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“Um, I’d say you’re there,” I say on a gasp as he lightly pinches.
“Is it just hands, though,” he says in a musing tone, as though trying to figure out a math problem, “or do lips qualify?”
“I seem to recall that A. J. Castor got a hand under the shirt, but I don’t recall him ever getting the shirt off me. Nor do I remember any mouth action.”
“Then A. J. Castor was fucking doing it wrong.”
Gage grabs both my hands and pins them to the love seat as he slides his tongue over my nipple in a slow lapping motion, which he follows up with a quick, hard lick.
I buck off the love seat. “Gage.”
“That’s right. Gage. Not K.J.”
“A.J.,” I correct.
He pulls back and shakes his head. “Why’d you have to do that? Now I find myself determined to make you forget the guy altogether.”
His tongue coaxes my nipple into his mouth as his other hand slides down my stomach.
“Hey!” I manage around a pant. “You seem to be heading for third.”
He makes a frustrated sound, but his hand retreats, moving upward again until it closes over my breast. He pinches one nipple as he sucks the other, moving back and forth between the two until I’m little more than a wriggling mess of pleas.
Gage slides upward to nuzzle my neck. “Damn it, Ellie, let me under that skirt.”
Somehow, somewhere I find the self-control to squirm out from beneath him, pulling the dress straps up over my shoulders.
He looks so adorably frustrated that I laugh. I take his face in mine, brush a kiss against his lips. “This is moving fast. I just…I want to be sure.”
“I’m Gage Barrett. You’re supposed to let me get around all the bases without thinking about it, and then regret it later for fear I’ll think you’re easy.”
I lift my eyebrows. “That how it usually works?”
“Yes,” he mutters before gently maneuvering me so that he can zip up my dress. He’s surpassingly gentle, straightening one of the straps before gliding the zipper back up.
He plants a kiss on my shoulder. “I deserve a medal for this.”
I turn my face so we’re eye to eye. “Do I need to run out of here before you get handsy again, or can I sip my champagne and trust you to act like a gentleman?”
“Stay,” he says without hesitation. “You’ve got to tell me who to send home next.”
All of them. Send them all home but me.
The thought is so unexpected, so unwelcome, that I gasp.
Gage frowns, his hand stilling in its gentle stroke over my leg. “Ellie?”
I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the thought, but it stays. The realization that I am falling for Gage Barrett is painful and yet totally unavoidable.
I…like him. Maybe more than like him.
Reality crashes down hard as I remember where I am, why I’m here, and who I’m with. Whatever happens in this closet, real life happens tomorrow when he tries to find a woman to marry. Or at least pretend to fall in love with.
And he hasn’t kissed Brooklyn or anyone else on the set besides Cora, Hannah, and Aurora, but how long will that last? They all actually want to be here—they actually want to walk down the aisle with him.
And I want…I want…
I grab my champagne and take a long swallow. He reaches for his glass as well, studying me. “I can send Brooklyn home.”
