She flinched, releasing him. “Gage, please.”
He lapped up the drink dripping off her breast. “Mmm. I like the sound of that.”
She flopped back on the bed.
He teased each nipple to hardness with his mouth, then slid his tongue down her opposite side. He was careful to avoid the one spot he sensed she needed the most attention. She thrashed and moaned. His erection swelled and throbbed.
When he was certain he’d die if he didn’t get inside her, he shucked his bathing suit and set aside the bottle, poising himself between her thighs. He rubbed the entrance to her body with his hardness, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her eyes popping open, her gaze connecting with his.
Swamped with hunger and tenderness, he thrust forward. Her liquid heat surrounded him, shooting his need higher. He had to grit his teeth to keep from climaxing.
Then he moved. Had to. His body had taken control now, and there was no holding back. He slid in, then out, fighting to stay in control, draw out the intense pleasure. He tried to increase the rhythm gradually, but he couldn’t keep control. Climax was chasing him, urging him.
Their gazes met, Roxanne clutching his arms as she reached her peak, her body pumping his erection. The pleasure on her face bringing about his own. He exploded. Satisfaction rolled through his senses, sweat rolled down his back. He collapsed on top of her, his breath heaving.
Weakly, Roxanne patted his shoulder. “There better be more champagne in that bottle, baby, ’cause it’s my turn now.”
HER BODY STILL echoing from her last orgasm, Roxanne drew slow circles across Gage’s damp, sticky chest. “We need a shower.”
He moaned. “I need vitamins first.”
She lightly slapped his shoulder. “I mean a real shower.” Experimentally, she moved her legs. Tight muscles and tacky calves. “I don’t remember the champagne being this sticky before.”
“We wound up in the hot tub before.”
Her face heated as she recalled the decadent abandon of that whole weekend. “Right.”
He stroked her hair, and her eyes drooped with the languid, comforting movement. What she was doing in this bed, indulging in passion with a man she’d just broken up with that morning, she had no idea. Probably making a big mistake. But she was too damn satisfied to worry about repercussions at the moment.
Practicality would hit her soon enough. Then the fantasy world would vanish.
Fighting off a sense of dread, she twined her leg around his. She breathed in the scent of his cologne, absorbed the warmth of his skin. She could definitely lounge here for the next hour or so. The next fifty years or so.
“Can you see the clock?” he asked.
Hello, reality. She glanced at the bedside clock. “It’s six-thirty.”
“How long will it take you to get ready?”
She sighed, seeing the prospects for her nap disappear. “To get all that hair and makeup back in place? At least an hour.”
He patted her bare butt. “Playtime’s over.” He rolled off the bed, then padded across the room and retrieved a pair of jeans from the dresser drawer. Slipping them on, he said, “I’ll call room service. You get in the shower.”
Flopped on her stomach, she still managed to keep her gaze glued to his very fine backside. “Since when do you wear jeans?”
Bare-chested, he turned, bracing his hands against the door frame. “I’ve always—” He stopped, his gaze shifting away. “Jeans didn’t really fit for a financial adviser, I guess.”
A hollow ache invaded her chest. She was beginning to hate reality. “Who are you, Gage?”
His gaze connected with hers. There was no mistaking the hurt and regret reflected in his dark brown eyes. “Hell if I know.” Then he turned and strode into the other room.
Grumbling, Roxanne crawled off the bed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Men were a real pain in the ass, she decided as she trudged into the bathroom. She showered with a loofah sponge, applied a fresh coat of tanning cream, then stood nude in front of the mirror to apply her makeup while the lotion dried.
Men. With their hard bodies, great butts, secrets and egos and dark sides. Heartache and frustration. That’s all they were good for. And she had to go and pick the most hair-pulling one of all.
A cop. A cop, for heaven’s sake. Dedicated to truth, justice and the American way. Even if he had to sacrifice himself in the process.
Actually, Rox, that’s kind of noble.
“Ha!” she said, pointing a finger at her reflection. “That’s just what he wants me to think, so I can admire him and appreciate him. Love him and—”
Accept him.
“Forget it.”
But she refused to look herself in the eye as she said the words. Quite a feat when one was applying eyeliner.
Once the makeup was complete, she retrieved her wig from the sofa, noting Gage sat—still bare-chested—in front of his computer, and noting with disgust that after a couple of shakes, the wig’s curls fell perfectly into place. Why couldn’t her real hair look like that?
Back in the bathroom, she pinned her hair back and arranged the wig over her head. Then she wriggled into her sexy gold top-and-pants set. As she slid her foot into the jeweled, gold-trimmed stilettos, she could no longer deny that her attempt at orneriness was to ward off the excitement fluttering in her belly. In a weird way she didn’t want to examine too closely, she was looking forward to tonight.
Prowling under the bright lights of the casinos, skulking around a dark warehouse disguised as a florist—there was no way she was letting Gage handle that alone—hanging proudly on Gage’s arm throughout the whole process. It all seemed mysterious and exciting. Would examining tax-law changes ever be the same?
“Maybe,” she hedged to her reflection, and the stranger who stared back at her.
Two days ago, Roxanne had been perfectly happy balancing revenue against expenses. Marina, however, wore clothes suited to Playboy bunnies and gave blow jobs in dressing rooms. Two sides of the same woman? Dark and light?
“Dinner’s here, baby,” Gage called from the other room.
Roxanne fluffed her hair and pursed her red-tinted lips. She really shouldn’t have deep thoughts on an empty stomach.
But as she strode from the bathroom, the ideas wouldn’t go away. Was she a hypocrite? Putting down Gage’s job while she herself enjoyed participating in the work? The idea certainly made her uncomfortable.
Gage was next to the table, lifting a silver dome from a plate of pasta when she walked into the other room. “Good, you’re—” Staring at her, he froze. “Ready,” he finished softly.
She forced herself to put her hand on her hip and spin, wishing she didn’t feel so ridiculously pleased that he couldn’t take his eyes off her. “I look like I should be cavorting with Hugh Hefner at one of his pajama parties.”
He extended his hand, which she took, then he assisted her into a chair at the table. “Hef should be so lucky.” From behind her, he brushed aside her hair and placed a kiss on the side of her neck. “You’re delicious.”
She shivered and forced herself to stare at her plate. Shrimp and crawfish pasta. “Yum. This looks delicious.”
“I know which one I’d rather have,” he said as he walked around the table and took his place opposite her.
Still bare-chested.
Roxanne sighed, but dug into her pasta. The seafood was tossed with a creamy garlic sauce that was heavenly. The meal was so good she nearly, nearly managed to set aside her lust for the hunk of man across from her to enjoy it.
“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” she asked as she leaned back and sipped her water.
“Your plan is to stick close to me, smile a lot and don’t talk too much.”
Her jaw dropped. “Gage, I want to help.”
He glanced up. “You are.”
“No, I mean really help. Like I did with figuring out how Stephano is laundering the money.”
“Like we thi
nk he is. We could be way off base.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “But you don’t think so.”
“No.” Sighing, he tossed his napkin on the table. “Rox, honey, this is dangerous. Leave the crime solving to the professionals.”
“Rox, honey?” she repeated very quietly as he winced. She rose, leaning across the table and glaring at him. “Now, see here, honey. I had the same facts you did, probably even fewer, and came to the same conclusion you did, and nearly as quickly. You have ten years’ experience doing this. I have—” she purposely glanced at her watch “—twenty-three hours. What does that tell you about how much help I can be?”
His eyes lit with desire. “Have I told you how sexy you are when you’re angry?”
“A couple of times. Now, what should I do tonight?”
He stood, pacing away from the table. “We stick to the poker tables. I play…you watch. Pay special attention to the people who go to the window to buy chips and cash them in. Does anybody go often? Does it take the cashier a long time to hand over the cash—in other words, a long time to count back the winnings? If so, what kind of people are at the window during that transaction? The counterfeit money probably won’t be passed to a member of the public. Like a guy from Des Moines in sandals and a yellow polo. It will be somebody shadier. Maybe a gambler. Someone desperate, who won’t look too closely at the cash before passing it on.”
“How does Stephano know who he’s really passing money to? Look at us.”
“He doesn’t. But remember a pro can’t completely hide who he is. It’s in the eyes, the shrewdness, the calculated movements and careful words.”
The sickness of betrayal rolled through her, realizing how perfectly he’d just described himself, and what a fool she’d been not to see it sooner. “You hid yourself well enough.”
He stopped pacing, glancing at her, regret passing through his eyes.
“I’m sorry. Damn.” How many times would she make him pay for his lies? “I didn’t mean to bring that up. It just popped out. I—”
“It’s okay.” Pulling her into his arms, he rubbed her back. “I understand your anger.”
She wanted to tell him she wasn’t angry, not anymore, but since she wasn’t entirely sure herself, she kept silent and just relished their embrace.
He leaned back and kissed her forehead. “I have something for you.”
Ridiculously, her heart jolted. “A present for me?” They’d been together all day. When had he done that? she wondered as he strode into the bedroom.
He returned a few moments later and held out a small, rectangular black box.
Jewelry?
She stopped, her hands shaking as she realized what he’d done. The gesture was romantic and impulsive and sweet, and she wanted nothing to do with it. She didn’t want a memento of their ruined future. She didn’t even want to open the box. But, with tears stinging her eyes, she lifted the lid.
The diamond and emerald necklace she’d almost tried on earlier lay against a pillow of black velvet. The one that matched her engagement ring.
She wished she could pretend joy, but a veil of sadness fell over her as she gazed at the sparkling gems. She’d never again wear her ring, and reminding her of that reality cost her more emotionally than she was willing to give.
She forced her gaze to his. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t accept—”
He yanked the necklace from the case, fastening the clasp around her neck. “You can and you will.” He straightened the chain, then spun her, his movements jerky. “Your disguise requires something gaudy.”
It’s not gaudy, she wanted to scream. It’s…beautiful.
Instead, she silently looked into his cold, dark eyes and just felt miserable.
9
GAGE AVOIDED Roxanne’s eyes and glared at the glittering stones resting against her throat.
She doesn’t want your gifts.
She doesn’t want you.
“I’m getting in the shower,” he snapped, then stormed into the bedroom.
Nothing had changed. She’d share her body but not her life. To think he’d actually fantasized about sliding her engagement ring back on her finger. What a joke. He wasn’t going to get her back. No matter how many times he brought her to the peak of passion. No matter how many compliments he gave her.
He stood under the showerhead, letting the water beat the back of his neck.
Maybe he belonged with the scum and the lawless. At least they were consistent. He didn’t have any confusion about how to deal with them. They didn’t make him consider giving up a lifetime of hard-won respect and a career that fulfilled him as nothing else ever had. They didn’t make his heart ache and turn his insides to mush. They didn’t make him long for places where he didn’t belong. Home. Family. Peace.
Hell, she was just a woman. He could practically hear his colleagues’ laughter ringing in his ears. Gage Dabon acting like an idiot over a woman. It was inconceivable. There were many more out there and plenty less complicated. He didn’t need her. He didn’t—
Damn. His throat tight, he slammed his fist against the tiled wall.
He was in love with her. All the way, head-over-heels, can’t-imagine-his-life-without-her love.
And he was really pissed off about it.
THERE WAS NO POSSIBLE WAY she still loved him.
Roxanne sat in the raucous casino next to Gage, pretending to watch the poker game, while her mind spun in a complete panic. He’d lied to her—continually, daily. His job was the very definition of uncertainty and danger. He was moody and difficult and controlling.
She ordered her heart to stop dreaming. Immediately.
Ever since he’d draped that necklace around her, he’d barely spoken. Knowing their uncomfortable stalemate was for the best, she hadn’t tried to pull him from his chilling anger.
In fact, she was starting to get pretty ticked off herself. She’d let him distract her with his body. She’d succumbed to memories and passion. But she wasn’t forgetting her role in his life was extremely temporary. She wanted to go back to her tidy house, her stable business, her organized files and put all this intrigue and adventure behind her.
And by damn that’s exactly what she was going to do.
SETTING HIS burning cigarette in an ashtray, Gage glanced at the cards in his hand—a king-high straight. Great. He’d make a fortune while he lost the only thing that really mattered.
He nearly smiled at the irony.
Put it aside, agent. Bad guys are lurking, remember?
As he tossed a few more chips on the pile, he glanced around the room, noting the various tables of poker players, the roulette wheels, craps tables and endless lights and bells of the slots. This was the second riverboat casino they’d visited, and he’d seen nothing. None of Stephano’s goons. No cashiers with shifty eyes or odd behavior. Tourists and local young people were thick as molasses. And he hadn’t spotted a single professional cardsharp.
The only moment he couldn’t set aside occurred an hour ago when a young couple from Kansas had won a big slot payoff. A smooth pit boss had escorted them to the cashier and personally supervised the payout. The boss was young—late twenties, early thirties—blond, slickly handsome and well dressed, but something about his charming smile had set Gage’s senses on alert. Like the guy was trying too hard.
Or maybe I’m just trying too hard.
Gage’s straight won the pot, earning him a few cheers and a hearty pat on the back from the Stetson-wearing cowboy next to him. He dropped a pile of chips into Roxanne’s palm. “Why don’t you go cash these in, baby.”
She set down her glass of champagne and forced a smile he knew she didn’t feel. “Sure thing, honey.”
How could giving the woman an expensive necklace piss her off so much? he wondered as he watched her walk toward the cashier. Of course, it wasn’t the necklace so much as the meaning behind the jewelry and the man who’d given it to her, and wow, her butt was spectacular in those tigh
t lacy pants.
As he forced his attention back to the game, the same smooth pit boss Gage had noticed earlier fell into step beside Roxanne. Gage tensed, but he resisted the urge to interfere. She was barely twenty feet away, and the escort was no doubt casino policy—to protect their clients from pickpockets and keep management aware of high and frequent payouts. But as the dealer tossed out his new hand, Gage couldn’t make his fingers relax.
The guy leaned close to Roxanne as she said something, then laughed. A flash of light winked.
What the hell…?
Gage laid down his initial bet, but he studied the boss’s profile. There was definitely something familiar. And if the guy moved another millimeter closer to Roxanne, he was going to lose a lot of his familiar parts.
“Hey, slick, you with us?” the cowboy next to him asked.
Gage pulled his attention back to the game, noting with dismay he’d bet heavily and didn’t have crap. Shrugging, he tossed a couple more chips into the pile—maybe nobody else had anything—and continued to watch Roxanne and the boss approach one of the payout windows.
He could only see the cashier—a young, attractive woman with medium-brown hair—from the waist up, but he could see her smile and snap to attention at the appearance of the pit boss. The boss gestured to Roxanne’s chips, which she slid through the opening under the glass window. The cashier stacked the chips quickly, then disappeared, returning moments later with a handful of cash. During all this, the pit boss leaned casually against the wall, smiling and talking with Roxanne.
Flirting with her, in his expert opinion.
Gage kept his jaw clenched and his temper on hold as the cash was counted and slipped into an envelope, which Roxanne folded and dropped in her purse. Then the boss escorted her back to the table where Gage sat.
“If there’s anything further I can do, miss, just let me know,” he said, barely glancing at Gage as he walked away.
As Roxanne slid onto her stool, Gage laid his hand over hers. “Missed you, babe.” And since there were some advantages to being in charge and in public, he kissed her cheek, inhaling her perfume and absorbing the silkiness of her skin. “Let’s go after this hand.”
Private Lies Page 12
