Ellie

I can’t help the groan as I lower myself into the bath. “Are you kidding me?”

Heaven. That’s where Gage has transported me to. I slowly sink until I’m chin deep in the gardenia-scented bubbles that feel like champagne and silk against my skin.

Of all the things I’ve missed while on this godforsaken farce of a show, bubble baths are at the top of the list.

Well, I mean…in addition to that, I miss privacy. My own space. Dignity. My cat. (Did I mention I have a cat? His name is Rosé, but for the record I thought he was a she when I named him. He’s staying with my mom.)

Anyway, where was I?

Right. Bubble baths and how much I love them. Look, I know that’s a pampered-princess thing, but they were a luxury I didn’t even discover until I was twenty-five and moved into my own place for the first time. My mom’s lived in the same house since I was born, and though it technically has a tub, said tub is small, stained, and chipped. Even if the drain would cooperate for a bath, I wouldn’t have wanted to climb in.

So yeah, I’m a late bloomer when it comes to baths, but once I discovered them…oh, baby. There’s just nothing like them.

This, though? This is the bath to ruin all future baths.

The bubbles alone probably cost more than my secondhand Honda, and the tub is three times the size of the one in my apartment. Knowing that an unobstructed view of the Pacific awaits on the other side of the door just completes the paradise.

As does the fact that I’m here with Gage…

My eyes fly open at a knock at the door. Surely he doesn’t—

“Gage!” I shriek as the door opens and he strolls in. He’s ditched the hat altogether, but he’s still wearing the swim trunks and rumpled T-shirt, looking far better in them than he has any right to.

I hurriedly check the situation of my bubbles to make sure everything’s covered, scowling as he grins.

“Some privacy,” I say with as much dignity as I can in my naked, reclining state.

“Hard choices await, Wright. You can have your privacy, or”—he holds up one of the long-stemmed champagne flutes—“you can have the champagne.”

“Unless, of course, you hand me the champagne and then leave. Voilà—I can have both.”

He shakes his head and gives me a sham sad face. “Sorry. I’m afraid the champagne and I come as a unit.”

Oh, come on, who are we fooling? We all know I’m going to say yes to the champagne.

And the man.

He knows it too, because he pulls over a stool from the mirrored vanity and hands me a flute as he sits.

“Everything you dreamed of?” he asks, nodding at the overflowing scented bubbles.

“Even better,” I say, taking a sip of the crisp champagne, then looking at the glass. “This is delicious.”

“This is the Four Seasons. What did you think they were going to bring up?”

“Well, I don’t know, Mr. Belvedere. I’ve never stayed here before.” Or anyplace remotely like it.

Sean had money—a lot of money, courtesy of his big brain and knack for investing. But in hindsight, he’d been kind of a cheap bastard. Thrifty, he’d called it, but let’s just say that if he ever spent his precious money, it wasn’t on me.

Gage, though, hadn’t hesitated to spend whatever was necessary to make sure I was comfortable. No, not comfortable, pampered.

And yes, he has the money, so why not? But there’s a generosity to him that I wouldn’t have expected. Champagne and strawberries, yes, but also the gift shop skirt, which he bought not to impress but to comfort. It means more than all the chocolate-covered strawberries in the world.

“Best be careful—you’re looking at me as though you like me,” he says, taking a sip of his own champagne.

A few days ago, I would have made a crack that it’d be hard not to like him when he’s just paid for the nicest hotel room I’ve ever been in.

But for some reason I don’t want to cheapen anything about this day. Or anything about us.

Instead I steadily meet his eyes. “I do like you.”

Gage’s hand falters just for a second as he sips his champagne, his eyes flickering with something I can’t identify, and it makes me wonder how often he hears it—if he knows that he’s worthy of being liked just for him, not for his name.

A distant knock at the front door of the suite ruins any potential moment, and he hands me his glass. “Be right back.”

A minute late he comes back into the bathroom. “Stuff’s here.”

I shake my head. “Only you could manage to get hotel staffers to go on a hunt for underwear and hair gel.”

“Speaking of which, I hope you like lace,” he says, retrieving his champagne glass.

“I don’t recall specifying my underwear needs.” It had been mortifying enough to put them on the list at all, but it was that or change back into my swimsuit.

“You didn’t,” he says with a grin. “I amended your list.”

“Really?” I say dryly. “Will I still be getting clean clothes, or did you amend that bit as well?”

“I embellished that section a bit.”

“How—”

My question breaks off as he sets his glass on the vanity and peels his T-shirt over his head.

It’s certainly not the first time I’ve seen him without a shirt, but it’s the first time when it’s just us—when I have him all to myself.

His thumbs hook into the swim trunks, and I sit up with a shriek. “What are you doing?”

Gage’s hands still, his eyes darken, and he bites his bottom lip, which is just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Especially when I realize what’s got his attention.

Upon sitting up, I’ve lost the cover of the bubbles, and now there’s nothing but a film of sudsy water to shield my upper body from his gaze.

My first urge is to cover myself. My second urge, though…I take a slow, deliberate sip of my champagne, waiting until his eyes return to mine.

The second they do, I feel a punch in my gut, a throbbing between my legs. I don’t have to look down to know my nipples are hardening, and I’m pretty sure he’s aware of it too.

The mood’s shifted, still teasing, but seductive instead of playful, the air thick with want.

He proves it when he slowly lowers his swim trunks, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of naked, aroused Gage Barrett.

I take a sip of my champagne, but that only seems to make it worse. I don’t want the champagne. I want him.

“You know, that’s actually a two-person tub,” he says, picking up his glass and giving me a leisurely once-over.

“Is it?” I ask, my voice a little raspy.

Gage lifts his eyebrows in a question. He’s unabashedly naked, unabashedly hard, and I realize he’s waiting. Making sure that I’m sure.

In response, I scoot toward the back of the tub, pulling my knees up to make room.

His smile flashes and a moment later he’s lowering himself into the tub, his large body making the water rise to a dangerously high level.

“Ah!” I say with a laugh, fumbling for the plug. “Hold on, let me drain some of the water—”

Gage’s hand slides into my hair, his mouth capturing mine in a kiss so delicious, it’s all I can do not to drop my champagne flute. Not that I need it—kissing Gage is a better buzz than any alcoholic beverage.

He tugs me forward, and water sloshes over the sides of the tub. Neither of us cares.

With my free hand, I cup his face, loving the way the stubble of his jaw contrasts deliciously with the soft glide of his tongue against mine.

Gage takes the glass from my hand, leaning over to put both his and mine on the floor by the side of the tub.

Taking advantage of his distraction, I lift up to straddle his hips, my mouth trailing wet kisses over his neck. He groans, his hand closing roughly around the back of my head, holding me to him as I taste his salty skin. My lips and teeth and tongue explore the length of his neck, the little hollow at the base of his throat, his broad shoulders.

With his hands free, Gage runs his palms over my back, his touch demanding yet patient, as though giving me the time to taste my fill.

The more I touch, the more I want. Greedy, I press my mouth to his as my hands slide beneath the water, fingertips slicking over the hard ridges of his abs.

Gage’s hands move up my back, fingers tangling in my hair as he tugs my head backward, leaving my throat and chest offered to his mouth.

With one hand on the small of my back to steady me, the other in my hair to hold me still, Gage flicks his tongue teasingly over my breasts, circling closer and closer to the aching peak before moving away again.

I moan in frustration, my hands moving from his shoulder to his head and pulling his mouth where I need it. His eyes flick up to mine at the precise moment his lips wrap around my nipple.

I gasp, instinct driving my hips down and forward. He swears against my skin as I brush his erection, his hand sliding down to palm my ass.

I rock against him, the pressure so perfect that I could come just like this, my nipple in his mouth, my aching center rubbing against him…

Gage groans as my breath quickens. “Yes,” he whispers against my breast. “Come for me, just like this.”

The hand against my ass slides around to my front, his fingers delving into the wetness between my legs.

Gage presses a thumb to my throbbing clit, circles once, twice…

I shatter. I’m dimly aware of my own cries, of arching back in helplessness as I ride the ecstasy, then letting him nudge me forward to drape against him as I try to get my breath.

His breath is warm on my cheek as he holds me. “I get why you like baths so much.”

I manage a laugh, pulling back slightly, and wincing as I realize there’s nearly as much water on the floor as in the tub.

“I’ll call someone to take care of it,” he says, wrapping one hand on the side of the tub, then easily hauling us both to our feet and out of the cooling water.

“Now?” I murmur, wrapping my fingers around his still-hard erection. “Or later?”

He moans as I rub a thumb over the velvety tip of him, his breath becoming ragged as I stroke him up and down. He’s long and thick, which, if you think about it, is just plain unfair to the rest of the male population. Not only does this guy have the face, the fame, the talent…he’s also got a lot going on below the waist.

He wraps his fingers around my wrist, drawing my hand away as he gives me a quick kiss. “I’ve waited too damn long for this to do it standing up in tepid bathwater.”

“Too long being, what, a couple of weeks?” I ask as he wraps a towel around me, finds the bath drain, and then grabs another towel for himself. “How long do you usually have to wait?”

He grins down at me. “You really want to know?”

I open my mouth, then shut it, realizing that I absolutely do not want to think about Gage Barrett naked with anyone besides me.

But when he scoops me up and carries me to the bed, I’m not thinking about any other women, or about his reputation as a playboy.

I’m thinking about him, and how as long as I live, I will never forget how right this moment feels.

His fingers flick open the knot of my towel, spreading the sides and exposing my naked body to his gaze. His eyes smolder dark green when they meet mine.

I expect him to drop his own towel and join me on the bed, and I’ve never wanted anything so badly as his body on mine—in mine.

But he proves me wrong by giving me something every bit as good.

Gage drops to his knees at the side of the bed, pulls me to the edge, and without preamble buries his face between my legs.

One of his hands finds my thigh, pushing my legs apart while the other slides a finger inside me. Truth be told, I’ve never really gotten this part of sex—I mean, it’s always been fine, but I thought it was overrated. But when it’s Gage’s dark head, Gage’s tongue…I get it. I so get it.

He adds another finger as his mouth opens over me, his tongue doing clever things to clever places and making me see stars.

“Wait,” I say on a breath, trying to tug his hair. “I’m close—”

“Again,” he murmurs, looking up my body and catching my eye. “Come again.”

His tongue finds and licks the exact right spot, and I do exactly as he commands, not caring that the entire hotel can probably hear my cries, not caring that I’m probably pulling his hair too hard.

I’m still trying to remember how to breathe when he moves, pressing a kiss to my stomach and standing.

With impatient movements, he stalks to a table in the corner, rummaging around shopping bags that weren’t there before I got in the bath until he comes up with a box of condoms.

I scoot back a bit to the middle of the bed, managing a breathless laugh as he tears open the box and comes back to the bed. “That’s what was on your shopping list?”

I expect him to tease back, but Gage is past teasing. He tears open the wrapper with his teeth, rolls on the condom.

A second later, my hands are pinned above my head, his green eyes locked on mine.

There’s one perfect moment of stillness, of want.

Then he thrusts inside me, and I gasp, realizing now why he gave me two orgasms. He needed me wet and compliant, needed my body ready for his. Gage isn’t gentle, and he isn’t careful, and my God is it good.

I’ve never been taken like this, never felt so female to someone else’s male, never wanted someone else’s pleasure even more than I want my own.

I want to touch him, need to be closer. His hand still pins my wrists to the bed, so I wrap my legs around his waist. “More,” I beg.

He growls and pounds harder, the slap of our bodies mingling with the rasp of our breathing. I’ve never had a third orgasm in my life, but I have it now, and I have it hard.

The moment I cry out and my body clenches around his, he lets go with a groan, his big body bucking as he goes over the cliff with me.

His face buries in my shoulder, and I think I hear him say my name, although it’s hard to hear anything over the pounding of my heart.

Here’s the gentleness, I realize as he gathers my shaking body to his, an arm sliding beneath my head, the other moving soothingly over my side.

We say nothing for long moments, and although I’m grateful for the chance to gather my thoughts, I’m also afraid.

Afraid that what just happened, although spectacular, might have ruined the easy friendship that made this so special in the first place.

Gage moves us onto our sides, planting a quick kiss to my head, before giving me a playful smack on the ass and rolling off the bed.

“You might want to get dressed before I have someone come clean up your mess in the bathroom, Ellie. You’re really quite bad at the whole bath thing.”

I laugh, relieved at the easy teasing in his voice. Relieved that we’re still us. “I refuse to take responsibility for the flooding situation. Although I vote that we clean up our own mess so that we don’t have to answer any questions.”

“It’s the Four Seasons,” he says, coming back out of the bathroom, unmindful of his nakedness. He pokes around in the bags until he comes up with a pair of boxers. “There are no questions.”

“That, and you’re Gage Barrett,” I say, propping my head on my hand. His lack of modesty is apparently contagious, because I’m not as self-conscious about my own nakedness as I’d expect. Plus my body’s too tired to get dressed.

“That too,” he says with a wink.

A moment later he’s made the phone call, explaining that there was a “situation” with the bathroom, and could someone please come up and take a look?

I make a grumpy noise. “That means I have to get dressed.”

“You do, only because I’m not yet ready to share your naked body with anyone else.”

“What do you mean, not yet?” I say, sitting up and taking the fluffy hotel robe he hands me. “You make it sound like me being publicly naked is only a matter of time.”

“Well…” He reaches down and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek. “I mean, I am overdue for a sex tape.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not your girl,” I say, scooting toward the edge of the bed and standing.

Gage catches me to him. “Aren’t you?”

My breath catches. I want to be.

But then I remember who he is. Why we’re here in the first place.

“How long until they find us?” I ask.

His expression flickers in disappointment, and he releases me. “Maui may be an island, but its resort status will work in our favor. Even if they figure out where we are, the hotel won’t give us away.”

“But we still have to go back.”

“Eventually,” he admits. “But not until we get what we came for.”

I lift my eyebrows and glance meaningfully at his mostly naked body and then at my bathrobe-clad state.

“Nah, that was just a bonus. We came because you wanted a nap, remember?”

A nap on the huge, wonderfully soft bed does sound heavenly, but…

I walk to the ice bucket sitting on the wet bar and pick it up. “How about you fetch the flutes from the bathroom and we sip champagne on the patio, watch the sunset, and hide from the shame you created in the bathroom?”

“What about your nap?”

I walk toward the open doors of the private terrace, pausing just long enough to give him a playful pat on the chest. “There are few things I like better than a good nap, Hollywood. But it would seem hanging out with you is turning out to be one of them.”

I walk away, but not before I see his surprised and pleased smile.

I smile too, because it’s true.