Hope stared at her friend, completely floored. This conversation was coming out of left field and she had no idea what to say.
Luckily the door to the kitchen swung open, saving her from having to come up with something. Unluckily, the person standing in the middle of the open doorway was Gage.
How long had he been there and just how much had he heard?
“There you are. I was worried you’d run away.”
“Why would you think that?”
The line of his jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer her. Instead, he crossed the small space, taking up more real estate than any one human had a right to. He crowded into her personal space. Why hadn’t she worn her higher heels? At least then she’d have been able to look him straight in the eye.
Now she had to crane her head backward to peer up at him. It galled her, even that small yielding gesture.
“Everyone is waiting to see us dance together.”
“Why? This isn’t our wedding.”
Gage chuckled deep in his throat. The sound drizzled down her spine like warm honey. “Not sure about your dad, but my mama is already addressing invitations in her head.”
“That’s her problem.”
A sound of agreement rumbled through his chest. “Coward.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He leaned forward until he was looking her straight in the eye, pinning her in place with that intensity again. “Hiding out in the kitchen.”
Hope took a deep breath and said evenly, “I’m talking to my friend.” Turning, she looked for Jenna, who was nowhere to be found. When had she disappeared? Where the heck had she gone?
“Uh-huh.” The sharp edge of disbelief bled all over the sound. “That’s what you’ve been doing back here for almost twenty minutes.”
“I didn’t realize I was being timed,” Hope muttered.
“If you say so,” he said. With a quick shrug of those massive shoulders and a deprecating lift to the corner of his lips, he slipped back out the door.
Oh, no, he did not. Hope’s palm stung where she slapped it against the door.
Gage was twenty feet away when she shot back into the room. Several people turned to stare, but not him. Anger and resolve spurred her to grasp his arm and pull him to a stop.
“I’m no coward, Gage Harper, and never have been.” She went against him, toe-to-toe, rising up so she could get right in his face.
Heat and temptation roiled through his eyes, but that damn smile tugged at his mouth again. His arm snaked around her, a solid weight that bowed her back and pressed her body against his.
Out of nowhere he spun her. A small space opened around them, getting bigger as several couples cleared to the sides of the dance floor. Gage moved her effortlessly to the beat of the dramatic music pumping from the speakers around the room. Later tonight the mood of the party would change and current dance music would play, but for now the DJ was playing dreamy pieces that made her entire body throb with the possibilities.
Gage’s thighs rubbed against hers. His fingers splayed low on her back, molding to her spine. Her cheek brushed against the curve of his shoulder. She could feel the dark heat seeping from him.
Her gaze strayed to the warm column of his throat. It was so close she could have reached out and run her tongue across the strong cord of muscle there. Would his skin be rough with stubble or smooth and just shaven?
What the hell was wrong with her?
He pulled her closer. “Why did you put your name in?” His breath stirred wayward strands of hair, tickling her cheeks and temple.
Awareness crackled across her skin. She tried to pull away from him, to put some space between them so that she could think, but he wouldn’t let her. Like one of those Chinese finger traps, the more she struggled the tighter he held.
To Hope’s relief, the eyes that had been watching them seemed to get bored and move on to more interesting action. “Why not? It’s fun, it’s for charity and I haven’t had time for a date in months.”
“Lexi said you haven’t participated for several years.”
“Did she also tell you that’s because I was dating someone?” Maybe not seriously. Okay, she’d never dated anyone seriously. In college she didn’t have the time. She’d had some scholarship money, but not enough to cover room and board. She’d worked off-campus, carried a full load and been on the school newspaper staff. As it was, graduating had taken her five years instead of four. Who had time for guys?
Then her father had gotten sick and she’d moved home. Taking care of him and keeping the paper running was all she’d had the energy to handle.
“No, she didn’t mention that.”
It was Hope’s turn to let a satisfied smile curl her lips.
Unfortunately, it didn’t stay there long.
Gage dropped his head into the curve of her neck. The warmth of his breath caressed her. Goose bumps cascaded down her shoulder.
The music stopped. So did they. Standing in the middle of the crowded floor, surrounded by people, she didn’t notice a single one of them.
He stared down at her, his golden eyes glowing with blatant desire. She could feel the heat of him radiating through her. His skin, kissed from the desert sun, was a warm, rich brown.
If he’d looked at her like that twelve years ago would she have been able to resist him? Hope didn’t think so. She’d fought her own fledgling, teenage craving for him, scared that if she gave in to it their friendship would be ruined.
He’d asked her out hundreds of times, but only as a joke. Or so she’d thought. And even if her hormones told her it was real, her head had always chastised her for indulging the fantasy. Gage had a new girl every weekend. He hadn’t needed her. He didn’t want her.
Then he’d told her he did, but in the next breath sent fear racing down her spine when he’d confided that he’d enlisted. Even if she’d been brave enough to risk their friendship, she couldn’t risk caring about him only to lose him.
So she’d pushed him away. Severed all ties. And missed having her best friend in her life.
Hope swallowed, her throat so dry she couldn’t have said anything even if her brain could come up with a coherent thought. Her entire body was on overload. Slowly, Gage extricated himself from their embrace and set her away.
Without a word he slipped into the crowd. She watched him go. If she wanted that story, she should stop him. But she didn’t move after him. She couldn’t, not if she hoped to keep her head and her focus. Maybe he was right, after all, and she really was a coward.
On shaky legs, Hope found her way back to the table and sank onto her chair.
“Well, hell, maybe I should have made a play for him.”
Beside her, Tatum frowned into the dregs of the amaretto sour she’d sampled earlier.
“What?” Hope asked, trying to clear the buzz that dancing with Gage had left inside her brain.
Tatum gestured with the glass, a heavy drop of condensation dripping off the bottom and spreading unevenly across the deep red tablecloth. “Gage. You. Steaming up the dance floor. If I’d known he was that combustible I might have broken some personal rules and made a play for him.”
Hope stared at her friend. For about sixty seconds she contemplated offering Gage to her. She had at least six more days of this. How was she supposed to get through it without landing herself in serious trouble?
Gage was right when he said she’d been lying to herself about the past. She had been interested in him. Of course she’d wondered what it would be like if they were more than friends. If he hadn’t been joking all the times he asked her out. What girl wouldn’t have been drawn to Gage’s good looks, commanding presence and that edge of danger?
But the moment he joined the army she’d been out.
Losing her mother had devastated her. She’d been so young and so unequipped to deal with the sudden loss. Her dad had been there for her, but it wasn’t the same. Not even he could fill the void. Gage had been there, as well,
always knowing just what she’d needed to combat the ever present grief.
Which honestly made it all the worse. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t love Gage and lose him. Maybe if he’d been different... But he wasn’t. That streak of recklessness had scared the shit out of her. Gage was unpredictable. Brash and foolhardy. Daring and brave.
Now was no different. He was still the same man who embraced danger as if it were a long lost friend. Her resolve hardened. She had a week to get her story and she wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way—especially not some long dormant physical reaction that she never wanted.
* * *
“MAN, SERIOUSLY, you have to come save me.” Gage stared out the window of his childhood room at the full moon bright in the sky. The drink he’d barely touched was clutched in one fist; the other held his cell against his ear.
“It can’t be that bad,” Eli Weston countered. “You’re a goddamn war hero. What the hell can they be doing to you?”
He sprawled back into the deep pocket of his mama’s wingback chair. He’d probably catch hell for hauling the thing upstairs, but there wasn’t a lick of furniture in the room big enough to fit him comfortably. He didn’t remember being particularly scrawny as a kid, but the wooden chair tucked under the desk creaked ominously every time he tried to sit in it.
“You mean aside from smothering me, hounding me or staring at me with pity?”
“Let me call the sheriff,” Eli drawled sarcastically. “That definitely qualifies as torture.”
“Bite me.”
“Naw.”
This was exactly what Gage had needed, a conversation with someone who wouldn’t tiptoe around him or flinch at accidentally using the word torture in conversation.
He needed a distraction. One that didn’t smell good, feel amazing in his arms and go by the name Hope.
He, Eli and Micah had met in jump school. Even though they’d been assigned to different battalions, they’d remained close. They’d bonded, and nothing, not even Micah’s death or his own screwup, could break that.
“The media is killing me. They’re swarming all over town.”
“You know if you’d just give them the interview they’d leave you alone.”
“I can’t do that.” Guilt—both for what had happened and for not confiding in his friend—had him gulping down the finger of Scotch sloshing in the bottom of his glass. It was the only one he’d allow himself tonight. He’d seen too many guys try to drown the horrors of war with alcohol and it never ended well. He’d be damned if he’d take the easy way out.
“Your choice, man, but then you’re gonna have to suck it up and deal.”
Yeah, he knew Eli was right. He sighed heavily into the phone. That didn’t make it any more of a picnic.
“Other than the reporters and crazy townspeople, everything else okay? You talking to someone about what happened?”
“Nah. I talked with someone at the hospital, but not since I left. I’m good, though.”
“Don’t be a hero—or an idiot. You went through hell. Find someone to talk to.”
Gage gave a grunt that his friend could interpret as agreement if he wanted. But he had no intention of spilling his guts to anyone about what had happened. The people that needed to know had the details.
Gage’s jaw tightened, his molars grinding together to combat the unwelcome images that flowed into his brain.
“Look, I didn’t want to tell you this way, but I also don’t want you to make the same mistake he did. Micah didn’t die accidentally. He killed himself.”
“What?” Gage jackknifed out of his chair. The last dregs of his drink sloshed onto the floor. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“He killed himself. Took his gun and put a bullet in his own brain.”
Gage knew Eli well enough to realize he was using the bluntness to cut through the fog of shock trying to wrap around him. Even as it attempted to take hold, Gage realized the information didn’t surprise him. Not really. Hadn’t he known that something about that night didn’t fit? An accident cleaning his gun? Yeah, right.
So he’d asked for an assignment and against protocol followed a boy into a booby-trapped house, chasing after information. Intel that was just out of his reach. He’d been angry—with Micah, with the army, with the war and the world in general—and pushed harder than he should have, blinded to the signs that something wasn’t right.
“I can’t go through that again, man. So talk to someone. You were captured and tortured. No one can deal with that completely on their own. If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me.”
Gage slowly sank back onto the edge of the chair. The shock was fading. Anger quickly replaced it. How could Micah do that?
“Dammit,” he breathed. The edges of the cut crystal glass bit into his palm as his hand tightened. Without thinking his arm flashed forward. The glass crashed against the wall with a bang and a crunch. Shards rained down, hitting the carpet and disappearing. He wanted those breaking shards to sound as loud as the relentless ache in his chest. “Why would he do that? Why didn’t he say something?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been going over it in my head for weeks trying to figure out if I missed the signs. I can’t bury another friend, Gage. Not that way.”
Guilt bit into him again. That’s almost what Eli had been forced to do. Things could have turned out so much worse....
They were soldiers working in the middle of a war zone. Losing men was something they’d both dealt with and they all realized it was a part of the job. Dying in the line of duty was one thing. But suicide? It just felt pointless.
There were only so many promises he could make, but this was one he felt confident he could keep. “I promise that isn’t going to happen. I’m okay. And if I start worrying that I’m not I’ll find someone.”
“And call me.”
“And call you.”
He and Eli talked for a little while longer. Gage told him about the Cupid charity event, although he didn’t mention Hope. It was nice to hear his friend’s laughter. It eased some of the tension that had been building inside him.
But soon after they hung up the silence of the darkened house pressed in on him again. His gaze was pulled back to the bits of glass that were sparkling at him from the floor. He should clean up the mess, but something wouldn’t let him.
Those broken pieces were a reminder of his friend. A reminder of what he’d done and the role Micah’s death had played in his own reckless decisions and the price other people had paid. Such a senseless waste—on all counts.
He needed to get out of there. It was Saturday night. Surely he could find another underground match.
Leaving the glass—he’d clean it up in the morning—Gage grabbed the keys to the Harley and headed out into the night.
6
HOPE WAS EXHAUSTED. It was almost one in the morning. When had staying up past midnight become more of a chore than a treat? She was only twenty-nine. Wasn’t she supposed to have endless energy?
Tigger, the orange tabby she’d rescued from a shelter in Charleston, met her at the back door. She didn’t even have the energy to walk upstairs. Not yet. Instead, she leaned into the closed door and let her eyes slide shut as Tigger wound between her legs.
The feel of his soft fur was welcoming and reassuring. She’d moved out of her dad’s house because it had been too difficult to stay. Nothing in that place ever changed. Her mom had chosen every stick of furniture and picture on the wall and her dad refused to get rid of any of it. He’d made the place into a shrine to the woman he’d loved and the life they’d lost. Everywhere Hope had looked there’d been a reminder of the mother she’d barely had a chance to know.
Those memories had only seemed sharper after almost losing her dad, too. Staying there felt wrong. It made her edgy, as if she was constantly waiting for more bad news.
But after moving out she’d been surprised to realize she was lonely. Tigger had been a friendly face to greet her
no matter what kind of day she’d had.
Crouching down, she scooped him into her arms. He rubbed his head beneath her chin as she stroked down his soft back. He wasn’t always this affectionate so she took advantage of it while he was cooperative. He must have really missed her.
Proving her right, about sixty seconds after she’d picked him up he started squirming to get down. She loosened her grip and he leaped through the air to land gracefully on the kitchen counter beside her.
With a sigh of relief Hope finally found the energy to flip her heels from her feet. As much as it grated on her ordered soul, she left them in a pile beside the door. She’d deal with them in the morning.
She didn’t even bother to turn on the light, just headed across the open area that flowed from kitchen into living room. The floor plan of the house was perfect, and several times over the past four years she’d contemplated making an offer to buy the property. But she couldn’t make herself do it. The couple she rented from were older and had moved into an assisted-living community. They’d probably have sold it to her if she asked, but she hadn’t been willing to make that commitment. Buying property in Sweetheart...exactly the opposite of what she’d always wanted to do.
But she had to admit the space and quiet were nice. And why was she thinking about this now? Tonight? At one in the morning?
Frowning at her own wayward thoughts, she headed for the stairs. Three bedrooms stretched invitingly into the darkness. One was a guest room that had rarely been used, the other was an office that saw more action than it probably should have. The third was her own oasis and held the promise of a bed she could fall into.
Before she’d even set foot on the first stair she reached behind and grasped the zipper of her dress. Efficient as always, she could multitask exhausted and in the dark. The tab was halfway down her back when a loud bang reverberated through the front of the house.
Tigger let out a protesting yowl and shot from the kitchen in an orange streak.
The Risk-Taker Page 6
