She felt good and fit perfectly in his arms. He took her mouth again, diving deep with his tongue the way he wanted to drive his body into hers. Lauren responded by pressing her h*ps hard against his erection. He pushed back and heat detonated in his groin.
A bell tinkled in the distance. He ignored it, spread open Lauren’s blouse and cupped the satiny triangles of her bra. His thumbs dipped into the cups, brushing over her tight n**ples. She shivered and gave a little frustrated squeak that nearly buckled his knees then she broke the kiss.
“Dinner,” she whispered against his mouth, her lips brushing over his with the word.
“Screw dinner.”
A shocked laugh burst from her. Shaking her head she disentangled slowly, dragging her nails around his waist and across his abdomen which contracted involuntarily. A naughty grin curved her swollen mouth. “Tell that to Esmé and you’ll break her heart.”
Lauren’s blouse, still tucked into her waistband, gaped open, revealing pale curves above the shiny fabric of her bra. Frustration clawed at him. He stepped toward her, but she retreated and held up both hands. “Don’t.”
“Lauren—”
“We can’t do this, Gage. Not unless you can promise me it won’t get back to Trent and cost me my job.”
Trent. Duty. Debt. The sobering realization that he’d forgotten all three. At the moment he didn’t give a damn. “You want me as much as I want you.”
She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Her hand lifted as if to touch his face, but she quickly withdrew it and tucked it behind her back. “Yes, I want you. But that doesn’t mean I can afford to follow through.”
Six
W hat were you thinking?Lauren mentally kicked her own behind as she hurried toward the dining room, running from the mistake she’d almost made. She might be adventurous professionally, but she’d always been cautious in her personal life, her sex life in particular. How had Gage made her forget that?
Surprise stopped her in the dining room entrance when she spotted two other couples already seated at the round table. Gage bumped into her, searing his full body length against her back for one brief pulse-skipping moment. He grasped her waist to steady her, and her br**sts and lips tingled, asking—no, begging—for more of what she’d sampled upstairs.
The man could kiss. Not even with Whit, the man she’d thought herself in love with and hoped to marry, had she ever felt anything as potent or exciting as the passion Gage had stirred in her.
Desire for Gage still gnawed at her, but that was one hunger she had every intention of denying. She shook off his hands and wished she could blame her loss of control on alcohol, but she’d consumed less than half of her mojito. The guilt rested squarely on her thirteen-months-and-counting celibate shoulders.
“Hi,” she greeted the group and then stifled a wince at her overly loud, overly cheerful voice.
Esmé bustled in from the kitchen. “There you are. I was about to send Leon looking for you.”
Lauren’s cheeks burned like a hot lightbulb, and so did a certain spot below her navel. She hoped the others couldn’t read on her face what she and Gage had been doing upstairs before coming down.
“Meet our other guests. Sue and Rob are from Utah.” Esmé pointed first at the thirtysomething couple whose arms were entwined like mating snakes then at the fresh-faced couple who looked younger than Lauren. They seemed busy—under the table—if their overly innocent expressions and flushed cheeks were any indicator. “Tracy and Jack are from outside of Austin. Folks, meet Lauren and Gage.”
Lauren would have guessed the couples were newlyweds even if Esmé hadn’t told her about the B and B’s other guests during the tour. The couples’ devotion showed in every lingering glance and touch. It was as if the partners couldn’t bear to be physically disconnected even though they sat only inches apart.
The only chairs left at the table were side by side. Gage pulled one out for Lauren then took the other spot. Their arms and shoulders brushed as they unfolded cloth napkins, making Lauren’s already-agitated synapses crackle like a lightning storm. Another leaf in the table would have given them more room.
The couple across from her kissed, rubbed noses and shared an intimate smile. Their lovey-dovey, touchy-feely antics drove home to Lauren what she could be doing right now if she didn’t care about her job, and if she could ignore the fact that she’d disliked the man beside her until sometime today.
She tried to remember at what point she’d realized she no longer hated Gage. It wasn’t on the drive to the plant this morning when he’d informed her in a superior tone how he operated and what he expected of her. The change might have started when she’d looked up to find him watching her from across the paper-strewn boardroom table with respect and admiration in his dark eyes instead of dislike and distrust. Or maybe the antagonism had faded when he’d offered her a more challenging task than the busywork he’d initially assigned her, or when he’d started working with her as a partner instead of an opponent.
Esmé served another round of mojitos before Lauren could refuse. Inhibition-lowering alcohol was the last thing she needed when her willpower was already shaky. Leon came in carrying a large tray. He unloaded platters of chiles rellenos, Spanish rice and frijoles charros in the center of the long table. The heady aroma of the stuffed peppers and spicy beans with sausage made Lauren’s mouth water. Mexican cuisine had always been her favorite. Esmé added bowls of guacamole, pica de gallo, sour cream and finely shredded lettuce.
“Serve yourselves family style,” Esmé said before returning to the kitchen.
Lauren reached for the closest platter. Gage did the same simultaneously.
“Allow me,” he said as he grasped the spoon.
Lauren jerked her hands away and stuffed her fists in her lap. Another round of sparks bounced from her knuckles to her n**ples at the near miss.
She fastened her gaze on his hands. Those long fingers had caressed her br**sts—breasts currently tingling with a plea for round two. His short clipped nails had grazed her with devastating effectiveness. She hoped he didn’t notice the tenting of her blouse when he put a serving of the chiles on her plate.
After spooning his own, he twisted to pass the platter to the newlywed beside him. His thigh nudged hers beneath the table. She moved her leg away, but too late. Heat rushed to the point of contact.
She accepted a bowl of rice from the woman to her right, took a serving then offered the dish to Gage. Their gazes met over the bowl. His fingers covered hers. The promise of passion darkened his eyes to the color of rich cocoa as he took the dish from her. Heat swirled in her belly leaving her feeling a lot like a melting marshmallow. She almost dropped the rice.
He repeated his actions as the remainder of the food circled the table, and each time his thigh and fingers lingered longer against hers. Lauren’s appetite for food diminished, while her appetite for the man beside her filled her with an empty ache.
She shot him a narrow-eyed look. Was he deliberately tormenting her? Teasing her? Arousing her?
She’d bet her bike on it. Gage wasn’t the kind of man to do anything accidentally. She’d bet each touch above and below the table was calculated for seduction.
Maybe she ought to give in. Go for it. Take the pleasure he offered for however long it lasted. Trent was going to find a reason to fire her sooner or later anyway, and she was beginning to believe she would never get any more out of her mother, who hadn’t returned any of Lauren’s calls since their chat the other night and had even left the country to avoid a face-to-face chat.
Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, her brain shrieked. Don’t be an idiot.
One side of Gage’s eyebrows lifted in a silent taunt as if he could hear her internal argument.
Oh, man, he should know better than to dare her like that. For pity’s sake, hadn’t he figured out by now that she thrived on challenges? She hadn’t garnered all her certifications by backing down when the hotshot flyboys tried to push her around. She’d learned to fight back. There was no better way to shut up a cocky SOB than to best him. It would serve Gage right if she—
An idea struck her and a wicked chuckle danced in her chest, but she suppressed it. She had less luck curbing the smile taking control of her mouth. He wanted a fight, did he? She could certainly give him one. She could play footsie and tease as well as he could. Let’s see how he responded to being bested at his own game.
Beneath the table, she shed her shoe and found his ankle with her toes. His start of surprise repaid her for every irritating jab he’d taken at her expense. Without glancing her way, he shifted his foot out of reach and lifted his fork as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
Disappointed, Lauren mirrored his actions and blindly searched for her shoe. Before she could find it, his foot—now clad only in a sock—covered hers, pinning it to the hardwood floor. Her body went rigid. She almost shoved her fork up her nose and only at the last minute found the target of her mouth.
His heat seeped into her skin and crept up her leg, heading directly toward a recently awakened area. She gently tugged to no avail. He had her trapped. She couldn’t escape without an undignified struggle, and she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
She didn’t look at him as she chewed without tasting and debated her next move. A few bites later she wiggled out of her other pump, crossed her leg and dragged the tip of her toe down his thigh. He coughed as if he’d choked on his rice and reached for the napkin in his lap. Only he didn’t grab his napkin. He grabbed her foot and held it tightly to his hard thigh.
Her smile died. Lauren scanned the other guests, but the couples were too engaged in each other and dinner to notice the antics going on around them.
Gage caressed her instep with his thumb, firmly sweeping from her heel forward. Good thing she wasn’t ticklish.
With his other hand he casually continued his meal. How could he chew and swallow when she could barely think or breathe? Determined not to let him know he’d rattled her, she picked up her fork and fed herself by rote. Conversation buzzed around her, but her mind focused on her captive foot and those caressing fingers. And payback. Oh, yes, there would definitely be payback for his shenanigans.
She tried to extricate herself without luck. He rubbed deep circles on the ball of her foot. She nearly moaned in pleasure. She’d never had a foot massage before. It could become addictive.
The man didn’t fight fair.
But then, what man did?
And of course, his lack of fair play meant she could fight dirty, too. She dropped her hand beneath the table and curled her fingers around his wrist. His grip on her instep tightened, but she had no intention of prying him loose. Her goal was to disconcert him as much as he had her. She raked her nails lightly up the inside of his arm. He shivered almost imperceptively, which only encouraged her to repeat the action. Gage cut her a sideways look so blistering hot she almost melted in her chair like ice cream on a Daytona sidewalk in July.
He repaid her by dragging his thumbnail along the arch of her foot, and a ripple of desire washed over her. She never would have considered getting her foot scratched erotic, but boy, was she wrong. Her heart raced and her skin steamed.