But when it comes to women? They don't tell me no. I'm the one who usually turns them away. The one who has to break it off first. I'm not used to rejection.
Maybe that's why I'm drawn to her. She's the complete opposite of any woman I've ever met.
"What are you doing here?" she asks, barely cracking open the door. Like she might be afraid I'll push past her and force my way inside.
She wouldn't be too far off base. The idea does cross my mind.
"I don't know," I answer honestly, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
She studies me for a long, quiet moment and I stare back. She looks . . . weary. A little sad, a lot irritated. "I usually never stay this late," she admits. "Are you stalking me or what?"
"No, I'm not stalking you." I chuckle, shaking my head. A cool breeze washes over me, making me shiver, and I nod toward her. "Can you let me in?"
"I was just locking up for the night." She moves to close the door, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I'm afraid she's going to slam it completely and shut me out.
For good.
"Just a few minutes. I want . . . to ask you something." I made that up. I have nothing to ask her beyond why do you hate me so much, which has been running through my brain for the last five hours or so.
"Can't this wait until tomorrow?"
Jesus. I have never, ever met a woman so disinterested in me before. I hate it.
I'm more determined than ever to turn her no into a yes.
"No, it can't." I try to turn on the charm and flash her a smile, but even I can feel how halfhearted my effort is. "Come on, Marina. Throw me a bone here."
Rolling her eyes, she pulls the door open and I enter the quiet, dark bakery, brushing past her as I walk inside. I hear her sharp intake of breath when my body touches hers.
Just like that, I'm aware of her. Of every little sound she makes, the intoxicating scent of her, how she looks at me like she's ready to run and hide.
I make her nervous. Fuck, she makes me nervous. I shouldn't want this. Want her. She hates me. I don't like her much either. At least I don't like her attitude toward me or the way she treats me.
"What did you want to ask me, Gage?" She locks the door and leans against it, her tone bored, as is her expression. "It's late so make it snappy. I need to go home and collapse into bed."
Make it fucking snappy? I can't even acknowledge that or I'm gonna lose my shit and say something I really regret. And the bed reference sends all sorts of dirty images into my brain.
The fact that she's able to both turn me on and piss me off is quite the feat. She deserves a medal or something.
"Why won't you go to dinner with me?" I blurt, instantly hating myself for letting the question fly out of my mouth. I don't think I want to know her answer. I don't think she appreciates me asking when I sound like a whiny little baby either.
"You want the truth."
I nod furiously. "Hell yeah, I do."
"You're trouble." She says nothing else, just regards me with those cold, assessing blue eyes.
"I think you have me mistaken with Archer." No one has ever called me specifically trouble. Archer, yes, all the damn time. Me, Archer, and Matt together? Oh, hell yeah. We caused all sorts of trouble together, especially in our younger years.
But me, all alone? I'm not trouble. Not really. I'm a pretty responsible guy. My dad instilled it in me to take care of everything that matters. In business and in pleasure. When I see something I want, I go after it until I make it mine.
Is that what you're doing right now?
I push the scary-as-fuck thought right out of my head.
"I already told you I don't know Archer that well. I do know he has a reputation," she starts.
I interrupt her. "Well earned, let me tell you. He's an absolute dog."
"Hmm. Well, from what I've heard, he's settled down now that he has a fiancé."
My sister, but I don't bother telling her that. I have to keep some of my secrets. I might want to use them someday. And I can't keep up this pretense that Archer's a total dog because he's not. Everything Marina says is true. "Listen, I swear I'm not trouble. Trust me."
She laughs. "Any guy who says ‘I swear' and ‘trust me' is one hundred percent trouble."
I'm starting to get offended. More than anything, I'm fucking tired of dealing with her. Yet here I stand, still dealing with her. Wanting to fucking deal with her. And wanting to prove her wrong too. "You don't know me."
"I know your kind. You think you can get what you want and when you don't, you turn it into a challenge," she tosses at me.
Well, hell. She's pretty dead-on with that one.
"And I think for whatever sick and twisted reason, I've become a challenge to you," she continues, her eyes blazing with newfound anger. "I'm not some game to play and eventually win, Gage. I've already told you I'm not interested in you or your offer. What else do you want from me?"
I move toward her, grabbing her hand and pulling her to me. She presses her other hand on my chest, her eyes have gone wide as she stares up at me in shock. "I want a chance."
"If you're circling back to the dinner date thing, no. I think it's a bad idea." She takes a deep breath. "I think the two of us together is a bad idea. You don't like me. I don't like you. There's no point to this. We should walk away from each other right now."
Now that sounded dramatic. "I never said I didn't like you." I might've thought it because, hell, the woman loves to throw up roadblocks. I thread my fingers through hers, pulling her into me. Her hand is small, soft, and warm. I like the way it feels in my grip.
"We don't even know each other." Her lower lip trembles as she stares up at me. "You make me nervous, I hope you know."
"Guess what? You do the same thing to me."
She stares at me incredulously. "Really?"
I nod and don't say another word. Something about this woman makes me want to be honest with her. Lay it all on the line.
Whether it's good or bad. Whether I want to know her response or not, I need to hear it. For once in my life, I want to leave myself vulnerable when it comes to a woman. But only for this woman. She has me so twisted up in knots I don't know if I'll ever be able to unravel them.
I don't know if I want to either.
Chapter Five
Marina
WAIT . . . DID GAGE just say I made him nervous? Really? I find that hard to believe.
I'm so tired, so ready to go home and collapse into bed, yet here he is, holding my hand and overwhelming me with his mere presence. He's probably lying. Trying to get an in with me so he can get closer to my dad. Well, forget it. He can't trick me.
Glaring at him, I disengage my fingers from his, taking a step backward, but my butt comes into contact with the closed door, making me realize I'm . . .
Trapped. With Gage directly in front of me, looking all broody and handsome and grouchy and sexy.
I am so screwed.
"Stop trying to act like you're a normal guy with normal feelings," I toss out at him, wincing at how I sound like a sullen teenager. "No way do I make you nervous." I mean really. He's a smooth-talking charmer. How can little ol' me make him nervous?
"You totally put me on edge. I don't get why you're so hell-bent on pushing me away." He stalks toward me, pinning me between the cool glass of the front door and his extremely warm, extremely hard body. "I can't figure you out."
"Maybe I don't want you to figure me out." I want him to leave before I do something really stupid.
Like let him kiss me.
"Ah, I think you do." Bending his head, he sets his mouth against my cheek, his lips whispering across my skin as he speaks. "Don't you feel it, Marina? Feel the chemistry between us, brewing and popping? Don't you want to do something about it?"
"No." Reaching out, I grab hold of his shirt, tugging him a little bit closer. Wait, what? I should be pushing him away. "This is a huge mistake."
"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.