Stirred: A Love Story (13 page)

Sage wondered if it was possible for Garrett to be jealous. She decided it wasn’t, but didn’t answer.

“What’s the fantasy, Sage?”

She couldn’t breathe. He was serious. He actually wanted her to tell him not only who they were talking about, but the details? She was going to go up in flames. Turning her back to him, she pretended to wipe down the bar.

“This is silly. We open in an hour and I’m sure you have—”

He took her arm and whipped her around, that same tense look or maybe frustration on his face. She couldn’t tell and before she had a chance to figure it out, he was pulling her from behind the bar. He stopped, still holding her by the wrist, and appeared to be looking for something, somewhere. He zeroed in on the door to the wine cellar, nodded as if having a conversation with himself, and pulled her toward the wooden door. Opening the cellar, he all but dragged her into the small room lit only by the dim lights under the wood beams that spread the width of the space. Sage was going to say something, put him in his place, but then he locked the door and she lost all ability to speak. Garrett walked toward her and she backed up until she met the back wall of the cellar. He took her wrist and then the other one as he stood inches away from her, still not saying a word. Gently, he lifted both of her hands above her head and held them there, not letting go. She should have felt trapped, pissed at being “handled,” but all she felt was heat. It poured off him and she wanted it, all of it.

He leaned into her ear and his chest touched hers. “What’s the fantasy?”

She took in as much air as her hollow chest would allow. “We were talking about some book, and I was not talking about—”

“The wine guy.”

“Jesus, why does everyone keep bringing him up? No, not Jeremy.”

“Then what’s the fantasy? Who?”

Sage shook her head. “Do you honestly have to ask?”

Not a word, he kept holding her there as if he was keeping her at arm’s length.

“Fine. I might have mentioned you. There, are you happy now? That’s all, nothing new. I don’t know why you’re getting so crazy.”

“You’re making me crazy.”

“Well, I’m not meaning to. If you’d let go of my hands, I’ll leave.”

“No. Close your eyes.”

“Garrett, this is silly. Stop.”

His eyes suddenly warmed, and Sage recognized the look as want.

“Help me out here. If there was a fantasy, what do I do next?”

“What?”

“Tell me.” He took the last step into her; his lips were on her ear and she could feel the scrape of his jaw on her cheek. “What do I do?”

Dear God, she was going to pass out. “I. . . I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. We’re all alone in here. What do I do next? Is it this?”

His lips touched her neck and her eyes fell closed. Okay, maybe she could come up with something. He smelled like cotton right out of the dryer or the warm wood of a boat dock when she was a little girl. It was intoxicating, and she began to reconsider the value of the book. A moan slipped past her lips as his mouth trailed along her neck and back up her jaw to her cheek.

“You still with me?”

She nodded.

“Tell me what to do.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can.”

“Kiss me,” she said matter-of-factly and stared right into the depths of those eyes—they were way more incredible up close and personal.

His face grew serious. “You need to be sure.”

Sage suddenly relaxed into the moment. He was right there holding her, and the reality was more than she had expected. “No, that is definitely not one of your lines in the fantasy.”

He smiled, and she decided that smiling was something Garrett needed to do more often.

“Sorry.” He was still holding her hands over her head. Leaning in, he brushed his lips across hers.

Sweet Mother of God!
Sage had no idea how she was still standing.

“More,” she said with a boldness that in a different situation would have put her in the running to be a grape.

Garrett kissed her again and this time, he gave it his all. When his tongue slid across her lips, asking for entry, she opened, and he took her past anything that could possibly be real. Releasing her hands, he ran his fingers through her hair, down her neck. Sage held on for dear life and let him work out all the details of a fantasy she hadn’t even imagined yet. His hands moved to her back and suddenly it was as if he’d woken up and realized what he was doing. He pulled away.

Sage grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “My fantasy, we’re not done.” She ran her hands across his chest. Who knew when this would ever happen again? If this was all part of some game, if it was all she’d ever get from him, she wanted to make sure she had enough to last.

Garrett’s pulse was pounding in his neck as she opened the collar of his shirt and kissed down the slope of his shoulder and back up to his lips. When her hands snaked under his arms and around his back, she heard him. The sound low in his chest sounded something like surrender, and the power of that flooded her, threatened to wash her away. Garrett Rye, a mass of solid stoic man, was softening, warming to her touch. Easing back, Sage knew somewhere in the haze of heat that she had to stop. She couldn’t have all of this, all of him.

Her freshman year in college, she had gone on this diet that allowed her to have one-half an ounce of chocolate every day, but no more. She lasted three days before busting open the chocolate bar and eating the entire thing. Sage knew even back then that it was next to impossible to have certain things in small doses. Chocolate was one, and after that kiss, Garrett was another.

“Holy shit, how long has that fantasy been in there?” Garrett asked, out of breath but still holding her.

Plunging reluctantly back into reality, she pushed at his chest and he stepped back. “What the hell was that? You can’t grab me and bring me in here and talk all, ‘oooh, tell me what you want, baby.’ People don’t do that.”

“I didn’t call you baby. I hope that’s not in the fantasy because I’m not an ‘oh baby’ kind of guy,” he said, leaning up against the wall of the cellar.

Sage shook her head and walked out before she grabbed him and acted out every other fantasy her mind was frantically working through.

Garrett waited in the cellar for a couple of minutes and, of course, ran smack into his sister on his way out.

“Why were you in the wine cellar?”

He tried to give her the none-of-your-business look, but his eyes betrayed him and fell on Sage, who was filling up something behind the bar, looking so flushed and bothered that he couldn’t help but smile. His sister hit him on the shoulder like she’d done hundreds of times in their life.

“Probably had that coming.” He walked past her and toward the door, wishing she were like Jack and would stay.

No such luck, Kenna followed him. “What are you doing? Or, what were you doing?”

“Have a good day, Sage,” he said, passing the bar.

She glanced up at him like someone caught with a secret and when she turned the overhead music on, his smile grew. It had a fast beat, but he didn’t recognize it.

“What kind of music is that?” He pointed to the speakers as Kenna followed him through the front door.

She paused her impending lecture and listened. “That’s Ellie Goulding, ‘Something in the Way You Move.’ Why?”

“Good mood music?”

Kenna nodded. “Yes. Why are you smiling?”

He couldn’t help it. Somehow the simple idea of a beautifully flustered woman playing happy music after kissing him senseless made him feel mischievous, young. Garrett couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt young.

“What were you doing with Sage?” She grabbed the back of his shirt so he turned to face her.

“You’ll have to ask Sage.”

“Oh no you didn’t, you can’t.”

He laughed and made a move toward his truck, but Kenna stepped in front of him. He towered over her, but his sister had always been like one of George’s little dogs when it came to her brothers—fearless.

“She’s working on her naughty and that is not supposed to be. . . seriously, what are you doing?”

“No idea.”

“Do you care about her?”

“Of course I do. I care about all of you.”

“Don’t bullshit me. If you’re playing tonsil hockey with her in the wine cellar then your feelings are different than they are for say. . . Travis.”

He scrunched his face. “Ah, yeah, I definitely don’t want anywhere near his tonsils.”

“Garre, I’m serious.”

“I know, you’re always serious. I’m not discussing what happened with you, little sister. So”—he hit the brim of her cap—“I’ll see you tomorrow for delivery if you’re here early. If not, I’ll see you at Libby’s on Wednesday.”

“But. . .”

He continued walking. “No buts. I’m a big boy, Kenna.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Garrett laughed and climbed into his truck without another word. It had been a while since he was blindsided, but that’s exactly what had happened with Sage. It had started innocently enough, but that night in his truck must have shaken something loose. He’d like to think it wasn’t the idea of the wine guy being her fantasy, but maybe it was. All he knew was he wanted a taste and now that he had one, he was thoroughly screwed.

That wasn’t a kiss. That shit made him feel like he was something more than. . . well, whatever he’d been before he’d damn near melted right into her. She was so open, it was like she’d handed him her heart and asked him not to stomp on it.
Who did that?
Women were supposed to play hard to get, they didn’t come right out and love like that, did they?

Garrett pulled up to the stoplight and searched for Ellie Goulding. He found the song and as he headed back to the office, he was listening to happy music too.

Chapter Eleven

A
few hours into the lunch rush, Sage saw Kenna take a seat at the end of the bar with her eggplant sandwich. Sage slid a Coke in front of her but had other customers to attend to before she could chat with Kenna. From the look on her friend’s face, she’d be waiting as long as it took.

Sage explained to the young businesswoman sitting center bar that the citrus in a gin fizz actually cooked the egg white and turned it to the froth she was now pouring onto the top of a highball glass. The woman stared in amazement, which Sage admittedly loved. Cocktails were art to her and the process of creating, blending, and adding to a person’s experience gave her a satisfaction she’d always been lacking in her office job. She was fully aware that to the outside observer, she was nuts for leaving her family and a prestigious job, but once she stepped behind the bar at The Yard, her bar as she liked to call it, everything made sense. She wasn’t simply “some bartender” as her sister liked to tease. She was alive, interacting with people, and giving and feeling energy. How she made her living was a gift, and that was something people rarely said about their jobs.

Handing off two Bloody Marys, complete with spicy beans and okra, to one of their servers, Sage cashed out the man who had been reading some book about the Hopi Indians for the past hour. She loved studying people: some were so transparent and others were intricate puzzles.

Makenna was still waiting. She could feel it. They had that best-friend connection, to the point that once her mind cleared from the sheer pleasure of being pressed against a wall with the expanse of Garrett Rye’s body against hers, Sage’s first thought was of Kenna, of telling her and listening as Kenna explained why Garrett was not a good idea. Sage already knew that, but he sure felt like the very best idea a few hours ago. She could try for casual and brush it off, but the truth was, and Kenna would see it too, Garrett was the chocolate and Sage had been dieting far too long.

“Whatcha doing?” she asked, taking Kenna’s plate and wiping down the bar next to her.

“Year-end reports for tomorrow’s meeting. It’s all incredibly exciting.” She let out a breath and closed her laptop. Her shiny new engagement ring reflected light as her hand lay on top of her computer.

Kenna was newly engaged to super chef Travis McNulty, which Sage still found so damn romantic.

“The question is, what are
you
doing?” Kenna asked with her know-it-all look.

Sage tried to deflect first. “Cleaning up. Lunch crowd is starting to dwindle. Did you see that guy reading that big book on the Indians?”

Kenna nodded with a look that told Sage she had no interest in discussing the reading habits of their customers. It was clear what Kenna wanted to discuss, but Sage wasn’t sure she had the words.

“I took a class my freshman year on the Hopis. Did you know that their language is considered the most complex?” Sage widened her glace, hoping to incite interest in something other than Kenna’s brother and that kiss.

Her friend held her eyes for a moment, and then Sage saw the sarcasm. “Huh, as fascinating as that is, are you seriously using the Indians to get out of telling me what happened with Garrett? You told me you were retiring naughty, that it wasn’t who you are.”

She should have known—Kenna was never about bullshit. After checking that the last few people at the bar were happy, Sage wiped her hands on a towel and leaned in toward her friend. “I
was
done with it, but you heard him when he came in. What was I supposed to do, not kiss him when he asked me about my fantasies?” she asked before Kenna had a chance to interrupt and recite more from their previous conversation. “Forget he’s your brother for a minute. Any man who looks like that and walks into this bar saying, ‘What’s the fantasy?’ Seriously, like either one of us would have said, ‘Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Yes-Please-I’ll-Have-Another, I remembered I need to be my authentic self.’”