She's asking about the schedule for one of the dates for the Japan trip, and I answer her, "Of course," while thinking about Gaige's text.

"You're distracted," she says.  "I hope that won't be par for the course during this entire trip."

"I'm tired – I think it must be allergies or something," I say.  I'm sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I slept with Gaige last night, or the fact that Gaige just texted me telling me, in explicit detail, exactly what sex acts he could fit into the rest of the day before twenty-four hours is officially over.

"Must be nice to have the luxury of fatigue," Chelsea says, before whirling around and walking out the door.  I watch the door close behind me before responding to Gaige.

Stop texting me.  I'm trying to work.

I'm responding to an email when my phone buzzes again.

I'm your client.  You can't ignore me.  Those are the rules.

It's accompanied by a picture of his dick.  Which is, well, pretty fucking fantastic, I think, as I turn the phone to get a better view from every angle.  I admire it for a minute, then text him back.

Clients don't text me dirty photos.

I don't even get two words typed on the computer before my phone buzzes again.

I hope not.  If they do, I'll have to kill them.

Okay, so that makes me smile.  But I shut off my phone and put it in my purse.  Texting Gaige all day is not going to help me get him out of my head.

* * *

"Are you going to keep ignoring me?"  Gaige is in my doorway, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with some kind of motorcycle logo on it.  I know nothing about bikes or racing, and despite my attempts to educate myself about the sport, I don't recognize the things I should probably know about.

"If you keep –" I step toward him, lowering my voice to a whisper.  "Texting me the way you are…"

"What?  A photo of my cock is too distracting for you?"

I roll my eyes, trying to look more nonchalant than I feel.  "It's not distracting the way you think it is."

Gaige steps into my room and shuts the door.  "The real thing is a lot better," he says.  "But you already know that, don't you, darlin'?"

"Our parents are home," I hiss.  "Get out of my room before someone catches you in here."

"We're not doing anything except having a friendly conversation," he says.

"We're not talking about anything," I say.  "You're just hoping to get laid again."

A grin spreads across Gaige's face.  "I'm definitely hoping to get laid again," he says.  "Aren't you?"

"We can't," I protest.

"Because it's unprofessional?" he says, his tone mocking.

"Because – yes, it's unprofessional," I say.  "And because we're about to travel overseas together for a business trip."

"Are you afraid you won't be able to keep your hands off me?" he asks.

"No!" I protest.  But that's definitely not true.  "You think way too highly of yourself."

"Darlin'," he says, crossing the room and standing inches away from me, "I know you haven't been able to stop thinking about it.  You're lying to yourself."

"Why, because you're so amazing in the sack?" I ask, my voice wavering.  He's right.  Everything in me cries out for his touch.  I want to feel him inside me.

"Don't act like it's not exactly that," Gaige says.  His gaze falls from my face to my chest, and my breath catches in my throat.  I picture him putting a finger between the top buttons of my shirt and yanking, scattering buttons everywhere.  I'm terrified that's exactly what I want him to do.  "If I recall correctly, you were moaning my name last night, right?  Fuck me, Gaige, right?"

"Be quiet," I hiss, covering his mouth with my hand.  He grips my wrist, yanks my hand away from his mouth and pulls me against him.  Damn it.  I can feel his hardness pressing against me, and my body responds with an immediate flood of heat between my legs.

"I can try to be quiet," he whispers.  "I just don't know if you can."

"You have to leave," I order.

"Or what?"

Or my resolve will weaken.  "Or I'll scream."

Gaige grins.  "Scream my name," he says.

"I'm not joking, Gaige," I say, my voice firm.  "Get out of my room.  Right now.  Or I will scream."  I immediately regret the words coming out of my mouth.  I want to take them back, to tell him to stay here.  I want to slide down to my knees and take him in my mouth again.

But Gaige just smiles, leans in close to my ear.  "How long do you think it'll be before I'm back inside that sweet pussy of yours?  A day?  A week?"

"We can't, Gaige," I tell him.  But my voice is strained.

"Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night, darlin'," he says.  "But I'll be right next door when you change your mind."

Only after he leaves and the door shuts behind him does my heart stop racing.  Crap.  I turn the shower on, ice-cold.  Do cold showers actually work?

Ten minutes later, I feel exactly the way I did before – horny as hell. Except now I'm shivering and horny.  Faking sick to avoid dinner with Gaige and my parents doesn't help me feel any better.

CHAPTER TWENTY

GAIGE

It's been two weeks since Delaney and I hooked up.  Fourteen days.  She's been carefully avoiding me, and I've been spending every waking moment in physical therapy and back on the bike at the track.  And thinking about how to get back in Delaney's bed.

"This is an important night for your step-father," Anja says.  I've just walked in the door, still wearing my riding gear, helmet in my hand, and she's up my ass already.  "Don't walk through the house in those boots."

"I'll take them off in my room," I say.  "Unless you want me to strip off everything right here in the foyer?"  The housekeeper ducks out of the entryway, smart enough to avoid this scene.

"Have some class, Gaige," she sniffs.

"Cocktails, already, mother?" I ask.  "Not even bothering to wait for the party?"

Anja sips from her tumbler.  "You'd better not ruin this for Beau," she says.

"I'd better not ruin it for Beau?" I ask.  "Ask yourself who of the two of us is more likely to ruin anything for Beau tonight."

"You know what I mean," she hisses.  "I know what's going on with you and Delaney."

My heart stops cold in my chest, but I keep my voice calm.  "What do you think is going on with me and Delaney?"

"You think a girl like that is ever going to look at you twice?  Even if she weren't your sister, she'd be out of your league."  She takes another swig from her glass.

"Step-sister," I correct.  "She's my step-sister, not my sister."

"You're disgusting," she hisses.  "It's disgusting."

"I haven't looked at her any way at all," I say.  "Maybe if you weren't half in the bag all the time, you'd have a clearer view of things."

The door opens, and Delaney walks inside, stopping short when she sees us.  "Hi," she says, her voice tentative.  "I came home early to get ready for the event."

"Don't worry," I say.  "Anja is already pre-partying herself.  She's concerned that we all understand the importance of tonight."