Following her three treads behind, he tried not to focus on her rear end at his eye level. Tried and failed. Lauren was slender, but curved in all the right places. And she had great legs. Long legs. Whenever she’d been lost in thought today she’d crossed those sexy limbs at the knee and kicked her ankle, garnering far too much of his attention. She’d been a distraction. A delicious, delectable distraction.
He huffed out a breath. What in the hell was wrong with him? Acting on the growing attraction between them would bring nothing but trouble. For all he knew she could have been playing him with every shift of her tight little body.
But he didn’t think so. He’d had women in hot pursuit since before he made his first million, and Lauren didn’t give off those predatory signals. In fact, more often than not she acted as if she wished he weren’t around—a novel, but not pleasant sensation.
Trent’s theory was beginning to look shaky. Gage made a mental note to call his buddy to check the status on the missing money. Jacqueline could have simply gone shopping. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t dropped bundles of money on a whim before.
He knocked back a swig of his drink. Sweet, cold and refreshing after a long day. A little heavy on the rum. Not his usual Knob Creek bourbon, but not bad. He licked a grain of sugar from his lip. The action reminded him of Lauren doing the same downstairs. His body reacted with a physical kick he couldn’t prevent.
He yanked his thoughts back to the woman in front of him. “This morning you said Trent had been snooping when I mentioned a rich lover.”
Lauren shot a startled look at him over her shoulder as she stopped at her bedroom door. “Excuse me?”
“Do you have a lover waiting for you?” What kind of man would let a woman like her out of sight for months on end?
“I’m not seeing anyone and haven’t for…a while.” She grimaced as if she regretted replying, unlocked her door and after an awkward hesitation stepped inside. “I don’t have a printed copy of my paper. You’ll have to read it on my laptop unless you have a portable printer.”
“Not this trip.” He set his briefcase on the floor by the door and scanned the room. Flowers and ruffles dominated the decor. Not surprising since most of the house looked as if it had been hit by a lace factory explosion. “Boot up.”
She shifted on her feet and nibbled her bottom lip, clearly uncomfortable with him in her room. Then she squared her shoulders, crossed the Aubusson rug and sat at the rolltop desk. She opened her laptop and turned it on. Her room, like his, lacked a spare chair. He’d requested suites with bathrooms attached, but he’d booked at the last minute and both of those had already been taken by honeymoon couples he had yet to see, although he had heard some telltale knocking on the wall last night—presumably a headboard. When his assistant played back his dictation he’d probably wonder what in the hell Gage had been doing.
“What exactly were you looking for at the plant today?”
Lauren’s question drew him back to the present. He sat on the edge of the pillow-laden bed within a yard of her and tried to engage his brain. Work was rarely a top priority when he visited a woman’s bedroom. “Ways to increase efficiency and profitability. Cutting waste is usually the first step.”
“Did you find some? You certainly took a lot of notes.”
“I’m still assimilating data.”
“Ah, yes. Assess, assimilate, communicate and implement,” she quoted his earlier words back at him.
“You paid attention during the car ride to the location.”
“Yep.” Her unexpected smile punched the air from his lungs. “Flying is all about acronyms. All I had to do was make up one to fit your strategy. AACI. Piece of cake. So now what?”
“I’ll take the data I gather back to my office, and my team and I will go over it and brainstorm strategies for improvement.”
“I would have expected you to fly solo.”
She’d read him correctly. “Having a team of specialists allows us to take on more clients.”
More clients meant more revenue. More revenue meant more investments. More investments meant a greater chance of financial security if his business failed. Watching his father’s financial and mental collapse had taught Gage to always have Plans A, B and C ready to implement at a moment’s notice.
Lauren swiveled in her chair to open the file on her computer, revealing the back of her neck and a tiny horseshoe-shaped birthmark just beneath her hairline. Trent had the same one. Gage had noticed it back in college when his buddy had sported a military buzz cut.
Gage couldn’t take his eyes off Lauren’s vulnerable nape. He tugged the pencil from her hair, letting the strands fall and cover temptation. The urge to test the texture of her hair was an unwelcome one.
Her spine went rigid and then relaxed. “Oops. Forgot about that. I stole a pencil. Internal theft—the curse of the corporate world.”
The mischief in her eyes as she looked at him over her shoulder thickened his throat. “Return it tomorrow.”
She lifted her glass, sipped and swallowed, once again drawing his eyes to her mouth the way a Dumpster draws flies.
“Tomorrow is Sunday.”
“Still a workday.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Gage. Today was very interesting and informative. But I haven’t been to San Francisco before, and I’d rather see more of it than the inside of a computer parts plant. My daddy always said take a little piece of everywhere you go home with you even if it’s only in your heart, and I aim to do that.”
If he turned her loose, she’d go back to that damned Internet café. “We’ll work in the morning then sightsee in the afternoon and have dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf tomorrow night. That means we’ll have to work Monday morning, as well, and leave after lunch.”
“We?” Equal parts wariness and excitement warred in her teal eyes.
“I’ve been here a few times. I’ll show you around. But in return, you come to the plant and work with me.”
Silence stretched between them. Her ankle kicked. “Another command appearance?”
“This is more of a personal request. I appreciated your assistance today.”
“I guess that would be all right.” She swiveled back to the computer. “Here’s the document. I’ll get out of your way.”
She made to stand. He put a hand on her shoulder, holding her in her seat. The firmness of her muscles surprised him. It shouldn’t have, not with the way she easily controlled her seven-hundred-pound motorcycle or an airplane that weighed several tons. “Don’t move. I’ll read over your shoulder. That way if I have questions you can see to what I’m referring.”
“O…kay.”
Gage set his drink on the desk, braced one hand on the polished surface and the other on the back of her chair and leaned forward. Her scent wafted up to him, floral, but faint enough he suspected it might be her shampoo rather than perfume. It took several moments for him to be able to focus on the words on the screen. As soon as he did she hooked him with her unique premise.
He reached past her to hit the key to turn the page, his forearm brushing hers. Heat scattered through him, but he disregarded it. Or tried to. Ten pages later, he nodded as he read the closing line.
An even deeper appreciation for her intelligence filled him as he turned his head to meet her gaze. “You’ve argued your theory quite well. Did you come up with the idea or did your professor assign a topic?”
“It’s my idea. I like coffee, and I tend to buy a cup whenever I’m out running my weekly errands. I never have to drive more than a half mile out of my way to get it. But a lot of coffee shops don’t stay in business long.
“In the rush to have a store convenient to every consumer, most franchises allow branches to open up too close together, thereby sabotaging their revenue base and dooming themselves to fail. Even some grocery stores have coffee shops now. The same applies to restaurants and retail chains. The businesses are their own worst enemy.”
She bit her bottom lip as if expecting him to contradict her. But he couldn’t. She was right. Too much of a good thing was never a good thing. But seeing doubt instead of her usual cocky confidence revealed a vulnerable side she’d been careful to hide from him up to this point.
Could this woman be the conniving bitch Trent claimed? She seemed too smart, too capable and too willing to work hard. Sure, Trent had been right about Angela, but Gage had become a decent judge of character since his ex-wife’s stormy, expensive departure a decade ago. None of the women he’d allowed into his life since his divorce had fooled him.
Lauren dampened her lips again, drawing his attention to her mouth. The memory of the kiss they’d shared ambushed him with sensation and need. She must have read the hunger on his face because she gasped and her eyes widened.
“You’re quite an impressive woman, Lauren Lynch. If you weren’t such a damned good pilot, you’d make a good business consultant.”
“Gage—”
He ignored her warning tone, leaned in and stole his name from her lips. She went rigid. But she didn’t pull away. After a moment her mouth relaxed beneath his, and she sipped from him as he did from her. When he stroked her bottom lip with his tongue, she met him halfway. He tasted the sugar and mint of her mojito, but mostly he tasted Lauren. And he wanted more.
Desire raced through him like fire through an abandoned warehouse. He grasped her arms and lifted her from her seat, pulling her forward until her soft br**sts rested against his chest and her thighs aligned with his.
Lauren’s arms circled his waist, and her short nails scraped a path parallel to his spine, driving a spike of hunger through him. She kissed the way she rode a motorcycle, the way she flew a plane—with one hundred percent commitment. He stroked her hair, then tangled his fingers in the fine, silky strands to cradle her head while he deepened the kiss.
Her mouth was hot and wet and slick, and he couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t hold her close enough. The mattress bumped the back of his legs. He wanted her on it. Flat on her back. Beneath him. Naked.
He swung her sideways until they both stood beside the bed. His hands shook as if he had a case of the D.T.’s when he reached for the buttons of her blouse. He freed the first, the second. Her hands covered his and she lifted her head with her eyes tightly closed, then her lids lifted, and she stared at him through her thick lashes. Her chest rose and fell beneath his knuckles, and the sound of their labored breathing filled the room.
Passion darkened her eyes and trembled on her lips, then with one blink uncertainty gave way to purpose. She caught his hands, opened his fingers and spread them over her br**sts. The mounds filled his palms, beaded tips raking his flesh as he caressed her. She gasped. Her bra and blouse were in the way. He wanted skin.
Hunger so strong it hurt fisted in his gut. Struggling to regain control, he buried his mouth in her neck and inhaled her fragrance as he thumbed her n**ples. He tasted the soft skin behind her ear. Her whimper filled the air.