by Peggy Jaeger
Before he’d asked her to spend the night in his bed, she’d been wondering how she could broach the subject and ask him if she could stay without sounding needy or clingy. She’d been telling him the truth when she said she never stayed over at a lover’s house. Gemma didn’t feel the need to cuddle and share a bed for the night. Sex was one thing; tenderness and affection were something entirely else. She didn’t do intimacy, didn’t share emotions.
Until last night.
Last night, she’d wanted to fall asleep with Ky’s arms around her; wanted to lie next to him all night, luxuriating in his warmth, listening to him breathe; she wanted to wake up with him.
He’d stripped her of all the protective maneuvers to safeguard her heart and pride.
Never let a guy get close enough to see your heart, your true self. It was a creed she’d lived by all her adult life, in every dealing with men she’d had.
Gemma dated. Often. Dinner, drinks, a few Broadway shows and a nightclub now and then. She didn’t sleep with most of the men she dated, though. The guy usually got the message he wasn’t wanted in that way and the offers to go out stopped. But they would remain cordial to one another, and no hearts were ever fractured or broken. It was a system she’d cultivated, and had some measure of success with, since none of her dates ever had a bad word to say about her.
But she hadn’t dated Ky, and yet, somehow, he’d gotten her to break all her rules and personal commandments.
How? How had he done it?
Gemma shook her head. She wouldn’t think about that now, afraid the answers might not be the ones she really wanted to hear.
In the past, Gemma had been gone before breakfast had ever been a thought. Not possible now since they were basically imprisoned in the house. She had to face Ky, face what they’d done. Face what they’d shared.
For some strange reason she couldn’t name, she wasn’t as unnerved by the prospect as she would have thought she’d be.
Her one hope was he’d felt the same connection she had. Until she knew, though, she’d play it cool. It wouldn’t do to have him know how much she’d treasured the night.
She opened the fresh bread Rick had brought with him, took the eggs and milk from the refrigerator, and snooped around in the cabinets until she found some nutmeg, cinnamon sugar, and apple pie spice.
The pan had just come to temperature, the butter sizzling, when Ky came out of his bedroom adjusting the collar on his shirt.
She’d told herself she wouldn’t react to him until she was able to gauge his mood. The moment their gazes connected across the counter, she knew that was impossible. The fingers holding the spatula gripped the utensil harder. The quickened sound of her breathing filled the small cooking space, making it sound as if she stood in an echo chamber.
He looked, well…like a man who’d spent the night having sex: content, relaxed, sated. And as drop-dead gorgeous as usual. His sun-kissed hair was damp from the shower and finger-combed in place, his skin faintly flushed. His eyes were alert and when they zeroed in on her, she watched them rake across her face, a silent question in them.
“Good morning,” she said, hating the tiny tremble in her voice.
Ky nodded. “Morning.”
“I-I’m making French toast. For breakfast. We never got to eat yours the other day, and I, well, I’ve been craving it ever since then and now that we have the ingredients, I figured, why not? We haven’t exactly been eating too well for the past few days.”
Jesus, Gemma, shut up!
She clamped her mouth closed, mortified by her nerves. Turning back to the stove, she tossed in a few slices of the bread she’d already soaked. She hadn’t even known Ky’d moved until she felt the air surrounding her shift and heat. When his lips brushed her ear—not a kiss, but almost—she startled.
His hand settled on her lower back. In that quiet, low and pelvis clenching voice he said, “First a sleepover and now breakfast. I’m feeling pretty grateful on both counts. And French toast, to boot.”
When he chuckled and squeezed her waist she almost dropped the spatula.
She turned to him, an acerbic retort on her lips and simply forgot what she wanted to say when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. The spatula hit the counter, freeing both her hands, which flew immediately around his neck and clutched.
He deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue and then pillaging. When her knees started to shake he simply pushed her back until she hit the counter, never once breaking the kiss. His leg insinuated itself between her thighs, rubbing along her mound and her body shook all the way to her unshod toes.
Her worried thoughts of a few moments ago dissipated with each insistent lap and nip of his mouth. How could she have ever thought she could play it cool with him after last night? One look, one kiss, one swipe of his body against hers and she was lost.
Good Lord, the man had a mouth created for kissing.
His lips left hers to slide along her cheek, behind her ear, along her neck.
“Gemma?” He sucked her ear lobe between his teeth and gently bit down.
Her entire body hummed with arousal. “Hmmmm?”
“You smell like cinnamon and sugar.” He licked her chin and crossed to her other side. “And you taste like…heaven.”
Gemma tilted her head back and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the feel of his mouth caressing her body. She was starting to rethink her whole morning after avoidance. If this was what waited for her after a sleepover, well, why would she ever evade it?
“Baby, something’s burning.” Ky’s mouth found the sweet spot at her collar and licked.
“Hmmm. It’s me.”
Oh, Christ! Did she really say that out loud?
A warm, deep chuckle blew into her ear as he squeezed her butt between his hands. “In addition to you,” he said.
Gemma’s eyes flew open. “My toast.” She pushed against the solid concrete wall of his chest and turned. The bread she’d placed in the pan was sizzling.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” She grabbed the fallen spatula and turned each blackened piece over, the smoky smell of burning bread filling the air.
“These are toast. Literally.” She threw them into the sink and ran cool water over them.
When he laughed behind her, she turned and glared at him. “You shouldn’t distract a girl like that when she’s cooking.” The smoke detector shrilled on a second later, exploding into the room. Gemma dropped the pan into the sink and yelped. “Oh, great!”
Rick bolted into the kitchen from the door leading out to the garage a heartbeat later. He was sopping wet, sweat cascading down his entire body. A Glock poised in his hand, his gaze bounced from Gemma to Ky and then to the smoke wafting up from the sink.
Without a word, he slid his gun into the back waistband of his sweatpants and disappeared into the pantry. The smoke alarm quieted.
When he came back into the kitchen, his eyes found Gemma. With his hands fisted at his waist, a half twist to his lips, he said, “I am so busting you to Kandy.”
“Traitor,” Gemma mumbled. “It wasn’t my fault.” She slid her gaze to Ky. “I got…sidetracked.”
She felt her face heat when he glanced from her to Ky, his eyebrows lifting, and then his jaw tightening. The fisted hands at his waist dropped to his sides, clenching and unclenching. A vein pulsed at his temple as he took a step forward. The look he threw Ky was part anger, part warning, and all seriously pissed alpha-male.
Knowing how his mind worked, how he considered her more sister than friend, and having seen for herself what he was capable of when mad, Gemma crossed the small expanse of the kitchen and stood between the two men, using her body as a barrier.
Ky hadn’t moved. He’d dropped his hands in his pants pockets as soon as Rick sprinted into the kitchen, and maintained a nonthreatening stance. But Gemma could see the checked tension in his sh
oulders, the way his breathing accelerated, and knew if provoked, he’d fight back.
She faced Rick, placed a restraining hand on his chest. “Don’t,” she said. “Please.”
His heated glare shot to her, swiped across her face, searching. The subtle lines on his forehead deepened. “Cleo?”
“It’s okay. Really,” she told him. “Everything is okay.” Only when she stretched up and kissed his cheek did he relent.
“You smell like a locker room,” she told him, punching him in the abdomen. He didn’t even flinch. “Go have a shower. Go. Breakfast will be ready when you’re done.”
His eyes softened, the lids falling to half-open. “Promise you won’t burn it?”
Gemma dropped her chin and glared at him. “Beggars and being choosey. Ever heard of it?”
He threw his hands up in surrender. “Just asking.”
“Just saying,” she shot back.
He grinned at her. When he shifted to stare at Ky, he dropped it.
Without another word, Rick went up the stairs.
When he was out of earshot, Gemma sighed.
“He’s very protective of you,” Ky said. “And he loves you very much.”
Gemma turned around to face him, embarrassed and unsure, two things she never was. She shrugged and stared down at the floor.
Ky stepped toward her and wrapped his hands around her upper arms. “Look at me.”
She did. The expression on his face was guarded, his eyes narrowed, his brow pulled low as he peered at her. On a deep breath, he said, “I can’t believe I’m asking you this, but,” he squeezed her arms, “I need to know. Are you having any regrets about last night?”
Gemma bit the corner of her bottom lip as she stared up at him. “Are you?”
She held her breath until he answered. Which was immediately and accompanied by his head shaking left to right.
“None.” He smiled at her then. “Abso-friggin-lutely none.”
His grin was infectious. She could live off it if she had to. “Ditto,” she told him.
“Good to know.” His lips softened as he drew her closer. When they covered her mouth in a sweet, gentle reminder of what they’d shared a tiny crack split along Gemma’s protected heart, allowing the notion of possibilities and future happiness to weave its way in.
Why she wasn’t scared out of her shoes at the thought was a mystery, but a mystery best left to figure out at another time.
“Now let me restart breakfast.” She pulled away from him. “And no distractions this time,” she added, shaking her finger at him.
His response was to grab her finger, then her whole hand and place a kiss to her palm.
That little crack widened.
* * *
Rick came back down, showered and dressed just as Gemma pulled the last piece of toast from the griddle pan.
“Well, it smells better in here than it did a few minutes ago,” he said, pouring himself a mug of coffee from the pot Ky had made.
Gemma glared at him.
“Oh, hey, I forgot.” He shot from the room and out the front door after disarming the security alarm. Ky filled his plate with toast.
“Here,” Gemma said. She sprinkled a dash of cinnamon and then powdered sugar over them, a dusty white cloud gusting up from the plate. “Secret ingredients.”
Ky grabbed her free hand and brought it to his mouth. He was rewarded when her eyes turned dewy and her lips lifted at the corners. He swore she sighed, but the sound was drowned out by Rick’s intentional throat clearing.
“Excuse me.” The sarcasm in his tone sounded terse and rude.
Gemma laughed. “Why? What did you do?” she asked, and then, on a squeal of delight ran to him and grabbed something from his arms.
“I left that in the car last night by mistake,” he said.
When she threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly and loudly on the mouth, saying, “Thank you, Jesus!” Ky’s stomach clenched.
Jealous. Damn it, he was jealous.
He had no reason to be because he knew the kiss was innocent and bestowed in appreciation, but never the less, a quick, hot and resounding shot of possession bulleted through his gut, shooting his blood pressure up into the red zone.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew the look Gemma had given him when he’d come in to the kitchen a while ago had been at best wary, at worst, remorseful for what they’d shared during the night. The thought she might be uncertain about how he felt in the light of day never entered his head until she’d bitten down on her lips and asked, “Are you?”
In that moment he added another descriptor to his growing dictionary of terms to associate with her: insecure. Not a word he’d ever think belonged to her.
Gemma Laine was a woman with impenetrable walls and enough trust issues to fill a psychiatrist’s couch for years. Her own brother-in-law had affirmed her problems with trust at the hospital. Until she’d shown up in his bedroom, he’d thought she didn’t like him and only tolerated him because she was forced to. The kiss aside, and it had been one hell of an unexpected response from her, Ky truly felt she’d rather be anywhere but in his company.
By some amazing twist of good fortune, though, she’d admitted to actually wanting him. He didn’t think it was simply because she was feeling a sexual itch and he was available, either. Gemma didn’t seem like the type of woman who’d easily give herself to a man to satisfy a basic need.
It had taken every ounce of self-respect, will, and internal fortitude he could muster to not toss her on the bed after she’d licked him—licked him!—and have at her without any further preamble. No, he’d called on all the gods he could name to slow him down, try to calm the raging lust driving through him, and bring her as much release and pleasure as he could.
It had been so worth it, too.
But he shouldn’t feel jealousy. In truth, she wasn’t his to be jealous over, but he had a hard time convincing himself of that.
“I’m surprised you’ve been able to go this many days without any,” Rick said as both men watched her fill a glass with ice from the freezer and then pour the diet soda she loved all the way to the top. When it threatened to spill over, Gemma grabbed up the glass and slurped at the overflowing liquid.
“Very classy, Cleo.” Rick smirked.
“Bite me.” She gave him a sweet smile that didn’t touch her eyes and then chugged a good, long draught.
Rick laughed out loud and shook his head. “Not an option.”
She drank almost the entire thing in one, long pull. When she dropped the glass from her lips, the look on her face reminded him of how she’d looked after coming apart in his hands the night before. Those self-same hands started to tremble with need when she threw back her head, closed her eyes and smacked at her lips.
“You look like you’ve just had the best sex of your life,” Rick said, giving a voice to Ky’s exact thoughts.
Gemma’s eyes sprang open, her expression wide and startled. Ky was dumbfounded when her cheeks turned candy-apple red, her pupils tuning to pinpoints.
Her eyes darted to him, her cheeks growing more heated.
Rick’s eyebrows slinked upward as he turned from Gemma to him, a question pounding in his glare.
Ky met his query, measure for measure, not backing down, not offering anything verbal. With as much nonchalance as he could call up, he lifted his coffee mug, sipped, and then placed the cup back down on the table, all the while holding the other man’s stare.
It was Rick who broke first. He lifted his plate to Gemma and asked, “Can I have some toast? Please?”
Gemma pulled out of her paralysis and dropped three pieces onto the plate.
Unlike with Ky, though, she didn’t offer the sugar. He should feel small for being so pleased by that gesture, but just couldn’t summon up any self-recrimination.
&n
bsp; Gemma refilled her glass. She stole a glance at Ky, then said, “I’m going upstairs to work for a little while.”
“Stay off the Internet,” Rick said a heartbeat before Ky’s mouth formed the words. He was glad Rick beat him to it, because Gemma threw him a contemptuous glare and, with a hand on her hip, pursed her lips together and said to Rick, “I’m not a moron, you know,” before running up the stairs.
“I didn’t say you were,” Rick called after her just as the bedroom door slammed.
Alone now, the men regarded one another like young lions slinking around a new pride.
“So.” Rick shoved a forkful of toast into his mouth. “What’s going on with you and Gemma?”
Chapter Fourteen
“Dope.” Gemma crossed her arms and pouted. She wasn’t sure whether she was angry at Rick for saying what he had, or herself for reacting so viscerally to it. Her shocked response had all but verified what Rick suspected she and Ky had done. It wasn’t that she was shy or ashamed of it. It was more she wanted to keep it private, between them, just for them.
She’d likened Rick to an annoying older brother and he certainly acted like one. She could imagine him right now, downstairs, giving Ky the evil, stink, interrogation eye and embarrassing him.
Ky was a big boy, though. He could take care of himself, so she wasn’t worried.
The best sex of your life.
Yeah, that about summed it up in a nutshell.
Gemma opened the laptop and then connected a cable from it to her camera. After uploading all the new pictures she’d snapped in the past few days, she climbed up on the bed and got to work, knowing it was the one thing that would take her mind off the sexy FBI agent downstairs.
Scrolling through the hundreds of pictures she’d taken in the woods, and surreptitiously of Ky while he’d been hitting the punching bag, her attention was drawn to one particular photo of him she’d taken in slow motion. It was close-up shot of his torso and face as he hit the bag. She’d adjusted the camera settings perfectly to capture the beads of sweat that burst from his brow and face as he moved. She zoomed in on his hand, manipulated the filter and turned off the color to have the photo switch to black and white. The simple contrast of Ky’s fingers wrapped in stark white gauze against the black background and bag was striking. Gemma sat back against the headboard and smiled. This was the kind of artsy picture she usually avoided taking, knowing her talent for capturing faces was where her true talent lay.
