The Love Shack

Chapter THIRTEEN

June 1

Dear Gage,

Well, my sister has packed her bags and driven off. I thought she might be persuaded to stay at the cove and manage the properties with me, but once again it’s a man who sent her on her way. Not at a run this time...it’s a happy, not a tragic reason, thank goodness. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m the only Alexander left in Southern California and I’m rethinking my stubborn determination to stay. Maybe it’s time for Crescent Cove to be someone else’s legacy.

Skye, contemplating other horizons

Skye,

Could you trust anyone else to preserve the magic? No pressure (ha) but I don’t think I could. I see myself visiting there one future day and taking photos of you surrounded by your children, the next generation that will curate the living museum that is the cove. Shall I come sooner? Maybe my camera and I can remind you of the extraordinariness of your heritage.

Gage, alarmed

Dear Gage,

Don’t come! I’m aware that might sound unwelcome, but I believe some things are better served as memories savored from afar.

Yours, Skye

When Gage woke alone the morning after he’d had Skye in his bed, her state of mind was in no doubt. If she’d been on the pillow beside his, he might have worried, but her absence said everything.

That what they’d done between the sheets had been nothing.

Well, of course it wasn’t nothing. Good God, not that, but it had changed nothing between them. He’d lusted after her, she’d lusted right back and despite her momentary hiccup after suspecting intruders in one of the cove cottages, they’d had a satisfying adventure between the sheets.

He was glad he’d proved to her that there was fun to be had there. Sure, there were those final moments of...of...somberness, when he’d felt connected to her in a way that went beyond the physical, but certainly that made sense. They’d shared so many thoughts through their letters that it was only natural that the lovema—sex—was on a slightly different-than-usual plane.

Despite his lack of concern over their night together, he wished he’d had a chance to visit with her in person the following day. But he’d had to scramble to make a sequence of meetings set up by his photography agent. The L.A. traffic had been its usual beastly self, swallowing him up and only spitting him out after his dinner meeting ended at 10:00 p.m. Exhausted by all the business, social, and vehicular maneuverings, he’d fallen into bed at No. 9. It was the second best night of sleep he’d had since Jahandar had taken him to that fateful meet in the arid countryside.

Now, though, with a shower, breakfast and a few hours of catching up on world events under his belt, he decided to seek out Skye. They’d exchanged cryptic texts between his appointments the day before, and she’d seemed in good spirits, but he was going to make sure all was well. With his time at the cove dwindling, he refused to be patient about any lingering awkwardness she might feel.

He needed to know that Skye knew she could be with him in the days that remained without being with him.

It was nearing midday as he walked up the beach. He figured she might be home for lunch. Maybe he’d grab her by the hand and take her with him to Captain Crow’s for a sandwich.

But as he neared her bungalow, he saw that someone else had gotten there ahead of him. A man stood on her porch, obscuring almost all Gage could see of Skye’s slender figure. He lengthened his stride, eating up the asphalt of her front walk.

“Skye!”

She peered around the other guy, and that’s when he realized there were male hands on her shoulders. Hands that were not Gage’s.

His feet stuttered to a halt as a caustic green acid seemed to pour into his gut. Had he eaten something rotten for breakfast? But what was rotten, he realized almost instantly, was the idea of another man touching his siren of the cove.

Shit. That wasn’t good.

“Gage?” She sent him a distracted smile. “Did you need something?”

Her companion—that ex of hers—now turned to look at Gage, his arms dropping back to his sides. “Oh,” the man said. “It’s you.”

Gage ran his gaze over the other man’s natty outfit. He apparently had golf on his agenda, unless dressing like an ice-cream man and wearing white tasseled shoes had become the latest fad in the States. “Dagwood,” Gage said with a nod.

“Dalton,” the ex corrected, not the least amused.

“Whoops.” Gage tried to look repentant.

Rolling her eyes, Skye stepped around her visitor. “Did you need something?” she repeated.

It was his first real look at her since he’d fallen asleep spooned around her body. He’d nuzzled the curve of her neck and shoulder, breathing in the scents of Skye and mutual lust as he fell into sleep.

Perhaps she remembered that, too, because a faint flush stained her cheeks. Her hair was unbound again, the lovely dark mass of it no longer contained but allowed to stream down her back. A faint gloss of lipstick shined her soft mouth and she’d shunned the menswear for a formfitting T-shirt and a full skirt of thin cotton layers that skimmed the top of her knees.

Again, it wasn’t a particularly revealing getup, except in that it revealed that Skye was feeling more comfortable in her own skin.

Her skin... His mind spun another memory. He remembered the smooth heat of her thighs, the tender flesh between them. His mouth had left love bites there, and he wondered if he’d find his marks still on her if he tossed up those filmy sheets of fabric and bared her for his gaze.

“Gage?” she asked expectantly.

He cleared his throat. He’d had a purpose; it just seemed to have slipped his mind. “I...uh...”

Dalton interrupted. “I only have a few minutes before I have to leave to make my tee time,” he told Skye.

“If you’ve just a few minutes,” Gage said, starting forward again, “you’d better get a move on. Traffic’s a bitch.”

The other man frowned at him. “Thank you, but—”

“No thanks necessary.” Gage looked at Skye and jerked his head in the direction of the restaurant up the sand. “You. Me. Lunch.”

“Oh, I don’t...” Her words trailed off as he reached over and snagged her hand. Her gaze fell to their entwined fingers, her expression arrested.

Gage knew why. It was the Bowline on a Bight, the Icicle Hitch, the Rat-Tail Stopper. The Big Trouble he’d called it two days before. That sense that they were inextricably bound was washing over him again.

It was because they were such good friends, he thought, his fingers tightening on hers.

Pen pals.

Except neither of those relationships explained the absolute sense of...of rightful belonging that overtook him when touching her like this. They lifted their gazes at the same time and he stared into her eyes, their color the deep ocean green where every mystery of the universe dwelled. He couldn’t breathe.

“Skye,” Dalton said, his voice impatient. “I really need just a little bit more of your time.”

Gage needed just a little bit more of Skye—or a lot more, he admitted to himself. Going back to platonic pals wasn’t an option any longer, he was beginning to realize. Unless he left the cove early, unless he skipped his twin’s wedding and hopped on a plane this very afternoon to take him thousands of miles away, he was going to have more of Skye.

If she’d let him.

Her eyes were saucer-wide and he squeezed her hand again. “Let’s go have lunch at Captain Crow’s,” he said, his voice gruff.

“I...” She glanced at Dalton. “I can’t right this minute. Wait for me there?”

Leave her alone? With a man who couldn’t seem to understand the word no? Gage shook his head. “I don’t think—”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “I’m fine.”

He gazed on her another long moment, gauging for himself.

“All right,” he finally conceded. “But don’t think you can escape me.” With effort, he tacked on a small smile to lighten the warning.

Her flush deepened. “I’m not sure escape was ever an option,” she murmured. Then she withdrew her hand from his. “I’ll be there soon.”

Dalton sent him a pointed look of triumph, which Gage ignored, despite another deluge of the evil acidy stuff flooding his system. Your victory is just temporary, dude, he thought, then shoved away the notion that whatever concessions he won from Skye himself wouldn’t be long-lasting, either.

But his discomfort didn’t ease up, even when he was shown to a free umbrella-topped table on the restaurant’s crowded deck. The day was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at it—the sky azure, the foam of the toppling waves a brilliant white, the sand sparkling from the mica that caught the sunlight. Squinting against the glare, he drummed his fingers on the varnished wood, impatient for Skye to join him. Impatient to get the cards on the table.

His order of iced tea was set in front of him, and he brought the sweating glass to his forehead, hoping it would cool him down a little. His nerves jangled and his libido was hopping about like a jumping bean. He’d never felt so damn unsettled when it came to a woman. Jesus.

What would happen if she didn’t say yes?

What the hell had she done to him? he suddenly wondered, resentful. A continued liaison was never part of the plan. He’d considered going to bed with her in terms of...of a sort of good turn, their night together her sexual Rx, and instead he was the one who now felt a little sick.

With jealousy. With want.

With need.

Women!

He scowled at the one walking by his table, then realized it was Skye’s BFF, Polly, who hesitated as she passed. “Are you all right?” she asked, giving him a wary look.

He grunted, and shoved at the chair opposite him with his foot. “Would you like to sit down?”

“I’m not sure,” Polly said, a glint of humor in her eyes. “You look a little dangerous.”

“I need a distraction.”

She made a play at glancing around. “The day isn’t gorgeous enough for you?”

“Maybe this place is too gorgeous,” he said. “It’s making me soft.” Stupid.

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. You’re the guy who always needs a challenge,” Polly said, slipping into the free seat. “Are you bored here?”

Not for one minute. Though he supposed an indefinite dose of Crescent Cove might get monotonous. If it was a permanent home like Tess and David’s Cheviot Hills, he’d probably go nuts in a month...though the ocean was ever-changing, no sunset was the same, and the horizon hinted at endless possibilities.

“I’ve got obligations overseas,” he said.

“And you can always get your cove fix through letters,” Polly suggested brightly. “I assume you’ll keep corresponding with Skye.”

“Well, of course—” He halted. She might not reply. If he screwed this up and left things on bad terms with her, then he’d have lost that lodestar that had kept him sane. That he might need to keep him sane again. Shit.

Maybe he better keep his hands off her in the future after all.

He was staring, unseeing, at his iced tea when he heard the clearing of a female throat. His head lifted, and there she was. A breeze came up. It played with the layers of fabric at her knees and caught at her hair, dragging it over her face. She clamped her hands to her thighs to keep her skirt in place. Gage jumped to his feet and tended to her hair himself, pulling it back with both hands to tuck the glossy mass behind her ears. Then he cupped her face in his palms, gazing at the delicate beauty of her.

His body went on high alert, his muscles tightening. Instinct urged him to put himself between her and the gusty breeze, and the too-bright sun, and any other element that might endanger her. Doubts and second thoughts evaporated. He wanted to wrap himself around her; be both her fortress and her sanctuary, and then, when he was gone, the lover she never, ever forgot.

“I’ll leave you two alone.”

Startled at the intrusion, he glanced over to see Polly rising from her seat. “Yeah,” he said, already dismissing her from his mind. “Thanks for the company.”

Without even waiting for the other woman to move off, he was staring at Skye again, the pull of her like an undertow, but he didn’t give a shit about survival.

He touched his forehead to hers, and felt her tremble in his hold. “You know, we seem to generate some powerful juju between us,” he told her.

She nodded, trembled again.

He laid it on the line. “Forget about lunch. Come back to my bed. Stay there until it’s time for me to go.”

* * *

SKYE WAS TUGGED AWAY from Gage, just as his words started to sink in. Come back to my bed. Stay there until it’s time for me to go. Polly had her by the arm, and it appeared she had no intention of letting go.

“I’ll bring her back shortly,” her blonde friend said to Gage, in her cheery, kindergarten-teacher voice. “You just sit tight.”

Gage opened his mouth as if to protest, then shut it. He must see the same implacability on Polly’s face that Skye did. Though a pair of sunglasses covered her eyes, her friend’s expression was set and her jaw was firm.

“I just need a few minutes of girl talk.” Polly continued towing her in the direction of the bar. Upon reaching it, she practically lifted Skye onto one of the stools. For a small woman, she had wiry strength that came from a career of wrangling little kids. “Thank me,” she said.

“For what?” Skye glanced back at Gage to see that he’d resettled into his seat and was staring out at the ocean. “What the heck was that about?”

Come back to my bed. Stay there until it’s time for me to go.

“I’m giving you a chance to think this through without being under the influence of Stunning Sex Man.”

“You heard what he said?” Come back to my bed. Stay there until it’s time for me to go.

“I was standing right beside you, not that I expect either of you noticed with all the pheromones buzzing around you like electrons circling atoms.”

“‘Powerful juju,’” Skye murmured.

Polly called out to the guy behind the bar. “Hey, Steve, could we get a couple of lattes?”

It was that same young man who’d served them that afternoon a couple of weeks before, the one who was the film friend of Addy’s. It didn’t take him long to concoct a couple of caffeine-and-milk beverages, and he smiled at Skye as he slid her oversize cup in front of her. “Nice to see you again,” he said. “You don’t get in here much in the afternoons, I guess. That’s when my shifts are usually scheduled.”

“No.” She gave him a polite smile. “I’ve been pretty busy this summer.”

“Searching for the famous jeweled collar?” he asked, picking up a bar towel and sliding it across the surface. “Has it come to light?”

“No.” He was looking at her so expectantly she felt compelled to say a little more. “But Addy found a letter from my great-great-grandmother to my great-great-grandfather that seems to at least confirm its existence. As a matter of fact, a local reporter is writing a feature about it for the Sunday Lifestyles section of the newspaper. It’s supposed to come out later this month.”

His hand paused in its wax-on, wax-off movement. “I’ll look forward to that.”

Skye lifted her cup to her lips. “This weekend’s paper or the next.”

“And I’ll look forward to talking to you more about it, too.” He smiled. “I’ve scored some evening shifts so maybe we’ll run into each other more often.”

Something about that smile of his set Skye’s nerves jumping. “Uh, sure,” she said, and was relieved when a waitress came up to him with drink orders. She leaned close to Polly. “Does he give you the creeps, or is it just me?”

Her friend shoved her sunglasses to the top of her head as if to get a better look at the barista. Skye drew back, concerned by the shadows under her friend’s eyes. “Polly, what’s wrong?”

The blonde flicked her a glance. “I’m good. I’m always good.”

Skye frowned. “I’m not letting you get away with your usual pat answer.”

“It’s nothing you need to know about.”

“Are you kidding? You just meddled in my life. I think it’s only fair that I get to be nosy about yours.”

Polly glanced at her again, then heaved a sigh. “Fine. Maybe it will be instructive to you.” Leaning down, she blew across the surface of her drink. Then she straightened without taking a sip. “I told Teague my secrets. You know, about...about my wild teenage rebellion.”

Skye was careful to let nothing show on her face. “I was surprised you hadn’t before. You’ve been so close to him.”

The other woman shrugged. “Maybe I was afraid to shatter his illusions. He always thought I could do no wrong.”

Skye placed her hand on her friend’s arm. “Pol, you were a kid acting out in kid fashion. You didn’t do wrong, you just did...”

“Stupid. Hurtful.”

“Because you were hurting. You know that, right?”

Polly smiled, but it didn’t make her appear any less tired. “The double major in psychology and education knows that.” She touched her chest with her fingertips. “But in here there’s a piece that’s not so sure.”

“What did Teague say?”

“I didn’t give him much of a chance to say anything.”

“Still,” Skye said loyally, “he is a dope.”

“Told you.”

They were silent a minute. Then Skye picked up her latte. “Out of curiosity, how did you think I might find your situation with Teague-the-dope instructive?”

“Heck, I don’t know.” Polly glanced over her shoulder in the direction of Gage. “Maybe it’s safer to keep your secrets?”

Wasn’t it too late for that? Skye wondered. He knew about the home invasion, he knew about the problems it had caused for her...but he didn’t know everything. She stole her own peek at him. He appeared relaxed in his chair, but she could see his fingertips drumming on the tabletop.

He didn’t know how close she was to falling for him.

If he did, she suspected he wouldn’t have made that tempting, delicious demand. Come back to my bed. Stay there until it’s time for me to go.

“So...are you?” Polly asked.

Skye turned her head to look at her friend. “Am I what?”

“Going back to his bed.”

“It would just be temporary. He’s leaving the cove after the wedding.”

“Which is exactly why you should think twice, or thrice, or...what’s four times?”

Skye shrugged. “Twice twice? And wasn’t it you who was encouraging me to have a summer fling? You seemed a hearty proponent of temporary sexual gratification not all that long ago.”

Pursing her lips, Polly seemed to mull over the idea. Then she blinked, straightening on her stool. “Hear that?”

“Are the voices in your head starting up again?”

“Ha-ha.” Polly pointed toward a speaker hanging over the bar. “It’s a sign. A warning. Bananarama’s ‘Cruel Summer.’”

The barista paused in his stroll down the bar. “We’ve been playing summer songs all day. You don’t like this one?” Before they could answer, he reached toward a computer sitting beneath the shelves holding the call liquors. Quick keystrokes, and the music changed.

Justin Timberlake singing how this couldn’t be mere “Summer Love.”

That was the warning, Skye thought, chilled.

And then a hot, heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder. “Time’s up,” a voice growled in her ear.

Her breath went short as desire shot through her, a dizzying cocktail of heat and giddy excitement. The place between her thighs clenched. Slowly, so slowly, she turned her head to look at Gage. His eyes were piercing blue in his tanned face. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and she knew the whiskers would be rough on her skin. He’d leave a chafed trail behind—around her mouth, down her neck, on the pale slopes of her breasts and the delicate skin of her thighs. She’d probably revel in it.

His hand squeezed her shoulder. “Well?”

Another summer moment popped into her mind. Her mother had signed her up for a weeklong sleepaway camp, and before leaving Skye had felt this same mix of sickness, sadness and incipient excitement. Hadn’t she made it back from that experience safely?

Skye slid off her stool. Gage stepped back and she shot a look at Polly. Her friend wiggled her fingers, then shrugged, a “What can you do?”

Nothing, Skye thought, placing her hand in Gage’s. As his fingers closed over hers, desire surged again, along with an almost melancholy feeling of inevitability. “Don’t think you can escape me,” he’d said.

She’d always known she couldn’t.

The only question was whether she could escape losing her heart.