The Hotshot

by Lori Wilde

  Perspiration slicked their bodies. The musky scent of their lovemaking filled the air. Their kisses were furious, hard, wonderful. In all his thirty-five years, Gage had never experienced the like.

  He wanted to push himself deeper inside her until they merged forever. No longer two separate people, but one.

  Harder, faster. Their passion for each other escalated, pushing them over the edge into uncharted territory.

  Yearning, burning, they couldn’t get enough.

  He’d never known lovemaking could be like this. Never realized just how complex his Janet was. She’d been holding herself in reserve for so long, keeping her emotions at bay. Was it any wonder that when the woman finally let loose, she let go in a big way?

  And he’d been the one to release her passion. His heart swelled with pride.

  Incredible.

  He felt as if he’d received a treasure more precious than French truffles.

  She was his every fantasy come to life. This was what he had been missing, yet secretly longing for. An equal, a partner, a woman whose sexual appetites matched his own.

  14

  They went through one condom, two, and three and all the rooms in the houseboat. If the rain outside had been sprinkles instead of a deluge, he knew they would have made love on the outside deck, too. As it was, they finally ended up in the bedroom two hours later, exhausted and spent.

  Gage pulled her snugly against him, her bottom pressed into his hips. He wrapped one muscular arm around her waist and curled his body around her like a protective shell.

  No man had ever cherished her, revered her, treasured her this way, Janet realized. Sated, she lay there listening to the soft sounds of his breathing and reveling in their closeness.

  Just before she drifted off to sleep, she came to one stunning conclusion.

  Never, had she ever, been so happy.

  For two days it rained, and for those days and nights they made love. It was romantic—a sweet seduction in the bathtub, complete with bubbles and candles and expensive champagne. At other times, like the first night, it was fierce—or scientific. It was playful. A romp in a tent set up on the living room floor. First, they role-played island girl and sailor. Then later, head cheerleader and quarterback lost in the wilderness. Later still it was the old boss and secretary trope.

  They showered together, sponging each other’s bodies. They rifled through Dr. Jackson’s extensive CD collection and ending up dancing to everything from Sinatra to Tommy Dorsey to the Rolling Stones to Flo Rida.

  They played strip poker and strip Go Fish and strip Old Maid. Giggling like teenagers, they hand-fed each other. Strawberries and cream. Oysters and olives. Chocolate and honey. Whatever sexy things they could find in the refrigerator.

  Janet simply could not get enough of him. They made love, ate, slept, and made love some more. Gage painted her toenails, and then they made love. Gage gave her a massage, and then they made love. Gage brushed her hair, and then they made love.

  And she let him.

  “I want to pamper you, Janet,” he murmured. “You’ve been deprived too long and you deserve it.”

  At first, it was difficult, letting herself relax and feel comfortable with Gage tending to her every whim. It was hard for her to fathom a man who wanted to meet her needs, but as his fingers rubbed her skin, as he industriously applied Luminescent Red to her toenails, as he gently slid the brush over her scalp, she slowly gave way to the splendid indulgence of being spoiled.

  Thirty years of repressed sexuality erupted from her like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Hot, spectacular, blisteringly bright. Nothing in her experience had ever compared to this weekend. It was like her birthday, Christmas, and a trip to Disney World all rolled into one. It was even better than the day she aced the MCAT.

  She was having so much fun!

  And the entire time, rational voice did not once rear her ugly head to spoil the party.

  In fact, Janet was worrying. What had happened to her conscience? Where was that stern, practical voice that had followed her throughout her life, constantly telling her why hard work was good and fun was bad? Had impish voice bound and gagged rational voice and left her for dead in the basement of Janet’s id?

  But she wasn’t worried enough to excavate rational voice. She was enjoying the respite.

  She awoke on Sunday morning to bright sunlight spilling through the window of the houseboat and the glorious smell of Gage on her skin. She stretched in total happiness, then turned her head and spied the clock.

  No, why, it was Sunday afternoon! She hadn’t slept past noon since she’d worked the night shift as an intern. She almost scrambled from the bed, but Gage reached out and grabbed her hand.

  “Stay, linger,” he said. “No hurry.”

  “Bathroom.”

  “Oh, okay, but then come right back.”

  “You got it.” Giggling helplessly, foolishly, Janet dashed to the bathroom and glimpsed herself in the mirror.

  Who was that woman?

  Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, her hair sexily mussed. She grinned. She looked like a woman in love.

  Love! Love?

  Her heart did this crazy, erratic little dance at the notion.

  Janet’s in love, impish voice sang to the tune of Rickie Lee Jones’ ‘Chuck E’s in Love.’

  No wrong. She was not in love.

  “Jan-et,” Gage coaxed in a singsong.

  At the sound of him calling her name, goose bumps sprang up her arms. She hurried from the bathroom to find him lying in bed, striking a provocative GQ-type pose with the covers thrown back.

  Her blood heated.

  He crooked a finger at her. “Come here, my sweet.”

  She went.

  He was hard and ready. He reached for her. “My darling,” he said, affecting a Latin accent. “It seems years have passed since we were together.”

  Then they were making love again.

  Afterward, Janet lay in the curve of his arm, shaken by the depth of her emotions.

  Okay, so they’d had stupendous sex—well, actually, it had been way more than stupendous, but the word for it didn’t exist, not even in an unabridged dictionary—that meant nothing had changed between them. They weren’t really engaged, nor were they going to be. They had simply shared a wonderful weekend together. Best to leave it at that.

  Right?

  But why, why, why? impish voice whined. I wanna wake up every day and find him in my bed.

  You should have thought about the consequences before you so freely debased yourself, rational voice sniped, roaring back to life in full bitch-on-wheels mode.

  Funny, Janet thought, how rational voice sounded an awful lot like her father. She’d never noticed that before.

  It’s more than sex and you know it. You’re in love with him, admit it, impish voice begged.

  She swallowed hard. Could she really be in love?

  She turned her head and saw that Gage had been studying her intently.

  Oh gosh. He was so handsome.

  And hot, impish voice added. Don’t forget he’s hotter than all the Hollywood hunks rolled into one.

  He traced a finger down the bridge of her nose. “You’re doing some heavy-duty thinking. Wanna talk about it?”

  He already knew her so well! It was exciting and flattering and scary.

  She shook her head. They’d had a great time, but it was over. Finished. Kaput. Their lost weekend had ended. The actual world of work and responsibilities waited.

  Janet felt uneasy. The spell Gage had woven over her unraveled when she thought of facing civilization again. People and their expectations. Her father wanted a famous son-in-law. Her mother wanted grandbabies. CeeCee and Lacy wanted a triple wedding ceremony. Dr. Jackson wanted the paparazzi to go away.

  But what did she want?

  Janet looked over at Gage lying beside her, propped endearingly up on one elbow.

  Her heart tripped.

  She wanted him.
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  And not just sexually. She wanted to laugh with him and cry with him. She wanted to have adventures with him and love him within an inch of her life.

  He winked at her, his eyes shining with a sweet, teasing light as he softly brushed his fingertips over her belly button. Involuntarily, she shivered.

  Ohmigod, it was true. She loved him.

  Her eyes widened at the realization. But she couldn’t love him. She mustn’t be falling in love. Not now. Not with her colleague. She was just starting her career and it meant everything to her. She didn’t have time for this. Didn’t have room in her life for him.

  Fear had her turning away from him, rolling out of bed, searching for her clothes.

  “Hey,” he whispered, “where you going?”

  “It’s Sunday afternoon,” she croaked.

  “So?”

  “We’ve got to be at work in the morning. I’ve got laundry to wash, and it’s going to take us a couple of hours to get back to Houston and…”

  “Slow down, you’re talking ninety to nothing.” He spoke soothingly, calmly, as if something monumental hadn’t changed between them.

  His placidity drove her crazy. Couldn’t he see what was happening? Didn’t he know how awful this was? They’d sworn they wouldn’t hurt each other, but no matter how you sliced it, it involved pain.

  Gage reached out to knead her shoulders, and she groaned inwardly at his touch. How easy it would be to collapse back into bed with him and lose control all over again.

  Lack of control had landed her in this mess.

  Ah, but his fingers...

  “You’re upset,” he said perceptively. Too damn perceptively if you asked her. “Talk to me.”

  “Upset? Who me? I’m fine. Fine,” she repeated. She pulled away from those maddening hands that sent fire rampaging through her. “Have you seen my underwear?”

  “Janet don’t run away from this. From us.”

  “Running away? Who’s running away?” she denied with every ounce of energy she possessed. “I’ve just got things to do. Places to be. Can’t spend my complete life lounging around in bed with you.”

  She found her panties halfway across the room—she hadn’t worn them since Thursday night—and struggled to wriggle into them. Belatedly, she realized she’d slipped her legs through the wrong opening. Damn it. She took a deep breath, stripped off the thong, and tried again, totally aware that Gage was watching her every clumsy move.

  “What happened?” he demanded, getting out of bed and coming to stand in front of her. At some point he’d slipped on his shorts and a T-shirt.

  Thank heavens she didn’t have the added distraction of his bare bod.

  “One minute we’re enjoying ourselves, getting along famously, and the next minute you’re running around looking for an exit like your hair’s on fire.”

  What happened? Oh, you simply turned my world inside out, upside down, and shook it with the force of a major earthquake, that’s all.

  “Nothing happened.” She didn’t look at him, just shrugged into her bra.

  He grabbed her chin in his palm and forced her face up to meet his. His dark eyes troubled.

  “What?” he demanded.

  Something sharp and irrevocable broke loose in her chest, like a glacier calving. Her heart beat faster, her breathing grew shallow, and her knees buckled. If Gage hadn’t slipped an arm around her waist, she would have slunk to the floor.

  “Are you all right?” he asked huskily, nuzzling her neck. He hadn’t yet shaved, and his stubble scratched her skin. “You look pale.”

  Damn him for being concerned about her. She twisted from his grasp, took three steps backward, and bumped into the wall. She knew what he wanted, but she wasn’t ready for this intimacy, this closeness, this loss of herself in the circle of a couple. And she wasn’t sure she could become the woman she saw reflected in Gage’s eyes.

  “I’m scared, okay? Chicken as a Rhode Island Red. Brwk, brwk, brwk,” she clucked, tucking her hands into her armpits and flapping her arms like wings in a lame poultry imitation. She joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

  It didn’t help.

  Gage looked almost grim. “Scared of what?”

  She shrugged. “Let’s not make a federal case out of it.”

  “Talk to me, dammit.”

  She’d never seen him lose his cool. Or act so forcefully. It was thrilling and disconcerting. She really didn’t know him at all.

  He towered over her, his mouth inches from hers. She looked up at him and gulped. She disliked relying on him. Disliked revealing too much of herself. She had been independent for so long, and completely in charge of her well-planned life.

  But here he was, shooting those plans all to hell. She hated the fact that with Gage, her emotions flew out of control.

  Terrified, she grasped at straws, saying the one thing she knew would stop him in his tracks.

  “I’m scared that you’re trying too hard to take care of me. Expecting my every need, catering to my desires. I won’t have it, Gage. I’m too independent for this, for you. The last thing I want is to be some man’s pet project.”

  The last thing I want is to be some man’s pet project.

  Hadn’t Pauline uttered similar words when she’d left him? Hadn’t he learned one damn thing from that relationship?

  I’m too independent for you, he mouthed in imitation of Janet and fiercely shook his head.

  Okay. Fine. Terrific. If that’s the way she wanted it, then he was out of here. He was through with trying to please women. They just drove a man nuts, anyway.

  He should never have tried to protect her from her mother’s matchmaking or her father’s disdain. It had been her problem, not his.

  Chump.

  So what if they’d just shared the best lovemaking of his life—and he meant lovemaking and not simply sex? She didn’t want him.

  Nimrod.

  So what if just being near her made his blood heat and his pulse race? Big deal. It sounded like the friggin’ flu.

  Goober.

  Gage jammed his feet in his sneakers, then grabbed his duffel from where he’d slung it in the corner on the night they’d arrived. He snatched a pair of jeans from the floor and stuffed them in the duffel. He hazarded a glance in her direction.

  Janet had her suitcase open on the bed. She pitched her hairs products and makeup bag inside. She was breathing hard, her nostrils flaring.

  Great. Now she was having a hissy fit.

  He could go her one better. He stalked to the bathroom, retrieved his shaving kit, and slammed it into the duffel with an exaggerated flourish.

  Janet scooped her clothes from the dresser drawer and flung them in the suitcase. Her face flushed, and her chest heaved. She met his gaze and glared.

  But her trembling chin gave her away.

  Wait a minute. Janet didn’t lose control of her emotions. Not unless she really cared about something.

  That thought stopped him cold.

  “This isn’t about me at all, is it?” he accused, resting his hands on his hips.

  “Yes, it is.” She dropped her gaze. “You feel as if you have to take care of everyone. Well, I don’t need taking care of.”

  “No, you’re just afraid to let yourself love me and you’re clinging to any excuse to dump me.” When he heard her sharp intake of breath, he knew he’d hit a nerve.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she declared.

  “Yeah, that’s right. You fooled me for a minute there, homing in on my weaknesses, but this isn’t about me taking care of you; this is about you not getting the love you needed from your father. You’re scared to death that you inherited his inability to show love.”

  “I’m not,” she whimpered and sank onto the edge of the bed. But in her denial, he heard the truth.

  Suddenly, he saw it all so clearly. “That’s why you don’t believe in true love; that’s why you’re worried about having children. You don’t think you can love.”

  It was
as if he’d cracked open her chest and seen what was inside her heart. Janet gulped. There wasn’t enough air in the room. She felt light-headed and confused and... empty.

  Biting down on her bottom lip to keep the tears at bay, she got up to finish packing. She jerked her jacket from where she’d slung it over the bedpost. Something fell from the lapel and hit the floor with a soft plunk.

  Gracie’s Saint Jude pin.

  Gage bent down to pick it up. When he stood, their gazes locked.

  “Here’s the deal, sweetheart,” he said, dropping the pin into her outstretched palm. “Until you acknowledge your fears about love and deal with them, you’ll stay a lost cause.”

  15

  The drive back to Houston was horrible. Neither of them spoke the entire time. They both stared listlessly at the gray clouds hunkering on the horizon.

  They arrived home around eight o’clock that night to discover Peter’s getaway vacation had been a success, at least in terms of paparazzi. The media had disappeared from their front stoop, off to vex someone more happening. According to the radio, a high-profile Hollywood couple had just announced their plans to divorce. Breakups, apparently, were more newsworthy than engagements.

  Gage helped her upstairs with her luggage. She thanked him at the door. Without a word, he turned and headed for the elevator.

  Janet looked down at the Saint Jude pin she’d clutched in her hand all the way from Lake Travis, and her gut wrenched.

  Lost cause.

  Her heart dragged on the carpet as she shut the door and locked herself inside the empty condo.

  Alone.

  She fingered the pin.

  Lost cause.

  No hope for her.

  None at all.

  Too late for love.

  Her bottom lip trembled, and she sank to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest. “But I don’t want to be a lost cause,” she whispered.

  The cold, hard facts hit her like a physical blow. She was helplessly, hopelessly in love with Dr. Gage Gregory. No if, ands, or buts about it.

  She wanted to run after him like a forlorn puppy chasing his owner’s car. She wanted to go upstairs, knock on his door, then fling herself into his arms when he answered. She wanted him to smile that crooked, come-hither grin and lightly tickle her ribs to make her laugh. She wanted to taste him and touch him and take him to bed and make babies with him.