The Art Of Deception, Book Two, Stolen Hearts series, Romantic Suspense (25 page)

“Maybe later. Right now I need you inside me." She slid a hand between them, caressed him and pushed his briefs down over his butt.

Gage groaned and crushed his mouth down on hers. He ground his hips into her as his tongue sought and found her sweet, hot taste. Her tongue slid over his, and he groaned again and felt the last of his control slip away.

He rolled off the bed to shuck his briefs then rummaged for a condom in the bedside drawer.

“Oh!” Sophie’s startled gasp tore his attention away from ripping open the wrapper. She had an excited-but-I’m-not-quite-sure- look in her eyes.

His hands shook as he struggled to put the condom on. It was going to be okay. He’d make it good for her. Or die trying. Beads of sweat peppered his shoulders. “We can slow down, Soph." He eased back on to the bed and gathered her into his arms. “Let me love you first.”

“All this talk is making me nervous. And I hurt inside." She bit her lip, tears shimmering in her eyes.

“But it’s a good hurt, right?” He cupped her damp curls and pressed down, then slipped a finger into her moist heat. She bucked up against his hand, but he pressed her back down and rubbed his thumb over her sensitive spot. Her eyes opened wide and for a second, she relaxed under his hands, but then she stiffened and dug her fingernails into his shoulders again.

“I need you now, Vince. Please.”

She’d called him Vince and part of him knew that was important, but as her soft hand wrapped around him and she spread her legs and guided him toward her opening, his brain fractured into tiny pieces. He stopped thinking, pure instinct taking over.

He eased into her, but stopped halfway. God help him. She was tight and slick and so damned perfect, he thought the hell with heaven. He was staying here, inside Sophie forever.

“Is that it?” Sophie’s hoarse whisper cut through his haze of desire.

“What?”

“You stopped." She wiggled her hips, and he groaned. “I thought, you know, that there would be more.”

“There’s more." Sweat stung his eyes. He gritted his teeth and slowly pushed further into her. “Am I hurting you?”

“No." She frowned. “Maybe a little. I think it would work better if we moved a bit." She pushed her hips up, then pulled back until he was half out of her.

He automatically thrust back into her, and a strangled moan poured out of her. “God, Sophie, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He quivered above her, wanting to do the same thing again and again and hating himself for it.

“No, I liked that. I think you should do it again. But faster. Please,” she added, sounding as if she were politely asking for a second cup of coffee.

Gage grinned, amazed she could make him smile at a time like this. “I think I’m up for that." He moved his hips, sliding out and back into her until she made that strangled noise deep in her throat that drove him wild. His energy bunched, then pinpointed into the spot where their bodies joined. Her muscles contracted around him, and he felt a beautiful, mind-bending explosion as he lost himself in her.

He collapsed on top of her, but immediately rolled off, pulling her on top of him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen so quickly. I’ll make it up to you." He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her closer.

“Gage?”

She was back to calling him Gage. He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think that was a good sign. “Yeah?”

“Can you let go of me? I have to go to the washroom.”

“Yeah. Sure." He let his arms drop to his side and watched her scramble off the bed. “You’re coming back, right?”

She stopped halfway across the room to glance back over her shoulder. “If you want me to.”

His muscles tightened in surprising ways. Geez, his breathing hadn’t even simmered down yet. “Of course I want you to. We’re not done.”

“Oh, I thought once you...you know...that was it." She circled closer to the bed, her gaze roving over his outstretched body.

“Maybe for me it is, but not for you." With anyone else, that would be a definite maybe. His days of getting it up more than once in a night were long past. But his body seemed to have other ideas tonight. As Sophie’s hot, curious gaze swept over him, he felt himself harden and begin to swell.

He rolled off the bed, walked passed her to the bathroom and flushed the condom down the toilet. “How about a shower?” he asked from the doorway.

She’d still been staring at the bed, but she spun around to face him. “With you?”

She didn’t exactly sound excited about the idea. “This is embarrassing. I’m not usually so selfish in bed. I’d like to make it up to you. So, we could have shower together or we could go back to bed. It’s your choice.”

“So you can get it right, you mean.”

“This isn’t about me, Sophie. It’s about you.”

“I’m not so sure it is.”

For the first time, panic prickled along his spine. Hell, every guy blew it once in a lifetime. He’d said he was sorry.  He’d said he’d make it up to her. What else did she want?

He grabbed his jeans from the floor, pulled them on and started for the door. “Okay, when you figure out what you want, let me know.”

“I know what I don’t want,” Sophie said before he could escape.

He turned back to her. “That’s a start, I guess. Are you going to tell me?”

“I don’t want you to leave, and I don’t want this rotten feeling in my stomach, because I’m in love with you, but you don’t feel the same way." She frowned down at her feet. “I guess I want you to be in love with me and not worry about getting everything right. I think you’re perfect. Except when you’re trying to do everything the right way, then you’re too right and I–”

A tear rolled down her cheek. She swiped at it impatiently. “Okay, now I’m confusing myself. And talking too much. I think I’ll get dressed.”

A thousand platitudes came to mind. He knew what women needed to hear at times like these. But he couldn’t seem to get them out, and what was the point? Nothing would work with Sophie except the truth.

“I love you,” he eked out as she scooped up her clothes. Yeah, that sounded real convincing. He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m in love you.”

Sophie stooped down to peer under the bed and grabbed a sock. “It’s okay, Gage. You don’t have to try to make me feel better. You and me–you and I–just don’t,” she shrugged her shoulders, “fit. We’re all wrong for each other.”

“Like hell we are." He grabbed her clothes and tossed them back on the floor. “We’re a perfect fit. You know it, and I know it. The rest of the world can fall apart, but don’t mess with what’s happening between us. It’s too important."

“Do you really feel that way?”

“Yes, I do." Any uncertainty he’d felt hardened into a confidence that regardless of what happened in the next few days, they belonged together. If he were a man who believed in fate, he would have said Sophie was his destiny.

She looked at him as if he were a stranger. What the devil was she thinking of now?

“The two of us together, we don’t really make sense, do we? I mean...." She dragged a hand through her hair. “I’m saying this all wrong." 

His gut twisted. “You’re looking for a way out.”

“Maybe." She shook her head. “No. I’m scared.”

“So am I.”

“At least we have something in common.”

“We have a lot in common." He took a step toward her, waited to see if she would retreat. When she didn’t move, he brushed his fingers over the swell of her breasts. She sucked in a breath, and he smiled, the tight knot in his chest easing.

“For one thing, we both appreciate beauty." His fingers tingling, he swept his hand over the soft curve of her hip and down to her thigh. “You’re a beautiful woman, Sophie. I’d like to show you how much I appreciate your beauty." He threaded his fingers through hers and tugged her hard enough that she fell against him. She sniffled into his chest.

Way to go. Make her cry
. He felt as if he had tumbled deep into the dark, cold ocean with no idea of which way was up. He wound his arms around her, the warmth from her body grounding him, giving him comfort.

“It’s crazy. You’re more important to me than anything else, and for the first time in my life, I can’t come up with an agenda to make things work. You have to help me here, buttercup. I’m lost." He pushed the last words out past rigid throat muscles.

“You’re holding on too tight,” Sophie said into his chest.

He jerked his hands away. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t mean that literally." Her ghost of a smile disappeared before it fully materialized. “Maybe this is your opening night.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“If we’re going to continue talking, I should get some clothes on."

“No! I mean.... It makes me feel better to hold you,” he said in a rush.

“Okay." She put her hands on her hips. “So take your jeans off and come to bed.”

Warmth eased in and around his tense muscles. “You know what’s going to happen if I get into bed with you." He popped open the button on his jeans and waited.

“First we talk.”

“About my opening night. What the hell does that mean?”

“Opening night of an exhibit." She slipped into bed and propped her head up on one hand. “When I have some paintings to show, I’m going to exhibit them. You were right about all that stuff you said about my mother. It doesn’t matter if my paintings aren’t perfect. It doesn’t even matter if no one likes them. I like painting them. It feels right. Like we feel right. So I’m going to trust my feelings about us and go with it.”

Fascinated, he sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re saying I don’t trust my feelings.”

She looked at him as if he were dense. “You still have your jeans on." She prodded his thigh with her foot.

Absently, he stood and stripped. Even Spencer had encouraged him to trust his intuition. But what if he couldn’t do that? What if he couldn’t let go?

He crawled into bed. The minute he felt Sophie’s soft warmth he knew he’d do anything to keep her by his side. Not trusting himself to touch her, he kept a few inches between them and leaned his head on his hand, mirroring her prone position.

“I don’t have much practice at this,” he started.

“Going to bed with women?”

“Trusting my feelings. For you, I’ll try anything.”

She scooted an inch closer to him. “You don’t have to try.”

“No, I do. I want this thing to work for us.”

She placed her hand against his beard roughened jaw. “You don’t get it, do you?” She smiled. “It’s already working, Vince. We’re here, together, and it’s working just fine.”

Sophie reluctantly took her hand away, flopped on to her back and closed her eyes. It was the only way to stop from touching him. Her fingers curled in on themselves. Later, there’d be time to explore all that glorious male flesh. But first it was important to learn more about the man she’d fallen head over heels in love with.

“I want to know everything about you." She cracked open one eye, then shut it quickly when she caught his crooked smile.

“Everything’s a tall order, buttercup.”

She felt he move closer to her, just as she felt the smile in his voice. Her lips curved up at the corners, but she squeezed her eyes shut more firmly.

“Okay, tell me about the scar on your forehead by your eye.”

Silence. Not good. The sheets rustled, and when she peeped over at him, he was laying on his back scowling at the ceiling.

“Battle scar from my childhood.”

“It was that bad?”

“It wasn’t good.”

“Mother or father?”

“Father." He shifted his scowl from the ceiling to her. “Is this necessary?

“He beat you?”

Back to the ceiling. “Sometimes. Sometimes my mom. Sometimes my sister.”

“Wow." What did you say to something like that?

“It was a long time ago. He has nothing to do with you and me.”

She wished that were true. “So you try to do things right so no one will beat up on you?” She held her breath when he didn’t answer. Finally, he looked at her.