GAGE BUTLER'S RECKONING

by Justine Davis

  She looked up at him steadily for a long, silent moment during which he could swear his heartbeat was echoing in the small room. His muscles tensed, he told himself it was in preparation to run, but he feared it was simply to keep from dropping to his knees right beside the bed she sat on.

  "Oh, I hope so," she said softly.

  He did go to his knees then. She didn't have to hope twice.

  * * *

  Chapter 14

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  In some still functioning part of her mind, Laurey recognized the foolishness of it, the foolishness of caring for a man whose job was his life. But she'd also learned well the uncertainty of life itself, remembering how her sister had postponed so many things she wanted to do, thinking she had all the time in the world. But no one had all the time in the world.

  And she knew deep down that if she didn't take advantage of this moment, she would always wonder, through whatever time she did have, what she had missed. Whether it was the belated fulfillment of some childish fantasy, she didn't know. And at this point, she didn't care. She couldn't, not when he was kissing her so deeply, not when he was holding her so tightly. Not when, as close as he was, stretched out on the bed beside her, she wanted him even closer.

  She'd dreamed of this, eight years ago. Well, not exactly this; she hadn't known enough to picture this at a virginal eighteen. She'd known what she'd heard from her girlfriends' gossip since she'd been about fifteen, but most of it had been couched in terms she hadn't really understood until much later, when she'd found out for herself during her single relationship that had become serious. On her side, at least.

  And even if she had understood, she knew deep down it wouldn't have mattered, because nothing could have prepared her for this. Nothing could have prepared her for the onslaught of sensation that Gage unleashed in her with the lightest of kisses, the slightest of touches.

  She found his fumbling with her clothes oddly moving; when he muttered an apology for his clumsiness, because it had been so long for him, she nearly wept. And nearly wept again at the sight of the bruises that marked him, a stark reminder of the fragility of life. Particularly a cop's life.

  When at last they were naked together, and he'd looked at her with a touch of awe and whispered that he'd known eight years ago that she would someday blossom into this lovely woman, she did weep.

  "I knew," he insisted, his voice so soft and husky it sent a shiver down her spine. "I knew someday you'd be this beautiful. I knew you'd grow into your height, and that someday all the guys who only saw how much taller you were than them would kick themselves."

  "I … wasn't taller than you," she said, knowing it was inane, wishing she could think of something to say that would make him feel the way he was making her feel.

  "No. But I couldn't do anything about it."

  Because he'd been married at the time. And he would not betray those vows, no matter what shape the marriage was in. She was sure of that; it just wasn't in his makeup.

  She ran her hands over his shoulders, down the muscled length of his arms. She looked at the soft thickness of his hair, gleaming in the afternoon light. She let her gaze drift down over his bare chest, not daring to let herself look any farther.

  "You," she said softly, "were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen." He went still. "I know," she said ruefully. "I know you've been told that before. Probably often."

  "Maybe," he agreed, and she silently thanked him for not denying what she knew was true. "But not often by someone I … wanted to hear it from."

  Her breath caught; he was looking at her so intently, with such heat in his eyes, that there was no doubting his meaning.

  "Gage," she said, then stopped. There was nothing more to say, really. But something in her voice must have hinted at the emotions behind that utterance of his name, because he moved quickly to gather her into his arms.

  She nearly gasped at the erotic shock of it, her skin against his as he pressed their bodies together. His mouth came down on hers, swallowing the tiny sound she made as his hands slid up and down her back from shoulder blades to waist in a long, slow stroking that made every inch of her tingle. He kissed her deeply, hungrily, with an urgency that matched the stroking of his hands.

  No one had ever kissed her like this, with such need. No one had ever started such an answering fire in her, a fire that made her want to taste him just as thoroughly, to touch him just as much—no, more, much more. She wanted to explore every masculine inch of him, from the thick silk of his hair to the slightly darker gold thatch that surrounded the most masculine inches.

  She'd always wondered what was missing in the kisses she'd known before, or if she just had foolish ideas about what could happen with a kiss. Now she knew what had been missing. It had been this man. This man who had set her heart racing at eighteen, and set it hammering now. Had she known, then, even in her youth and innocence, that he was the one who would do this? Had she somehow sensed it, that he was the one whose touch could send her flying? And had it been that more than anything that had drawn her to him? More than his golden looks, more than the edge of danger, the secret side she had sensed in him, even then?

  She didn't know. And right now she didn't care, because he had slid his hands down to her hips and was pulling her tight against him. She heard him make a low sound, and in a rush she realized that he was fully aroused and pressing against her belly. Instinctively she moved, savoring the feel of that hard, male flesh in a way she'd never done before, had never wanted to before. He made that sound again, deep in his throat, and it sent the blood pulsing through her in hot, heavy beats. She wanted to hear that sound again and again, and more, she wanted something more, something to tell her he was feeling as she was, hot, reckless, and rapidly heading out of control.

  He rolled on top of her, and she nearly cried out herself at the feel of his weight, shocked that it felt so good, so right. Then he wrenched his mouth from hers and gave her exactly what she had needed to hear.

  "Laurey," he said, his voice raspy, "if you want to stop, say so now. Please. Because if you wait much longer, it'll just about kill me."

  She stared up at him. He wasn't giving her an ultimatum, he wasn't saying stopping was now or never. He would stop, anytime she said so. It would just cost him more if she let things go on and then called a halt.

  Of course he would stop, she thought rather dazedly through the haze that had seemed to envelop her the moment she'd felt herself pressed down by his body on hers. Gage would never force this. His life was dedicated to making sure no woman ever had to do this unwillingly or under duress. And in that instant she knew that, while it might not change the fact that he was dedicated to the point of obsession with his work, what that work was did make a difference. To her.

  "I don't want to stop," she whispered.

  He muttered something under his breath that sounded like an oath or a prayer, she couldn't be sure. Then, his voice even more strained, he asked, "Are you … on anything? Pills?"

  The question jolted her; she hadn't even thought about it. That it had been Gage who had asked, that it had been he who had thought to ask, made her feel … she wasn't sure what it made her feel. Tenderness, perhaps.

  Added to frustration, it was an odd mix. Because she wasn't on anything.

  "Laurey?"

  "I … no," she said. "I … there was no reason. I haven't … I mean, it's been a long time for me, too."

  "I … guessed."

  Then he moved, rolling off her and standing up. She shivered at the sudden chill, but it faded as she watched him walk into the bathroom that opened off the master bedroom, watched the long, easy stride, watched the muscles flex beneath golden skin. Even the bruises added to the effect, silent testimony to the strength of a man who kept going through the pain, who didn't let it even slow him down.

  It was an odd sensation, almost dispassionately admiring the naked beauty of him at the same time that she was longing for him to come back to her, to let her bear his w
eight again, to let his skin heat hers to tingling awareness, to touch her, kiss her and, finally, fill that empty place within her that had begun to ache in a way she'd never known before.

  And then he was back, something in his hand as he stopped beside the bed. She stared at him, her eyes wide, her breathing rapid. He was beautiful, golden hair, golden skin, strong body, with that most male part of him full and ready. For her. Just the thought made her feel a strange melting sensation inside that she only vaguely realized was her body responding to the sight of his, readying itself.

  "God," he muttered, "don't look at me like that or I'm going to lose it right here."

  "I can't help it," she said simply.

  He was fiddling with the small foil packet in his hand. When she realized what it was, her gaze shot back to his face. He explained helplessly.

  "Laurey, don't think I … planned on this. Last time we used this house, it was for a couple, and the guys who set up safe houses … they try to think of everything that might be … necessary."

  "Oh."

  She saw his broad chest expand as he drew a deep breath. "Changed your mind?" he asked.

  She wasn't fooled by his light tone; the rigid set of his jaw told her what it would cost him to walk away now. But he would do it, if that was her decision. She knew that with bone-deep certainty she'd had few times in her life. And it was that certainty that told her she would be a fool to turn away from this. Life was too uncertain. She could die tomorrow, never knowing what was possible.

  Her throat was suddenly too tight to speak, so she answered in the only way she could—she held her arms out to him in welcome.

  With a strangled groan Gage came back to her, stroking her body, placing swift, hot kisses over her like sweet rain. She felt the heat of his hands and lips lingering in each spot long after he'd moved, until she thought there wasn't a single bit of her skin he hadn't tasted or touched.

  He cupped her breasts and lifted them, and she sucked in her breath as her nipples contracted as if he'd touched them. And then he did, and that breath came out in a rush. His fingers teased her flesh into taut peaks, and she couldn't help her body's reaction; she arched against his hands helplessly. He groaned, low and guttural, as if her movement had been a caress returned. And then he caught her nipples, one after the other, between his lips and flicked them with his tongue.

  She cried out his name, sharply, almost desperately. He stopped. She felt the coolness of air on flesh hot and wet from his mouth. She shook her head mutely; she hadn't wanted him to stop. She tried to tell him, but she couldn't speak, couldn't seem to find enough breath. But she could move, and she did, slipping one hand behind his head and pressing him to her breast in a silent plea.

  He waited a moment, a moment that seemed like an eon to her. And then he moved again, quickly, capturing her nipple and suckling it long and hard in nearly the same instant. Fire shot through her, swift and fierce, careening around like a wild thing, turning on itself until her body was writhing under the sensation. He shifted to her other nipple and did it again, wringing a cry of his name from her.

  Then he shifted his weight, and she parted her legs for him without hesitation or thought. After sheathing himself to protect her, he slipped between them, and she moved convulsively, rubbing herself against hot, rigid male flesh. Gage said her name, low, deep, heartfelt, and pleasure of a different kind rippled through Laurey as he rubbed himself against her in turn; she found herself savoring every sign that this was more than some blind easing of need, every bit of proof that Gage wanted her, not just someone to break a long stretch of celibacy.

  And then he lifted his head and looked at her, and any thought of that vanished; this was not a man who would seek solace with any handy female. She could see in his eyes, so vividly green in the afternoon sunlight, that he knew exactly who he held, and that this was exactly where he wanted to be.

  Her last doubts vanquished, Laurey slid her hands down his back, loving the feel of skin over fit muscle. She hesitated just above the swell of his buttocks, uncertain. Then she felt him shift, just slightly, lifting himself against her hands in silent invitation. With a sigh she moved downward, cupping that taut flesh, urging him, inviting him in turn.

  As if he'd been waiting only for that, he moved his hips, slowly, easing himself inside her. She gasped at the first blunt probing. He stopped, as if afraid he'd hurt her.

  "No." It came out on a single, harsh breath. She tightened her hands on his hips, urging him forward. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

  With a sound that was half laugh, half groan, he slipped his hands beneath her and curled his fingers back around her shoulders, bracing her. Then he moved, quickly, sheathing himself in her to the hilt. His head lolled back, his eyes closed, his lips parted for a long exhalation that echoed with sheer pleasure. Laurey quivered at the sound of it, even as her body tightened in welcome around his. It felt so right, so completely right, that she nearly wept once more.

  And then he began to move, to thrust into her in long, measured strokes, making her cry out with growing urgency when he drove deep and with loss when he drew back. Soon she was moving with him, lifting her hips to take him even deeper, only accepting his withdrawal for the pleasure of feeling him slide into her all over again.

  She heard him say something, almost pleading. But she lost it in the torrent of sensation that flooded her when he slipped his hand between their bodies and began to caress that tiny knot of nerves that his touch had already awakened to exquisite sensitivity.

  She could barely breathe from the feel of him pushing in and out of her, of his fingers circling ever more rapidly, from the sound of their union, slick, wet, from the sight of him above her, his strong, golden body moving in rhythm with hers, his face drawn taut with urgent pleasure.

  And then breathing didn't matter, because she'd made the amazing discovery that you didn't need to breathe to fly. The swelling, the rising, the bursting, came so swiftly, so powerfully, that she cried out sharply in shock and wonder and astonishment as her body first gathered itself, then launched into flight. Sight, smell, hearing, touch, all seemed to coalesce into one single sense, as if in those seconds they all came together to work as they should, creating an explosion of sensation beyond imagining.

  The only other thing she was aware of was Gage's sudden shuddering, his repeated moaning of her name as his body arched against hers, and the hot, sweet pulse of him inside her.

  * * *

  Gage stirred, aware only that some loud, steady noise had finally penetrated the haze. He wasn't happy about it. He liked this warm, floating feeling. It was a place he'd never been before. He wanted to stay. He wanted nothing more than to rest here, Laurey cuddled in his arms, the tiny echoes of sensation still tickling him like the brush of her hair over his skin.

  The noise continued. Beresford and his lawn mower? No, it was the rookie's day off. But it was afternoon. Wasn't it? Who was due in? And whoever it was, they were supposed to stay mostly outside, watching under the guise of much needed yard work, a benefit the chief had been grinningly aware of.

  Reluctantly Gage lifted his head. And in that moment became aware that Laurey had gone very still, barely breathing.

  "Somebody's here," she whispered.

  "I heard," he said. "Sounds like a damned blender or something. I think … oh, damn." He sat up abruptly.

  "What?" Laurey asked. She sat up beside him, clutching the tangled sheet over her breasts.

  "It's Kit. She said she'd come by Monday. It is Monday, isn't it?"

  "I … think so." Laurey stared at him. "Do you think she…?"

  Kit didn't miss much, but there was always a chance. And there was no point in upsetting Laurey any further. He gave her a wicked look.

  "Honey, you made some noise, but you weren't that loud."

  Color flooded her face in a rush.

  "And," he went on softly, "I loved every little sound you made."

  He saw a tiny tremor go through her, and she
bit her lip. He hoped it was pleasure, because just remembering the tiny moans she'd made as he was burying himself into her welcoming heat was making the blood pool in flesh he would have thought exhausted.

  "You made a few of your own," she said pointedly, and rather breathlessly.

  "Yeah, I did, didn't I?" He gave her a lopsided grin. "There's a first time for everything."

  She looked so startled, then pleased, that he couldn't resist. He leaned forward to kiss her. She went soft, pliant under his mouth, and he groaned as he fought the urge to begin all over again.

  Then, with a rather grim expression, he rolled out of the bed and yanked on his jeans. Zipping them was hard going, and his jaw clenched as he willed his body to accept that it wasn't going to get what it wanted at the moment.

  "I'll try to head her off," he said.

  The blush—and the heat—faded from her smoky eyes. "Are you … will there be trouble? Because of—" she gestured at the bed they'd thoroughly tumbled "—this?"

  He started to deny it, but somehow the words wouldn't come.

  "Not for you," he finally said. "I'm the one who's broken more rules than I can count."

  "Gage," she began, but he held up a hand to stop her.

  "It's all right. I knew what I was doing. Sort of," he finished with a wry smile.

  "Will she … report you or something?"

  He glanced toward the closed door. The sound had stopped. "I don't know."

  "At least … she didn't walk in on us," Laurey said shakily.

  "She wouldn't. She's a class act. That noise was to let us know she was here."

  "Then … maybe she won't do anything?"

  He shrugged. "She's also a sergeant. She has … a duty to enforce policy."

  Laurey pulled the sheet tighter in front of her. It didn't matter; he could see the soft, sweet curves of her breasts as clearly as if they were still bared to his gaze.

  And if he didn't get out of here, he was going to be so aroused all over again that any chance of bluffing his way out of this with Kit was going to vanish. He hated to leave Laurey when he should be holding her, and judging from the uncertainty in her eyes, reassuring her, but he had to head Kit off before she did walk in on them.