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“I can’t make any promises, everything is still up in the air, but I think you’d be better as Clare.” She tells me more about the role. It’s just as big, but the character isn’t the bad guy. “It’s about subverting the expectations. And tonight—you were completely different from your role on that TV show. I think you can more than handle Clare. Would you still be interested?”
“Yeah, I think I would,” I say, glancing at my curtain-covered window as a motorcycle roars by outside.
She promises to keep in touch, and we end the call. For a while, I just stare at the wall. This is closer to what I want, but it still isn’t what I want. Should I take it?
There’s no real decision to make yet. The whole project could fall apart anytime.
A second motorcycle thunders down my road, or the same one again, two minutes later. Slower this time.
My skin prickles.
I race downstairs to make sure I’ve locked the door behind me.
No one has ever bothered me at my house before, paparazzi down the street aside, but there’s a first for everything, so I dip into the garage and pull out an old baseball bat.
After a third pass of the street outside, the motorcycle stops and unless I’m mistaken, it’s in my driveway.
Shit.
I peek out from the curtain as a man drops the kickstand and climbs off.
My heart leaps. I know those thick thighs, but he shouldn’t be here. He made it very, very clear he wasn’t willing to take this risk for me.
But Gabe is here, now, walking up my driveway in a leather jacket and dark denim jeans, pulling the helmet off his head after one final look up and down the street.
He could lose anyone following him in traffic on a motorcycle. He’s not recognizable with a helmet on. And who would expect Gabriel Sinclair to even have a motorcycle? No one.
It’s a brilliant plan and a stupid gamble.
He barely knocks and I toss aside the bat and rip the door open, pulling him to me. His hands are everywhere, his mouth desperate and hard on mine, and we’re not done.
Not even close.
Chapter twenty-seven
Gabe
BythetimeIkick the door shut, I have the top of Ash’s pantsuit down to her waist and one hand palming her magnificent tits while the other helps her remove my jacket. I can’t stop kissing her and she doesn’t stop kissing me. Not until I let her pantsuit drop away and lie her down on the stairs. She lets go of my face and I bury myself between her thighs.
It’s my name she cries out when she comes. Still my name. Not his.
The ground floor of her house has an office with a couch against one wall. I scoop her up and lie her down on the soft leather, kneeling between her open legs.
“I missed you,” she whispers, while I pull the condom out of my back pocket.
There’s no time to get undressed. I push my jeans down and sheath my cock. “I missed you too.” More than she can ever know. Going without her the last few days has been like living without a layer of skin, and now that I’m here with her, the pain is gone.
“I need you.” Her voice is soft, vulnerable. I need her too. Need to touch her, claim her, and make sure she knows she’s still mine. She gasps when I grab her hips and pull her close, pushing her legs wide so I can fit myself between them. She’s still wearing her thong, but I need her now so I yank it to the side and plunge into her. The noise she makes sends tingles down my spine and I watch my cock as I fuck her, long and slow. Ash is watching, too, up on her elbows.
Seeing the connection between us as we move together helps knock those little doubts from my head. The way she looks at me when our eyes meet—she’s as much mine as I’m hers.
“Harder,” she urges as she lies back, her fingernails raking down my chest, biting lightly into my skin. The last shreds of my self-control blow away at that and I grab her legs, bringing them together and placing them both across my chest and over my shoulder. She’s so fucking tight like this, the thong I pushed aside dragging against my cock. Leaning against her, pressing her knees into her tits gets me so deep I think I might be lost. I want to be lost with Ash, down some sunbaked highway where the rest of the world can’t find us. I don’t want to come, I don’t want this to be over, but I can’t stop the inevitable. Coming inside her…it pulls the tension out of my body, filling me with relief and a sense of rightness.
We make it upstairs eventually and Ash reheats some takeout and I insist she sits on my lap, completely naked while I’m still dressed. The food doesn’t make it out of the microwave before I have her spread on my lap, my fingers in her pussy.
After, we lie in her bed, my head on her shoulder while she runs her fingers through my hair. Her skin is soft and warm and I breathe her deeply into my lungs. The urgent, primal force that drove me here fades because this, not the sex, is what I needed.
“Your house is nice,” I murmur.
