Restless

“Boyfriend away?” he asked as he handed her a glass holding a finger of Jack.

Her eyes grew wide and it appeared to take some effort for her to swallow as she drank. “Something like that.” She swiped the back of her hand against her mouth. Her lips, he noticed, seemed bare of lipstick. In fact, she didn’t appear to be wearing any makeup at all, which was curious. Whenever he’d seen her, she’d always been well put together.

Then again, one didn’t require proper attire when slumming it.

And he guessed that’s exactly what one sexy Ms. Lizzie Gilbred, trial attorney, was doing. Slumming it. She’d come knocking on his door in need of a quick ego fix. Probably she’d been dumped by that asshole of a boyfriend and needed reminding that she was still desirable.

Then in the morning she’d regret ever crossing that driveway.

But none of that was his concern. The only question was whether he wanted to take what she was offering.

He watched her cross to sit on the edge of his bed and he raised both of his eyebrows. Most women weren’t quite that obvious with their intentions.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.”

LIZZIE LEANED BACK on the bed, on the mattress she had chosen herself for its durability, if not complete comfort, six months ago when she’d moved into the house and had the apartment furnished so she might rent it out. She was acutely aware of the man picking up his guitar and sitting down on the ottoman in front of the chair across the room. Despite the inclement weather, he wore a T-shirt, a dark brown one bearing the logo of a rock band, the hem not quite tucked into jeans that looked like they’d seen their fair share of wild nights out.

She’d always been a sucker for the tall, dark and handsome type, but Patrick Gauge put a whole new spin on the description with his unruly, longish light brown hair and his lanky, rather than athletic, build.

There was something very enticing about the lost-little-boy look. Even though there was definitely nothing boyish about him.

As he ran his long, callused fingers over the guitar strings, she thought that he was waiting for her to say or do whatever she’d come there for.

Instead she silently sipped her whiskey and took her fill of him while he was otherwise occupied. Watching his biceps flex with his movements. The pull of the denim against his groin. The thickness of his neck above the frayed collar of his T-shirt. God, he was rough.

He kept a neat place, she’d give him that. Not overly so—she couldn’t detect the scent of any cleaning products—but there wasn’t any dirty underwear lying around. Her gaze went back to his groin. Of course, that might be because he didn’t wear underwear.

The idea made her hot.

She leaned back farther on the bed, letting the gold liquid creep through her veins, warming her along with the glass of wine she’d had at her place.

She shouldn’t be there. Shouldn’t be tempting fate along with her tenant. But when she’d glimpsed the rest of the night gaping before her like a fathomless pit faced with the choice of checking a cell phone that would never ring or coming over here to see what temporary trouble she could get into, well…this was definitely preferable.

“The quickestway to get over the old guy is to take up with a new guy,” her friend Tabitha was fond of saying.

Of course, Lizzie didn’t really plan to take up with Gauge. She merely wanted to indulge in something she never had before. More specifically, she wanted to experience a one-night stand. Find out for herself why they were so popular. Any risks involved would be offset by her psychological need to escape her thoughts, if only for a few precious hours.

“Are you playing at the pub this weekend?” she asked, conscious of the way his fingers stroked the strings with the finesse of a pro.

He nodded and then leveled that intense musician’s gaze at her. “I’m surprised.”

“By what?”

“I didn’t peg you as a pub kind of woman.”

She smiled. “I take it women don’t surprise you often.”

“No. Not often.”

She watched the way his thick, long fingers manipulated the strings, noticing that the acoustic guitar was old. Two newer guitars—another acoustic, one electric—sat in stands nearby. Scratches marred the front of the one he held, and there even appeared to have been some patchwork down one side.

He played a few more chords, then switched the CD player on.

“Had that long?” Lizzie asked.

He blinked as if seeing the guitar for the first time. He rested the bottom on the floor and moved it so she could see the back. Dozens of words were engraved in the wood. “This guitar shows all the places I’ve traveled, cities, towns.” He turned it back around.

“Wherever my guitar is, my heart is.”

He leaned the instrument against the ottoman and rested his elbows on his knees, making no secret of his interest in her where she half lay on his bed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, his voice as quiet as his playing.

Direct. She liked that.

“Mmm. I’m absolutely positive.”

3

GAUGE HAD LEARNED A long time ago that the touch of a woman could be as intoxicating as any liquor. And while Lizzie Gilbred might emerge more Chivas Gold to his Jack, she was an intoxicant all the same as she slid farther back onto the bed, stretching out like a supple black cat with blond hair.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she asked quietly.

His answer was a shake of his head.

“I am. A talker, I mean.”

Gauge reached down and took off his right boot, then followed with his left.

He watched her watch him.

“I guess it goes along with the territory. You know, my being a trial attorney. When you come up against opposing counsel, you had better be a pretty good debater.”

Gauge took off his T-shirt. He wondered how much debating she’d done before she’d crossed the snowcovered driveway from her large house to his small apartment. Had she considered all the angles? Taken in the possible consequences?

For reasons he couldn’t quite name, he had the feeling that she hadn’t. Something, some event, had pushed her to come to his place on the spur of the moment. And his silent disrobing across the room from her was his way of giving her a chance to change her mind.

He lowered his hands toward the fly of his jeans and paused. Instead of scooting toward the end of the bed in order to make her exit, sexy Lizzie Gilbred ran her pink tongue along her lips, her gaze riveted to his actions.

Let it not be said that he hadn’t given her ample opportunity to hightail it out of there. Realize that what she was about to do was something she couldn’t take back or erase.

He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

“You have a great physique,” she said quietly, reaching out to run her fingertips down his right arm. “Must be the guitar playing.”

Gauge shifted to face her, taking her hands and bringing her to a sitting position. She appeared ready for him to kiss her. Instead he reached for the hem of her sweater and slowly brought it up, purposely avoiding meeting her lips. This wasn’t about intimacy—it was about sex. Pure and simple. An escape as stimulating as spirits. He tugged the soft material over her head, tousling her golden hair and revealing that she was every bit as shapely as he’d suspected. A bloodred satin bra did what his palms were suddenly itching to do, namely curve under the fleshy orbs of her breasts.

He skimmed his fingers over the glossy material and she inhaled deeply.

Gauge looked into her eyes to find a mixture of fascination and curiosity on her beautiful face.

Her tongue made a repeat performance. “Don’t you think we should turn out the lights?”

Two lamps filled the room with dim light, and he didn’t want to switch off either one of them.

He pretended not to hear her as he slid both of his hands over the satin cups until his hands supported her as much as her bra. He rubbed his callused thumbs over the firm tips, scratching the delicate material.

He’d never understood a woman’s desire for shiny lingerie. To him, there was nothing sexier than a naked woman. Her soft skin, fleshy curves, shadowy crevices. Nothing man-made could ever rival the sight of a woman’s trembling stomach, or the cleft between her legs.

He worked his thumbs inside the bra cups until her taut nipples popped out of the top.

Lizzie’s breathing quickened, but she didn’t move, apparently content to let him take command.

Gauge took one of the nipples into his mouth, reveling in the feel of the stiff, puckered skin against his tongue. She smelled like a mixture of cucumbers and musk. She tasted like heaven. He squeezed the soft flesh with his fingers and took in more of her, sucking deeply. She gasped and grasped his wrist, as if unsure whether to pull him away or urge him closer.

Gauge took the decision away from her by removing his mouth and reaching behind her to undo the clasp of her bra. The flimsy material instantly gapped forward and he helped her the rest of the way out of it, ignoring her attempts to kiss him.

He reached for the catch to her slacks even as she fumbled with his zipper. Gauge stretched out next to her to make the transition easier. He felt her mouth on his shoulder and neck, hot, hungry, even as he clenched his back teeth and sought the springy curls between her legs with his fingers…only to find…She was completely bare, her flesh as smooth as the satin of her bra.

He groaned in the back of his throat, his erection immediately standing up at attention at the sight of her womanhood looking like a ripe fruit just waiting to be tasted.

And taste it he did…

LIZZIE’S BACK CAME UP off the mattress at the feel of Gauge’s hot mouth between her legs.

Oh, dear…

She couldn’t remember the last time someone had gone down on her. Keen awareness exploded through her, robbing her breath, making her aware of every swirl of his tongue, every beat of her heart.

Oh, yes. This definitely had been a good idea.

She forced her eyes open and tucked her chin into her chest so she could watch Gauge’s dark head as he parted her legs, baring her fully to his gaze. He followed the line of her fissure with his thumbs then opened her fleshy lips, his tongue lapping at her most intimate of intimates.

She was suddenly incapable of swallowing, incapable of thought. She twisted her fists into the downy blanket under her, reaching for something, anything that would relieve the pressure building between her legs…in her veins…filling her stomach. It seemed as if she’d flown too close to the sun in one long catapult, needing to pull away, yet wanting to stay to enjoy the spectacular view.

He slid his index finger inside her throbbing depths and she cried out, coming instantly, the pressure escaping in a series of muscle-deep spasms.

She was just beginning to regain her breath when she realized he was still licking her, apparently lapping her clean.

Lizzie found it difficult to swallow, a convert to lights-on sex. She’d been able to watch every expression on his face, every movement of his tongue. She’d been laid out against the mattress, open to his attentions, vulnerable at her weakest moment.

And she’d experienced one of the best orgasms she’d had in recent memory.

Gauge lifted himself up on his arms, his gaze intense as it flicked over her face. He slid forward until his hips lay between her legs and his chest rasped against the tips of her breasts. Lizzie’s hands immediately went to his face, needing to draw him near so she could kiss him.

He buried his face in her neck instead, leaving her little choice but to focus her attention on his shoulder.

He was hard where a man was meant to be hard, no extra ounce of flesh on him anywhere. There was a tattoo on his right arm, but she couldn’t make it out as she felt him move between her thighs.

Her throat tightened when she felt him naked and hard against her slick portal.

“Condom?” she choked.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, merely ran his mouth against the column of her neck, creating a wet trail down to her breast and back.

What if he refused to wear one? Sure, she was on the pill, mostly to help regulate her periods, but she’d even made Jerry wear a condom.

“In the drawer to your right,” he said quietly.

Relieved, she reached for and found a foil-wrapped packet, freeing the lubricated latex inside and helping to sheath him. When he might have pulled away to enter her, she wrapped her fingers around his thick width instead and measured his length. Her thumbnail barely reached her index fingernail around him, and she guessed that if he got hard in his jeans and his member was positioned upward, you might see the tip there at the waist. Because she’d been right in her earlier supposition that he didn’t wear briefs or boxers. Nice…

He held himself above her, watching her face, his own cast in shadow from his tousled dark hair. His mouth was incredible, his lips generous, almost feminine. She released his erection and licked her lips in preparation for his kiss.

He entered her in one slow stroke instead.

She’d thought his mouth had worked miracles, but that had left her woefully unprepared for the feel of him inside her.

She was almost too tight for him, too small. But as he waited for her slick muscles to adjust to his size, a hungry restlessness built within her. She bent her knees for better traction and tilted her hips upward, taking even more of him in.

She blindly sought his mouth and connected with his jaw instead, kissing him repeatedly as he slowly withdrew and then slid inside her again, filling her almost to overflowing.

“Kiss me!” she whispered, grasping his arms to steady herself for his quickened stroke.

He did. He kissed her cheek nearer her ear. Then he whispered back, “This is fucking, Lizzie. Not lovemaking. It’s best that neither of us gets confused.”

Then he quickened the pace of his strokes more, giving her little time to protest or to even consider protesting as he shoved her closer and closer to her next climax…

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Gauge woke to the sound of a ringing phone. Probably one of the neighbors’, he thought, rolling onto his back and pulling the pillow over his head. Then he realized that he didn’t have any neighbors. At least not ones separated from him by a wall.

He dragged the pillow off his face and stared at the ceiling, guessing it to be around nine or ten. The scent of musk teased his nose and he put the pillow back to his face, glancing at the other side of the bed. Gone.

It was just as well that Lizzie Gilbred had gotten up and left his place at some point during the night.

He reached for the telephone receiver next to the bed, but it stopped mid-ring.

Good.

He reached down and scratched his balls then slid his fingers down his semierect shaft. He’d give Lizzie a lot of credit. Some women might have taken offense at his refusal of intimacy. Not her. If anything, she’d seemed further turned-on by the idea that she was there for sex and sex only. No strings that stretched beyond the perimeter of this bed.

She’d been insatiable. Going from screaming orgasm one moment to frenzied, sex-starved nympho the next. It had been a good long while since he’d enjoyed more than just a ten-minute sack session with a woman.

And months since he’d awakened not thirsting for a swallow from the bottle on the kitchen table across the room.

He tossed off the blankets and rose from the bed, heading for the bathroom and the shower, where he stood for long minutes under the hot spray. He’d promised the band that he’d stop by the pub this morning to practice before they opened for lunch. He shouldn’t have a problem making it, seeing as he really didn’t have anything else on his agenda.

Hell, he didn’t know what he was still doing in Fantasy, Michigan. If he’d known what was good for him, he’d have left right after Nina and Kevin’s wedding in August. Would never have unpacked his bag or his guitar and would have hightailed it back out after the reception.

But he hadn’t.

For some reason he had yet to fully define, he’d stayed on, renting the garage apartment from sexy Lizzie Gilbred, sitting in with area bands when they needed him and waiting until either wanderlust or a long-term commitment to a single band saw him hitting the road again.

Then he’d blinked and it was almost Christmas.

He’d hoped to be well out of the northern city before winter hit. While he’d lived through the past three when he’d gone into partnership with Nina and Kevin, he’d been vaguely looking forward to heading someplace south this season, as he had done in the years before the three had become friends.

He pushed his face into the punishing hot spray and ran his hands over the stubble covering his jaw.

Friends. Now there was a word for you.

The ringing started again.

Gauge shut off the water and stood dripping, listening to it. When it appeared the caller wasn’t about to give up, he grabbed a towel, rubbing it against his hair as he walked into the other room and picked up the extension.

“Gauge?”

His every muscle tightened as he recognized the female voice on the other end. Nina.…

4

LIZZIE CLOSED her notepad and stood up from the conference table. The afternoon strategy meeting to discuss a case going to court the following week was drawing to a close.

“I want to see that deposition, Mark,” she said to a junior associate.

“It’ll be on your desk by tomorrow morning.”

“I’d prefer a half hour.” She turned toward another associate. “Mary Pat, how’s the witness prep going?”

The pretty brunette smiled. “As well as can be expected. I’ve got another meeting with the key to go over testimony on Friday. Hopefully this time he won’t crack under cross.”

Lizzie nodded. “If anyone can handle it, you can.”

The room began emptying out as everyone said good-night and hurried off before she could assign them another task or ask another question.

Lizzie was the last one out. Which was usually the case. Her boss, John Stivers, had always said she was one of the hardest workers he’d ever seen. And, of course, the instant he’d said it, she’d determined to work even harder.

It was after six and she understood that many of her associates had families they wanted to get home to. The three senior partners had called it a day an hour or so ago, as had the secretarial pool and most of the paralegals, but she’d requested the late meeting because it was the only time they could fit it in.

She entered her office and put her files on her desktop. Her own paralegal was still on the clock and peeked her head through the door leading to the lobby area.

“Do you need me for anything else?” Amanda asked.

Lizzie glanced at her watch, then through the window. It was dark already. The white landscape looked grim from her third-floor office in the new building built to accommodate the expanding practice.

At least five things sprang to mind, but instead she waved her hand. “Go on home, Amanda. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thanks. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Lizzie sank down into her coffee-colored leather desk chair and sat for long moments, watching as the offices emptied out.

The partners had conducted a survey that estimated there was a more than thirty percent turnover of new attorneys at high-powered law firms nationwide, while their own partnership was doing slightly better, mostly because of the incentive program she’d helped them devise the year before. While Lizzie and a handful of other associates hungry to climb the partnership ladder put in over a hundred hours a week, most of the others averaged between sixty and eighty. Since much of their time as trial attorneys was spent at the courthouse, the only opportunity to do follow-up and file and prep work was after the regular hours of nine-to-five.

By rights, she should be feeling tired. Instead, she found she was still energized. She smiled as she compiled her notes and put a couple of files in her out-box. Over the past week she’d had to mainline caffeine to keep going. Today…

Her eyes widened. Today, she’d barely thought about Jerry and his leaving her high and dry.

Instead, she found her thoughts trailing to one very hot, very sexy Patrick Gauge.

She squeezed her thighs together, feeling tingly all over again.

Her cell phone chirped. She tilted it on her desk so she could read the display and then answered.

“I need a drink. Meet me at Ciao?” Tabitha asked.

Lizzie smiled. She could always count on her old friend to liven things up. If not for Tabitha this past week, things would have been harder than they had been. She and Lizzie had been close ever since attending University of Toledo Law School together, and they’d seen each other through some difficult times.

Despite their shared interest in the legal system, they’d taken different paths. While Lizzie had chosen trial law, Tabby had gone the bankruptcy route, helping strapped people regain some kind of control over their lives.

Lizzie asked now, “Why do you need a drink?”

“You’re right. I probably don’t need a drink. But I want one.” Tabitha sighed. “A long day, that’s all.”

“Tell me about it,” Lizzie agreed, although she hadn’t felt the day had been particularly grueling.

“You’re sounding better. Oh, no. Don’t tell me. He called.”

“Who?” she asked, before thinking. She cringed. Tabby knew her much too well not to read the road signs.

“Hmm. Okay. I suppose the question should be, ‘who is he’?”

“Who?” Lizzie asked again.

“Ah, yes. She’s taking my advice that the best way to forget about the last guy is to find the next.” Tabitha laughed, a throaty sound that never failed to make Lizzie smile. “So you’re feeling better then.”

“I’m feeling better.”

“Good. You’ve been such a train wreck this past week, I was afraid I might have to drag you to an AA meeting or two. Either that, or you might have to drag me.”

“Do you mind if I pass for tonight?”

“Mind? Hell, my credit card will thank you. Unlike you, I don’t have access to a bottomless expense account.”

“Whatever.”

“Call me tomorrow?”

“If you don’t call me first.”

Lizzie signed off after a few more moments and then sat back in her chair, both glad Tabby hadn’t asked again about the man who had taken her mind off Jerry and disappointed. Given the one-night nature of her liaison with Gauge, a part of her wanted to keep it private. Still, it had been so good, it was nearly impossible not to share.

While she’d never considered herself a good girl, she’d never really been a bad one, either. One-night stands were better left to those who had the time to waste. She’d been so focused first on school, then at the firm, that it was all she could do to stop by her parents’ a couple of times a week before dropping into bed at night, exhausted, only to start the cycle over again the next day.

She shifted her watch around on her wrist and looked at the pearly face, even though she knew what time it was. What she was really doing was wondering what Gauge was up to.

She was pretty sure the band played only on the weekends…which meant he should be home.

A warm pool of longing filled her stomach.

God, how long had it been since she’d experienced this heightened awareness? It was too long ago to remember her first time with Jerry. Had she felt the same way? She figured she must have, because she’d fallen in love with him all those years ago. Enough that she hadn’t hesitated to take him back six months ago, seeing his return as the fulfillment of what they’d begun all those years ago but never finished.