“What is?” He settles those big hands of his on my waist. His long fingers span outward, gripping me tight, and I feel like I’ve become seized by some uncontrollable force, one I can’t fight off no matter how hard I try.

That force would be Gage.

“I already told you.” God, he’s exasperating. It’s like he doesn’t even listen to a word I say. “Us. Together. There will never be an us or a together, got it?”

“Got it, boss.” He’s not really listening, I can tell. He’s pulled slightly away so he can stare down at me, too enraptured with his hands on my body. A shock of brown hair tinged with gold tumbles down across his forehead and I resist the urge to reach out and push it away from his face.

Just barely.

He slides his hands around me until they settle at the small of my back, his fingertips barely grazing my backside. I’m wearing jeans, yet it’s like I can feel his touch directly on my skin. Heat rushes over me, making my head spin, and I let go of a shaky exhalation.

“We shouldn’t do this,” I whisper, pressing my lips together when I feel his hands slide over my butt. Oh my God, his touch feels so good.

What the hell am I thinking? Letting him touch me like this? It’s wrong. Us together is wrong.

So why does it feel so right?

“Do what?” His question sounds innocent enough, but his touch isn’t. He pulls me into him so I can feel the unmistakable ridge of his erection pressing against my belly and a gasp escapes me. He’s big. Thick. My thighs shake at the thought of him entering me.

I need to put a stop to this, and quick.

“I don’t think we sh—”

Gage presses his index finger to my lips, silencing me. I stare up at him, entranced by the glow in his eyes, the way he stares at my mouth. Like he’s a starving man dying to devour me.

Anticipation thrums through my veins. I should walk away now. Right now, before we take this any further. We’re standing in the doorway of the bakery for God’s sake. Anyone could see us, not that many people are roaming the downtown sidewalks at this time of night. He’s got one hand sprawled across my ass and he’s tracing my lips with his finger like he wants to memorize the shape of them.

And I’m . . . parting my lips so I can suck on his fingertip.

His eyes darken as he slips his finger deeper into my mouth. I close my lips around him, sucking, tasting his salty skin with a flick of my tongue. A rough, masculine sound rumbles from his chest as his hand falls away from my lips. He drifts his fingers down my chin, my neck, and my breath catches in my throat.

“Gage.” I whisper his name, confused. Is it a plea for him to stop or for him to continue? I don’t know. I don’t know what I want from him.

“Scared?” he asks, his lids lifting so he can pin me with his gorgeous green eyes. They’re glittering in the semidarkness, full of so much hunger, and my body responds, pulsating with need.

I try my best to offer a snide response but the truth comes out instead. “Terrified.”

He lowers his head. I can feel his breath feather across my lips, and I part them in response, eager for his kiss. “That makes two of us,” he whispers.

Just before he settles his mouth on mine.

The kiss is just the right blend of soft and hard, demanding and giving. I wind my arm around his neck, slide my hand into his hair and pull him closer. Needing him closer as our tongues dance, our sighs mingling together into one perfect, cohesive sound.

He pushes me against the cool glass, one hand still gripping my butt, his other hand drifting down my front. A barely-there touch over the soft cotton of my T-shirt, my entire body tightens in response; my ni**les harden beneath the lace of my bra.

I feel like I’m drowning. In his taste, his hands, his scent, his overwhelming presence. It’s so confusing, what I’m feeling while in his arms. I don’t like him. I don’t want to want him.

But I do.

The kiss grows hungrier, more insistent. Our hands are everywhere, his slipping beneath my T-shirt to touch my belly. Mine slide down to curve over his very firm backside, squeezing, pulling him closer. Until we’re nothing but a panting, yearning, straining mess.

I break the kiss first, staring up at him in dazed wonder. His swollen lips are parted, his hair a mess from my fingers, and he watches me, his breathing rough.

He looks too beautiful for words.

“We shouldn’t—”

“I’m sorry—”

We start talking at the same time, his apology making me want to shove him away.

Instead I grab hold of his tie and pull him into me, our lips crashing together, our tongues circling, tasting. It’s a frenzied, out-of-control mess, and I fall back against the glass door again, startled when I hear the familiar tinkling of the bell above us.

He ends the kiss this time, his gaze lifting, staring just beyond my head and through the door. “We need to—”

“Move this elsewhere?” I ask, earning a startled glance from him. I bet he didn’t expect that. “I agree.” I push him away, and he steps back, looking just as dazed as I feel. Grabbing hold of his tie again, I take him with me, walking through the café toward the kitchen, the two of us completely silent.

I can hear him breathing, feel his warmth radiating toward me, and I let go of his tie, take hold of his hand instead. He follows behind willingly, his fingers locking around mine, and I hold my breath, afraid he might say something to ruin the moment.

Thank God he keeps his big mouth shut.

Excitement pulses through my veins. I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s a mistake. I know it, and I’m sure he knows it too, but there’s something about him I can’t resist. The way he looks at me, the things he says, the way I feel when I’m in his arms, his mouth on mine, our tongues tangling . . .

He’s irresistible. And I’m tired of fighting it. Fighting with him.

We enter the kitchen and the minute the door swings shut behind us, I turn toward him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he bends to kiss me. Our mouths cling perfectly, the taste of him becoming quickly addictive. I’m fast becoming addicted to the way he touches me, too. His hands race over me, too light, not lingering long enough, and I move against him with a whimper. His answering low moan vibrates against my lips, sending an echo through my entire body, and I shift closer. Restless. Wanting more.

I can’t even question what’s come over me. I don’t kiss men I don’t really know. I definitely don’t grope them either. I’m no prude, but I’ve never had something like this happen to me. It feels so random, so completely out of character. Scary and exhilarating and exciting and—

“You’re thinking too much.” He grabs hold of my h*ps and guides me backward, until I bump against the wall with a startled gasp. Taking my hands, he raises my arms above my head, pinning my wrists with his firm grip. “You need to learn how to just feel.”

Before I can offer any sort of argument, he leans in to kiss me, softly at first. A teasing, gentle caress of his lips that makes me want more. His kiss slowly becomes harder, then hungrier, until I feel like I’m about to lose my mind—my very soul—to his greedy, wicked mouth.

God, he’s so right. I need to forget everything and just lose myself in the moment. Lose myself in him. Let go of all my troubles, my hang-ups, my wariness over getting involved with Gage. I want to feel his hands. His mouth. His tongue, his fingers, his . . .

He breaks away to blaze a trail with his lips along my jaw, down my neck. My hands are still pinned in his grip, and I struggle against it, wanting to touch him.

Needing to touch him.

“If I let you go, are you going to run?” He breathes the question against my neck, his teeth nibbling the sensitive skin.

I shake my head. No way am I going to run away from this, though a tiny voice deep inside my mind tells me I absolutely should, that I’m about to make the biggest mistake of my life. “No.”

His grip gentles on my wrists, his thumbs sweeping across my wildly beating pulse. I shiver at the contact, shocked at how he can illicit my body’s response with the lightest of touches.

“I think I like having you trapped.” He pushes my hands together and grabs hold of both of my wrists with one big hand, his other hand sliding down my front, between my breasts, one finger trailing down the center of my stomach to stop just at the waistband of my jeans, sending shivers cascading all over my skin.

“I’m sure you do,” I say, trying for sarcastic, but yet again, I just sound breathless. Needy.

Damn it.

A smile curves his lips, the sight of it taking my breath away. “I’d like having you this way even more if you were na**d.”

Oh my God. I should tell him to go to hell right here, right now. We are so not doing this. Not doing it. Not doing it . . .

He slips his hand beneath the hem of my shirt, his fingers grazing my stomach, and I close my eyes, all protests, all thought forgotten. All I can do is lose myself in the sensation of his touch, the way his fingers curl around the waistband of my jeans before they move for the button. He undoes it easily, sliding down the zipper, brushing against the front of my panties, and I open my eyes, press my lips together to keep from crying out.

The jerk knows I’m holding back. His smile turns arrogant as he pushes first one side of my jeans down over my hips, then the other. He’s surprisingly agile with one hand, considering he’s still holding my wrists against the wall.

Not like I’d move them anyway. I sort of like being so open and vulnerable to his perusal. His touch.

God, why though? Why should I leave myself so open and vulnerable? Being with him makes me feel free. It’s exhilarating in the most scary, forbidden way.

He’s temptation personified and for once in my life, I want to completely give in to sin and not worry about the consequences.

“What are we doing?” I ask, my voice low. I need an answer. I need to hear that he’s just as lost to this as I am. If he says the wrong thing, I should put an end to it right now. Kick him out and hope like crazy I never see him again.

Liar. You’d be devastated if you never saw him again.

He lifts his head, slipping a finger beneath the thin elastic waistband of my panties, touching the bare, sensitive skin of my stomach. I hold my breath, waiting for him to slip that finger lower, wanting it between my legs. “Do you have to ask?”

Smug bastard. “I don’t like you,” I remind him. Reminding myself, too. I really don’t. He’s trying to buy up my family’s property so he can turn it for profit, and we’ll be left with nothing but some cash in the bank, our legacy gone. I need to focus on that. How he wants to end our presence, how he wants to squash my secret dream.

But all I can do is savor his touch and want more. More, more, more.

“Good,” he grunts. “I don’t really like you either.” All the while that finger trails lower, teasing down the front of me until he pulls completely away and out from beneath my underwear.

I feel the loss keenly, the bastard. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” He grins, leaning in to press his mouth to mine as he lets go of my wrists. “Don’t touch you? Don’t stop? Which is it, Marina?” He whispers the questions across my lips, his own hot and delicious. I’m torn. I don’t know what to do. I want him to stop. But then again, I want him to keep going. I want to know what it feels like to be with Gage.

Feel him move inside me. Know what he looks like when he comes.

Closing my eyes, I fight my inner battle. And surrender myself to him.

Gage

SHE’S A GORGEOUS sight, pressed against the wall, her jeans hanging halfway down her thighs, wearing the most innocent yet sexy panties I think I’ve ever seen. They’re white cotton, trimmed in delicate lace, the fabric so sheer I can see her pubic hair. A tiny white bow dots the center of the waistband, and the same silky ribbon ties around her hips, bows dotting either side of her.

I want to undo those bows and watch her panties fall away from her body. Then I want to get down on my knees and bury my mouth between her legs. I know she’ll taste hot and wild. I wonder how many flicks of my tongue will make her come.

Fuck, I’m beyond eager to find out.

“Come here.” She grabs hold of my tie—I think she likes doing that—and pulls me to her, my mouth falling onto hers. She opens for me easily, her tongue doing a wicked dance against mine that has me so hard I’m afraid I’ll bust through the fabric of my pants, I want her so damn bad.

I guess the kiss is her answer to my earlier question. I know I shouldn’t want this either. That if I think about it too much, I’ll put a stop to the craziness. Because this is crazy, without a doubt. She’s too prickly for me.

But the prickliness has all but evaporated, leaving a passionate, responsive woman in my arms. This woman shoving at my jacket until I shake it off blows my mind. What the f**k are we doing? We’re going to have sex in the kitchen of her bakery. I’ve known her for only a couple of days. I’m trying to buy out her family because they’re desperate for money.

And I’m trying to get in her pants because I’m desperate to be inside her.

She seems just as desperate, furiously attacking the buttons of my shirt before she yanks on my tie yet again, loosening it around my neck. I shrug out of it all then reach for her, pushing her shirt up and over her head, my mouth going dry when I see her br**sts barely covered in the white, lacy bra.

Rosy pink ni**les press against the lace as if they’re yearning to be free. I reach for her, flicking open the front clasp. The cups spring away, revealing her full, perfect breasts, and I cup them in my palms, brushing the tips with my thumbs.