by Tawny Weber
Marcus Milano’s son.
Devon Milano’s younger brother.
The last one consulted, the one who least fit the Milano mold.
And—definitely—a man who didn’t need a pretty little blonde poking into who he really was.
Time to change the subject.
“Isn’t the more important question how you’re going to pitch this romantic fluff idea of yours?” he said with just a hint of disdain. As he’d hoped, her eyes flashed and she shifted her shoulders back into combat position.
Good.
The only time he wanted her focused on him was if it included naked skin, hot tongues and the buildup to incredible orgasms.
“You’re very dismissive of something you don’t understand.” She arched one brow, poking a strawberry with her fork and lifting it to her mouth. She didn’t bite it, though. Instead, she slid the juicy fruit over her lower lip. Gage’s eyes narrowed and his body stiffened.
She smiled, her look pure triumph, as if her x-ray eyes saw through the table at his burgeoning boner.
“Don’t you think you’re proving my point?” Gage asked, shifting in his chair. He wasn’t embarrassed at his physical reaction. But he wasn’t sure where she was going with this, either. Hailey had a way of leading things along, all innocent-like, then just when he was sure he’d won, she’d bat those lashes and outmaneuver him.
He had to admire that about her.
“No.” She touched the strawberry with the tip of her tongue, as if testing its taste. Gage’s brain shut down and he suddenly didn’t give a damn whether she won or not. Just as long as she did that same move on a particular part of his body.
“Your point was that it’s just about sex. That the physical act and gratification are all that matters. My point is that the packaging is what makes that act so powerful. The buildup, the anticipation. The emotional journey.”
She paused to let her words sink in, then bit that strawberry right in half. Gage almost groaned out loud as his dick did a happy leap to full attention.
“You know,” she reminded him softly as she licked a tiny piece of strawberry off her lip. “The romance.”
“Visuals,” he countered after clearing his throat. Then, always ready to play to win, he leaned closer. Close enough to get in her space. Close enough that the delicate scent of her perfume wrapped around him. And close enough to see the rapid beat of her pulse against her throat.
“Imagery is powerful. I could describe to you exactly how I want to strip those clothes from your body, what I’d like to do once you’re naked and beneath me, how I want to taste you and where I’ll touch.” He waited, letting those words sink in. And sink they did, as she dropped her fork next to her plate and blinked quickly, looking as if she was trying to fan away that image with her eyelashes. Gage grinned. “But that’s sex. Which is my point.”
As if he’d been waiting around the corner for just the right moment, the waiter came in again with their entrées. Gage vowed to give the guy an extra tip for perfect timing, since Hailey now had to sit quietly, looking shell-shocked and absorbing his words instead of skipping right past them while trying to prove her point.
A point, Gage had to admit as his dinner was slid in front of him, that was pretty solid. If she was basing romance on good food and ambience, she’d have nailed it. He looked closer at the plate, noting all his favorites, from the way the steak was cooked to the type of vegetables.
“So what’d you do? Hire an investigator to scope out what I eat? If Cherry and Rudy were here, would they be having the same?”
“If Cherry and Rudy were here, their meals would fit their tastes,” she said primly, cutting a delicate sliver off her chicken.
Gage glanced at the place settings, trying to see how she’d designated it so the waiter knew who got what. They all looked the same. And he’d chosen his own seat, and hers, so that wasn’t it.
“Clever, but I don’t see what makes the meal choice romantic. Or what it has to do with lingerie,” he added, needing to remember the real purpose of this evening.
“No?” She gave him one of those looks only women could pull off. The kind that made it clear she wondered where he kept his brains but didn’t hold his lack of knowledge against him since he was so damned cute. “Romance is the effort to show you care about someone else’s preferences. It’s putting in a little extra time to make sure they feel appreciated. Special.”
“My grandma does that. Is she romancing me?”
“Does she do it in a private room by candlelight, with your favorite music in the background?”
Well, there was an image. Gage grimaced as it filled his head. Damn. She kept winning those points.
Time to turn the tables.
“So tell me, what’s the point of all this romance stuff you’re so hot on?” He disguised his shift closer to her chair by filling her wineglass. “Isn’t the end result the same?”
“The result?”
“When a guy romances a girl, or vice versa, the hoped-for result is sex, isn’t it? Same as a woman wearing lingerie. She wears it to get—” Gage winced before a very unromantic phrase slipped from his lips and corrected “—attention. The kind that will lead to sex.”
“When you’re hungry, do you prefer filet mignon or a burger from the convenience store?”
Ouch.
“Then I suppose Milano Lingerie’s place in that scenario would be, what? The equivalent to hunting down your own meal in the jungle and roasting it over an open fire?”
Her lips twitched and delight danced in her eyes, but Hailey shook her head.
“Oh, no. Milano’s not that adventurous. Maybe a gourmet-catered, rich-boy frat party,” she mused, tapping her finger to her chin in a way that was both adorable and amusing.
Gage laughed. She was fun. Not just fun in a cute-to-tease-and-see-her-blush kind of way. But clever. Smart and talented. Add that to a hot body and a gorgeous face, and she was trouble.
A smart man took on trouble only when he had time to deal with it. Gage had no time right now. He had a goal, a plan for his life. He didn’t have time to enjoy the kind of trouble Hailey represented.
But he had a point to prove.
With that in mind, he held her gaze with his and let his smile drop. His look became intense, hot. Sexual. He let her see how attracted he was. Clear on his face, he knew, was everything he wanted to do to her, with her and for her.
Hailey’s smile faded. Her eyes widened and her breath quickened. Good. She was getting the message.
“Oh, I don’t know. I think this Milano can be plenty adventurous,” he said quietly as he leaned in closer.
He reached under the heavy cloth covering the table and touched her knee. The soft fabric of her skirt slid temptingly between his fingers and her skin. Her eyes softened, heated. Like green glass melting into passion.
He slipped his hand under her skirt, smoothing his palm up her thigh. Delighting in the silken texture of her stocking. When he reached the top of her thigh he found lace. A band of it, separating the smooth texture of her stockings and the warm silk of her skin.
“You shouldn’t...” Her words trailed off into a soft, breathy sigh as he traced the lacy edge of her stockings, slipping one finger under the smooth satin garter, then skimming it between the stocking and her warm flesh.
She was so soft.
“I think I should.” He pressed the flat of his palm to her thigh, his fingers now wedged between her legs. His eyes locked on hers, silently demanding she give him room.
Her lips parted, wet and glistening, and a tiny furrow creased her brow. But slowly, so slow he wanted to groan, she unclenched her thighs and let them slide apart. Just a little. So the fit was tight.
Good.
He liked tight.
8
&n
bsp; GAGE WAS PRETTY sure he’d just found the gates of heaven. He pressed his hand higher, rubbed his thumb over the fabric covering Hailey’s heated core. It was silk, like her skin.
“What color are your panties?” he asked, not bothering to clear the husky passion from his voice.
Her eyes darted to the doorway, then back to his. She bit her bottom lip. He wanted to soothe the soft pink flesh, but his hand was busy. Instead, he arched an insistent brow.
“Pink,” she whispered. “Pink like my bra. The lace is chocolate.”
“Yum.”
He slipped his fingers beneath the hem of those pink-and-chocolate panties. He ran his index finger along the swollen flesh he found, then gently pinched.
Squirming, she gasped. But she didn’t pull away.
He shifted, so to anyone walking in they simply looked as though they were in conversation. But the move put him at a better angle, so he could use his thumb to caress her clitoris while slipping one finger into her tight, sweet core.
She whimpered.
But didn’t pull away.
“I can’t see a thing,” he murmured, his words husky thanks to the passion clogging his throat. He had to swallow before continuing. “But I can imagine what you look like under the table. Pale flesh, blond curls. I can feel how wet you are. The images are clear in my mind. Vivid. Mouthwatering.”
She opened her mouth, whether to respond or not he didn’t know, because all that she offered was a low, breathy moan.
He moved two fingers in, swirling and plunging in time with his thumb’s rhythm on her clit.
“I can imagine what it looks like as I touch you. My mind is painting a picture of you, naked, beneath me. Of your body straining toward mine, opening wide. Welcoming.”
Her breath was coming in gasps now, even as she bit her lip as if to hold back her cries.
“Now, that’s an image,” he said, forcing the words out as his eyes devoured her face.
She was so damned beautiful. The flush of passion washed over her delicate skin. Her eyes glazed, lids lowered but never moving from his. Her mouth.
Oh, God, her mouth.
He wanted those lips on him.
His fingers plunged deeper. He shifted angles, pressing tight along the front wall of her core.
She tightened around him. And then, one more swirling stab of his fingers, and she went over.
God, that felt good.
A satisfaction that had nothing to do with physical release poured through Gage.
He watched her explode. Her breath came in tiny pants as her body came in tiny tremors.
Unable to resist, he leaned in to take her mouth. To taste her gasps of delight. It was as if he was a part of her orgasm. As if he was deeply embedded in the passion that engulfed her. A part of her.
It was incredible.
Then all hell broke out.
Bursting their peaceful, romantic bubble was a clash of sounds. A braying laugh. A sibilant giggle. And the sound of someone asking directions to Hailey’s private room. And footsteps, clomping and rat-a-tat-tatting across the atrium’s cement floor.
It was like being doused with a vat of ice water while being awoken from a very hot, wet dream by a brass band. A grade-school band, at that; one that hadn’t learned all the notes.
Trying to shake off the discordant horror spinning down his spine, Gage pulled his mouth off Hailey’s.
The sound came closer, in all its irritating glory.
His fingers still buried in her warmth, Gage steeled himself, gritted his teeth, then looked toward the commotion just as Rudy Rudolph swept into the room. Hanging on him like a glittering party favor was a redheaded piece of fluff who, at first glance, bore a striking resemblance to Cherry.
Gage blinked away the haze of passion from his eyes and realized the only thing the woman had in common with the torch singer was their hair color and bust size.
And Rudy’s interest.
“Sorry, sorry I’m late. Candy and I got caught up at a party. You know how that goes. But I’m here now.”
Indeed, he was. Thank God for the man’s noisy entrance and exquisite timing. A minute earlier, and Hailey would have been midorgasm. Three minutes later, and Gage was pretty sure he’d have been sliding into her hot, wet depths.
Still, it was hard to find an attitude of gratitude when his rock-hard dick was pressing painfully against his zipper.
He slid a sideways glance at Hailey. Horror was starting to replace shock on her face. Both of which had quickly chased away that glow of desire he’d enjoyed so much.
It was as much for that, as for the fact that he had to surreptitiously move his hand back to his own lap now, that Gage cursed Rudy.
Not that the other guy cared.
His grin as oblivious as the vacant expression in his date’s eyes, the old man plopped himself into the chair opposite Gage and Hailey and threw both hands wide.
“Well? Show me some romance.”
* * *
HE’D GOT HER off over dinner.
In a restaurant.
With just his fingers. And his words.
Her face was still on fire. Hailey’s breath caught in her chest and she had to close her eyes against the power of that memory. His murmured suggestions echoed in her mind, making her want to squirm.
Oh, yeah, those had been some powerful words.
And then, just as she’d been ready to throw off her clothes and ride him at the dinner table, her potential boss had come in.
And Gage, damn him, had acted as if nothing at all had happened. As if he hadn’t had his fingers inside her as he greeted the other man. As if she hadn’t been dripping wet, hot and horny beneath his hand while Rudy Rudolph introduced his bimbo du jour. Then, while Hailey was still reeling—she didn’t even know if she’d said hello—he’d claimed they were finished with dinner and suggested they leave immediately for his sexy scenario.
And she’d been too busy trying to climb out of the orgasm haze to even protest.
It was enough to make a girl scream.
And not in a good way.
“Here we are,” Gage said, his words just background noise to her whirlwind of thoughts. Throughout the car ride, she’d heard him chatting with Rudy and the redhead, who were in the backseat. But she hadn’t taken in a word. The most she’d been able to do was state that her pitch would take place at another time. Just as well, since she wasn’t sure she’d even get her name right at this point, let alone be able to present her argument for romantic lingerie.
Still lost in thought, she absently took Gage’s hand as he helped her from the passenger seat of his car. He’d insisted on driving her to part two of their evening. She’d tried to disagree, desperately wanting her own car—and some time to herself. But once Rudy and Candy had decided to ride along, she’d figured it was better to just go with the flow.
Now, staring up at the building in front of them while the valet took Gage’s BMW, she desperately wished she’d stood up for her choice and had a car to escape with.
Pussy’s Galore, the neon sign screamed in bright orange.
“Are you sure this is how you wanted to pitch your argument for Milano designs?” she asked as they approached the rough-stone building. The red light flashing over the door spelled out clearly what kind of entertainment the Pussy Cats would be providing.
And it wasn’t anything Hailey wanted to see.
“I’m sure.” Gage stopped, one hand on the brass door pull, and gave her an amused look. “You’re not backing out, are you? Afraid of a little adventure?”
She figured her desire to hiss and scratch could be blamed on the club he was about to drag her into. But her reaction—a nervous knot in her stomach and a feeling of nausea clogged in her throat—was definitely fear.
His date, Hailey noted, was busy checking her manicure and clearly didn’t care.
Logically, Hailey knew she could object to visiting a club called Pussy’s Galore. There was nothing wrong with that. It wasn’t as if she was a prude or uptight in any way. Hell, she’d just had an orgasm with her chicken piccata.
She really didn’t want to go into a place that screamed sex. If a romantic setting with Gage inspired an under-the-table orgasm, who knew what inhibitions she’d toss aside in a sex club.
But she didn’t want to be the one who ruined the evening, either. Nor did she want to be the one going home alone by taxi while the others had fun, with Gage charming Rudy into the contract over naked bodies.
“You’re paying my entry fee, I hope,” she finally said, giving Gage a sassy look. “After all, I paid for dinner.”
“You made this sweet girl pay for the meal?” Rudy interrupted, pulled out of his fake perusal to frown at Gage. “That’s not right.”
“Romance is genderless, Mr. Rudolph,” Hailey said with a shrug that conveyed she didn’t play to the double standard. “And it was my point for the bet, so it’s only fair that I paid. Of course, that means Gage should pay for anything we encounter in here, too.”
She sure hoped the going rate for hookers was a lot more than chicken.
Ten minutes later, her wrist stamped with a go-go boot and her butt perched on a magenta fur-covered chrome stool, Hailey gave Gage an arch look.
“You said it was a house of ill repute when we pulled up.” At least, that was what she thought he’d said. She’d been too busy reveling in the memory of what his fingers had done between her thighs to be sure.
“Prostitution is illegal in San Francisco,” he pointed out with a grin. “This is a Kitty Cat Club. More upscale and diverse than a standard strip club. There are strippers on three stages, but there’s also pole dancing, a dance floor upstairs and, in case you get any ideas, a few rooms to rent by the hour in back.”