The Art Of Deception, Book Two, Stolen Hearts series, Romantic Suspense (19 page)

Her eyes stretched wide open. “That’s it? No lecture?”

“It’s been a tough day, buttercup." No kidding. Parker hadn’t reamed him out the way Gage had expected, but his boss wasn’t happy with the small amount of progress he’d made on the case to date. Of course, he hadn’t told Parker a tenth of what he knew, but he had an uneasy feeling the Super had known he was holding back. Was Parker giving him enough rope to hang himself? Because inviting Sophie into his house for supper at this point of the investigation was more than enough to strangle his career.

But Sophie needed to do this. He could tell from her strained, husky tone she was testing the limits of her courage by coming here and cooking dinner. What was it about her and food?

“There’s nothing I’d like to do more than sit back with a cold one while you fix a meal." Okay, maybe there was one other thing he’d prefer to do, but sex was out with the kid just outside the door.

Unless.... He eyed the lock on the door, then Sophie’s tight little tush as she turned to fiddle with the grocery bags on the counter behind her. He loved short skirts, and Sophie’s slender body looked like it had been made for wearing them. A jolt of sweet, hot desire bolted through him. Damn, he had to get out of here before steam started pouring out of his ears.

“You need anything in particular?” he asked, one foot out the patio door.

“Don’t think so." She pulled the food out of the bags and lined it up on the counter. Her shoulders sagged as she stared at the food.

“Looks like spaghetti for dinner." He edged back toward the refrigerator to get another beer.

She flashed a half smile at him. “And salad.”

“Good." He grabbed a beer and hustled back to the door.

“And I bought garlic bread." She picked up the long stick of wrapped garlic bread. “It says to put it in the oven for ten minutes.”

“Great. So, you’re all set then.”

“Yeah, I’ll just, um...." She looked in her leather satchel, then in the paper bags still on the counter. “Do you have a cook book?  I seem to have forgotten mine.”

“For spaghetti?”

The murderous look she sent him had him biting the inside of his cheek. He suddenly knew with soul shaking certainty, if he spent the rest of his life getting to know this woman, he’d remain endlessly fascinated.

“I’m trying here, Gage. You could be a little more helpful.”

This was an experiment for her. A one shot deal. After her little dabble in the suburbs, she’d shoot back to her downtown apartment, and her artsy friends faster than a bullet. It was where she belonged, after all.

“I can find a cook book if you want. But all you have to do is chop up all those vegetables you have there." He nodded at the onion and peppers and the small package of mushrooms. “Saute them, then add the tomatoes. A little seasoning helps, too.”

“Just a minute. Let me write this down." She groped in her bag and pulled out a sketch pad and pencil. “Okay. What does saute mean?”

Gage gazed longingly at the graceful arch of her neck as she bent over her pad, poised to take notes. He supposed he should be grateful Andy was here. If it were just him and Sophie, he doubted they would still be in the kitchen. Or if they were, food would be the last thing on their minds.

“Gage?” She looked up.

“Put some oil in a pan and cook the vegetables in it. Add the tomatoes and seasoning, and you have spaghetti sauce.”

“Great." She scribbled for a minute. “And the noodles?”

“Get a big pot of water. Boil it, and throw in the noodles. Anything else? I gotta go check on Andy."  And get out of the house, before he said the hell with everything and dragged her upstairs to his bedroom.

“I’m okay." She rubbed her hands down the sides of her skimpy mini skirt, drawing his attention to the curve of her hips. “I can do this. A step at a time. That’s all it takes.”

Good advice. He wiped the sweat from his brow, escaped out the door and made a beeline for the sandbox he’d built for his nephew last spring.

“Building a new city?” Gage squatted down and ripped the tab off his beer can. Andy pushed his toy bulldozer through the middle of the sandbox. He’d already made smaller roads off the main one he was concentrating on now, and there were piles of sand, houses, Gage supposed, lumped along the smaller roads.

“I’m going to live here." His nephew stabbed his finger at the largest lump of dirt. He’d picked a few dandelions and circled his imaginary house with them.

“Looks good. I like your garden." Gage drank from his beer can and felt his muscles loosen up.

“It’s my mom’s garden." He continued his dozing. “She wants a big house and a garden and a pool.”

No matter how good the tips were, Maisie would never make enough as a barmaid to pay more than her rent and food. She was caught in the grind of poverty, and God knew what she did to escape that harsh reality when Andy was with him.

Maybe he could get a second mortgage on his place and lend her the money for a down payment on a house. It wouldn’t be big, and it wouldn’t have a pool, but it would be hers. Or his, depending on how you looked at it.

Except the last time he’d interfered in her life it hadn’t turned out the way he’d planned. He reached out and ruffled Andy’s hair. Hadn’t turned out so bad either. It wouldn’t hurt to talk over the idea with Maisie. If she had her own house, she might spend more time at home with Andy.

His neighbor, Mindy, stepped out her back door and smiled over at him and Andy. Gage looked from Mindy, to Andy lost in his make believe world, then toward the patio door. There were too many women in his life, all of them needing something from him. Problem was, he wasn’t much help to any of them. He could use a little help himself.

When Mindy moved toward the fence that separated their yards, he stood and brushed sand from his pants. “Supper’s on. I have to go check it,” he said loud enough for her to hear, then made hot tracks for the house.

When he entered the kitchen, Sophie had shed her navy and red striped sweater. She wore one of those stretchy tops he’d noticed a lot of young women wearing this spring. It came down only so far, leaving her midriff bare, and he sent a silent thank you to the genius who’d come up with the design.

“I need you to taste this." She approached him with a spoonful of sauce, one hand cupped underneath to catch any drops. “I think it tastes pretty good, but I can’t tell. You’ve got a lot of different spices to choose from, and some of them I didn’t recognize. Oregano’s good in spaghetti, right?  And garlic. I like garlic. Here." Standing on tiptoe, she thrust the spoon under his nose.

His tension dissolved into sweet fascination. His little buttercup was nervous, her face shiny from working over the hot stove, her brown eyes wide with apprehension. He took the spoon from her hand, knowing he’d eat the whole damned pot of spaghetti regardless of how it tasted.

He tested a small portion of the sauce, letting it sit on his tongue before swallowing. When no alarm bells went off, he smiled as much from relief as pleasure and ate the rest of the sauce on the spoon. “Perfect." He handed the spoon back to her.

“You’re not lying to make me feel good, are you?”

Her eyes warmed to a rich, chocolate brown, but it was her lips, stained a deeper shade of red from the sauce, that caught his interest. He wet his own lips. “I can think of only one thing that would taste better right now.”

She swallowed once, but didn’t look away. “I thought we weren’t supposed to...you know, fool around.”

“We aren’t." He encircled her waist with his hands, picked her up and sat her on the counter. “Seems like the minute I met you I started breaking the rules." He tilted her face up to his. “Want to give me a reason to stop now?”

“What about Andy?”

For once, he was pleased to hear the tremor in her voice, knowing he’d put it there. He tore his gaze from her lips, glanced out the window behind her, then returned his attention to her mouth. “He’s still busy in the sand box.”

She reached up hesitantly and brushed the back of her hand against his neck, the delicate caress constricting his throat muscles. “I guess if we’re going to continue breaking the rules, this would be a good one to break.”

“I thought so." He skimmed his lips over her temple, down her cheek to her ear lobe and nipped the soft swell of flesh. “You’re trembling.”

“No kidding. When you and I.... You make me want.... Oh hell." She threw her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. “Just kiss me.”

He smiled as he brushed his lips over hers, tasting spaghetti sauce and the sweet, hot flavor of her mouth. Man, it didn’t get much better than this. A woman in his kitchen cooking supper and begging to be kissed.

His smile disappeared when she opened her mouth to him and darted her tongue out to meet his. The heat in his belly he’d banked for so long threatened to burst into flame as he sank into her taste, felt her slender body rub up against his chest. What he felt for Sophie, how she made him feel, was no laughing matter.

He needed her. He needed her sprawled over him, panting with heat. He needed her under him, open to him, tasting him. Testing him.

He deepened the kiss, thrust his tongue into her mouth, wishing for more than just a kiss, more than a few stolen minutes. More than they’d ever have a right to.

“You’re not wearing a bra." He’d slid his hand up until it rested by the side her breast.

She stared at him for a second with a stunned look in her eyes. “I’m not all that big. I don’t need one with this top."

“Show me.”

Heat blazed in her eyes. She looked around the kitchen. “Here?”

“Here." The single word growled out of his throat.

“But Andy...the neighbors...."

He stalked to the patio door and slammed it closed, then engaged the lock. Two more strides, he jerked the blinds down on the window facing the driveway, and with a thirst raging inside him, returned to stand in front of her.

“Now." He placed his hands on her bare midriff, his fingertips aching from the pleasure of touching her soft skin.

She squirmed and looked around the kitchen again. “Gage, I don’t think...." Then sucked in a sharp breath as he edged his thumbs under her shirt and brushed them along the bottom side of each breast.

He stroked her again and watched her suck in another breath. Sophie arched her back, as if daring him to pull her shirt up. She had no idea of the beast that clawed at his belly, or what it cost him not to drag her down on the floor and take her. Right here. Right now.

His shallow breath seared his lungs. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face as he slowly edged her top up. Her breasts, perfect, round, firm, popped out from under the stretchy fabric.

“God." Could she get any more perfect? He stared, paralyzed by her flawless beauty.

She moved as if to cross her arms over her chest, but he caught her hands and held them in his. “Don’t. I need to look at you.”

She hunched her shoulders. “I’m not very big.”

He tore his gaze from her breasts and glanced at the worried expression on her face. “Oh, babe." He shook his head, then reached out and traced one nipple with his fingertip. “You’re perfect." He dipped his head and took her in his mouth and suckled deeply.

Sophie pulled her hands free from Gage’s, and without realizing it, dug her nails into his shoulders as she grasped his corded muscles. Her body pulsated as his hot, wet mouth tugged at her breast. Her skin, her muscles, everything tightened. She opened her legs, locked them around his hips and rocked against him, a throbbing ache centered between her thighs, begging for release.

So much for being the proper little miss cooking supper. It didn’t matter. This is who she was. No. A soft moan poured out of her as his work-roughened hand scraped over her tender breast. This is who she was with Gage. He made her want.

She let go of his shoulders and went to work on the buttons of his white shirt, wanting, needing to feel him against her. To be closer. To be one. A shudder rippled through the entire length of her body, and her hands shook as she pulled his shirt out of his pants and spread it open.

He groaned as she swept her hands over his chest. She thought she heard him curse softly, then he pulled her against him and another groan rasped out of his throat. “God, Soph, you’re so hot. I can’t believe.... Aw, hell.”

Before his change of voice registered, he pulled back and dragged her top down over her breasts. “My sister’s in the back yard talking to Andy." He ran his hand over her hair smoothing it down, then dragged his thumb over her swollen mouth and grinned. “We had things cooking pretty hot, huh?”