Page 41 of Gage (Love Under the Lights 1)

“With an expression like that on your face, you could have easily modeled for Rodin.”

“What?” I shook my head, scattering my thoughts and shifting my attention back where it belonged—on Morgan.

“You know.” She lifted our hands, tucking my fist under my chin. “The Thinker.”

“You have statues on the brain,” I laughed, gesturing at her Oscar.

She waggled it from side to side. “You’re not comparing my award to a priceless sculpture, are you?”

“Maybe,” I laughed, bending my head low to brush a kiss over her cheek. “Are you comparing me to a priceless sculpture?”

“Yeah, I totally was. But it seems fair to me.” She looked me up and down, her bright blue eyes filling with feminine appreciation. “Cary Grant and George Clooney have nothing on you.”

I didn’t pay attention to the whispered exclamations from the people surrounding us as I pulled Morgan into my arms. They didn’t matter. Only she did. “Damn straight, they don’t. At least not when it comes to you.”

“You’re sounding a little possessive there, Ryan.” She didn’t seem bothered by it, if the laughter twinkling in her blue eyes was any indication. “But I guess that’s okay, if you’re officially my boyfriend now.”

“There’s no if about it. I am your boyfriend,” I reminded her. “And you have about”—I twisted my arm and tugged the sleeve of my bespoke tuxedo up so I could look at the Rolex wrapped around my wrist—“five minutes tops to get used to the idea before your Google alerts start going crazy as the news of our relationship spreads across the internet.”

I felt my cell phone buzz in my pocket and figured I’d underestimated how long it would take before the word spread. Since my agent and publicist had both attended the award ceremony, I ignored the incessant vibrations. They’d hunt me down soon enough, and I wasn’t quite ready for them to interrupt my time with Morgan. And anyone else, including my parents, could go fuck themselves if they tried to stick their nose where it didn’t belong.

“Miss Kelly,” a young woman dressed in a nondescript black gown called from a roped off area about five feet away from us, and I guided Morgan in her direction. “We have an inscription-processing station set up if you’d like to get your statuette personalized while you wait.”

“Really?” Morgan breathed out, looking up at me with hopeful eyes.

“It usually only takes a few minutes. We have champagne available”—the woman’s eyes darted toward me, widening before she visually gulped—“and you’re allowed to bring one guest in with you if you’d like.”

“Wanna come with me while I get my Oscar inscribed?” Morgan asked.

I lowered my head to whisper in her ear, “I like how you think there was even the slightest chance that I was going to let you do it by yourself. This is a huge moment, and I’ll be right where your boyfriend belongs. By your side.”

“Wow,” she sighed, leaning into me. “You give really good boyfriend.”

And wasn’t that just a fucking shock, considering how long I’d avoided the barest semblance of a relationship with anyone else? But with Morgan, I didn’t have to try. It came naturally. Go figure.

After we followed the woman into the roped off area, Morgan handed over her statuette. Less than a minute later, we’d each been given a glass of champagne, as promised, and Morgan was gulping hers down again.

“It’s going to be a long night,” I reminded her. “I’d hate to miss out on the chance to feel your body brushing against mine on the dance floor.”

I trailed my fingers down her spine until my palm rested at the small of her back and finally reached the material of her dress. She gave a delicate shiver, and I felt goose bumps break out across her skin.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” I groaned, keeping a tight rein on the urge to toss her over my shoulder and carry her out of the party to somewhere more private. “If this wasn’t your first Oscar, I’d be trying to convince you to skip the whole thing and come home with me.”

“I don’t think it would take a whole lot of persuasion on your part for me to say yes to that offer. It only took that one night in Georgia for me to become addicted to waking up in your arms.”

My cock flexed at the thought of getting her under me again. I felt the drip of moisture from the tip and groaned. “It’ll be three fittings and ten thousand dollars down the drain when you make me leak so much pre-come I ruin this tux.”

“It’s only fair,” she whispered back, her cheeks filling with heat. “Since my panties are wet enough already that I’m worried about my gown, and it took a heck of a lot more than three sessions with the seamstress, along with a ridiculous amount of tape, to make sure my boobs don’t pop out of this plunging neckline.”

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