this go. "From the memories."
His mouth curved into a smile that could've been labeled mocking if it weren't for the naked joy in his eyes. His mouth was back on her skin and then moved lower. She felt her pants slip silently to the floor. Her overhead grip on the bedpost tightened even more, her fingers sliding down behind her head as Gage slowly dragged her lacy white thong down her hips, the fabric scraping every inch of her skin on its way to her toes.
His hands wrapped around her thighs, coaxing and caressing. Combined with the gentle pressure of his mouth, it left her powerless as her hips rocked in silent invitation. Deep in her center coiled a hunger that could only be sated with his touch, his kiss. His mouth moved closer, his beard leaving a trail of fiery heat on her skin until he finally reached her core.
Pleasure ripped though her as he loved her with his tongue, his mouth, his hands. She cried out when her release came too soon. Unable to keep her hands in place any longer, they fell to his shoulders, fingertips biting into his skin as he drove her higher and higher in an arching spiral of heated euphoria. She shivered as ripples of sexual energy echoed through her veins.
Gage finally rose and pulled her into the welcoming heat of his arms. "Still cold, baby?"
She shook her head, unable to find her voice as another shudder racked her body.
"Why don't you get under the covers, anyway?"
Racy had no idea where she got the strength, but she crawled across the plush quilts to snuggle beneath, the cool sheets welcome against her heated skin. Numerous pillows cradled her head and despite the heaviness of her eyelids, she opened them when she didn't feel the weight of Gage following her.
* * *
Damn, look at her.
A wanton angel, naked except for the satisfied smile on her face—a smile he'd put there—surrounded by mounds of blankets. Her red curls spread over the pillows and spilled down her bare shoulders. She'd pulled the top blanket to her breasts, the lace edging not quite covering them.
Gage stood beside the bed, his hands already at the fastener on his pants, ready to strip down and join her. He was hard, painfully so, every muscle tense and throbbing and wanting nothing more than to finish what they'd started.
And then do it again. And again.
But he couldn't move. The sight of her crawling over the bedcovers on her hands and knees had poleaxed him to the spot. When she'd finally crawled beneath the covers, he'd almost felt as if he was being shut out, not welcomed in the bed, in her body.
He wanted her. He wanted her with a ferociousness he'd never felt before in his life, but he had to know that she wanted him the same way. She had to invite him.
So he waited.
"Gage?"
Every muscle in his body tightened even more. "Yeah?"
She propped herself on one arm and lifted the blankets, revealing the lush nakedness of breasts and curves and legs. "Aren't you going to join me?"
At her words, he toed off his shoes as his fingers fumbled with the zipper. He left his pants hanging loose at his waist as he bent and yanked off his socks. He rose again, slid his wallet from his back pocket, then grabbed at the waistband of both his pants and boxers when he heard a feminine snicker.
"What is that—are those cartoon boxers on your…boxers?"
Gage looked away from the grin on Racy's face to glance at the caricatures of muscle-bound fighters, complete with red boxing gloves, patterned on his underwear and he grinned. "Yeah, they were a gift from the bride."
She stretched across the bed, leaning in to get a closer look. "From Maggie?"
He let his pants fall to his ankles and stepped out of them. He dropped his wallet to the bedside table and braced his hands on his hips, knowing the cotton fabric of the boxers did little to hide his arousal.
"They're cute." She inched forward on her elbows and he felt her breath on his skin. "Did all the guys in the wedding party get a pair?"
"Yeah, I think so." His words came out a harsh whisper as she traced the waistline of the boxers with one finger.
"All the same design?"
His muscles jumped when her lips pressed against his stomach. He watched her mouth slowly follow the waistband, from the center to one hip, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses.
"Gage?"
"W-what?" He struggled to remember what the hell she had asked him. Boxers…wedding party…same design. "No I think Chase's had the Texas state flag and Bryce's had dollar bills—"
The air vanished from his lungs, robbing him of his breath and the ability to speak as she hooked a couple of fingers into the waistband and tugged downward, her mouth following.
The control he'd fought for since entering this room, hell, since Vegas, slowly gave way as she stroked and skimmed the hard length of him. It crumbled when she slid her thumb over the tip and threatened to shatter completely when the moist heat of her mouth covered him.
Gage fisted his hands in her hair, silently commanding her to stop. She ignored him and pushed him closer to the edge. With a feral growl, he stepped away from her, ridding himself of the boxers before following Racy back beneath the covers.
She tried to pull him on top of her, but he braced himself to sweep one hand down the length of her. "Racy, are you—"
She pressed her hand to his mouth, cutting off his words. "Don't ask if I'm sure. If I didn't want to be here, if I didn't want you here with me, like this, I would've made that one hundred percent clear…long before now."
One long leg curved over his hip as her hands did the same around his neck. She arched her back, her breasts brushing against his chest, her breath hot in his ear. "I'm not drunk. I'm not looking for revenge. What's happening between us, here and now, is all that matters. I'm not expecting anything else."
Was he expecting something? Was this supposed to be a beginning for them? A way to show her how he felt, how good they could be together?
"Love me, Gage. Just love me."
He did. He did love her. With a sudden clarity of vision, a sureness of purpose, he knew this woman—his wife—was the only woman he'd ever wanted.
He pulled away long enough to get a condom from his wallet and sheath himself. Then he was back in her arms. He rolled her beneath him and covered her with his body, filling her with his power, his need, his want…for her.
"Racy, I do lov—"
Her mouth all but consumed his in a searing, demanding kiss. Her hips rose to meet him, her legs wrapped around him, urging him deeper and harder. He complied and she took all he gave, clinging to him, matching his demanding thrusts, again and again, until she had given all of herself, and he matched her cry of surrender with his own.
For a long time he lay there, until he was able to breathe again. Then he separated their bodies and stretched out next to her. She shifted into his arms with a deep sigh, her head resting over his heart, her breathing slow and steady. She was asleep. He grinned, humbled at how natural it felt to hold her like this, and tightened his arms around her.
She wasn't ready to hear his words of love. Her kiss cutting off his declaration told him that much, but he'd get the chance to say it again. He was sure of it.
Feeling his eyelids grow heavy, he forced himself to get out of bed and clean up. He then went to turn off the only light, a small lamp on the desk. His eyes strayed to the paperwork lying there. Two sets that looked alike except for the top lines of text in bold black print.
Buyout Proposal, and Petition for Divorce.
He looked over his shoulder to the bed. His breath caught as he found Racy turned on her side, the blankets pulled aside to reveal the smooth length of her back and that sexy backside, still sound asleep.
He co
ncentrated on the paperwork again. He'd been shocked to find out she wanted to own The Blue Creek. Max had often complained the Wyoming winters were getting harder to deal with, but Gage'd never heard him mention retiring or selling the bar. He had no idea what kind of money was involved, but from what he'd already read, Racy was planning to use her entire savings, including her Vegas winnings, as a down payment.
Was it enough? Would she be able to qualify for a loan to cover the rest? Max thought of Racy as a daughter. Maybe he'd give her a break. Still, it took money to start over again, especially if Max planned to head someplace warmer.
The Sheriff's Secret Wife Page 16