His eyes flick toward mine, giving me a knowing look. “Expecting something else?”
“Shut up,” I say with a little laugh.
In response, he takes my glass and sets it on the table beside his.
“Hey, I was drinking that—”
Gage’s right hand scoops beneath my butt, hauling me toward him. I squeak in protest, and before I know it, I’m straddling him.
“That’s better,” he murmurs as my knees settle on either side of him.
“Better for who?” I say, wriggling in an attempt to get off.
His big hands settle on my hips as though they belong there. “Ellie.”
“What?” I mutter. I notice my skirt’s ridden up nearly to my lady bits, and I tug it down irritably.
“Ellie.”
“What?” I finally give up on him letting me go, and I cross my arms and glare.
His gaze is as warm and intense as I’ve ever seen it. Uh-oh. I am so in trouble here.
“Not Brooklyn,” he says quietly.
“Not Brooklyn what?”
“You wanted to know which women I’ve kissed. You said, you, Cora, Hannah, Aurora, and Brooklyn. All correct except Brooklyn. Really, though, the others are only partially correct, since they kissed me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You kissed me back.”
I narrow my eyes.
“And you want to kiss me right now.” His hands move forward slightly, drifting up along my thighs.
“Is this what happens when you stay in Hollywood too long? You start informing women what they want? Does it ever work?”
“I’ll tell you what,” he says. “I’ll drop the e
ntire subject and let you go if you admit one thing for me.”
“I can’t wait to hear this,” I grumble.
His hands continue their light stroking along my thighs, and though the gesture is casual, almost as though he’s doing it on instinct rather than as part of a deliberate seduction, my body responds in all sorts of feminine ways. Goosebumps. My nipples at full attention beneath the dress. Panties damp.
“Admit that it bothered you tonight, seeing me with Brooklyn,” he says.
His hands stroke all the way down toward my knees, and this time when they begin their ascent upward again, they’re under my dress, his fingers hot against my skin.
“I didn’t care,” I say, the words coming out a little breathless. “I like Brooklyn. I’m your spy, remember? And except for Paisley, she’s the most decent one here.”
“So you wouldn’t have cared if I kissed her?” His thumbs brush my inner thighs.
“No,” I whisper, my eyes closing as I give in to the pleasure of his hands on me. “Maybe. But seeing you laugh with her hurt worse. Knowing that you like her, really like her. That hurt me.”
Gage’s hands go still, and my eyes fly open as I realize what I’ve said.