Gage dropped down beside her, his eyes locked onto her face. No one but Gage.
“Didn’t that hurt your thumb?” she croaked out, trying to fill the space between them with something.
“Yes.”
That was it. No explanation. No excuse. Just a calm, immediate acceptance of the pain. For a game.
“Then why are you bowling?”
“Because I can.” The rough pad of a single finger ran softly down the length of her cheekbone. “Because you’re here.”
Hope jumped up, nearly knocking poor Max out of his chair. To cover her reaction, she grabbed for a ball and walked to the line.
She had no idea what she was doing. Maybe if she hadn’t been flustered, what little she remembered from her infrequent childhood visits to the bowling alley might have resurfaced, but the minute Gage touched her her brain had checked out.
Mimicking Gage’s movements, she settled the ball in front of her, took several steps and sent the heavy weight careening down the lane. Twenty feet down the ball rolled drunkenly into the gutter, nowhere close to hitting a single pin.
With a sigh of dissatisfaction, Hope spun around, not wanting to watch the ball finish its pathetic roll. But as she reached the drop-off back into the pit Gage was there waiting. He blocked the path and wouldn’t let her down.
“You’ve got another turn.”
“What if I don’t want it?”
Gage stood below her, just enough that their eyes were perfectly level. His gaze bored into hers, demanding something from her that she didn’t want to give. “Since when are you a quitter? As long as I’ve known you, when you want something nothing can stand in your way. Including me.”
That was completely different. He was comparing her entire life plan to a silly game. “This game hardly matters, Gage.”
“Maybe not, but you’re still letting it beat you.”
With a grumble of exasperation, she grabbed for the ball as it popped back into the return. “Happy?” Spinning around, she cradled it in her arms and prepared to chuck it down the lane as fast as possible, but she didn’t make it.
He plucked it out of her grasp, leaving her hands frustratingly empty. Did the blasted man want her to bowl or not?
“First—” he set the ball back into the return “—that ball is too heavy for you.”
“It’s the same one you used.”
“Precisely.”
“Are you calling me weak?”
“No, I’m calling you a woman.” His eyes raked her from head to toe, backing up the statement and sending a prickle of awareness seesawing through her. “Your body is built differently and you can’t throw as much weight as I can. Fact, not judgment.”
Her first urge was to say
watch me.
Logic kept her from spouting off and saying something she’d regret. He was right, even if she didn’t want him to be.
“All right. Which one should I use?” she asked, waving her hand across the group of waiting balls.
He spun all of them, quickly rejecting four before he finally settled on the fifth. Grabbing the green ball with marbled blue veins, he dropped it into her waiting arms. She had to admit it was a heck of a lot lighter.
Grasping her shoulders, he spun her around and marched her back to the dotted line on the floor. He wrapped his arms around her, the solid length of him pressed tight against her back. Her skin tingled where they touched. He kept talking to her, as if she could actually pay attention to anything he was saying with her brain short-circuiting.
His large hands cradled her own, positioning her grip on the ball.
“We’re going to take three steps forward. Thrust the ball out, let it swing back and on the third step, when it moves even with the lane, let it go.”
“You make it sound easy.” And possibly dirty.
“It is.”
His knees bent, nudging the back of her thighs and sending her forward in the first step of the dance. Suddenly, the ball was whooshing past her hip. “Bend your knee,” he ordered straight into her ear. Her body did exactly as he said, dropping down into a crouch as she released the ball.
It fell onto the surface of the lane with a heavy clunk, but instead of swerving immediately to the side, it stayed in the center, heading straight for the pins at the end.
It was her turn to let out a surprised whoop when it actually connected and several pins rattled onto their sides.
She spun around to grin at Gage. He stared at her, a strange expression on his face. Slowly, her smile faded and her chest tightened.
8
H
E
WANTED
HER
.
So what was new? He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted Hope Rawlings. She was strong, determined, beautiful, caring. What man wouldn’t want her? When everyone else in his life had thought of him as a screwup, Hope had always been there telling him he was worth more.
But this was different.
He was different.
No longer a green boy with nothing to offer her but the chip lodged firmly on his shoulder. The problem was he didn’t think that would matter. If she hadn’t wanted him back then, when they’d been closer than he’d ever let any woman get, then why would she want him now?
Especially since he was exactly what everyone had always accused him of being. What she’d accused him of being last night—blinded by a reckless need for danger.
Willow walked past them, breaking the spell. “Quit hogging the lane, you two. It’s my turn.”
Galvanized by her friend’s statement, Hope dropped her gaze and slipped past, being careful not to actually touch him.
Yeah, that wasn’t going to work for him.
For the next hour they bowled. And every chance he got he brushed against her. He purposely let his knees fall open so they’d touch hers. Whenever she stood to pick up her ball he let his fingers slide across her hip.
His plan was to set her off-kilter. However, he made a serious tactical error in not factoring his own physical response into the battle plan. By the middle of their second game his entire body buzzed with tension and need.
It was damn difficult to bowl with a perpetual hard-on.
Somewhere along the way Hope stopped looking him directly in the eye. Part of him had to think that was a good sign, that she didn’t trust herself to without doing something she’d regret.
Which is exactly what he wanted to push her to do—although he had every intention of making sure neither of them regretted anything.
Throwing him a mumbled excuse, Hope walked away. He expected her to head for the snack bar or the ladies’ room. When she beelined for the front door the only thought he had was
hell, no.
She was not going to run away and leave him here alone.
Gage shot to his feet. He was halfway across the space before he realized she’d left her purse sitting beneath her seat. She couldn’t be trying to duck out on him.
So what was she doing outside in the rain?
Even beneath the long overhang covering the front of the building, a fine mist filled the air. Beyond that a steady sheet of rain turned the late afternoon into a drab gray wall.
At the far end of the overhang, Hope leaned against the metal building and stared out into the rain.
He knew the moment she noticed him, as she jerked away from the wall and stood straight.
“I needed some air. It’s stuffy in there.”
The flush across her skin suggested she was telling the truth. He had to think the eighty odd people inside had something to do with it. Because he was feeling the same way—severely claustrophobic. Penned in by everyone else when what he wanted was to be alone with her.
She stared warily up at him. He took a step closer. Her feet shuffled and she moved backward, straight into the steady drip of rain from the lip of the roof above them.
Air whistled through her teeth as she sucked in a gasp. The shoulders of her shirt were soaked even though she was only there for a heartbeat. Crystalline droplets glistened in the crown of her hair. She shook her head, dislodging them. Several hit him square in the chest, leaving perfect circles of moisture.
With an expletive, she reached up and ran her hands through her damp hair, pushing off any remaining water.
She was beautiful and they were alone, cut off from everything and everyone by the walls and rain.
Surging forward, Gage grabbed her and crushed her against him. He devoured her, taking everything that he’d ever wanted from her. She didn’t stop him. That was all the invitation he needed to keep going.
Her back bounced against the wall, the sound of rippling metal crashing right along with the thunder of the storm. Water washed down his back. He wasn’t sure where it came from. Had his momentum pushed them both out in the middle of the downpour? Did it matter?
Her arms wrapped around his neck, boosting her up so that she could get a better angle on their kiss. She practically climbed his body, anchoring her legs around his waist so that she could tower above him. And he was perfectly happy to have her there. Have her anywhere.
He tugged greedily at the hem of her shirt, yanking it from the waistband of her jeans until he could find bare skin. She gasped, breaking their kiss when his fingers grazed the plane of her belly.
Her eyes smoldered at him from beneath lowered lids. Water droplets collected in the hollow of her throat. Dipping down, he licked them away, loving the rain-soaked taste of her skin.
She shuddered and dropped her head backward to give him better access.
“Hope, where are—”
Together, their heads swiveled to look at the half-opened door and Willow standing there, staring at them, her mouth open wide enough that if she’d move two feet forward she could drown.
Her jaw snapped shut. She cleared her throat. “Yeah, it’s your turn, but I’m guessing you’re not coming back to the game.”
“What makes you say that?” Hope asked, her voice soft and steady, as if she didn’t currently have her legs wrapped around Gage’s waist and his hand wedged between them both.
Willow’s eyes widened. He could have sworn that wasn’t physically possible a few seconds ago.
“Well...” She waved a hand at them as if she didn’t need words. She found some, anyway. “You’re a little wet.”
Gage turned to look at Hope. She looked like a drowned cat. A very adorable one, but still...
A loud burst of laughter shot through him. He shook with it. Tears of mirth clouded his vision. He worried about dropping Hope so he tightened his arms around her and scooted them several feet farther beneath the awning.
She stared at him, mutely, her expression a combination of surprise, concern and a tinge of “he’s gone crazy.”
Her dark blond hair hung in heavy chunks over her shoulders. Water dripped down her body from the wet strands. Her clothes were completely soaked and suction-cupped to her body tight enough that anyone looking would be able to tell what cut of panties she preferred.
That did not sit well with him.
“Could you do us a favor and bring Hope’s purse?” he finally asked Willow.
“Uh-huh,” she answered. A few minutes later she rematerialized with it and their shoes tucked under her arm. “I had to do some fancy lip work before they’d give me your shoes, so don’t make me a liar.”
She waited, her arms crossed over her chest, while they both changed. Hope’s socks squelched when she stuffed them into her runners. She grimaced. “These’ll never be the same.”
“I’ll buy you new ones,” he promised.
“No, you won’t.”
Willow disappeared back inside, leaving them to their argument.
“Why not? I’m the one who pushed you out into the rain.”
“Did you see me protesting?” she asked.
No, no, he hadn’t.
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Gage. I don’t need you to do anything, including buying me shoes.”
Something about the way she said that bothered him, but considering he currently had a beautifully outlined view of her entire body, his brain was otherwise occupied and didn’t have anything left over to puzzle out why.
The thought of picking up where they’d been interrupted was tempting, but there was no guarantee it wouldn’t happen again. And the next time he got his hands on her, he wasn’t stopping—for anything or anyone. And while the idea of taking her against the side of the building in broad daylight didn’t bother him in the least, he didn’t think Hope would appreciate being naked for the entire world to see.
Goose bumps popped up on Hope’s arms. Besides, it was too cold to stay out here in wet clothes. She might catch pneumonia and then where would he be?
“Stay here,” he ordered. To make sure she wouldn’t slip away, he grabbed the purse Willow had set against the wall before darting out into the rain.
“Hey!” she yelled after him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Taking you home,” he shouted back.
“I can drive myself,” she muttered beneath her breath. He’d parked the bike close enough that he could hear her.
Opening the saddlebag, he pulled out the spare helmet his dad stored there and replaced it with her purse. Settling onto the seat, he cranked the engine, ignoring the way his rain-soaked jeans strangled his thighs.
Gage pulled straight onto the walk beneath the roof. Hope jumped backward, plastering herself against the metal wall.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Hadn’t he already answered that? “Taking you home,” he said again, a little slower so that maybe she’d get it this time.
“I’m not going anywhere on that thing. Especially in the rain. With you, Mr. Speed Limits Are Merely A Suggestion.”
“You’re already wet, Hope. Do you really want to ruin the interior of your car? The sooner you get on, the sooner you’ll be in dry clothes.”
She wrinkled her nose. He held the helmet out to her.
As she crossed her arms over her chest, all the blood in Gage’s body temporarily relocated to his groin. The glare she gave him was no match for wet clothes and the high, firm breasts pushed against soaked clothing.
“Where’s your helmet?”
“Don’t need one.”
“It’s the law.”
Gage laughed. That was twice in the space of a few minutes. The bubbling, effervescent sensation felt rusty, but really good.
“Do you really think Sheriff Grant is going to cite me for that? I don’t think so. I’m the town hero, Hope. I can do whatever I want.”
“That doesn’t mean you should. Gage, you need to wear a helmet. Don’t make me write one of those stories.”
“What stories.”
“You know, the ones where the soldier lived through harrowing moments of war—like being captured, tortured and rescued—only to be killed at home because the idiot refused to wear a helmet while riding his Harley.”
Something dark curled through his chest. No, he didn’t want to be remembered that way. But there was something...seductive about the idea of going out with a fiery bang. Everyone died. The idea of slipping away quietly in his sleep had never appealed to him. He wanted to die with adrenaline pumping through his veins and a rebel yell echoing through his lungs.
He wanted to greet death with bared teeth and a dare.
He just didn’t want to do it today. Or next week. Or thirty years from now. And certainly not before he’d touched, tasted and explored every inch of Hope Rawlings’s breathtaking body.
Now that was an exhilaration he desperately wanted to experience.
And while he had no problems taking risks with himself, he’d be damned if he’d let Hope. The vision of her broken beneath the wreckage of his dad’s bike left him feeling queasy and desperately uneasy. “I only have one helmet with me right now.”
“Then I’ll drive my car home.”
“Wouldn’t matter. This one’s too small for me.”
He waited. They were at a standoff, neither one of them willing to budge. Slowly, she said, “Promise me you’ll wear a helmet from now on.”
It was easy to say, “All right,” even if he had no intention of actually following through with it. Whatever he needed to say to get her on the back of the bike, he’d do. Because he was afraid if he let her out of his sight somewhere between here and her house, the girl who’d spent their childhood challenging him, telling him no and looking at him crossways when every other girl had panted after him would resurface.
Reluctantly, Hope took the helmet and shoved it down over her head, clipping the tiny straps beneath her chin.
With a sigh, she flung her leg over the side and wrapped her arms around his waist as if he were the only thing between her and certain death.
Which was just fine with him.
When he was sure she was settled Gage shot out into the rain. He whipped his head back, laughing up at the sky, daring the storm to do its worst.
He hadn’t felt this great in...ever.
* * *
G
AGE
PULLED
TO
THE
CURB
in front of her house. The bike purred between her thighs for several seconds before he turned it off. She wished it were that easy to switch off the energy thrumming inside her. Unfortunately, it had nothing to do with the bike and everything to do with the powerful man controlling it.
Swinging her leg off, she pulled the helmet from her head and dropped it onto the seat. Somewhere along the twenty-minute ride the rain had petered out to an annoying drizzle. Fumbling inside the saddlebag, she fished out her purse and darted for the back door.
He followed her, but then she’d expected him to. As much as she might like to pretend the episode at the bowling alley hadn’t happened...it had. And they needed to deal with it.
Bursting inside, she dropped her purse onto the counter and whipped her hands forward to shake off the water droplets covering her arms. Water puddled on the floor. Tigger darted out from the den, took one look at the water and disappeared again.
Hope bent, pulling at the laces of her waterlogged shoes. “I’m going to—” she began from her folded position as she struggled with a reluctant knot, but the rest of her words died in her throat.
Gage wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her into his body. He spun her around and pressed her against the kitchen counter. Off-kilter, she had one shoe off and one shoe on. Three seconds ago all she’d wanted was to get into dry clothes. But considering the sharp heat singeing her, now all she wanted was to get out of her clothes—wet, dry, who cared?
His mouth claimed hers. She’d expected hot and hard, instead she got soft and coaxing. The first she’d been braced for. The second was more devastating because it was so stunning.
Her slippery fingers spread wide across the granite countertop, searching for something solid. His hand swept roughly up her nape, angling her neck and pulling her closer. Her knees buckled. How could that happen? She didn’t want that to happen. Didn’t want him to have the ability to send her to her knees, literally.