The Sheriff's Secret Wife (14 page)

* * *

Damn, look at her.
A wanton angel, naked except for the satisfied smile on her face—a smile he'd put there—surrounded by mounds of blankets. Her red curls spread over the pillows and spilled down her bare shoulders. She'd pulled the top blanket to her breasts, the lace edging not quite covering them.
Gage stood beside the bed, his hands already at the fastener on his pants, ready to strip down and join her. He was hard, painfully so, every muscle tense and throbbing and wanting nothing more than to finish what they'd started.
And then do it again. And again.
But he couldn't move. The sight of her crawling over the bedcovers on her hands and knees had poleaxed him to the spot. When she'd finally crawled beneath the covers, he'd almost felt as if he was being shut out, not welcomed in the bed, in her body.
He wanted her. He wanted her with a ferociousness he'd never felt before in his life, but he had to know that she wanted him the same way. She had to invite him.
So he waited.
"Gage?"
Every muscle in his body tightened even more. "Yeah?"
She propped herself on one arm and lifted the blankets, revealing the lush nakedness of breasts and curves and legs. "Aren't you going to join me?"
At her words, he toed off his shoes as his fingers fumbled with the zipper. He left his pants hanging loose at his waist as he bent and yanked off his socks. He rose again, slid his wallet from his back pocket, then grabbed at the waistband of both his pants and boxers when he heard a feminine snicker.
"What is that—are those cartoon boxers on your…boxers?"
Gage looked away from the grin on Racy's face to glance at the caricatures of muscle-bound fighters, complete with red boxing gloves, patterned on his underwear and he grinned. "Yeah, they were a gift from the bride."
She stretched across the bed, leaning in to get a closer look. "From Maggie?"
He let his pants fall to his ankles and stepped out of them. He dropped his wallet to the bedside table and braced his hands on his hips, knowing the cotton fabric of the boxers did little to hide his arousal.
"They're cute." She inched forward on her elbows and he felt her breath on his skin. "Did all the guys in the wedding party get a pair?"
"Yeah, I think so." His words came out a harsh whisper as she traced the waistline of the boxers with one finger.
"All the same design?"
His muscles jumped when her lips pressed against his stomach. He watched her mouth slowly follow the waistband, from the center to one hip, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses.
"Gage?"
"W-what?" He struggled to remember what the hell she had asked him. Boxers…wedding party…same design. "No I think Chase's had the Texas state flag and Bryce's had dollar bills—"
The air vanished from his lungs, robbing him of his breath and the ability to speak as she hooked a couple of fingers into the waistband and tugged downward, her mouth following.
The control he'd fought for since entering this room, hell, since Vegas, slowly gave way as she stroked and skimmed the hard length of him. It crumbled when she slid her thumb over the tip and threatened to shatter completely when the moist heat of her mouth covered him.
Gage fisted his hands in her hair, silently commanding her to stop. She ignored him and pushed him closer to the edge. With a feral growl, he stepped away from her, ridding himself of the boxers before following Racy back beneath the covers.
She tried to pull him on top of her, but he braced himself to sweep one hand down the length of her. "Racy, are you—"
She pressed her hand to his mouth, cutting off his words. "Don't ask if I'm sure. If I didn't want to be here, if I didn't want you here with me,
like this
, I would've made that one hundred percent clear…long before now."
One long leg curved over his hip as her hands did the same around his neck. She arched her back, her breasts brushing against his chest, her breath hot in his ear. "I'm not drunk. I'm not looking for revenge. What's happening between us, here and now, is all that matters. I'm not expecting anything else."
Was he expecting something? Was this supposed to be a beginning for them? A way to show her how he felt, how good they could be together?
"Love me, Gage. Just love me."
He did. He did love her. With a sudden clarity of vision, a sureness of purpose, he knew this woman—his wife—was the only woman he'd ever wanted.
He pulled away long enough to get a condom from his wallet and sheath himself. Then he was back in her arms. He rolled her beneath him and covered her with his body, filling her with his power, his need, his want…for her.
"Racy, I do lov—"
Her mouth all but consumed his in a searing, demanding kiss. Her hips rose to meet him, her legs wrapped around him, urging him deeper and harder. He complied and she took all he gave, clinging to him, matching his demanding thrusts, again and again, until she had given all of herself, and he matched her cry of surrender with his own.
For a long time he lay there, until he was able to breathe again. Then he separated their bodies and stretched out next to her. She shifted into his arms with a deep sigh, her head resting over his heart, her breathing slow and steady. She was asleep. He grinned, humbled at how natural it felt to hold her like this, and tightened his arms around her.
She wasn't ready to hear his words of love. Her kiss cutting off his declaration told him that much, but he'd get the chance to say it again. He was sure of it.
Feeling his eyelids grow heavy, he forced himself to get out of bed and clean up. He then went to turn off the only light, a small lamp on the desk. His eyes strayed to the paperwork lying there. Two sets that looked alike except for the top lines of text in bold black print.
Buyout Proposal, and Petition for Divorce.
He looked over his shoulder to the bed. His breath caught as he found Racy turned on her side, the blankets pulled aside to reveal the smooth length of her back and that sexy backside, still sound asleep.
He concentrated on the paperwork again. He'd been shocked to find out she wanted to own The Blue Creek. Max had often complained the Wyoming winters were getting harder to deal with, but Gage'd never heard him mention retiring or selling the bar. He had no idea what kind of money was involved, but from what he'd already read, Racy was planning to use her entire savings, including her Vegas winnings, as a down payment.
Was it enough? Would she be able to qualify for a loan to cover the rest? Max thought of Racy as a daughter. Maybe he'd give her a break. Still, it took money to start over again, especially if Max planned to head someplace warmer.
Maybe he should talk to him. Max always said he owed the Steeles a favor after Gage's father had saved his life when thieves had tried to rob the bar years ago. Gage had planned to call in the marker when it came to Gina's employment, but Racy had shown up before he'd been able to play the "good turn" card, but now—
Stop.
Gage shook his head. Jeez, didn't he ever learn? Look what had happened the last time he'd tried to help her. His fingers moved to the divorce papers, softly drumming as he glanced at the fireplace, nothing now but fiery embers. It would be so easy. A few seconds and they'd be nothing but smoke and ash. The temptation crawled inside his gut, but he knew getting rid of the physical evidence wouldn't change a thing.
A shiver raced through him. He blamed it on the chilly night air and quickly banked the fire, checked the door and positioned his cell phone on the bedside table before returning to Racy's side. He slid in to spoon against her, his front to her back, skin to skin.
She murmured something low he couldn't hear as she laced her fingers through his and continued to sleep. He left a small kiss on her ear before whispering, "Good night, Mrs. Steele."

G
age awoke the next morning to bright shafts of sunlight streaming through lace curtains and the hiss and clang of the antique radiator. Alone. He reached out to the empty spot next to him. Faint heat from Racy's body clung to the bedding. The toilet flushed, then running water sounded.
Relief washed over him. He relaxed into the pillows and pulled the blankets up to his chest. He propped his hands behind his head, surprised she'd awakened before him. She'd been exhausted. It'd been a rough month for her and he hadn't helped, even when he'd tried to. But last night had been the start of something new, something better, for the both of them.
So what if they hadn't followed the traditional way to getting married? Hell, they hadn't even been on an official date. That was something he planned to change right away. They belonged together. He liked the sound of that. Together.
The water turned off and Gage closed his eyes. He'd wait until Racy crawled back into bed before letting her know just how awake he was. Without the benefit of sight, his other senses went on full alert. He heard the creak of the bathroom door opening. A minty scent meant she'd brushed her teeth. He slowed his breathing and remained still, but the blankets didn't stir. Her weight never shifted the mattress.
He heard light footsteps as she moved around the room. A rustling noise near the fire instantly reminded him he'd seen an overnight bag near the chairs. He opened one eye a tiny crack.
She was leaving. Already dressed in jeans and a gray sweat jacket, she had her boots in one hand, her purse in the other.
Oh, hell no.
He looked at the desk—the folder of paperwork was gone, but her keys still lay there. She must have spotted them, too. He waited until she had them in her grasp before he shot out of the bed, wrapped her in his arms and yanked her backward.
"Oh!"
They tumbled back onto the bed, her boots and purse flying from her hands. He easily held her down with one leg over hers, scooting out of the way when she tried to take advantage of his nakedness with a well-placed knee or hip.
Grabbing her wrists, he trapped them on the bed and leaned over her. "Going somewhere?"

* * *

Racy squirmed and bucked, but it was like trying to move a brick wall. A very muscular, very sexy brick wall that didn't budge an inch. It reminded her of the amazing way this man had made love to her last night.
Right after he'd almost spilled the dreaded
L
word.
"I asked you a question."
His words, more like a low growl, set off the familiar internal sparklers that would soon turn into incredible, mind-blowing, resistance-crumbling fireworks.
She gave up the fight and glared at him. "Get off me."
"No." His blue eyes darkened.
Desire mixed with a hint of anger shined in their depths and her breath disappeared. "You weigh a ton. I can't breathe."
It was true, sort of. But her inability to inhale had more to do with the hard arousal pressed against her thigh than his actual weight.
He shifted his upper body to the left, but dropped his head closer, his mouth inches away from hers. "Better?"
No, his powerful lower half still had her pinned. "You know it's not."
"You're right. Now, spill."
She turned away and stared at the wall. "Spill what—ah…" The brush of his lips on her neck had her biting back a moan. "Wh-what are you doing?"
"Being persuasive," he whispered before kissing her again. This time his lips moved from her ear to her collarbone and back again. "Hmm, you smell good."
It took all her strength not to respond with the same sentiment. He smelled as good as he had last night when she'd fallen asleep on him. Literally. When she'd woken this morning, she'd had to admit it was the best night's sleep she'd had in months.
And despite her pledge to not get emotionally involved, she'd screwed up again.
Being in the moment, throwing their cares to the wind, doing it one more time for old times' sake, should've been enough. It was what she'd been going for when she'd blocked out the sight of the divorce papers and listened to her body.
And her heart.
It was why she'd made that pretty little speech about not expecting anything from him. Of course, practically begging him to love her probably hadn't helped. So when he'd tried to speak, she'd stopped him with a fervent kiss. She couldn't stand the idea that something he might say in the heat of passion would turn into something he'd regret in the light of day.
But then he'd wrapped her in his arms, kissed her goodnight and called her Mrs. Steele. And she was right on the edge of falling for the fairy tale, complete with the prince on a white horse and the happily-ever-after. She was hanging on to reality with the tips of her fingers, and that scared the crap out of her, which was why she'd decided to do what she did best.
Run.
"Gage, please…"
He must have picked up on the desperation in her voice, because he backed off and released her wrists. She tried to push against one beefy shoulder, but the feel of his fingers on her cheek froze her in place.
He applied gentle pressure until she was forced to turn back to him. "What's going on, Racy? Talk to me."
Oh, damn, she didn't know how to deal with this kind of Gage Steele. Sweet and sexy and very appealing. When he was being a pain in the ass, yeah, he was still appealing, but she could give back as good as she got. This…this Gage she had no defenses against.
"Noth-nothing. I just need to…ah, to get home and clean up my place." She latched on to the best—okay, the first—reason that popped into her head. At least it was the truth.
He propped up on an elbow, still keeping her immobile. "You're sneaking out because you need to clean?"
"Yes, I had my place bombed yesterday."
One eyebrow arched.
Here we go again.
"Excuse me?"
"An exterminator came in and fumigated. I know…January and bugs don't mix, but they do for me. Anyway, I figured I'd be gone all day with the wedding and after the reception I'd find a place to crash—"
"So any bed last night would've worked for you?"
A direct hit and they were back in familiar territory. "
You're
the one who followed me up here!"
"All I'm asking for is a little honesty."
She pulled a deep breath. Big mistake.
Her breasts rubbed against him. His jaw clenched and his hand slid to the back of her neck, his fingers starting a rhythmic massage. He looked like he was going to kiss her again, on the mouth this time.
"Look, having spent most of the last week pissed off over a misunderstanding totally drained me." The words tumbled from her. "But I was confused and mad and trying to deal with my finals while staying upbeat for Maggie."
"You told me that last night. Before we made love."
She sighed. "Gage, last night was…was…"
"Amazing? Mind-blowing? Awesome?"
"Inevitable."
That stopped him.
"You and I have had this…thing between us for a long time," she continued, taking advantage of his stunned silence. His words describing last night branded her heart. "What happened in Vegas was just the coming together of—of—I don't know, the right cosmic forces or the alignment of the planets with both of us in the same place, same time—"
"So what does that make last night? A final itch you had to scratch?"
Racy paused, unsure how to answer.
Over the last five months, she'd spent the same amount of time mad at him, for one thing or another, as she had fantasizing about the passionate night they'd shared in Vegas. She'd wondered, even after that kiss in his living room, if being together could've possibly been
that
good.
It had.
So, they had good—no, make that
great
sex, in common, but little else.
He wasn't like any of the other men she'd had in her life. He embodied everything good and decent and true. He was strong and loyal and committed to his family and this town. He took care of everyone—even her—despite the craziness it brought to his life. She could never live up to that standard, no matter how hard she tried.
"Racy, this is going to seem like a crazy question…"
His voice yanked her out of her musings. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but every muscle in her body froze and refused to cooperate.
Ohmigod—he wasn't going to—even though technically they already—no, he couldn't actually be—
"Is this my sweat jacket?" he asked.
She blinked, then watched his gaze travel over the tattered, well-washed gray zippered jacket she'd thrown on this morning in her haste to get dressed.
"Huh?"
"I asked if this—" He reached for the jacket collar.
Racy knew he was looking for the white hand-stitched tag with his initials. The tag was now yellow and faded with age. The G and M were gone, as was most of the S, but the faint outline was still there.
"I'll be damned, it is! Where'd you get—" Realization dawned in his eyes. "Just before graduation…that afternoon in my truck out at the lake. You kept it? All this time?"
She shrugged and aimed for nonchalant. "Yeah, well, it's been in the back of my closet for years."
He fingered the well-worn cuff on one sleeve, then the repaired bottom edge. His fingers skimmed across her belly, his touch hot on her already heated skin. Her muscles clenched as he traced the zipper upward until he reached where the metal pull rested between her breasts.
"You're lying. You've worn this before. You've worn it often. In fact—" he lowered his head until their noses touched, his words a hot rush over her lips "—you had it on the day I told you we were still marr—"
The shrill ring of his cell phone cut off his words.
Gage squeezed his eyes shut and gutted out a couple of coarse, but softly spoken, curse words.
Racy waited until he sat up and put the phone to his ear to wiggle away from him, trying not to look at the magnificent naked body on display.
"Steele here."
She reached for her boots and tugged them on, knowing he watched her every move.
"What? When? Has the fire department been called?" He sat up straight, and shoved a hand through his dark hair as every muscle in his abdomen flexed. "How bad is it?"
His clipped tone caused her to pause, but she had to get out of there while she could. Her purse had landed under the desk. Where the hell had her keys gone?
The blue-and-white logo of The Blue Creek key ring nestled in the jumbled bedding caught her eye. Success.
"What's the location? Is it commercial or…ah, dammit!"
His hand clamped down on hers as she grabbed her keys. "Hey!"
"I'm on my way." He said into his phone then ended the call. "Racy, wait."
"I can't." She twisted her wrist, surprised when he let go. "I need to get going and it sounds like you have some pressing—"
He scooted to the edge of the bed. "Where's Jack?"
"What?" She backed up a step. "Why would you ask—"
He grabbed his underwear from the floor and slipped them on. "Racy, answer me. Where's Jack?"
"Out at Maggie's ranch. I told you my place was being fumigated. Do you really think I'd leave—ohmigod…you said fire department. Is it…is it my house?"
He started toward her, six-plus feet of solid muscle, looking ridiculously sexy in nothing but those red, white and blue cartoon boxers. Compassion and pity filled his dark eyes. "It's gonna be okay—"
"Ohmigod, it is." An unfathomable horror filled her. No! Not her house, not now! "My house is on fire."
"Let me get dressed—" Gage reached for his tuxedo pants. "Dammit, we need to stop by my office. I've got clothes there."
"No." She backpedaled from his outstretched hand, stumbling over her duffel bag. "I need to go. I need to go now."
"Racy—"
She grabbed her bag, the webbed handles pressing into her palm as a sick thought filled her head. Its contents might be all she had left in the world. "I have to go home."
She rushed from the room and flew down the stairs. Jumping into her Mustang, she gunned it to life. Snow and slush spraying from her tires, she raced out of the parking lot. Mindful of the Saturday-morning crowds, she blessed every traffic light that went her way as she headed down Destiny's main street.
The sight of kids playing in the snow with their dogs had her sending a quick prayer of thanks her precious pet wasn't at home. The tears she refused to allow to fall stung the back of her eyes, blurring her vision. She brushed them away and opened the driver's-side window, welcoming the rush of cold air on her face. Once on the outskirts of town, she picked up speed.
She knew better.
She knew better than to dream, to plan, to believe. It always came back to bite her in the ass.
But not this time, please, not this time.
Ten minutes later she turned onto her road and the smell of smoke rushed in her open window. Ohmigod, it was real. It really was happening.
Her fingers clenched the wheel as she slowed for the last bend, bright orange-and-yellow flames visible through the trees. A half-dozen pickup trucks crowded the long drive, forcing her to park on the side of the road. Her car slid into a snowbank when she hit the brakes and she scrambled out, leaving the door open behind her.
A stomach-turning, nose-burning stench hit her full in the face as she sped up her snow-and-dirt driveway. Someone called her name, but she didn't stop. She staggered around the end of one of the fire department pickup trucks and was blasted with a flash of red-hot heat.
Mesmerized, she stared at her home, completely engulfed in flames that shot out of every window and through the roof.
It was gone. All gone.
"Racy! What are you doing? Get back!"
A pair of hands gripped her and yanked her backward. She tried to pull away, but the fingers wouldn't let go.
"Don't fight me, girl. You need to get away from here."
She spun around and found Leeann tugging on her arm. "Lee, what are you—what happened? What's going on?"
"Come on, hon, let the firefighters do their jobs." Her friend wrapped an arm around her, forcing Racy to move back behind the main fire truck.
Numbness took over as she watched Destiny's volunteer firefighters, including Devlin Murphy, who barked out orders from the side yard. Many were regulars at The Blue Creek and she'd always joked she expected great service if she ever needed to call on them.
"It's gone," she whispered. "It's all gone. I tried…tried to do it right…but I screwed up. Again. Am I ever going to learn?"
Leeann grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. "You must be freezing. And don't panic yet. They might be able to save—"
"Save what?" she cried. "Look at it! Everything I have…my life…is in that house."
"Jack is safe, right? You told me at the reception he was at Maggie's."
"Y-yes, he is, thank God, but you don't understand—"
"I do understand." Leeann set the blanket back over Racy's shoulders. "Better than most."
Of course she did. "Oh, Lee, I'm sorry. I didn't think about your family's home being destroyed by fire."
"That was years ago and no one was living there at the time, so it's not the same, but I do know what you're going through." Leeann pulled her into a hug. "Now, is there a chance anyone else was inside your place?"
Racy shook her head.
Leeann backed up, but kept her hands on Racy's arms. "Billy Joe or Justin?"
Her heart lurched. She again shook her head, then thought about the exterminator's visit. She told Leeann, who grabbed a passing firefighter and relayed the information.
"You don't think—"
Leeann shook her head, cutting her off. "No, you said the appointment was yesterday morning. I just wanted Murphy to know because of the chemicals involved."
"Do you think that's the reason?"
"I don't know, honey."
"How did…how did you know about this?"
"I was at the station about to get in my cruiser when Gage came zooming into the parking lot. He told me about the fire as he headed inside. To change I guess." Leeann bit down on her bottom lip. "He was still dressed in his tux from last night."
Racy's anger burned as hot as the fire. "What else did he tell you?"
"What?"
"Did he tell you about our fight? How badly I screwed up? But that I was actually trying to entice him up to my room?" She knew she was being unreasonable, but with everything happening she wasn't thinking straight. "Did he tell you how drunk I—?"
"Hey, you only had a few glasses of champagne."
"Not that kind of drunk. No, that's an easy drunk." Her voice shook as she paced in the already trampled snow. "No, I'm talking about being drunk on living in the moment, believing in the slightest chance of happily-ever-after."
Her hands balled into fists as her emotions turned raw. "About buying into the notion that good things are possible and that a person can climb out of the box life shoved them into—"
"Racy, you're not making any sense."
"No, she isn't."
She jumped at the sound of Gage's voice. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath through her nose, determined not to gag on the smoke. When she opened them and turned, he stood there, dressed in his usual garb of jeans, leather bomber jacket and off-white Stetson.