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 sea
t, 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.
* * *
GAGE 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.
Not that she had a chance to really examine the situation. Not with his hands tearing at her shirt. He pulled the wet material over her head. It squelched when it dropped to the floor. She couldn’t stop the grimace and brief urge to rush over and clean up the mess that it was undoubtedly making of her floor.
But he distracted her by pulling his own shirt off with one quick motion. This time she barely heard the liquid splat.
Hot muscle against cool skin. There was nothing else but him pressed against her. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t want anything but him.
His feverish lips latched onto her throat. “Tell me to stop,” he groaned roughly. “But say it now because in a few minutes I won’t be able to let you go.”
Like he was playing fair. “Why don’t you stop kissing me and say that again.”
He laughed against her, the sound vibrating through her. Her skin felt paper-thin, not strong enough to hold him out, or her in.
“Haven’t you heard? All’s fair in war.”
Love and war. But she wasn’t about to correct him. Not now.
And still, he took a single step back. His hands dropped from her body to ball into fists at his side. His biceps bulged, long lines of bluish veins popping out in provoking relief. His pecs and abs hardened, straining against the same need that coursed through her own body.
“Tell me to leave, but do it now.”
Delicious desperation filled his voice. Never in her life had she been this overwhelmed by a man.
Or this desired.
How had she ever found the strength to tell him no? That she couldn’t care about him?
Holding her hands out, she motioned for him to come back to her. It was all the answer he needed.
The catch of her bra snapped and fell away. His hands dropped to the fly of her jeans, but there they hit a snag. Desperation—his and hers—fought against rain-soaked denim. Her jeans clung to her skin, reluctant to release the hold they had on her thighs.
Gage had her pants bunched into an unyielding ball halfway down the curve of her rear. With a growl, he picked her up and plopped her down onto the counter. The cold granite might have been a shock to her system if she hadn’t already bee
n chilled from the rain.
With the change of leverage, he wrapped both hands into the waistband of her jeans and yanked the suckers away. They, too, landed with a squelching plop.
“Good place for them,” he said, pointing accusingly at the jeans, as if they might become ambulatory and try to prevent him from having her again.
She moved to jump down off the counter, but his heavy hold on her thighs stopped her. His hands were so big. Strong. Capable. He could do anything with those hands, anything he wanted. Spread wide, they could have wrapped all the way around her leg.
His fingers, agile, calloused and marred by a myriad of tiny scars, held on tight. The bandages on his thumbs made her chest tighten and ache. She stared at them, mesmerized and momentarily overwhelmed by everything—him, her, them.
“Don’t,” he growled, low and threatening.
She jerked her gaze up to his. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t think about it. Don’t let them win. Don’t ruin this.”
Her throat tightened, but she nodded. How could she not? It was the only thing that she could do for him. She hadn’t been there. She couldn’t protect him. Couldn’t prevent the suffering. So she’d give him this instead, even if it hurt her just a little to do it.
Reaching for him, she spread her thighs wide and pulled him into the waiting cradle. Even as his hands moved tantalizingly up the inside of her thighs she struggled against a need to hold on to him.
A need to feel him and know that he was there. Safe.
To hide the reaction—from him and herself—Hope pulled his mouth to hers and let the desire she’d been struggling against fill her. It was so much easier to deal with than the rest.
His tongue stroked against hers, tantalizingly insistent. An arm swept her hips forward, balancing her precariously on the edge and bringing her aching core tighter against him. Wet denim abraded her warm thighs.
Her hips rolled against him. The reaction was involuntary, instinct and need. She ached to feel him, all of him, deep inside her.
The Risk-Taker Page 9
