Loves Me, Loves Me Knot (20 page)

Sliding his hand around to cup her left buttock, he anchored her in place as he began to thrust. Slowly at first, savoring the in and out motion, the exquisite friction of hard against soft. Wet heat surrounded him, clutched at him, made him want to beg for mercy.

Rational speech was a little out of his reach, though, so he settled instead for deepening the kiss and deepening his strokes. Tiny mewling sounds emanated from Jenna’s throat and her nails dug into his shoulders, letting him know she was right there with him. That the sensations building in his gut were also building in hers. That the flames licking their way up and down his spine were licking away at hers, as well. And whatever the female equivalent was of having his balls draw up in preparation for an orgasm to end all orgasms . . . well, that was there, too.

Her chest was heaving as she struggled to breathe, and finally she tore her mouth from his, sucking in gulps of much-needed oxygen. He followed her lead, then returned his lips to hers, kissing lightly before trailing his
mouth along her cheek, up to her ear, down the taut column of her throat.

“Gage,” she moaned when she could once again form coherent words. “Gage. Gage. Gage.”

Hearing his name in that whispery, needy tone, from the lips of the woman he never thought he’d be with again, was like throwing gasoline on a brush fire. His temperature spiked, causing beads of sweat to break out all along his body, joining the fine layer of perspiration already there.

Her legs tightened around his waist, her arms around his neck as she rocked against him. Back and forth, harder and harder, grinding into his every thrust until they were both mindless and crying out for completion.

She came first, gasping, arching, gripping him like a vise. And since he’d only been hanging on, waiting for her to climax first, he let himself go.

His teeth clamped down on the muscle running between her neck and shoulder while his body convulsed with pleasure. He drove into her once, twice more, and then collapsed, feeling as drained and wrung out as an old dishrag.

He knew he was probably crushing her with his weight, but he couldn’t seem to find the strength to move his pinky finger, let alone the rest of his two-hundred-plus-pound bulk.

She didn’t seem to mind, though. Her arms and legs were still curled around him, and her fingers tickled through the short hair at the back of his head.

“Gage?” she asked after a couple minutes of near-silence, the only sound in the room that of their mingled breaths slowly returning to normal.

“Hmm?” He still hadn’t lifted his head, still didn’t have the energy.

“How many condoms were in that box?”

His brow arched and he summoned just enough control to lift his head a few inches to meet her mossy-green gaze. “I don’t know. Ten, twelve, twenty-four. Why?”

“I’m just trying to plan the rest of my evening. And figure out how soon we might have to make a trip to town to replenish our supply.”

It took a second for his sluggish brain to grasp her words, but when the meaning sank in, one corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin.

“I think we’ll be okay for tonight.” And if they ran out—tonight, tomorrow, the next day, any time, any hour—he’d simply hop on his Harley and cruise down to the nearest all-night convenience store.

He considered himself lucky that she’d been amenable to sleeping with him once—not counting last night’s tie-me-up, tie-me-down, use-me-for-your-own-selfish-wishes scenario. The fact that she was open to going another round—maybe several more rounds while he was sticking to her like glue, anyway—made him want to get down on his knees and thank every god of every religion on the planet . . . and then some.

It probably wasn’t smart. Probably wasn’t the best way to maintain distance, keep that invisible wall of divorce and opposing views between them, but at the moment he didn’t give a rat’s hairy ass. That might have been the Little General exerting his will over any protests his frontal lobe might have been making . . .

But that was all right with him, too. Once in a while, it seemed, his dick had some damn good ideas.

*  *  *

Jenna stood at the kitchen table, watching Gage stroll toward the barn.

Letting him stay at Aunt Charlotte’s with her—or at least stay without arguing, yelling, or giving him the silent treatment—probably wasn’t the wisest move ever. Letting him make love to her night and day and noon and midmorning was more along the lines of something that qualified her for shock therapy treatments. At the very least, she thought she should have her head examined.

Then again, the thing that had set all of this in motion to begin with—that ever-so-bright idea of drugging him, tying him to the bed, and using him to get pregnant—should probably have been run past a psychological professional beforehand, too.

So, in essence, this was all Grace and Ronnie’s fault. It had been their idea to start with, they’d badgered and cajoled her to go through with it, and if they hadn’t, she wouldn’t currently be in this mess.

Of course, “this mess” had her insides tingling like an electrified fence ’round the clock and had given her more bone-rattling, sense-zapping orgasms than she could count.

Literally. She’d lost track sometime after sixteen.

But she’d decided—admittedly, not necessarily with all of her brain cells functioning at top form—that a week of unfettered, uncommitted sex with her ex-husband wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

For one, it was incredible. Not just good, not just enjoyable, but blow-the-top-off-her-head, leave-her-gasping-like-a-fish-out-of-water amazing. There had been times over the past few days when she could have sworn she’d lost feeling in her extremities.

Yes, they’d always had chemistry, and sex had definitely been one of the highlights of their married days, but she didn’t remember it being
this
spectacular.

Maybe it was the illicitness of it all causing the extra sparks. The knowledge that they weren’t married anymore, and therefore what they were doing was naughty, forbidden, taboo. And leading nowhere. It was hot, sweaty jungle sex just for the sake of hot, sweaty jungle sex.

For another, she was enjoying herself. She didn’t mind staying at her aunt’s farm while Charlotte was on the road traveling from craft show to craft show, and had been happy to agree when Charlotte had asked.

Sadly, she was used to being alone, and had long ago learned how to fill her time without feeling lonely. There was plenty of work to do just taking care of the alpacas, of course, but she’d also brought along a stack of paperback novels, a sack of yarn and needles, and notes in case she got around to starting on her lesson plans for the coming school year.

But having Gage around had turned out to be . . . kind of fun. She wouldn’t have expected it, especially after the way they’d parted Saturday morning when he’d been so furious about being a pawn in her pregnancy plan. His sudden return and proclamation that he planned to shadow her every step until he knew whether or not they’d made a baby had immediately set her on edge.

She’d expected every second in his company to be excruciating. Instead, he’d not only seduced her and kept her in a very pleasant sexual haze, but he’d turned out to be quite helpful when it came to chores.

At first, he’d merely accompanied her to the barn and hung around watching while she cleaned stalls and put out fresh food, water, and hay. She hadn’t minded,
either. Her gym membership card had gotten a bit dusty lately, and she figured some nice, sweaty manual labor would be good for her heart and her waistline . . . and thighs and rear.

Plus, if her slightly pudgy, slightly creaky, slightly old aunt could run the place single-handedly, then surely she could do the same. And if she couldn’t . . . well, if she couldn’t, it was solid proof that she was a complete waste of human flesh and needed to hop on board the first UFO that tried to beam her up as a volunteer for their alien experimentation.

After a while, though, Gage had begun to pitch in. Bringing her a bale of hay here, helping to fill feed troughs there. Until eventually it seemed that Gage was doing most of the work and she was sitting back playing with the barn cats or petting one of Aunt Charlotte’s beloved alpacas.

And through it all, she’d discovered something rather interesting about herself.

She’d discovered that she liked to watch.

It was no secret that her ex-husband was built like a god. A tall, muscular god, with wide shoulders, a narrow waist, and arms and legs the size of small redwood trees. He was like a sexy Paul Bunyan, and she had no doubt that he could palm any one of the alpacas milling around the pasture and spin it on the tip of his index finger, if he wanted.

He also had a firm, perfectly rounded ass that just wouldn’t quit. Dressed most days in comfortably worn, nicely fitted jeans and black, white, or gray T-shirts that clung to his chest like a second skin, his muscles rippled with every move he made.

Bending over to scoop feed from the bin, his lats
stretched, the jeans tightened across his butt . . . and her mouth watered.

Hoisting a hundred-pound bale of hay, his biceps bulged, his thighs bunched . . . and her lungs refused to draw oxygen.

Stalking across the barn floor, the line of his shoulders and spine ran straight as a board and his hips swayed in that slow, lanky stride of his . . . and everything inside her turned soft and molten.

Whatever he was doing, she just stood back and admired the view. He was her own personal piece of eye candy, if only for the time it took for Aunt Charlotte to return and her to get her period. Which, surprisingly, suited her just fine.

Grace and Ronnie would be so proud. She’d always been the quiet one, the predictable one, the Good Girl of their trio. But shacking up with her ex-husband was none of those things. It was stupid and wrong and wicked, and possibly made her the official Bad Girl of the group.

A giggle escaped her, and she covered her mouth before her laughter could get out of hand.

Imagine that—Jenna Langan, a real, live Bad Girl. No one, she knew, would ever have expected it of her.

Funny how that made it all the more thrilling.

She liked being bad . . . within a certain structure and with a man she knew she was safe with. But still, considering her usual personality and past actions, she was being downright scandalous.

And right now, she felt like being the one to initiate a bit of scandalous behavior.

With heat unfurling low in her belly, she turned for the back kitchen door and slowly made her way to the barn.

A soft, upbeat tune met her ears and she started,
realizing the sound was coming from her own lips. She was humming.
Humming
, for God’s sake. And her feet weren’t so much moving one in front of the other as sort of . . . skipping along, almost as though she were floating on air.

None of these were good signs, and she would have to be very careful not to make too much of this time with Gage. Not to let any of it
mean
too much.

It was just sex. Really fantastic, scream-like-a-banshee sex, but just sex, and as long as she kept that firmly in mind, she would be fine.

Jenna sauntered into the barn, her eyes automatically adjusting to the building’s dim interior. She tipped her head, listening for sounds of Gage and where he might be. A scraping noise from the rear of the barn drew her in that direction, and she realized he was doing a quick cleanup of the stalls before the alpacas were brought in for the night.

Tipping her head around the corner, she saw him working. His broad back. His strong, bare forearms and wide upper arms covered by snug black cotton. His long, denim-clad legs leading down to a pair of black leather boots.

She thought about making her presence known, knew she should offer to help . . . but it was such an attractive sight, she wanted to just sit back and watch. He was better than television.

Wandering over to a stack of hay bales in the center of the open barn floor, she sat down and waited for him to finish. A couple of her aunt’s cats—all rescued, and all spayed or neutered because Charlotte didn’t believe
in adding to the animal overpopulation problem—came over to beg for attention, and Jenna happily stroked their bellies and behind their ears, sending them into choruses of loud, ecstatic purrs.

Several minutes later, Gage appeared in the doorway of the stall he’d been cleaning, leaning his shovel against the wall and his shoulder against the doorjamb.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who enjoys spending time in your lap,” he drawled, a devilish grin tipping up the corner of his mouth.

Her cheeks flared with color, but she continued to meet his gaze. “What can I say? I’m a popular gal.”

His smile slipped a degree, and in a low voice, he muttered, “So I’ve heard.”

His response surprised her, and her eyes widened a fraction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged his free shoulder, glancing past her rather than at her. “You’ve done a lot of dating since we broke up, that’s all.”

Ah, so that’s what his sudden sullenness was about. “I am single now,” she told him. “And who I date is my business, not yours.”

“True,” he reluctantly agreed, “I just didn’t expect you to make the rounds quite so soon after the papers were signed.”

“ ‘Make the rounds?’ ” she repeated, a slight edge seeping into her voice.

“Yeah. You went out with another cop, a firefighter, a doctor, a Marine . . . What were you trying to do, give a one-woman salute to America’s heroes?”

Anger simmered just below the surface . . . and then
disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. She should take his head off for that last remark, but darned if she didn’t find him adorable instead.

“You’re jealous,” she said with a touch of humor.

His eyes narrowed. His lips thinned. “I don’t think so.”

“I do. Why else would you care who I dated, let alone keep track of them all?” A smile itched to spread across her face and amusement bubbled in her chest.

In contrast, Gage’s scowl deepened. “I was concerned about you, that’s all.”