Wrong Man, Right Kiss (5 page)

“Of course, Jules!” Pulling herself up by grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, she quickly kissed his hard jaw, then wished she hadn’t, because he totally stiffened. “Thanks. When can I start?”

He spun for the elevator and cranked his neck as though it had cramped on him. “Tomorrow if you’d like,” he said.

Molly floated in a cloud of bliss as she followed him. Had she really just landed an enormous work space just upstairs for the time being?

Had she just been commissioned for her first
mural?

She could hardly believe her good fortune, although she’d always enjoyed a certain share of luck when it came to her art. The sudden interest from a top New York gallery a couple of years before had placed her works in several important collectors’ homes, and before she knew it her name was being piled up next to contemporary artists like David Salle and Sean Scully; big, big,
big
names in the art world. Now for the first time in her twenty-three years, maybe some of that creative luck would rub off on her sadly lacking love life. Maybe she was close to getting what she wanted with Garrett.

Thanks to Julian, for sure.

Because she’d suddenly realized that, just as her canvases did not miraculously paint themselves, her love life wouldn’t happen without some encouragement. And that was where Julian’s help making Garrett jealous fit in.

Once back in Julian’s spacious apartment, Molly chose the guest bedroom to the left of his room, a space done in a pastel blue-and-green palette that she’d always found soothing. She retrieved her night creams, day creams, moisturizing creams, shampoos and toothbrush and aligned them all on the sink, then peeled out of her still-damp clothes, showered and slipped into her sleep shirt, which was actually an old T-shirt Julian had used in high school and his mother had sent to the Donation Station. Nobody knew Molly had fished this shirt out of the garbage bag for being the softest and most worn, and Julian would hardly remember he’d ever owned it.

Once ready for bed, she went out in the hall to look for him and hoped to propose they watch a movie, but his bedroom door was closed. Disappointment crept in, so then she went to bed and lay there, gazing at the walls, the curtains and the ceiling fan for hours.

Sleep eluded her, and her thoughts kept drifting toward Garrett. His black hair, those onyx eyes with the sooty lashes, and
oh, God,
the way he’d kissed her two weeks ago. She remembered that kiss so perfectly that she’d been reliving it nightly, in bed, as she futilely tried to fall asleep.

“I think I’d like to be a spinster,” Molly had told Kate that evening as they stood out on the terrace of the Gage mansion, gazing into the brightly lit masquerade party transpiring inside the sprawling 10,000-square-foot home.

Kate had obviously laughed. “Molls. Why on earth would you say that?” She’d lovingly tousled her hair, which Molly had worn loose for the evening. “You’re beautiful and sweet and any man would be lucky to have you.”

“It’s just that no man seems to live up to my expectations.”

With a dreary sigh, Molly showed Kate the picture of the three Gage brothers she carried in her iPhone. It featured the gray-eyed, responsible Landon, the dark-haired, honorable Garrett and of course the sex god playboy, Julian. As her favorite Gage brother, Julian was everything that a good husband was
not.

“I know what you mean,” Kate said softly, staring longingly at the picture.

It couldn’t have been easy for her to play both mother and father to Molly while she herself had been barely a teen. Although Eleanor Gage had been a stand-in mother for both of them, she was a stern woman, and as one did when running on survival instincts, both girls had tried to put on their best behavior and their whitest smiles with the person who’d given them food and shelter. But when alone, Molly would seek out Kate’s warmth and support like she’d seek out a pillow and blanket. Especially during those lonely times when Julian had been sent away. Sometimes Molly even wondered if she wasn’t to blame for Kate’s lack of a love life, a husband and a family of her own. The thought made her stomach feel heavy.

“You deserve someone, too,” Molly whispered.

Kate smiled brightly and winked at her. “Then let’s go find one,” she teased and rushed for the double doors that led inside, but Molly groaned and stayed back, loathing her stupid costume.

She had been dared by Julian to dress as a tavern wench tonight. And of course he knew Molly could never ignore a dare that he delivered. Alas, now here she was. In an outfit so tight she was barely able to breathe, which showcased her breasts in a way that made her feel as if she’d just stepped out of a porn magazine.

She had never felt so exposed in her life, and as soon as she saw Julian, probably dressed like some evil creature, for sure, Molly was going to tell him off for being such a cad. “I’ll catch up in a sec,” she lied to Kate before her sister disappeared inside.

Instead of following, she edged farther out on the terrace, where it was dark and the air was fresh from the gardens and nobody would see her in her corseted wench costume.

A silhouette by the banister caught her attention.

Someone was coming toward her. Zorro? she wondered. Or was it the Phantom of the Opera? Or maybe it was Westley, the dangerously sexy man from Molly’s favorite movie,
The Princess Bride.

Whoever he was, he was hot. Clad all in black: black cape, a cloth mask covering both his hair and the upper part of his face. Black boots. And that smile. It just had to be Julian. Nobody smiled like Julian. He smiled like a wolf and made you want to be the lamb he was going to eat; it was very, very bizarre how he pulled that off.

She suddenly caught his glimmering eyes straying to her prominent cleavage and she felt something hot coil inside her belly.

“Well, well, well…” he murmured as he continued to approach.

His voice was thick and slurred, and she wondered how much he’d drunk tonight. He didn’t sound like himself at all.

He smiled again and her stomach tightened under his appreciation.

He had a drink in his hand, and when he raised it to his lips, watching her with those eerily sparkling eyes, she noticed that his glass was empty. He cursed under his breath, shook his head and swung around to leave, murmuring something about being crazy.

She frowned when she realized she would not be getting to tell him off just yet. “You’re going to leave me all alone out here?” she playfully called after him.

He paused for a moment, then turned, set the cup aside, and started for her with sudden purpose. With each long, determined stride, he dived deeper into the shadows Molly had been trying to hide herself in.

He was not smiling now. Something in his approach, in the tension in his shoulders, made her heart begin to pound. And pound faster. Faster. The way he moved, the way he frightened her…

It couldn’t possibly, possibly, be Julian.

She began, “What—?”

He pulled her up against him, so fast that her lips flew open and she sucked in a shocked mouthful of air. In one fluid move, he pinned her hands at her sides, then bent his face to hers, mask to mask. Molly had stopped breathing.

It was too dark to make out this stranger’s eye color, but she could still sense that gaze like a laser beam boring into her being. Her heart faltered when he made a sound, low and completely unrecognizable—a rumbling groan that was so hot and so male her toes curled.

His lips touched hers. The lightest of touches. Just a graze. Like the tiny spark that sets loose a wildfire. And Molly exploded with a rush of wanting so powerful it scorched every inch of her insides, infusing every particle of her being with heat.

Her lips opened as though on their own, and her body melted under his as a strange, embarrassing little moan escaped her. He seemed to like it, for his answering growl vibrated in her mouth as his lips latched firmly over hers.

He kissed her so possessively, a tornado of pleasure shot through her veins and her heartbeat skyrocketed to the ozone layer. His fingers bit into her buttocks as he dragged her up against him. Closer. Closest. Thrusting his tongue into her mouth with a groan of pleasure.

She tasted wine and immediately felt drunk on him. High on him. Wild for him. She was lost to a staggering rush of sensations as their mouths devoured each other with wet, greedy licks and suckles, her skin screaming with delicious agony as his hand stroked up her arms, caressing her. She had never felt so alive, so connected to another human being, as though her body were an extension of his larger, stronger one.

It was like being caught in a deluge of rain, and now she could feel his desire pour over her. Swimming in sensations, she felt the warm metal of a ring sliding upward as he stroked her shoulders, and her eyes jerked open when she realized this man kissing her, this man was…

Garrett?

How could it be?

He rarely put so much as a finger on her, he was so protective. Julian was always pawing her and she loved the little ways his touch made her feel. But while Garrett rarely reached out for her, when he did, Molly always felt this thick, smooth ring anywhere he put his hand. When he grasped her hand in his—ring. When he petted the top of her head—ring. When he secured her elbow to keep her from falling—aha. Ring.

Now Garrett was kissing her as if he was eating her alive, his ring almost like a brand across her skin as his hand greedily stroked her shoulders, then suddenly her throat, down her collarbone, to the top swell of her breast, tracing the shape of her.

He mumbled something, but she could hardly hear him through the roaring of her own heartbeat, his voice sounding alien and lust-roughened as he fiercely bent down to lick the exposed skin.

Rocked with the realization that this man, untouchable to her like all the Gages had been for her entire life, had thrown all caution to the wind and was kissing her as if his life depended on it left her knees in such a weakened state that she clung to him even while she tried to edge back to steal a quick peek at his ring.

The platinum band glinted in the shadows as he fondled her breasts, and yes, it was the same one-of-a-kind ring Garrett always wore, with a blue diamond at its center.

It
was
Garrett fondling her shamelessly.

And it felt so good, his touch so arousing, a rush of liquid heat flooded her between her thighs.

He groaned in misery when she went still with shock, yet he pulled her tighter against him anyway, as though her lips were powerful magnets for his. “Shh,” she heard him say, cooing to her, calming her as if she were both precious and wild. “Shh…”

When he edged his knee between her legs to part them, the skirt of her dress rose, and he expertly eased his hand through the layers of fabric to cup her between her legs, right where she’d grown wet for him. The heat of his palm burned through her panties, and her bones seemed to disintegrate into nothing. Nothing but heat and pleasure and sensation.

“Oh,” she gasped, body tensing as his fingers began stroking in slow, lazy circles, her head exploding in disbelief and excitement as a rush of hot lightning coursed through her.

His touch consumed her.

He touched her as if he owned her. As if he
knew
and
cherished
everything about her.

She’d never known she could respond like this to another human being.

She’d tried never to feel anything romantic for any of these Gage men—because they were her protectors and Kate said they were like their brothers and were therefore unavailable. But this one…this one wanted her and clearly didn’t give one whit about what Kate said. What anyone said. And Molly hadn’t realized she wanted him back so much until this very moment, when she was melting in his arms in a way she had never, ever imagined.

Needy sounds bubbled up in her throat as she rocked her hips against him, helpless to stop herself, her body a puppet to masterful hands that continued expertly stroking her. The sensations were so powerful she whimpered in mingled fear and longing, her insides coiling tightly like springs.

He groaned and bent his head to her ear, biting the lobe hungrily, desperately, those gut-wrenchingly sexy noises from his throat shooting arrows of heat to her nerve endings. His hungry mouth traveled all over her neck, leaving a wet path that sizzled as he pressed the heel of his palm seductively between her legs, rubbing and stroking exactly the parts that most ached and hurt and burned.

And then the worst part was that, with one more expert touch, one firm press with the heel of his hand, she’d exploded.

Molly still remembered the way she had trembled with that touch alone, and then she had wanted to cry, because she’d never had an orgasm before. Embarrassed to her core, she’d pushed him away as soon as she was able and gritted, “Don’t touch me. Don’t even talk to me! This never happened—never!”

And she’d yanked off her stupid mask, flung it aside and left.

The next day, Garrett had pretended that nothing happened, just as she’d told him to. And when she’d gone to talk to Julian about it, he’d been too hung over to focus and in a pissy mood. So she’d kept it to herself for over a dozen nights, her sexual siren having been awakened, now hungry for more and determined to do something about it. Once again, Molly wanted to weep in her bed in silence.

She wished she hadn’t kissed him.

She wished she hadn’t stopped.