When the spasms stopped, she tried to catch her breath. Even before the tingles receded from her toes, Gage’s lips blazed a path down her midline toward the place his talented fingers had just vacated. “Gage, you don’t have to—”
“I have to know how you taste.”
His rough growl rocked her to her core, but that was nothing compared to the first lash of his tongue. Air filled her lungs in a rush. Lauren closed her eyes as every thought and all of her energy zoomed into tight focus on the magic Gage created with his mouth, with his hands. He cupped her buttocks and lifted her to love her with his tongue. The brand of each pad of his fingers burned her skin.
It was too much. Too good. Too fast.
She dug her nails into the sheets and fought to hold off her cli**x, to stall the shockingly swift ascent. Her senses sharpened, sabotaging her. Gage’s scent mingled with hers in her nostrils. She could smell her arousal and his musky aroma. Without effort or intention on her part each of her muscles drew taut. But the coup de grâce, the final straw that snapped her control was the rasp of his five o’clock shadow on her tender flesh as he buried his face between her thighs.
Orgasm snatched her up like the sudden breath-stealing jerk of a parachute opening. Her free fall stopped abruptly and wave after wave of pleasure buffeted her. The hammering of her heart sounded like wind whipping the canvas ’chute. She felt as if she floated, dangled, then touched down with a gentle bump as he laid her on the mattress.
Reality slowly returned. Left weak by the most violent orgasm of her life, she pried her heavy lids open as Gage ascended her body, entangling her in a series of kisses and caresses over her hip bones, her belly, her waist and br**sts until his lips reached hers.
He stole the breath she’d barely caught with a ravenous kiss and then eased up to meet her gaze. “You taste delicious.”
A fresh gust of arousal blew through her. How had he decimated her that way? Why him? But she had no time to ponder her question. He reached for the condom, tore the packet and rolled it on, then he scooped her up like a limp rag doll and moved her to the middle of the bed, laying her parallel to the pillows.
She snapped out of her lethargy and pulled him closer with her arms, with her legs. The touch of his body at her entrance made her stiffen in anticipation of his first thrust, and he didn’t disappoint. With one long, slow glide he filled her deeply, completely.
“Mmm,” she sighed against his neck and stroked the bunched muscles of his back.
His whistled inhalation filled her ear. “Damn, you feel good.”
“So do you.” The weight of him, scent of him, feel of him surrounded her, impaled her. He withdrew. She pulled him back. Impatiently. Eagerly. Hungrily. He set a rhythm and she matched it, digging her heels into the mattress and countering each thrust. She kissed and nipped the cords of his neck, earning an encouraging growl. In return he grazed her ear with his teeth, with his tongue, steamed her neck with his breath and then stole hers with his voracious kisses.
The muscle-quaking tension returned, increasing with each thrust, as another orgasm built within her. She curled her nails into his tight butt and urged him faster, faster. She was close, so close. And then she was there, free-falling, crying out, clinging to him. His pace quickened, deepened, then his own groan of release echoed off the walls.
Heavy heartbeats later Gage eased down on her, bracing the majority of weight on the tripod of his arms and hips. She wound her arms around his waist and savored the feel of his cheek and chest pressed against hers and his breath bellowing near her ear.
Why did Gage have to be the one to destroy her girlish illusions? She’d always believed the kind of magical connection they’d shared would only come with love and trust and commitment. But she barely knew him and she certainly wasn’t in love with him. As for a future with him…well, it had never crossed her mind.
Evaporating sweat cooled her body and cleared her head, allowing doubts to edge in. What she had with Gage could never be more than temporary, and she hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt her.
She prayed she hadn’t made a mistake in lying with the man who until today had been her enemy.
Gage knew he’d crossed the line by sleeping with his best friend’s sister—half sister. His personal ethics made his friend’s relatives and exes off limits. But he’d broken that rule with Lauren. He hadn’t been able to stop himself.
He levered himself off her and lay on his back by her side with his chest still heaving. Their knuckles touched on the mattress, and he had the strange urge to wrap his fingers around hers and hold her hand. Weird. Damned weird. He resisted the urge. He wasn’t the hand-holding type.
Staring at the ceiling, he tried to work up a twinge of regret for his actions but failed. Maybe once his chest didn’t feel as though it was going to explode and his legs had regained a little strength, he’d find a little remorse.
Lauren lay beside him with her eyes closed, but he could tell she wasn’t asleep by her carefully modulated breathing and the tension radiating from her.
Her thick lashes slowly lifted and she turned her head. The satisfied expression in her eyes jump-started his slowing heart rate. “That was…”
“Amazing.” He finished her breathless sentence when she didn’t. He couldn’t remember ever hav**g s*x that satisfying or intense before.
A smile twitched her swollen lips. She quickly captured it between her teeth. “Yes, it was. But, Gage, I’m not sure it was a good idea.”
His thoughts exactly.
Her eyebrows dipped. “Maybe we should forget this ever happened.”
What? He wasn’t used to women wishing they hadn’t slept with him. And he didn’t like it. “I dare you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He rolled on his side, his weakened muscles protesting the call to action. She mirrored his move, displaying the curve of her h*ps and deep V of her waist. One long, slender leg bent, hiding the triangle of dark blond curls from him. But he didn’t need to see her. He remembered how she looked, smelled, tasted.
Regardless, he let his gaze travel slowly down her pale body. For a Florida girl she didn’t have much of a tan, but she had a nice shape. Slender, curved, delicious. He swept a hand from her shoulder, down her arm and across her waist, settling on her hip. Her shiver brought the blood rushing back to his groin.
“I dare you to try to forget what we just shared.” Rekindled arousal thickened his voice.
Her cheeks pinked and her pupils dilated. “Gage, it’s not going to be easy to hide an intimate relationship from Trent. He’s an ass, but he’s not stupid. And I can’t afford to get fired.”
Damn. He’d never lied to Trent before. He didn’t plan to start lying now. “How much longer will you work for HAMC? You said this was a temporary gig.”
He wasn’t thinking long-term relationship, but he wasn’t ready to let her go until he worked whatever it was she’d done to him out of his system.
She reached behind her to snag a corner of the sheet and drag it over her hip. Gripping the pink fabric between her br**sts, she glanced away. “I don’t know. I don’t want to leave until I—”
“Until you…what?”
“My mother has something I need.”
That brought them back to the original reason Trent had called him. Regret climbed into the bed between them. Trent was convinced Lauren was a shyster. What if he was right?
“Money?” Gage spat out the word.
She flinched and met his gaze. “I’ve told you before I don’t want the Hightowers’money. If you won’t believe that especially after this, I’ll quit wasting my breath.”
Her lack of hesitation and the sincerity in her eyes convinced him she was telling the truth. But he’d been wrong before, and it had nearly cost him his home and his company. What if, once again, he’d let his dick do the thinking and been taken in by a beautiful woman?
No. Not this time. Everything he’d learned about Lauren contradicted Trent’s summation of her personality.
“I believe you.”
If nothing else came of their affair, Gage intended to prove Lauren’s innocence to Trent even if that meant spending every possible moment with her and digging for the facts.
Eight
Lauren stared at Gage across the tiny window-side table at the Fisherman’s Wharf restaurant. She’d never been more physically in tune with anyone before. But Gage was rich. He was Trent’s friend. He lived in Knoxville.Three strikes.
Four if you counted the fact that she’d only known him a week.
So why did she still want him when there was absolutely no way they could ever make this work?
Girl, you have it bad.
It’s just a crush. No big deal.
She hoped.
After an afternoon of playing tourist, riding cable cars and walking the wharf, he was smiling, windblown, a little sunburned and completely relaxed—the opposite of the way he’d been the day she’d met him.
And she was completely smitten.
He looked up from the dessert menu and caught her staring. “I’ve been to San Francisco a dozen times and eaten on the Wharf half of those, but always at restaurants chosen by my clients. I’ve probably walked right by this place a few times.”
“It’s easy to miss crammed between two flashy tourist traps.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “I never would have considered polling the locals to ask who served the best seafood.”
She swept a glance over the simple decor of the dining room. The plain wooden furniture and scarred hardwood floors weren’t much to look at, but the view of the docks was incredible, and the food had been the best she’d had in ages. This was the kind of place she, her father and uncle adored. Her mother would have been horrified to eat here, as evidenced by the stilted restaurants Lauren had been forced to endure whenever her mother had visited in the past.
She pushed aside the unpleasant memories. “It’s a habit I picked up when landing at unfamiliar airports. Locals know where to eat, and mom-and-pop cooks are usually more concerned with flavor than whether the food looks like artwork on the plate.”
“After this—” he gestured to his empty plate “—I believe you.” As he had after the motorcycle ride, he looked surprised that he’d enjoyed the day. What could make a man afraid to unwind?
They had barely been apart since they’d made love the first time last night. This morning they’d worked together before heading out to see the sights. But despite that, she barely knew him. Most of their conversation had centered around the attractions which he’d missed on previous visits.
“Gage, what do you do in your free time?”
“I don’t have a lot of free time,” he answered quickly.
“You can’t work 24/7.”
“I’ve been building Faulkner Consulting.”
No wonder he looked older than his age. “My father had a couple of signs hanging in his office. The first said, ‘Making a living is not the same as making a life.’ And the second, ‘Love what you do and do what you love.’ He always claimed that if died—” A knot in her throat squeezed off her voice. She took a sip of her lemonade and tried again. “He claimed if he died living by those simple rules, then he would have had a full life. And he did.”