The Love Shack (4 page)

“Dalton, we’ve been through this.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense!” Frustration puckered his forehead. “We were going along just fine, seeing each other a couple of times a week. We were even talking about catching some spring season training games in Arizona.”

Dalton took his Dodgers baseball very seriously.

“I know. And I’m sorry that it seemed so...abrupt. You’re a very nice man—”

“Then how come you gave me the big heave-ho?”

Apparently Dalton had run across little rejection in his life. He didn’t take it very gracefully, that was certain. Though to be fair, her goodbye had come without warning.

“I don’t know what else to say—”

“Maybe it’s time to stop talking,” Dalton said, striding up the pathway toward her. “Maybe it’s time I reminded you of a few things.”

Skye froze, even as an unnatural fear rose like bile in her throat.
Dalton won’t hurt me,
she told herself.
Dalton would never hurt me.
But he was still coming toward her, the light of sexual intent in his gaze. Even the briefest contact would be intolerable.

When he reached for her, she let out a strangled cry. The tang of lemon filled the air and then Dalton was leaping back, cursing at the juice that had streamed onto his slacks and shoes.

Looking down, Skye realized she’d throttled the innocent citrus, the skin and pulp crushed in her fingers.

“What the hell, Skye?” Giving her a fulminating look, Dalton stepped forward again.

“Is there a problem?” a new male voice asked.

She whipped her head to the left. Gage was stepping across her side yard, a white sack in hand, dressed in those olive cargo pants he’d had on earlier, and a T-shirt so faded the words on it were undecipherable. “I... Please,” she said.

Please, what? She didn’t know; she didn’t know anything beyond how glad she was for the interruption. Her stomach was queasy again, her brain dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“Gage Lowell,” he said to the other man, one of his big feet coming between her and Dalton. It made her ex step back, though he took the outstretched hand.

“Dalton Bradley.” He grimaced, like maybe Gage’s grip was a little too strong.

But Gage’s smile was easy as he looked back at Skye. “I hope I’m not late.” At her blank stare, he added, “For dinner?” Then he swung the white bag at eye level. “I brought dessert.”

“Oh. Um...”

Gage snaked a long arm around her to turn the knob and open the door. She took an automatic step back and he followed her in, causing her to move farther along the entryway. “Nice to meet you,” he said to Dalton, and then shut the door on his surprised expression.

Next, Gage turned, and his gaze ran over Skye, surveying her face, her hands that were filled with the pulverized lemon, her bare feet, their toes curled into the hardwood floor. “Relax, honey.”

When she just stood there, he rattled the bag again. She blinked. “Breathe, Skye. Breathe, honey.”

And she found she could. Even with a large, masculine presence standing so close. In her house.

“Do you have any wine?”

“You like wine?” she asked, dubious. “Aren’t you more a beer type of guy?”

“I like both.” He shrugged. “But the wine’s for you. You look as if you need a little something to settle you down.”

She couldn’t argue with that, so she led him farther into her home. Once they got to the kitchen, as she disposed of the lemon and washed her hands, he stowed his bag in the freezer. Then he rummaged around for glasses and found the three-quarters-full bottle of chilled sauvignon blanc in her refrigerator. Directing her to sit at one of the two stools pulled up to the breakfast bar, he placed a glass in front of her.

The one he held in his hand was clinked against the rim of hers. “If you deal in camels, ensure that your doorways are high.”

That shook her out of her bemused stupor. Blinking, she tilted her head. “What?”

“It’s an old Afghan proverb.”

“But what does it mean?”

“How the hell do I know?” He grinned, then nudged her wine closer to her hand. “Maybe something about making sure an ex stays out of your life.”

“I didn’t ask him to stay in it,” Skye protested.

“The lemon was a good touch. He didn’t look pleased about having a trip to the dry cleaner’s in his future.”

“He’s harmless.” Except that the confrontation had left her sick and shaking, because of the exaggerated fear she’d experienced for the past few months. Maybe she should have found some way to explain it to Dalton, but her violent dislike of a male touch humiliated her. Shamed her. Made her feel less than a woman.

“So, are we really having sea lettuce salad for dinner?”

She opened her mouth, about to tell Gage she’d been joking about the invitation at the tide pool. But why not let him stay? At least if Dalton took it in his mind to return again this evening, Gage would be available as bodyguard. “I have salmon steaks, too,” she said, “but we’ll need another lemon.”

The aftereffects of the unpleasant encounter with Dalton lasted through dinner. Gage didn’t seem to mind her quiet mood, however. Instead, he kept his distance and moved efficiently about her kitchen, doing his half of the work to throw together the meal.

Afterward, he ushered her into the living room and took one corner of the couch while she took the other. Another glass of wine was in each of their hands. “What did he want?” he asked, his voice casual.

“Can we not talk about him?”

“He’s got you twitchy.”

She didn’t want to tell him every male had her twitchy. “I don’t understand why he seems to want me so much more now that I broke it off.”

“He thinks you’re playing hard to get.”

“Whoa.” Irritation burned off the residual of the day’s disquiet. “Then I’m actually starting to dislike him. He should know me better than that. I’m not into games.”

“I’ll bet he is. That’s why he leaped to that conclusion.”

“Well.” Skye flounced on her cushion. “Now I don’t even feel a little bit bad for breaking up with him.”

Gage grinned. “That’s my girl.”

My girl.
She felt herself flush, and then she found herself supremely aware that she was inside her house—door closed, drapes drawn—with the very thing she’d been avoiding all these months. A man, confident, big, oozing testosterone without any effort. Her heartbeat spiked high and that low-belly place clenched.

A strange expression flickered across Gage’s face; then he slowly reached for the remote control sitting on the table at his elbow. “Want to watch some TV?”

She swallowed. “As long as it’s not baseball,” she said.

He found a documentary about the Mayan civilization. Maybe it was the narrator’s deep, soothing voice. Maybe it was the fact that her sleep had been disturbed for months. But she found her lashes heavier than bags of sand and even as she told herself she could never drift off with a strange male in the house...she did.

She roused to a hand on her shoulder. Batting at it, she frowned, still mostly asleep. “Go away, Polly.”

A masculine chuckle tried to thread its way into her consciousness. “I’ll try not to be insulted by that.”

“Good,” she murmured, and turned her cheek in order to get more comfortable.

“You’re going to get a crick in your neck if I let you sleep here all night.”

Her fuzzy mind started to grow more alert. “You’re not Polly,” she said, still not opening her eyes.

“Not unless she’s been hiding her dick.”

Her lashes popped open and she glowered—albeit sleepily—at Gage. “That’s crude.”

“My middle name.” He had slid down the couch to where she was half-slumped against the arm.

She struggled to sit up and gather her wits. “I wouldn’t think you’d admit to that.”

“I don’t play games, either. I don’t try to conceal who I am. You know that from my letters.”

This close, she could smell his scent. It was clean yet mysterious, with a spicy, foreign note. “I feel sure there are some hidden pockets to your soul.”

“That’s exactly where I keep the crude.”

She couldn’t help smiling at him. “You think you’re funny.”

“Hey, I’ve spent a lot of time alone. If I can’t make myself laugh, I’m in trouble.”

Skye frowned. That had never occurred to her...that when he was out on assignment in wild and dangerous places he didn’t always have a support group around him. “Don’t you get lonely?”

Gage seemed to ponder that a moment. “I think I will.”

He
will?
What did that mean? She opened her mouth to ask, but he beat her to the next question. “Ice cream?” he asked. “That’s what I put in the freezer. Or should I let myself out so you can go to bed?”

She didn’t want him to leave just yet, she realized. “Ice cream.”

He exited to the kitchen, then returned to the living room with a bowl of her favorite flavor. “Rocky road, right? Man, you got my taste buds screaming for relief when you wrote me about your new favorite shop in Newport.”

“This is from Icy Delights?” Eager, she stretched for the bowl.

Dropping down beside her, he held it out of reach. “You need to run your dishwasher. Only one clean bowl was left, so we have to share.” Scooping up a spoonful, he held it to her mouth.

She opened, took it in, making sure to run her tongue over the utensil to lap up every bit of the delicious treat. “Mmm.” Her eyes closed in ecstatic appreciation.

Gage made a low sound. She looked at him, and the heated blue of his eyes staring at her over the bowl was enough to turn the frozen dessert into sugary soup. Skye felt her blood take on the high temperature as it zipped through her system, smoking nerve endings along the way.

He was so big, she thought. Long limbs, wide shoulders, large feet and hands. Under the tanned skin of his arms, she could see the flex of muscle and the pull of tendons. There was a dive watch strapped on one wrist, and the complex piece of technology only served to make her more aware of the primal masculinity of him.

Her breath stalled in her lungs.

That around-men anxiety was back with a vengeance. She should be used to the panic by now, she thought. Except with Gage it was somehow different. Now the fear made her skin flush and feel too tight on her bones. The sizzle in her system, the breathlessness, the edginess of her mood were a totally separate kind of alarm.

As her heartbeat raced, that place low in her belly tightened. She felt a small rush of moisture between her thighs.

And that’s when she realized her response to Gage wasn’t her usual apprehension at all. This reaction of her body didn’t signal anxiety—it had just been so long since she’d experienced it she hadn’t immediately recognized what it truly was.

Desire.

CHAPTER FOUR

S
TANDING
BESIDE
THE
open door of her car, Skye tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, lifting her head when she heard the distinctive crackle of footsteps crossing crushed seashells. Warned that someone was approaching from behind, she steeled herself to stay calm. No need to jump out of her skin.

“There you are.”

At Gage’s voice, though, her heart leaped toward her throat and then plummeted to her belly. Pressing her palm there, she pasted on a casual, friendly expression and half turned toward him, determined to maintain her dignity. “Oh, hey.”

“Thought I could take you to lunch,” he said, continuing to stroll forward until he stood nearly toe-to-toe with her. He wore a pair of battered jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt that must have been dyed to exactly match his eyes. “Payback for last night’s dinner.”

Her heart bobbed again, a jerky, marionette-like movement. “That’s not necessary.” Last night’s dinner was something she’d been trying to forget since sending him on his way after he finished the bowl of ice cream. One bite had been enough for her.

He tilted his head, studying her face. She could feel it was flushed, damn it. “Aren’t you a little hot in that sweatshirt?”

Her fingers toyed with the ribbed hem that hit midthigh. “I’m perfectly comfortable.” All covered up from throat to ankles in the overlarge top and relaxed-fit khakis.

He stood silent a moment, then shrugged. “So...lunch?” As if he read her impending refusal, he sent her a wheedling smile. “Indulge a guy.”

Clearly he thought he was irresistible. She swallowed, preparing to deliver an emphatic “no,” partly due to feminine principle, mostly due to self-preservation. More time in his company equaled more time suffering the effects of her unwanted and unexpected physical fascination with him. Her mouth opened just as the breeze kicked up and she was muffled by a long swath of her own hair.

Before she could drag it away, his fingers were there, tucking beneath the strands and brushing her hot cheek as he drew the hair behind her ear. The calloused pads lingered on the rim, which went fiery as he absently rubbed the tender curl of flesh.

She felt the touch in a flash of more fire that arrowed down her neck. The erotic burn paralyzed her and she stared up at him, helpless under his enigmatic gaze and deft caress.

“Say yes,” he said.

And like a subject to a hypnotist, Skye nodded, then caught herself. “Wait. Whoa. I—”

“You don’t wear earrings,” Gage said, his forefinger now tracing the lobe of her ear.

Anyone would shiver at that gentle stroke. Anyone would be confused by the new turn of conversation. She blinked. “Not lately...”

“So fragile,” he murmured, still playing with her ear, so that his knuckles brushed the sensitive hollow behind it. “And without any jewelry, innocent-looking and...naked.”

Oh, God. That word,
naked,
combined with the almost delicate contact of his hand made her dizzy. She hauled in a breath, and his scent invaded her lungs, that same exotic, evocative male scent as the night before. It smelled like some rare, copper-colored spice kept behind a curtain in the last booth of a foreign bazaar.

It made her want to rub her face against his throat.

“I’m hungry,” Gage said, still touching her.

Naked. Hungry. She was melting, going liquid inside. So much heat. “Me, too,” she heard herself say.

“Lunch, then,” he said, his hand dropping. “You mind driving?” He was already moving aside her purse and climbing into the passenger seat.

Her mind caught up to his actions. “No. I... What are you doing?”

“I’m hungry, you’re hungry. A meal.” His door shut with a decisive click.

Stymied, she slid into the driver’s seat. “I was on my way to the mall.” It was true, and it was also her last-ditch effort to get rid of him. Men hated shopping.

“Sounds good,” Gage said, adjusting his seat to make more room for his long legs. “I need to buy my mom a birthday gift. Maybe I’ll find something for the engaged couple.”

He glanced over when she continued to stare at him. “What? Won’t your trip be more fun with a friend?”

How to answer that? Of course they were friends. They’d been regular correspondents for months, and he’d only be puzzled if she made a big deal about not allowing him along.

And, damn it, she
wanted
to be his friend.

Nothing more...but nothing less, either. She’d loved their letter exchange.

Without another demur, she headed half an hour up the coast to the outdoor promenade of shops in one of the bigger beach towns. The streets in its center were closed to car traffic, but she and Gage still had to keep an eye open for bicyclists, skateboarders and moms pushing Hummer-sized strollers. He didn’t say anything as they ambled, his gaze roaming the myriad cafés and restaurants as well as the shops that sold everything any used-to-it-all-and-more Southern Californian could want.

“Culture shock?” she asked.

He turned his gaze from the window of a store that sold nothing but ball caps to look into her face. “I always forget how much...stuff there is available for purchase.”

“Is that disapproval I hear?” She tilted her head. “All the ‘stuff’ offends your sensibilities?”

“I don’t have a lot of possessions myself, because I travel so much. I’m like a hermit crab...carry all I need on my back.”

“Nothing to weigh you down?”

He shrugged. “It’s true I’ve lived light. I...” His words faded away as his gaze caught on the bare legs of a woman in short shorts and platform sandals. He watched her swaying hips until they disappeared into a high-end lingerie boutique.

“There’s something to be said for Western excess,” he said, grinning. “Look at all those pretty little nothings.”

The stork-legged mannequins in the shop window were dressed in panties cut high and bras cut low.

“Ironic how Western excess results in a definite shortage of T-and-A coverage,” she grumbled.

He laughed. “Shall we go inside?”

“No!” she said, mortification washing new heat across her skin. “I’m not going in there with you.”

“I’ll buy you a present.”

“No,” she repeated, then quickly stepped into the specialty body and bath products store that had been her destination. Instead of scantily clad mannequins and posters of supermodels in wings, this boutique was decorated with murals of flower fields and lush vineyards. Various lines of organic skin care products were arranged by scent. Skye headed toward the back corner.

“Wait.” Gage’s head swiveled and he drifted toward a display of products nearer the front. There sat bottles and tubes colored a pale, green-tinged blue. Stacked beside them were hand-hewn blocks of soap the same color. They smelled of freshwater and flower petals. “This,” he said, pointing to it. “This is you.”

Skye shrugged a shoulder, half uncomfortable, half pleased. “You’re right. That’s their Melusine line. It’s what I use.”

He brought a waxy bar to his nose, inhaled. “I like it. It suits you, cool and sweet at the same time.”

Another surge of pleasure warmed her, even as her nerves tingled a warning. Should she change her bath products? She didn’t like the idea that her personal fragrance was so recognizable. Drawing attention to herself through looks or even scent didn’t sit well with her any longer. As she watched, he closed his eyes and drew in another breath of the soap’s perfume, clearly enjoying it.

Her nerves tingled again. Maybe it was the kind of detail only Gage would notice, she thought.

Which didn’t make her feel any more at ease. Backing away from him, she cleared her throat. “Don’t worry about sticking close. Go on out, browse the other shops. I can find you when I’m done picking out the bridal present I’m after for Jane.”

If she’d thought the mention of a wedding would send the man on his way, she’d been wrong. He was at her shoulder as she perused a display of orange blossom products packaged in white organza. Hyperaware of him, she selected several items that she’d put together in a gift basket.

“Can I help you?”

They both turned toward a salesgirl, her platinum hair ironed to a shiny fall, her sparkling blue gaze focused on Gage.

His smile spread slowly. “I don’t know,” he said, not looking away from the young woman, who was dressed in a layered trio of tank tops and a napkin-sized skirt. “Do we need any help, Skye?”

Speaking of scents, she could smell the sex appeal he was beaming toward the pretty blonde. “I’m fine,” she said, and turned her back to give the man privacy for his flirtation.

And he did that, flirted, his voice low and warm as he asked the woman’s opinion on a birthday gift for his mother. With half an ear, Skye heard her recommend the Melusine products and couldn’t miss Gage’s quick dismissal of that idea. Next they walked to a row of tester vials and Skye rolled her eyes as the salesgirl insisted on spraying her own skin: wrist, back of hand, crook of elbow, and then held each to Gage’s nose for his appreciation.

Her selections were bought and bagged while he was still sniffing at the blonde. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Skye waiting by the door and frowned. “You’re ready? I’m sorry.”

“Take your time,” she said, with a go-ahead gesture.

But he deftly sidestepped the salesgirl as she lifted yet another inch of her bare, fragrant flesh toward his face. “I’ll take the plumeria set,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “You said you could ship it for me?”

The transaction only took a few more minutes, and then he left behind a clearly disappointed blonde to join Skye at the exit. She started to push at the door, but he took over, swinging it wide with his big hand. “Why didn’t you say something?” he grumbled.

“I wanted to give you plenty of time to ask her out,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Skye...”

“Hey, the Gage Gorge requires—”

“Shut up about that,” he said. “That topic’s off-limits between you and me.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she said. “I understand—”

“Off-limits,” he repeated, implacable.

Still, she couldn’t help being aware of all the pretty women they encountered as they continued to stroll through the streets. More than one female looked at Gage, clearly appreciating his lean good looks and confident gait. A Pilates posse, a small group of women dressed in Lululemon exercise gear and carrying coffees, gave him speculative, sidelong looks. Pairs of office workers in tight suit skirts and sneakers slowed their lunch hour power walks as they passed him by. One nubile young lady, distributing flyers for a new restaurant, made a point of scrawling her number on the piece of paper before handing it to him.

Making the thumb-and-pinky “call me” sign, she grinned as he absently stuffed the sheet into his pocket.

“You’re missing a lot of opportunities,” Skye chided him. “You shouldn’t let my presence stop you.”

He shot her a dark look. “Are you trying to annoy me?”

Maybe. Though she was more annoyed at herself at the surge of ugly green jealousy she felt when she thought of him gorging on anyone. “I don’t know what’s put you in such a mood,” she mumbled, trying to cover her own.

“I need lunch,” he said, then halted, his gaze fixed on a small café across the street. “And God provides.” His tone was nearly reverent. “Fish tacos.”

In minutes they were at a tiny table, both with an iced tea and a plate of tacos in front of them. The lightly breaded white fish smelled delicious and tasted even better cocooned in a small warm corn tortilla and garnished with cabbage, grated cheddar cheese, a spoonful of tart white sauce and a squeeze of lime.

He held one taco high. “The young goose is a good swimmer,” he said, like a blessing, then ate it in three big bites. An appreciative moan followed.

Smiling, Skye tilted her head at him. “Better now?”

“Almost.” Round two went down as quickly as round one.

Her eyes widened as she lifted her first to her mouth. “Until now, I don’t think I had an accurate understanding of the depths of your appetite.”

He glanced up. “You didn’t get a hint last night?”

Skye stilled, remembering the hot look in his eye when he’d fed her ice cream. But surely that had been her imagination—if not projection. Still, her hand twitched, and her taco dropped back to her plate, its contents scattering. Glad for the distraction, she bent her head and busied herself scooping the ingredients back inside the tortilla.

“Maybe we should talk about it,” Gage said, his voice low.

Embarrassment burned up her neck toward her face. Did he mean... Did he suspect... Her brain stumbled over uncomfortable thoughts. When he’d left her house the night before, she’d hoped he’d not noticed the effect he had on her.

The way he was still affecting her.

“Skye?”

She still didn’t want to look at him. But she did, faking a puzzled expression. “Discuss? There’s nothing to discuss.”

And to her relief, he let it go. She didn’t want to squirm through any conversation he’d want to have about her misplaced interest. In her sloppy clothes and scrubbed face, they both knew she wasn’t Gage Gorge material. No need to make them both uncomfortable by spelling it out.

After lunch, they returned to Crescent Cove. Skye pulled into the driveway behind her beach house. The ride back had been silent and, on her side, filled with awkwardness. Gage, however, remained an enigma. For all she knew, he stayed quiet because he was tired, or bored or thinking of that woman whose number he had in his pocket.

“We have to talk about the attraction,” he suddenly said.

Startled, Skye whipped her head toward him. “Huh?”

“Don’t think I didn’t realize.” He pinned her with those bright turquoise eyes.

Damn. She supposed the notion of fooling him had been a pipe dream. An experienced man like Gage would know when a woman was...was drawn to him.

“It was there in the room with us last night, big as life, and I’d like to get past it, Skye. It’s not—”

“Don’t say anything more!” Clearly it was not a feeling he reciprocated. Who could blame him? She knew what she looked like—colorless and camouflaged in baggy clothes. That’s the way she wanted to be, needed to be. Still, the whole situation stung her pride.