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“Beautiful, isn’t it?” And I swore his voice shook slightly with…something.
I turned, considering him, and then glancing around. “The sunset…is that what you wanted to show me?”
He avoided my gaze, his eyes trained on that dazzling sky. “Of course. What else?”
He was lying. It was the place he liked. What are you envisioning? What do you imagine this old building might become? What whispered stories do you hear? What dream are you trying to hold back?
He looked at me, that same intensity I’d seen downstairs clear in his gaze and radiating all around him. My breath caught. It was beautiful honestly. Raw and powerful. It made him appear so vibrant and alive in a way I wasn’t sure how to explain.
His gaze moved over my features, the passion still there, but also mixed with a measure of vulnerability so rare on Gage Buchanan’s face. “The way your eyes look in this light,” he murmured. “They’re dazzling. You’re dazzling.”
An exhale rushed from my lungs, my heart beating so rapidly I brought my hand to it as if I could slow it down with the press of my palm. “My mother told me that someone had once described her eyes as canary blue,” I said, the words breathy as I looked back out to the horizon. “She didn’t say who it was, but I always believed it was my father. And now, I’m even more certain. It’s the way an artist would describe something, isn’t it?”
“Canary blue,” he said, a note of wonder in his voice and something that almost sounded like relief. “Yes. It’s perfect. Your eyes, they’re canary blue, especially in this light.”
I looked back at him then. I couldn’t help it. Our gazes caught and everything about Gage Buchanan in that moment—the heat rolling off of him, the way he was looking at me—made me want to rush into his arms and bring my mouth to his. To drink in the intensity he was trying so hard to contain and mostly failing to—
His phone rang, jolting me from my Gage trance.
He made a small, startled movement too and then pulled the phone from his pocket and glanced down at it. His gaze shot to me. “It’s the lab.”
I took a tiny step back, the blood in my veins cooling at least several degrees, the emotional fogginess clearing. The hospital. Oh my God. Our test results. I swallowed. “Are you going to answer it?” My voice felt shaky and sounded strange, as if I had uttered the word from underwater. Oh God. Here it is. Brace for impact.
Gage let out a gust of air and punched at the phone. “Hello?” His voice sounded parched, as though he’d just walked ten miles under a desert sun. He listened for a minute, clenching his eyes shut. I couldn’t catch my breath. “99.9% certain?” he asked in that same dehydrated voice. “That’s very definitive.”
I brought my hand to my midsection, wondering how my stomach had managed to tie itself into knots in the last thirty seconds.
Gage listened again, still as a statue. “Thank you. I appreciate it. Right, yes. You too.” He hung up the phone and met my eyes. “Rory Casteel,” he whispered. “You are…not my sister.” Then a burst of sound that was part groan and part exhale exploded from his mouth, both of us moving so fast, I didn’t register what was happening until my face was between his palms and then his mouth was on mine. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.
“You had to pause, didn’t you? Just to torture me?” I asked between kisses.
God, he tasted good…and when had he picked me up, and when had I encircled him with my legs? I had climbed him in the space of three heartbeats and now we were ravaging each other’s mouths, moaning and thrusting and practically falling over as he walked with me, presumably moving somewhere that provided a soft place to land in the very unlikely event we toppled over.
Oh hell, I didn’t need a soft place to land. I only needed a solid surface, preferably one that didn’t feature protruding nails. Eh, I could work around nails. I just needed Gage naked.
“Rory, Christ, hell, fuck,” he moaned as we collided with the door that led down the stairs, lucky that it didn’t open easily and send us crashing to the floor below.
“Is there…somewhere we can…”
“Fuck,” he moaned when I writhed against the hard bulge filling his dress pants.
“Yes, that.”
He let out a sound that was part laugh and part tortured groan. “Not here. I refuse to take you anywhere other than a bed.”
“I don’t need a bed. Remember the pool table? We managed to have fantastic sex on a pool table. We can manage it again on the floor in a bank vault.”
He pulled back slightly in order to meet my eyes. “No, Rory. You deserve a bed. And I’m taking you to mine. Because I don’t want a quick fuck on the floor. I want access to your body for many, many hours in a row.”
I groaned too, shivers moving down my limbs. God, I was on the verge of orgasm just from rubbing up against him. But…many, many hours? In a bed? That sounded heavenly. I slid down his body. “Okay. Take me to your place, my not-brother.”
He laughed and then flung the door open behind him and we both flew down the stairs, laughing and slightly breathless. I hardly remembered the drive to his condo, other than that at every traffic light, he leaned across and kissed me until I was squirming.
He parked almost diagonally in a parking spot at his building and then tugged my arm as we ran to his condo, stumbling inside, mouths fused together.
“Bed, get me to your bed,” I said as I came up for air.
“I don’t know if I can make it there. I want you so bad,” he groaned. I felt him reach down and undo his zipper as we teetered one way, then another and I sucked at his tongue, my hands raking through his hair.
