She licked her lips and met his stare head-on. "Gage," she said, using his name for the first time, her tongue playing over the sound of it. "Where did the name come from? I never heard it before."

"My mother loved movies. She told me it came from one, but I've never been able to find it."

"And your brother?"

"Clint. The movie star."

"And your mother?"

"She died years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago." No emotion now. But she knew he rarely showed emotion.

His reply reminded her of her own mother. She had planned to go back tonight.

"How is your mother?"

So he had read her mind again. He had a habit of doing that.

"Holding her own. I'll stop over there later."

"I'll follow you," he said in that deep, s.e.xy voice that caused her heart to beat a steady tattoo in her chest. There was obviously to be no discussion. She could no more stop him from following her than she'd been able to the other night.

Her appet.i.te left her, fading in the intensity that had deepened rather than lessened with the delivery of the food. She watched as he tackled the slippery, b.u.t.tery shrimp with his fingers, the only way to eat them. His expression of unabashed pleasure made her pulse speed up.

She took a sip of wine and concentrated on her own meal. She tried another shrimp, licking the b.u.t.ter sauce from her lips. Sinful and messy, they were delectable.

Then she made the mistake of looking at him again. He was smiling, a dimple she hadn't noticed before indenting his chin. She felt riveted by his attention, as if a force field enveloped them, shutting out every other person in the room.

Somehow she finished the shrimp. They both declined dessert and he paid the bill, despite her protest. He quieted it with one look, then pulled out her chair in a courtly manner that she had not expected. His hand rested on her shoulder, his touch burning straight through to her soul.

He took her hand as they left the restaurant. Natural. It felt so very natural. Her long fingers fit his large hand perfectly and she found herself drawing closer to him. An almost palpable tension leapt between them, filling her with a raw need so strong and deep that it was like a body blow.

They reached the car, but instead of opening the door for her, he put his arms around her, pressing her back against the door. He leaned down and his lips slowly lowered to meet hers, skimming more than pressing, as if posing their own question. Her mouth caressed his, a.s.senting--no, more than a.s.senting. Asking. Wanting. Demanding, even, in some primitive way she couldn't control. Her mind warned, but her body responded as their lips explored and teased, and liking the taste, ventured further.

Laughter interrupted like a splash of freezing water. Obviously reluctant, he drew away slightly and looked at her. "I'm afraid we're making a spectacle of ourselves."

Meredith felt like a teenager in love for the first time, and the thought terrified her. She straightened, trying to gather her wits about her. "We had better go," she said, hearing the hoa.r.s.eness in her own voice.

He raised his right hand and touched her cheek. "I could..."

But he stopped himself and his hand fell. He lowered the other arm that had held her against the car, and opened the door. She noticed his hand had a slight tremor. Did hers, too?

Her body still reacting to the feel of his, her lips slightly swollen from his kiss, her blood racing from the unexpected explosion of sensations, she stepped inside.

Dear Mother in heaven but she wanted him.

He got in his side of the car. "A nightcap at my house?" he asked as his gaze met hers.

The invitation was too beguiling to refuse. She wanted to know more about Gage Gaynor. Much more.

She swallowed hard, fighting conflicting needs.

"Yes," she finally said.

*Chapter Fourteen*

'NEW ORLEANS'.

It was all Gage could do to keep his gaze from her.

He knew the dangers of allowing his attention to wander from the road. G.o.d knew he'd seen enough disaster that resulted from distraction.

It was equally difficult to keep his hand from reaching for hers.

He couldn't quite believe the intensity of his feelings, of the need resounding inside. It wasn't all s.e.xual, though he would be lying if he said that wasn't part of it. s.e.xual wouldn't be dangerous.

This 'was' dangerous. He liked her. He was intrigued by her. He wanted to be with her. Worst of all, he knew he would rather be with her than paddling the bayous in his canoe.

He caught himself smiling at that.

"Hey," she said.

He glanced quickly in her direction.

"You're smiling."

"Is that so odd?"

"No, I like it," she said.

He liked it, too. He felt more relaxed than he had in years. Relaxed yet energized at the same time. Expectant.

d.a.m.n.

He stole another glance at her. The hot humid wind had ruffled her short hair, making her look more approachable. Her cheeks were flushed and her usually guarded blue eyes sparkled.

He drove to his house, which was not far from her office, and pulled into the drive. A canoe was visible in the fenced backyard, as well as a patch of roses that always embarra.s.sed him when someone else saw it. Gaynor and roses. He'd always imagined he saw amus.e.m.e.nt in the eyes of his visitors.

As she stepped out of the car, even before he could get to her door, he saw her gaze turn toward the roses, then the canoe. "Is that why you have the rack on top?"

"Yes."

She smiled at his short and relatively uninformative answer. "I have never been canoeing."

His own words startled him. "I'd like to take you. I usually keep it at a small place I own but it needed some mending."

"Where?"

"A bayou south of here. It's peaceful there."

"And you like peace?" An element of surprise shaded her voice.

"If you had grown up where I did, you'd like peace, too."

She was silent. He knew she was probably aware of where he grew up. It would have been in the background information she'd gathered when he had testified.

The silence served to emphasize the difference between them. She had grown up in the mansions of New Orleans, he in the slums. She had probably gone to the best private schools; he had attended the worst public schools and had gained a scholarship only because he'd realized athletics was the fastest way out.

The fact that he'd once thought that skill would equalize him with her kind had proved a fantasy.

'Remember that.'

Then he heard Beast, who tore out of his dog door into the fenced backyard, racing around and barking furiously until he saw Gage. The dog came to an abrupt stop, tipped his head to regard the newcomer and let his long tongue loll out.

"This is Beast," he said. "He won't hurt you. Truth is, he wouldn't hurt a flea, but he scares the h.e.l.l out of everyone."

She went to the fence and held out her hand. Beast first sniffed, then licked it with embarra.s.sing eagerness.

She knelt. "Hi," she told the animal.

Beast palpitated with happiness.

"I'm going to sue you for alienation of affections," he said.

"But you need a witness," she retorted.

"One look at Beast s...o...b..ring over you would convince a jury."

A sly, mischievous smile curved her lips. "I can't help it. He's very charming."

"I've never heard that particular term used for Beast," he said with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Are you insinuating he's more charming than I am?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I can't answer on the grounds it might incriminate me."

He gazed down at her with an odd sense of contentment settling deep inside him. What was it about her that made him feel comfortable?

"It's h.e.l.l to come in second to something that looks like Beast." He turned toward the front door, taking her hand as he did. She didn't resist, and her fingers curled around his.

Gage unlocked the front door and led her in, wondering what she would think about his odd little house.

Thank G.o.d, the housekeeper had been there three days earlier and he hadn't had a chance to trash it over the weekend. It was acceptable, though not, he knew, what she must be accustomed to. He knew where she lived, where her father lived. It was only a few miles away but it might as well be another world.

She stepped in, and Beast was there, having made his way through the dog door. He panted heavily but sat down in front of her and offered his paw.

She took it solemnly and gave Gage a look of delight. "He has very good manners."

"He thanks you," he said, inordinately pleased and at the same time displeased at that pleasure.

"Did you teach him that?"

He shrugged. "He's a smart dog."

"How did you find him?"

"A drug bust. Apparently, he was supposed to intimidate. He tried his best, but his heart wasn't really in it. He took one look at me and came over to the good side."

"You told me to get a dog. If I do, will you train him?"

He shrugged. "I don't want to mislead you. I didn't train him. He trained himself."

d.a.m.n, if she kept looking at him like that with those blue eyes, he would take her right on the hall table.

He forced himself to stop looking and led the way into the living room. It was a man's s.p.a.ce. A large leather sofa and two leather easy chairs were situated in front of a large television set. Bookcases surrounded a sound system.

He saw her gaze travel over the room, just as he had done with her office. "What's your pleasure? I have beer, scotch, bourbon, red wine."

"Beer."

He'd expected the red wine. But as usual, she surprised him. She was making a habit of that.

"Coming up. Make yourself comfortable."

He went into his kitchen. Small but functional. A bachelor, he'd been forced to learn to cook.

She followed. Beast followed her.

Alienation of affection, indeed. The d.a.m.n dog had fallen in love.

He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. "Gla.s.s?"

"Nope."

He must have looked startled because she chuckled and added, "You didn't think lady lawyers drank beer from the bottle? It's colder that way."

"I didn't think daughters of New Orleans's most prominent families drank beer from a bottle," he corrected.

She grimaced. "Don't tell me you're a reverse sn.o.b."

He probably was. He didn't want to admit it. Instead he reached in and grabbed a beer for himself. As he closed the door, he stepped back.