Restless. Tori Carrington

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      He leaned the guitar against the bed.

      He wasn’t sure what he expected when he opened the door. But it sure wasn’t what he found.

      Lizzie Gilbred.

      Hadn’t he just seen her in her house? What was she doing out in this weather? What was she doing knocking at his door?

      She bounced a couple of times, as if cold, looking smaller somehow in the oversize camel-hair coat she wore.

      Gauge had always had a deep appreciation of women. He supposed it came from not having had a constant female presence in his life. But the opposite sex never failed to fascinate him. Even if that weren’t the case, Lizzie Gilbred would have made a lasting impression on him. It was more than her golden-blond hair and wide, baby-doll-blue eyes. There was an inherent sexiness to her, and he couldn’t help wondering why she covered it up in her strict business suits and pulledback hairstyles.

      He couldn’t help thinking that if she hadn’t been an attorney, she’d have made a great stripper.

      “Can I come in?” she asked, intruding on his thoughts.

      Probably a bad idea in a long line of bad ideas. Just as he appreciated women, he knew them better than they sometimes knew themselves. And he knew that for whatever reason, Lizzie had decided to distract herself with him.

      Then again, his girl-dar had been off a little lately. She could be there to evict him.

      Gauge shrugged and moved away from the door. “Seeing as you own the place, I don’t know that I can stop you.”

      She stepped inside, quickly closing the door after her. She looked around the apartment and then at him. “Am I interrupting something?”

      Gauge tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans. Definitely there to distract herself.

      Where once the thought might have mildly amused him, now he was vaguely disappointed. But never let it be said that he ever turned a great-looking woman away from his bed. And Lizzie was absolutely stunning. She’d let her coat hang open and he appreciated the snug black cashmere sweater and clingy black pants she wore.

      “Am I late with the rent?” he asked.

      She smiled. “No. I just thought I’d come up to thank you for shoveling the snow.”

      “Mmm.”

      “May I?” she asked, indicating her coat.

      “Be my guest.”

      She shrugged out of the heavy wool coat and draped it over the back of the same chair that held his jacket. She eyed the bottle on the table.

      Gauge watched her closely. He knew she was an attorney and that she worked hard. She drove a convertible Audi that was wasted during Michigan’s harsh winters. He guessed that her boyfriend was similarly ambitious with his late-model Porsche and fancy suits.

      He’d thought it odd that he hadn’t seen the jerk’s car for the past week. He’d figured maybe the guy had gone on a business trip. Apparently he’d been wrong.

      “You want something to drink?” he asked.

      “Sounds good.”

      “Anything in particular?”

      “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

      He wasn’t entirely sure that was a good idea, but hell, it had been a while. And though he was able to resist tempting any women home, having one offer herself up on his doorstep…well, he was but a man, after all. And it was obvious that’s what Lizzie was counting on.

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ