The could haves rolled through her mind in relentless waves, and she was losing her shit.
Gage had wanted to talk. God, the very idea gave her shivers. Talk? No, thank you—forever and ever, amen. But she’d felt him slip into sleep about an hour ago, and she wished with all her might that he were awake right now.
They didn’t have to talk, per se, for him to make her feel better, right? He’d turned her down earlier when she’d asked him to fuck her, and she guessed she understood why, but she could do with a nice, brisk shagging right about now.
Something nastily distracting.
Maybe she could wake him up?
She leaned into him, not realizing she was inhaling his scent as she did so until her lungs were full of him. Gage never failed to smell like well-tended leather, the crisp outdoors from his motorcycle rides, and the mint gum he chewed all the time. It was the scent she’d slowly grown addicted to over the past few weeks.
She rarely initiated kisses between them. Whenever they kissed, and it was often, Gage was the person to swoop down and place his lips over hers or demand she go on her tiptoes and lay one on him. But now, she pressed her lips to his neck. His skin felt so warm against hers—warmer than normal. Her lips pulled downward, still pressed against him. How cold was she?
He sighed in his sleep, but other than that, she got no reaction from him. Not even below his waist, where they were pressed together.
Shit. She was out of luck in the fucking department.
She squeezed her eyes closed. Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep!
It was not going to work.
Her eyes popped open again, and the could haves surged in volume until they nearly overwhelmed her.
She eased away from Gage’s warmth. For a moment, his arms held around her. She drew back farther, and, in his sleep, Gage made a dissatisfied sound deep in his throat, released her, and turned to his other side.
Without his heat and—damn it—comfort, there was no containing the shivers she’d been able to hold at bay through sheer force of will. They were so bad, her cheap bed was shimmying. She had to get up or risk waking Gage and facing more of his insistence that they talk.
She slid to the edge of the bed, braced herself, and planted her feet on the floor. The air in her bedroom was freezing. She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering, and she lurched toward her dresser.
Easing a drawer open, she grabbed a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie. She shoved her quaking limbs into them, unable to get the warm clothes on as quickly as she wished due to her lack of control.
As she pulled her hoodie down as far as it would go and tucked her hands into the sleeves, she swept her gaze across her room, feeling at a total loss.
What now?
She was awake. Out of bed. On the verge of a mental collapse.
Her gaze landed on Gage’s sleeping form, and held.
From where she stood, his face was turned toward her. He was sprawled out on his belly in the middle of her bed, and the blankets had drifted down his torso until they draped across his lower back. The cut muscles of his backside were clearly visible beneath the thin sheet, and she could practically see through it to the amazing ass she liked to nibble on a regular basis.
This.
This was the distraction she needed!
She groped behind her back until her fingers encountered one of the many sketchpads she kept on her desk. She whipped it around to her front, spied a charcoal pencil stuffed in the spiral, and grabbed her desk chair.
Her gaze still trained on him, she wheeled the chair to the side of the bed, raised it as high as it would go, and sank into it.
She’d been wanting to draw him forever. Now was her chance.
She flicked a cursory glance over the tip of the pencil. Sharp enough. Good. Flipping to the first blank page she could find, she set charcoal to paper, the resulting rasp immediately settling some of her nerves.
Just as she started to worry about being able to sketch while shivering like mad, she realized her shaking had abated.
She quickly abandoned that line of thought in case merely thinking about shivering would make it come back. In long strokes, she started crafting Gage’s perfect body, easily falling into the same methodical trance she did whenever she sketched.
Should have tried this hours ago. All the time she’d spent worrying. She shook her head, focusing back on her project.
As she began to sketch the slabs of muscle that had distracted her in the first place, her breathing shallowed. The charcoal was not the only rasp in the room any longer.
She finished one sketch only to frantically flip the page and start all over again with another, adding details now that weren’t actually in the room.
She did this often—imagining her subjects in a different setting. Many of her sketches served as inspiration for her writing and vice versa.
She started her third sketch, allowing her mind to wander as she did so. She was in better control of herself now and no longer needed to be on her guard.
Before she realized it, her third sketch was done, and she paused before turning the page, the frenzied need to sketch suddenly gone.
She looked over her work, and then she froze. “What the fuck?” Quickly, she darted a glance at Gage, worried she’d waked him. He slept on.
Frowning, she gazed down at the sketch again. The room—hell, the building—she’d drawn him in was straight out of her set design for the secondary character’s residence in her game.
The character who just happened to be the main gigolo of the story: the one who was helping out the heroine.
She narrowed her eyes and drank in more of the minute details, biting into her bottom lip with greater force at each condemning piece of evidence she spotted.
Damn it. Her character was Gage?
She shook her head. “No,” she vowed out loud. This had been a mistake. A slip. Of course she would mess up—she’d just been through hell. The characters in her game and her real life were two very different things.
Right?
Feeling slightly nauseated, she began to close the sketchpad, turning in her chair toward the desk while she did so.
When her gaze landed on her computer, however, she paused.
Keeping the pad opened to her latest sketch, Cassidy wheeled up to the keyboard.
Something was different. Something was gone.
My writer’s block.
She straightened. It was gone! Just . . . vanished.
She dropped the sketchpad to the desk, and placing her fingers to the keys, made them fly. Words landed on the screen quicker than she could track. Every once in a while, her gaze flitted over the sketch of Gage as her character, but then she was back in the game, writing the ending to end all endings.
It was good. Really good. Her boss was going to shit himself.
“Freckles?”
The groggy voice from behind her startled her so much she nearly shrieked. Her fingers stilled on the keys. She blinked several times then turned around.
Gage was partially up in bed, propped on his bent elbow and scrubbing his face with his other hand. “Why are you up?”
She watched the muscles of his chest ripple for long moments. Oh yeah. He’d asked her a question. She jerked her gaze to his. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Shit,” he murmured. “I fell asleep, didn’t I?”
She shrugged. “It’s no big deal.” Turning back to the computer, she surreptitiously eased her sketchpad closed.
“Yes, it is a big deal. Damn it.”
She turned to him again and was immediately dismayed by the truly upset expression on his face. “Gage, it’s fine. I promise.”
He looked at her hard for several seconds. “Tell me what to do to make it better.” He straightened. “Do you still want me to fuck you?”
“No,” she was saying before she was even conscious of forming the word.
Wait . . . no? She frowned. Why did that not sound like just the thing she n
eeded? She blinked, and her eyes felt heavy and itchy.
Immediate relief flooded her. Tired. That’s all. She was exhausted, and it felt as though her body might actually let her sleep.
“No,” she said again. “I think I want to . . . sleep, actually.”
His face cleared, and he opened his arms. “Come here, then.”
She closed the lid to her laptop and pushed to her feet. The sudden vertical position made her feel as though she hadn’t slept in a century. She padded over to Gage, her head practically bobbing with every step.
She slid into his open arms. They simultaneously sighed.
She grimaced. Embarrassing. Luckily, he couldn’t see her face as he laid them down, tucking her against his body and covering them with the blankets.
“I’m staying awake until I’m sure you’ve fallen asleep this time.” His rough jaw scraped against her hair.
She was asleep with her next breath.
Chapter Fourteen
Cassidy woke up in degrees, feeling as though she were clawing her way to the top of a muggy swamp.
Ugh. She creaked open her eyes.
Oh. Gage’s face was a mere inch away from hers. The moment she saw him, all of her crankiness at waking up in a furnace dissipated.
Was there ever a moment this man wasn’t beautiful? She drank him in as the morning light filtering through her window highlighted his every feature.
He slept with his mouth closed.
Of course he does.
Cassidy knew she slept with hers wide open, as she drooled buckets. But, no, Gage’s face was perfectly composed in sleep.
Probably wakes up with fresh breath, too.
His breathing hitched, and there was the slightest flicker to his chest muscles. No sooner had she realized he was waking up than his eyes opened.
Those dark brown eyes remained fogged by sleep for several seconds, but then he blinked. A lazy smile spread his lips, and he squeezed her against his chest. “Morning,” he rumbled, the sound traveling straight from his body through hers.
Cassidy pressed her lips together. Well. He doesn’t wake up with fresh breath. For some reason, she found the revelation endearing beyond measure. Wiggling her hand free from where it was wedged between their bellies, she covered her mouth. “Morning,” she returned from behind her fingers.
Gage stilled. “I have morning breath, don’t I?”
She giggled. Actually giggled.
The sound seemed to startle him as much as it startled her. His smile dipped a moment but then seemed to come back with more wattage. “Hold your breath,” he said.
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to kiss you good morning.” He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers.
Her lips tingled when he pulled away, and she found herself smiling at him. Smiling, when only a few hours ago she’d faced someone who had broken into her apartment. She hadn’t thought a smile was a possibility.
And, like a terrible magic trick, thinking about the break-in caused that small, happy bubble in her chest to pop.
There must have been some change to her expression, because Gage made a tsking noise and pulled her into a bear hug. “Hey now, Freckles.” He swept his palm up and down her back, and she involuntarily shuddered and nestled closer to his warm body. “Want me to stay here with you today? I can cancel my appointments.”
The word yes pushed its way to the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back just in time. Bit it literally. Her eyes watered as her tongue throbbed. Unwittingly, she focused on his use of the benign word appointments for his meetings to have sex with women.
What the fuck? What was that . . . jealousy?
She pushed away from him, horrified. “No,” she blurted quickly. She shoved her hair out of her eyes. God only knew how she looked right now, but it was definitely not the model look Gage currently sported. “I’m going to go into work.”
Gage, who had been looking up at her with concern when she shoved away from him, visibly relaxed. “That’s a great idea. It’s always best to stay busy.”
There he went again, speaking as though he knew this from personal experience.
There was so much she knew about Gage: the spot right above his ass that both tickled and made his dick jump, the way he groaned from behind clamped lips when he orgasmed, how he was obsessed with her breasts but liked her butt even better.
However, she knew nothing real about him.
Isn’t that the point?
Okay, this was getting out of hand. That fucker who had broken into her apartment had put her entire life into a tailspin. She rolled her eyes at herself and swung her feet to the floor. “I’m making coffee. You want some?”
“Sounds great.”
She felt his hand on her back, and she paused, unwilling to turn around and look at him in case she was actually as weak as she was feeling.
“Hey, Cassidy.”
She pulled in a slow breath. “Hmm?”
“You can . . . talk to me, you know.”
She stiffened.
“I know that’s not what we’re doing here,” he continued in a rush. “But we are friends, and when shit happens, friends talk.”
Friends. The word simultaneously filled her with joy and . . . disappointment? I’m losing it! “Okay,” she nearly shouted.
She got to her feet and raced to the kitchen, steadfastly denying the entire way the fact that she was fleeing.
She started the coffee, and Gage joined her a few minutes later, looking impossibly better than he had fresh from sleep. When he bent down to kiss her this time, his lips were minty.
Used my toothbrush. Was she panicking? It felt like she was panicking.
“My brother committed suicide,” she blurted.
Gage paused, his mug of coffee partway to his mouth. Slowly, he set the coffee down on the countertop.
“Okay.”
She closed her eyes, beyond frustrated with herself, with what she was feeling, with everything. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes again. “So, it happened a few years ago.” Her mind quickly calculated exactly how long ago it had been, down to the minute, but she shoved that aside. “My sister—sister-in-law, actually—is pretty much the best person I’ve ever met. If my brother wasn’t happy with her . . . ”
Why the fucking hell was she talking about this?
“Then a happy relationship is impossible,” Gage finished for her.
Her head snapped up, her gaze finding and locking with his. He gets it. There had been absolutely no recrimination in his tone. His face was open and honest.
He reached for his coffee and finally took a sip.
Her gaze narrowed in on the way his lips pursed against the edge of the mug, and she forced it back to his face.
He seemed to be weighing something internally, and then he said, “For me, it was my third foster home.”
Cassidy froze. Foster home?
“There were ten of us kids in that house.” His fingers fiddled against the mug. “Four were theirs and the rest of us were from the system.” He shrugged. “We were their money-makers. The small amount they got for us each month went straight to the real kids.”
He paused for another sip of coffee. Was her heart was going to fall straight out of her chest and plop onto the floor?
He cleared his throat. “I was thirteen. Old enough to realize that if someone could look at a child and only see a way to use him—” Another shrug. “Love is a myth.”
Okay, now she really regretted bringing up her brother. Her lungs were tight. Her tear ducts were stinging. The word use bounced around in Cassidy’s skull, but it was already so cacophonous in there, she couldn’t focus on why that word would stick out more than the rest.
“Gage—” She shook her head. “Fuck, I’m so sorr—”
He shook his head and held up a hand. “Nope.” He smiled, but it was heartbreakingly sad. “You needed to talk; this was the topic you picked. I don’t think either of us is looking f
or sympathy.”
She snorted. That was the gospel truth, though the real reason she’d brought it up still eluded her.
It got quiet in a way that was both awkward and not at the same time. Gage drained the rest of his coffee and glanced at his watch. After placing his mug in the sink, he walked over and stood toe to toe with her. “You sure about going to work?” he asked.
She nodded absently, still mulling over what he’d just revealed.
“I’m taking you out tonight.”
Again, her head jerked up.
He laughed. “Not on a date. God.” He shook his head. “I’m getting you out of this apartment.” He reached for her hand. “We’ll get roaring drunk and eat junk. Look forward to it all day and think of it whenever your mind wanders to . . . well, you know.”
She nodded dimly, her thoughts still caught up in what he’d just told her.
“Cassidy.”
The tone of his voice pulled her from her thoughts.
He reached for her with one unsteady hand, cupping her cheek with it. “I’m really glad you’re all right.”
She swallowed hard. “Me, too.”
Her lips were still forming the O when he covered them with his. His mouth was unmoving as he wrapped her up with both arms and pulled her into his chest. It was the oddest kiss he’d ever given her. It was completely devoid of any type of passion. He seemed to be kissing her just to prove that she was there.
For comfort.
He pulled away but kept her in his arms, resting his forehead against hers. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“T-tonight,” she confirmed. Why in the hell had she stuttered?
He squeezed her extra tightly for a moment, then released her. He walked to the door without once looking back, shutting it behind him. Through the closed door, he called, “Lock this, please.”
“Oh, God.” She scrambled across the apartment, nearly hitting the door with her entire body before she was able to pull back just in time. She clicked the deadbolt.
He didn’t say another word, but she could feel it when he walked away. When he was gone.
She turned to survey her apartment, and crossed her arms over her chest, chafing her suddenly chilled upper arms with her equally chilled hands.
Stiff Competition Page 11
