Prince Albert(136)

Except last night with Gaige – someone I can barely tolerate, let alone love – was so much better than anything I've ever imagined.

Of course, I have to put it out of my mind. I'm sure Gaige already has. I'm certain this is nothing to him.

When I step out of the bathroom, my towel wrapped around me, Gaige is gone, and for a second, I think about walking next door and telling him that I've reconsidered, that I'd rather call in sick and spend the morning in bed with him.

But I don't.

Instead, I go to work and try to put the entire thing out of my mind.



* * *



It turns out that it's really fucking hard to forget what happened when your stupid stepbrother refuses to stop reminding you.

"Do you have the schedule ironed out for the fourteenth?" Chelsea stands in front of me, her hands on her hips, scowling. "Did you make contact with the rep?"

She's asking about the schedule for one of the dates for the Japan trip, and I answer her, "Of course," while thinking about Gaige's text.

"You're distracted," she says. "I hope that won't be par for the course during this entire trip."

"I'm tired – I think it must be allergies or something," I say. I'm sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I slept with Gaige last night, or the fact that Gaige just texted me telling me, in explicit detail, exactly what sex acts he could fit into the rest of the day before twenty-four hours is officially over.

"Must be nice to have the luxury of fatigue," Chelsea says, before whirling around and walking out the door. I watch the door close behind me before responding to Gaige.

Stop texting me. I'm trying to work.

I'm responding to an email when my phone buzzes again.

I'm your client. You can't ignore me. Those are the rules.

It's accompanied by a picture of his dick. Which is, well, pretty fucking fantastic, I think, as I turn the phone to get a better view from every angle. I admire it for a minute, then text him back.

Clients don't text me dirty photos.

I don't even get two words typed on the computer before my phone buzzes again.

I hope not. If they do, I'll have to kill them.

Okay, so that makes me smile. But I shut off my phone and put it in my purse. Texting Gaige all day is not going to help me get him out of my head.



* * *



"Are you going to keep ignoring me?" Gaige is in my doorway, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with some kind of motorcycle logo on it. I know nothing about bikes or racing, and despite my attempts to educate myself about the sport, I don't recognize the things I should probably know about.

"If you keep –" I step toward him, lowering my voice to a whisper. "Texting me the way you are…"

"What? A photo of my cock is too distracting for you?"

I roll my eyes, trying to look more nonchalant than I feel. "It's not distracting the way you think it is."

Gaige steps into my room and shuts the door. "The real thing is a lot better," he says. "But you already know that, don't you, darlin'?"

"Our parents are home," I hiss. "Get out of my room before someone catches you in here."

"We're not doing anything except having a friendly conversation," he says.

"We're not talking about anything," I say. "You're just hoping to get laid again."

A grin spreads across Gaige's face. "I'm definitely hoping to get laid again," he says. "Aren't you?"

"We can't," I protest.

"Because it's unprofessional?" he says, his tone mocking.

"Because – yes, it's unprofessional," I say. "And because we're about to travel overseas together for a business trip."

"Are you afraid you won't be able to keep your hands off me?" he asks.

"No!" I protest. But that's definitely not true. "You think way too highly of yourself."

"Darlin'," he says, crossing the room and standing inches away from me, "I know you haven't been able to stop thinking about it. You're lying to yourself."

"Why, because you're so amazing in the sack?" I ask, my voice wavering. He's right. Everything in me cries out for his touch. I want to feel him inside me.

"Don't act like it's not exactly that," Gaige says. His gaze falls from my face to my chest, and my breath catches in my throat. I picture him putting a finger between the top buttons of my shirt and yanking, scattering buttons everywhere. I'm terrified that's exactly what I want him to do. "If I recall correctly, you were moaning my name last night, right? Fuck me, Gaige, right?"

"Be quiet," I hiss, covering his mouth with my hand. He grips my wrist, yanks my hand away from his mouth and pulls me against him. Damn it. I can feel his hardness pressing against me, and my body responds with an immediate flood of heat between my legs.