But the vague worry couldn't quite take root, because something about Gage compelled me to trust him despite my best efforts not to. I wondered how many times in my life I had done something just because I wanted to. without weighing the consequences.

We had both fallen silent as Gage pulled up to the house and stopped the car. The air snapped with unspoken questions. I sat still in my seat, not meeting his gaze. A few raw, coursing seconds, and I fumbled blindly for the buckle of my seat belt. Without hurry. Gage got out of the car and came around to my side.

"It's late." I remarked casually as he helped me out of the car.

"Tired11"

We walked to the front door. The night air was cool and sweet, clouds brooding across the moon in transparent layers.

I nodded to indicate yes, I was tired, although it wasn't true. I was nervous. Now that we were back in familiar territory, I found it difficult not to slip into my old cautions. We stopped by the door, and I turned to face him. My balance was uncertain in the high heels. I must have swayed a little, because he reached out and took my waist in his hands, fingers resting on the upper slope of my hips. My closed hands formed a small barricade between us. Words tumbled from my lips—I thanked him for dinner, tried to express how much I'd enjoyed it...

My voice faded as Gage pulled me close and pressed his lips to my forehead.

"I'm in no hurry, Liberty. I can be patient."

He held me carefully, as if I were fragile and in need of shelter. Tentatively I relaxed against him, nestling, my hands inching up his shoulders. Everywhere we pressed, I felt the pure physical promise of how good it could be, was going to be, and something began to uncoil in all the vulnerable places of my body.

His wide, firm mouth moved to my cheek, touched it in a gentle brand. "I'll see you in the morning."

And then he pulled away.

Dazed, I watched him start down the steps. "Wait," I said lamely. "Gage..."

He turned back, his brows lifting in a silent question.

Embarrassed, I mumbled, "Aren't you going to kiss me good night?"

His quiet laugh curled through the air. Slowly he came back to me, bracing one hand on the door. "Liberty, darlin'..." His accent was heavier than usual. "I can be patient, but I'm not a saint. One kiss is about all I can handle tonight."

"Okay," I whispered.

My heartbeat turned unruly as his head bent over mine. He touched me with nothing but his mouth, tasting lightly until my lips parted. There was the same elusive flavor that had haunted me for the past two nights, it was in his breath, on his tongue, something sweet and drugging. I tried to draw as much of it in as possible, wrapping my amis around his neck to keep him there. A soft, dark sound came from his throat. His lungs moved in an uneven surge, and he clamped an arm low on my h*ps and caught me against him.

He kissed me longer, harder, until we were leaning against the door. One of his hands slid upward from my waist, hovered at my breast and snatched back. I put my hand on his and clumsily urged it to where I wanted it. until his fingers were cupped beneath the round weight. His thumb circled, rubbed slowly, until the flesh tightened into an aching bud. He took it in his fingertips, tugged with exquisite gentleness. I wanted his mouth on me, his hands, all his skin against mine. I needed so much, too much, and the way he touched me, kissed me, made me crave impossible things. "Gage..."

He wrapped his arms around me in an effort to still my helpless writhing. His mouth was buried in my hair. "Yes?"

"Please.. .walk me up to my room."

Understanding what I was offering, Gage took his time about replying.

"I can wait."

"No..." I wrapped my amis around him as if I were drowning. "I don't want to wait."

CHAPTER 21

Somewhere between the front door and the bedroom, the heat of passion was banked by misgivings. Not that I was going to back out at this point—I wanted Gage too badly. And even if we managed to put it off, I was certain we'd end up in bed eventually. But my mind kept circling around my inadequacies in bed and how to make up for them. I tried to figure out what Gage would want, the things that might please him. By the time we were in my room, my mind was filled with what looked like pages from a football playbook, arrows leading to diagrams of passing routes, blocking strategies, hole assignments, and offensive formations.

As I watched Gage's hand on the doorknob and heard the click of the lock, I felt my stomach swoop. I turned the bedside lamp on low. sending a varnish of yellow light across the floor.

Gage's face softened as he glanced at me. "Hey..." He gestured for me to come to him.

"You're allowed to have second thoughts."

I felt his arms go around me. and I huddled against him. "No, no second thoughts." My cheek pressed into the soft black cashmere of his sweater. "But..."

"But what?" His hand coasted up and down my spine. I argued with myself for a few seconds—if I was going to trust a man enough to go to bed with him, I should trust him enough to say whatever I wanted.

"The thing is..." I said with difficulty. No matter how deep a breath I drew. I only seemed to be getting half the air I needed. Gage's hand continued its slow, reassuring motion. "There's something you should know.

"Yes?"

"Well, you see..." I closed my eyes and made myself say it. "The thing is, I'm bad in bed."

His hand stopped. He pried my head away from his shoulder and subjected me to a quizzical glance. "No you're not."