VIP (Rock & Release, Act I) (10 page)

I pull him up the first set of steps. Or maybe he's pulling me. I'm not sure. It's hard to make sense of anything, with this sudden rush of heat streaming through my veins.

He glances at me, his eyes dancing like he knows exactly what I'm feeling. "How was your first shift?"
 

"I'm exhausted, and I'm pretty sure I ruined more drinks than I didn't—but it was fun. I already can't wait until tomorrow."

"Sounds like the perfect fit," he says, taking a step big enough to skip a few stairs and tugging me with him.
 

A question flits through my mind, one I wondered about a few times tonight, but I hesitate to ask.
 

Then, I do it anyway.
 

"How many numbers would you say you collect in any given night?" I keep my tone light so he'll know the question doesn't spring from jealousy. I'm genuinely curious, because as tuned into him as I was tonight, I'm also well aware of how many other girls were, too.

"I'm
given
," he says, glancing at me, "a few sometimes. Mostly by drunk girls. A few older women here and there."

"Do you ever call them?" My legs, already exhausted from standing all night, are burning from the incline of the steps.
 

"Not until you."

My heart gives a little wiggle, but, "You haven't called me."

"Twice today."

I grab my phone from my bag. I haven't looked at it since the start of my shift. Three missed calls. One from Teagan,
finally
returning my call from earlier—but two from Gage. Tiny zips of happiness bring a little more energy into my steps.
 

"I wanted to see what you were up to tonight, if your hangover let up enough to hang out when I got off work, but I already have my answer." He lays his hand against my lower back, his thumb stroking the fabric of my BackBar polo and I can't wait to get this thing off, to have his hand on my skin instead.

This is new to me. This sensation. This
go for it without getting caught up in thinking too much
method of crushing on someone. On Gage. I like it. I really like it.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning—otherwise I'd probably never stop and that would just be weird.

"What did your parents say about you taking the job?" he asks.
 

Ugh.
 

Now it's easy not to grin, and my mood starts to fall. They haven't called. They haven't even texted me. They haven't—you know what? Forget it. They don't get to upset me anymore. Nope. Not tonight. Not this summer. I refuse to let sadness slip through; instead I turn and push him against the wall, standing on my tiptoes and tilting my chin up to level my mouth with his. "Who cares?"
 

"I thought you might—"

I kiss him. Hard.
 

It's the new and improved way of sticking my fingers in my ears and singing "Na-na-na-na I can't hear you!"
 

Only this way has his tongue sweeping through my lips, taking control of my mouth. This way has one of his hands cupping my head and weaving through my hair while the back of the other traces the length of my neck and skims across my collarbone.
 

This way weakens my knees for completely new reasons.

My nerves are on fire for the promise in the pressure of his touch, in the intensity of his kiss.
 

He pulls away with the rumble of a growl in his throat. "Keep this up and we're not going to make it inside."

Something unfurls in my chest. A lightness. A joy. A thrill.
 

"So?" I draw a shaky breath and press harder against him. My mouth aches for his. "Take me."

"Cassidy." His eyes darken, and he gives a slight shake of his head. "You little temptress."

A giggle slips through my lips.

I am in love with this new me.
 

He grins his ferocious grin and grabs my hand, pulling me up the steps with him. "Come on."
 

There is zero trace of tiredness in my legs anymore. Hell, I could probably sprint a marathon or two with all the energy revving through me.
 

I shove the key Vera's given me into the door and fling it open, ready to go, go,
go
—but my shoes squeak SUPER loudly against the linoleum lining the entryway, and I nearly trip when they stick to the floor, thankfully catching myself on the wall first. I'm reminded of how many drinks I spilled tonight. My feet, my pants, my shirt, all are sticky with alcohol and mixers. I'm in desperate need of a shower.
 

"Do you mind hanging out by yourself for a few?" I hope I'm not totally ruining the mood.

"I suppose," he says. "But take too long and I'm coming in after you."

Hmmm. Showering with Gage…sounds steamy. (Ba-doom-ching.)
 

"I'll be quick," I promise. I toss him the remote control, but he sets it down on the coffee table, not using it, not dropping his eyes from mine. My mind goes blank for a second. "Uh… Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

I think of the chips and salsa from earlier. "I can fix you —"

"Not for food."

"Oh."
Oh
.
 

The corner of his mouth quirks up. "I can't wait to taste you."

I swallow. Twice. "Me, too… I mean, you, too. I mean I can't wait to taste you, too."
 

Fucker. Could I be any worse at the sexy talk? And what does it even mean, to taste him? His mouth—or does he think I'm talking about…something else. Oh God. Embarrassment warms my cheeks. The center of my belly warms, too, but with desire. On second thought, maybe I do want to taste him, too…

Struggling to sort through everything I feel, I chicken out and flee into the guest bathroom.
 

I turn on the water and brush my teeth while waiting for it to warm. I shake my head at myself in the mirror. And to think I started so strong.
 

"That was it," I whisper to my reflection. "That was the last time you get to run away from what you want." Because the night is still young, and not even a little embarrassment can kill my anticipation for what's coming.
 

Thinking about what's ahead excites me. I start to take the fastest shower of my life—and then I realize…maybe I want to take too long. Maybe I
want
Gage to make good on his threat.

Maybe I want to feel his body slip against mine, wet, with water streaming around us.

God. Imagining it…his hands tugging through the tangles of my wet hair… My back pressed against the cool tile wall, and my legs wrapped around his waist… The way it’ll feel when he presses into me for the first time…
 

Oh. Yeah.

This is exactly what I want.
 

So I stop rushing. I take my time. I shave. I deep-condition my hair. And I wait, closing my eyes against the stream of water and running my soapy hands along my body, pretending they’re his.
 

And then I'm sick of pretending. I want him here. I want him now. And I'm not waiting anymore.
 

Not bothering to turn off the water, or even wrap myself in a towel, I open the door to tell Gage to get his ass in here.
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Gage is sitting on the couch with his back to me and a baseball game on the TV. The sound of the shower running behind me fills the room, and his head jerks to the side when it reaches him. Slowly, with half a smile across his mouth, he twists all the way around to look at me.
 

I…hide a little more than I intended behind the door and swallow around the ball of nervousness suddenly lodged in the base my throat. There's the new, ballsy Cassidy, and then there's the brazen level I haven't quite reached. Still, I say, "I've been in here a
really
long time."

There. My words hardly shake at all.
 

"I noticed." He walks around the couch, pausing by the arm, his half smile lifting wickedly. "Come out here and let me see you."

Something's bubbling up through me, a nervous, excited sort of energy. I bite back a smile of my own. "I'm dripping wet behind this door…"

He takes a step toward me. "Oh really?"

"I've been waiting for you to make good on your promise."

Another step. "The one where I threatened to come in after you if you took too long?"

"Uh, yeah." As if I've forgotten. "Damn, Gage, how long is too long for you? An hour? A
year
? Because that's how long it feels like I've been waiting for you, needing you under the water with me."

"Sweetheart, if that's how you feel, you won't be waiting another second," he says. In three long steps, he closes the distance to the door.

I laugh and shut it in his face, hopping back into the shower. Waiting to see what he'll do.
 

Hoping it's everything I've spent the last few minutes daydreaming about.
 

Wondering if there's any way it could be more. And the thrill
that
little thought sends through me is enough to have me revving even harder.

The door swings open hard enough to hit the wall. I resist sticking my head out around the curtain. I want the next expression he sees on my face to be dark, intense, full of wanting. Not another little peek around the corner.
 

Plus, my legs are a little shaky. I'm not sure I trust them to move at the moment.

"Cassidy." There's a hesitation in the way he says my name. His voice is rough, reaching toward me through the steam.
 

"Gage." Mine is breathless, hitched, a little higher than I'd like.
 

"Have you changed your mind?" Through the curtain, his silhouette stands very, very still in the doorway. I wonder how much of me is visible to him and run a slippery hand over my breasts and across my belly, imagining for a moment that it's his. Hoping he can see me. Scared he can, too.

Deep breath.
Okay. Go for it. Just go for it, Cassidy
. "You're taking too long again. I'm getting started without you."
 

The shadow of him behind the curtains strides immediately into the room, as though he was waiting to hear exactly what I said. In one smooth motion, he drags his shirt over his head and, after the distinct
clang
of a belt unbuckled, his pants down his legs. The fabric hits the floor with a dull thud that makes my breath catch—and, when he pulls back the curtain, it comes out in one silent
whoosh
. Because naked Gage… Wow. Sharp, gorgeous face. Disheveled hair, energized in all directions across his forehead. Broad shoulders. Smooth, taut chest. Tight abs… I can't bring myself to look lower, but my
oh so excellent
peripheral vision shows me he's already halfway ready to get where we're going.

The open curtain lets in a rush of cooler air. It hits my skin in the most sensitive way, raising goose bumps along my flesh, tickling my collarbone, and tightening my nipples. But that could just be him, standing here before me. Watching me as intensely as I watch him.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips. I've never been so turned on; I've never been so exposed.
 

I've never been so turned on
about
being so exposed.

All because of the way his gaze hones in on me, greedy as it slowly travels my body—and that wicked little grin across his mouth grows wickeder by the second.
 

A pulse flutters lightly between my legs, but it's growing wickeder by the second, too.
 

Only the knifelike pain in my lower lip alerts me to how hard I'm biting it. It feels swollen when I release it. "Are you going to leave me here all wet, or are you going to do something about it?"
 

Who knew I had it in me, this vixenish
come hither
alter ego? Now that she's been released…I never want to cage her again.

"You don't have to ask me twice.” His words are back to sounding a bit like growls.
 

Who knew those rough little sounds could make me so hot? "Really? Because I feel like I've asked you about a million times at this point."

He steps over the tub and into the water, his movements both lithe and decisive. Standing before me, he continues his study, this time looking down into my face, into my eyes, with such a depth of concentration I feel myself flush—and I drink in his face as well. His wide, brown eyes. Angled jaw. Lips I already know are perfect for kissing. And other things…
 

His breath grazes my skin, cool and sweet, and I notice the smallest fleck of a scar beneath his left eye. I touch it, letting my hand trail over the curve of his cheek, down the scratchy hint of growth along his sideburns, and under the edge of his face. He turns his head to kiss my palm, and then works his mouth out to my wrist. I wind my fingers through his hair, damp now from the water finding its way around me and onto him.

My lips are jealous of the attention he's giving my wrist. And my wrist is slowly melting away from my body.
 

He must read some of the longing in my expression, because he releases my hand and turns his face toward mine until our lips are less than an inch apart. The air in the shower is warm, but the tension in the space between us is sharp, almost stinging. My hand, still in his hair, tiptoes down his neck, over his chest, across his abs, into the line where his thigh meets his torso.
 

His chest jerks with a quick intake of breath and his eyes widen—and then he crushes his mouth against mine. There's no sweet, slow buildup here, only complete devouring. His tongue parts my lips, pushing through and gliding, twisting against my own; he tastes the roof of my mouth and I kiss him back just as hard.

Water rains over us, flowing like a stream past my neck and between my breasts, rushing like a river down my belly, and emptying between my thighs. The places where our skin combines are slippery and wet from both water and steam, and I want to slide over him and under him and never, ever stop touching him. I slip my hand lower and wrap my fingers around him, squeezing lightly, sliding my grip along his hardness. He strains against my fingers.