The Love Shack

Chapter FIFTEEN


AS HE APPROACHED THE CRESCENT COVE beach at near dusk, Teague thought he should be sitting on top of the world. It was a given, right, because “friends with benefits” was right up there with “March Madness” and “nachos with extra jalapeños” in the Real Man’s Lexicon of Favorite Phrases. Instead, he felt as if something were sitting on top of him. This lousy mood had to go, however. Polly had almost kicked him out of her life a few days before, and he figured he’d really tick off his best pal if he showed up at tonight’s beach bonfire as surly as a singed bear.

He didn’t want to chance losing her, with a desperation that he found a bit surprising. But hell, she’d always meant a lot to him.

Maybe his mood was a belated hangover kicking in. Two evenings ago his booze of choice had been whiskey and he should have suffered from brain pain on waking. But after he’d left Polly’s bed—thought processes reeling from all that had happened and what she’d proposed—he’d swallowed pain reliever tablets and a quart of water before falling onto his own mattress. In the morning he’d opened his eyes, feeling better than he had any right to.

But now there was a grinding sense of something gone wrong churning in his belly, and he tried ignoring it by tightening his grip on the big spray of roses in his left hand. Having been called into work for a half-shift meant he’d been unable to attend the bridal shower or reach out immediately to Polly. It was time to rectify that. Hoping what he wore on his face looked like a smile and not rigor mortis, he used his other to knock on Polly’s front door.

She opened it, her big blues rounding in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I got a text from Skye. About the bonfire?”

“Oh.”

Polly looked flustered. And guilty. “Did you not want me to come?” he asked, his stomach chewing on the thought.

“Of course not. No.” She waved a hand. “We’re all always happy to see you.”

The bite of a thorn reminded Teague he’d brought flowers—and that his fingers were suddenly strangling them. “Here,” he said, thrusting them at her. “These are for you.”

Polly automatically reached for the bouquet, but she looked at them as if they were stinkweed instead of her favorite romantic red roses. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to.”

She glanced up at his face. “No, I mean you really shouldn’t have. Did anyone see you bringing me flowers? People will talk.”

He tried shrugging off the tight claws of his ill temper. Polly never annoyed him. They’d gotten along so well until recently...until those two confusing occasions, the first when she’d dropped her dress, the second when she’d made some angry but cryptic remark about him not nailing her. Christ, he’d taken care of that, hadn’t he?

He rubbed at his aching forehead. “I bring you stuff all the time.”

“Muffins. That kind of pen I like. Not...”

“Fine,” he ground out. “Now I’m hoping Skye won’t be p.o.’d that I brought her the ingredients for s’mores. Do you think that sends a wrong message, too?”

“If so, it will be Gage who delivers the news to you,” Polly said, heading for the kitchen. “Probably on the end of his fist.”

That diverted him for a moment. “What?”

Her place was so small that Teague could watch her put the roses in water from the doorway. She fussed with them, then threw him a look over her shoulder. “I warned her, but she wouldn’t listen.”

He frowned. “You’re telling me they’re involved now? Physically?”

“Mmm,” Polly said, still arranging and rearranging the flowers. She was wearing white denim jeans that were rolled at the ankles and an oversize sweatshirt that...that was his, he realized. His well-worn fleece from the firefighter academy, originally engine-red, now washed to a soft strawberry.

It gave him the oddest satisfaction to see her in it, even though it covered up the incredible body he’d explored the other night. She was built like a gymnast, light but strong, and he’d marveled at her shape and texture, enjoying them with his hands and his mouth, even as one part of his mind couldn’t believe he was in bed with his best-friend-who-was-a-girl.

How had it begun? There’d been her sympathetic tears, his affectionate kiss, and then, pow, it was mouth on mouth, hands on skin, full freaking penetration.

He’d not taken her tenderly, he thought, replaying the event in his mind. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of it, but it was the first time he did a mental rerun when she was so near. Heat shot toward his groin. What would she do if he strode over to the sink and picked her up, then carried her caveman-style to the bedroom and the high mattress that was perfectly positioned for him to—

He blinked, aware she was staring at him.

“Uh, what?” he asked, hoping she didn’t notice that he was more than halfway to aroused.

Polly tucked her golden hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture that wasn’t normal for her. “I said, Skye claims she and Gage are having a summer fling.”

It took Teague a moment to remember who exactly Skye and Gage were. “Summer fling,” he murmured. It was another happy phrase from the Lexicon. Could he and Polly be heading for one of those?

But she was looking at him with a hint of unease in her gaze, and he thought he better not take anything for granted. Especially, as he kept recalling, because he’d gone he-man on her in bed instead of taking the friendly, fond-and-gentle route. Shit. Had he been too rough? The stressful week had shaken him, and then when he’d started talking about it...well, it had bared something in him.

He’d been raw in every sense of the word.

“We should get out there,” Polly said, gesturing to the beach. “Especially if you’re the s’mores supplier.”

Teague followed her lead. Next door to Polly’s tiny place was Skye’s much more substantial home. On the sand a few feet from her front door, a metal fire pit was already stoked and blazing. A dozen people were assembled around it in the almost dark, some standing, some in collapsible chairs. He greeted and was greeted in return, then obligingly took up the task of getting the music going via iPod and stereo dock. The music player’s owner had already created a playlist, and before long over the crackle of burning wood and the quiet rush of waves he could hear “Endless Summer” by Aaron Lewis followed by Katy Perry’s “California Gurls.”

The summer cheer of the songs lifted his mood. He grabbed a can of beer from the ice chest on the porch, then grabbed a second, the light kind that Polly preferred, and looked around for her.

Firelight caught in her bright hair and warmed her features as she sat in one of the gathered chairs. Her beauty didn’t scream look at me, but it was arresting all the same. During years of friendship, through late nights at parties and on early morning ski runs, somehow he’d managed to filter her looks and sexual appeal from their relationship.

Until the other night.

He caught her looking at him, and held up the light beer, an unspoken offer.

She quickly shook her head and dove into conversation with the woman sitting in the chair beside hers. Skye sat on her other side, and Teague wondered if Polly had chosen that spot on purpose, flanking herself with girlfriends in order to avoid him.

He remembered her worry that someone had seen him bring her flowers. “People will talk.”

Annoyed all over again with the concern, he stalked toward her. Her eyes flashed to him and she jumped to her feet, taking a fast walk in the opposite direction. Shit. He’d really blown it the other night, apparently. All that filtering he’d managed over the past four and a half years had been to the very good purpose of not letting sex screw up the closest relationship he had with another person. Now that they’d gone there, she could hardly meet his eyes.

Double shit.

“You’re looking very ferocious,” a voice said at his elbow.

He glanced down at Skye, another female friend of his. He’d known her longer than Polly, but somehow the cheerleader blonde was the one he called when he was in the mood for a bike ride. She was the woman he let pick out his new shirts and tsk over the ragged ones he refused to throw away.

“Maybe I’m worried about you and Gage,” he said, glancing over her head to find the tall man laughing with his twin. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Don’t you go Polly on me, too,” Skye said. “For two days she’s been dark looks and deep frowns.”

His fault? Teague wondered. “You don’t suppose something else might be bothering her?”

Skye shrugged. “She’s doing her ‘I’m good. I’m always good’ thing again. There’s a reason I call her Very Private Polly. It’s hard to know what’s going on inside her head.”

Teague’s shoulders tensed. He could guess all too well what was spinning beneath that bright blond hair: second thoughts about taking their relationship to the physical level. Damn it! Glancing around, he tried to make Polly out in the darkness. Light from the fire flickered over faces, but none were hers.

Gage joined them and Teague talked with the couple without absorbing anything that was said. Instead, he kept a sharp eye out for the absent Polly, his mood only dipping lower as he listened to the songs drifting across the sand.

There was a Fountains of Wayne tune about a girl who couldn’t be found. It sounded breezy and beachy until you really listened and realized beneath its happy beat, the guy was bemoaning the girl who’d got away. Then it was “The Warmth of the Sun.” The Beach Boys sound could go sad in a heartbeat, their harmonies carrying a distinct, melancholy edge. The next song in the shuffle was Green Day’s “When September Ends,” and Teague felt another clutch of concern. That month had yet to arrive, and already he felt as if he was mourning.

His friendship with Polly?

Shit.

Tossing his empty can in a waiting recycle bin, he decided to track her down. Another woman snagged his wrist as he moved past the bonfire. “Have a s’more,” she said, pressing a napkin and treat in his hand.

He looked down at her. “Tess,” he said. “I didn’t see you before.”

“We haven’t been here long. I came bearing wire coat hangers.” She smiled at him. “How are you? We haven’t had a chance to talk lately.”

Bemused, Teague just stared at her. Sure, she was still pretty astonishing to look at. But she didn’t do a thing to his pulse rate any longer. What had Polly said?

You’d be putting your feelings somewhere, with someone, who was safe. Because deep down you’d know you’re not really risking your heart.

Tess tilted her head. “Well?”

“I...” His gaze drifted over her. On the other side of the fire, he finally spotted Polly. Her gaze was on his, but the instant she saw him catch her staring, she turned and walked into the darkness beyond the circle of their party. “I’ve got to go.” Teague handed the graham cracker concoction back to his brief—and pretty foolish, he now realized—summer crush. Then he strode after the woman at the forefront of his mind.

At her door, he caught up with Polly. She must have been a million miles away, because she gasped when he touched her back.

“Don’t scare me.” She turned to face him, her hand flying up to her throat.

His eyes narrowed, taking in her expression revealed by the glow of the porch light. Don’t scare me. “Pol,” he said, grasping her by both shoulders. “Did I...did I do that the other night? Did I scare you? Make you uncomfortable?”

“Of course not,” she said, but her gaze skittered away.

He tightened his grasp on her. “No lying between friends. I’m sorry if telling you about the shoes—”

“You don’t need to apologize for that. I don’t need to be protected. I was happy that you were able to share something that bothered you.”

“I don’t like you thinking I’m a whiner.”

She frowned at him. “You weren’t whining. I’ve heard you whine. That was when your team didn’t make it to the Super Bowl.”

“Funny.” He couldn’t dredge up a smile, though, because he knew things still weren’t right between them. “Polly, the sex...”

Her feet moved and she stepped away from his hands. “Do we have to talk about that?”

“God. I knew it.” He let his eyes close for a moment. “I shouldn’t have let that happen. I’m sorry—”

“Please quit apologizing.”

“But I regret—”

Her fingers fisted in the collar of his shirt. “If you say you regret being with me like that I’ll scream.”

“If you scream, someone will hear. People will talk.” It’s what she’d said about the flowers, right? “I’d say it’s you who—”

Her mouth crushed his. She was a short thing, but she’d gone on tiptoe so their lips were grinding together, and lust shot like a meteor through his body. Teague rocked back on his heels, but she came right with him, her body pressed against his.

He staggered back, off-balanced by her slight weight and the absolute searing power of the kiss. His head angled and he slid his tongue into her mouth, the erotic combination of beer and Polly hitting his taste buds. He clutched at her hips, scooping her closer against him.

It was like that other night all over again. Zero to sixty in a single heartbeat.

Needing air, he lifted his head, staring at her blue eyes and damp mouth. “God, Polly. We should...we should talk.”

She turned, leading the way through her front door as if she wanted that, too, but the instant it was shut behind them she was kissing him again, one leg winding around his hip so their lower bodies were flush. “I don’t want to talk,” she said against his mouth.

Her fingers were already attacking the buttons on his shirt. Teague knew he should stop the headlong flight. But that meteor was still blazing across his personal sky, and his reaction to her still so astounded him—this was Polly!—that his logical thoughts were flung away with his shirt.

She slid her palms up his chest and he jolted into her touch, then shoved his own hands beneath the firefighter sweatshirt. Her torso was sleek and hot against him and he shuddered, so aroused that his cock was throbbing behind his pants.

Turn her, take her, his instincts clamored. He could push her against the door and have his way with her, driving into her giving heat within seconds. But he’d been on Mindless Rut the other night, and she deserved better. His friend deserved that tenderness he’d neglected before.

Grabbing one of her wandering hands, he towed her down the hallway to her dark bedroom. There was that big bed, primly made up now, and he tore at the covers to get to the cool white sheets.

Slow, he reminded himself. Slow. His hands shook as he cupped her face. “Beautiful Polly,” he whispered.

She fumbled with the button of his jeans, and he had to capture her eager fingers. “What?” she asked, pouting a little. “Why?”

He drew the sweatshirt up. “Because we’re slowing this down. I’m making sure you get some benefit out of the whole ‘friends with’ deal.”

A look crossed her face that he couldn’t decipher. Then she went on pants attack again and they started grappling with each other, which turned into groping each other, which turned into another set of frantic kisses and hurried hands, and then they were naked and rolling around on the sheets. He found himself laughing, his hand holding her wrists above her head as he subdued her beneath his bigger body. “You behave,” he told her.

“Told you I was a bad girl,” she said, mischief in her voice.

That they could be teasing like this, even while exploring this new and unfamiliar turn to their friendship, slayed him. The night she found him on the sand, the words he’d shared with her had uncovered pieces of him he rarely showed anyone. But this was rare, too, this absolute intimacy that was both urgent and intriguing.

He bent to kiss her neck, inhaling the scent that he’d savored for four-plus years on a purely pal basis. “God, I’m going to lick you all over.”

No one ever accused Teague of not following through. Despite Polly’s breathless pleas and her sexy, squirming body, he held out against stroking into her until he’d stroked her everywhere with the flat of his tongue and the caress of his lips. It was some of his best effort—but she deserved it and more, his best friend.

Her luscious taste was still in his mouth as he rose over her. She was panting in the aftermath of orgasm. He brushed her hair away from her face. “I went bareback before,” he said.

“I know,” she whispered. Her mouth was reddened from his kisses.

“I wasn’t worried, because—”

“I remember,” she said.

Of course she did. They both were aware she took birth control pills, that both of them were clean. Nevertheless... “I have a condom in my wallet.”

“I have condoms in the bathroom,” she countered.

He looked into her face. Very Private Polly, Skye had called her. But not with him. “Since we’ve shared so much...”

“It seems right that we do this without anything between us.”

The permission he’d been waiting for. Slowly, because it felt so good that he needed time to absorb the pleasure, he sank into the giving heat of her. She moaned, the flush renewing on her face.

His big hands slid beneath her hips to tilt her into his unhurried thrusts. A shiver worked through her body. “Teague,” she moaned.

He drove in again, and dropped his head to kiss and suck one of her reddened nipples. She jerked up, and he felt the telltale tightening in his balls. When he bit down on the hardened tip, she jerked again, crying out, a sound of cresting pleasure.

His movements were steady and sure then, rhythmic and demanding, and she lifted into each one. He groaned, low in his throat, knowing he had just seconds before cataclysm. Hoping to take her with him, he slid his hand between them.

She stiffened, her pelvis lifting into his as his thumb brushed the engorged nub of flesh. Her next cry took him over and he spilled into her as her contracting muscles closed around him.

In the aftermath, he lay on his back and gathered her close again. Replete and feeling damn good about the universe, he was astonished and then alarmed when something hot and wet dropped onto his shoulder.

Polly was leaking tears.

Oh, shit. “What’s wrong?” He went on one elbow to look at her. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head.

Panic drained all the satisfaction from his body. “Polly.” Oh, God. “This whole friends-with-benefits thing is such a bad idea. What can I do? How can I fix it?”

“It’s not your fault, it’s mine.” She held the back of her hand against her nose. “I—I’ve been lying. I’m not really your friend.”

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have let this happen again. But I saw you with Tess, and I felt stupid and jealous and I really, really want to be angry with you for being in love with her, though I know that isn’t fair.”

“What?” he said again, thinking of that last brief encounter with the former woman of his dreams. Her presence had barely registered, he’d been so concerned about Polly.

“You’ve been making me nuts,” she said. “There’s all your big talk about wanting kids, wanting a family, but then you go and fall for someone who’s already taken.”

“The fact is—”

“You shouldn’t love her,” Polly said, her voice fierce. “You only love her because it means you risk nothing. Teague, you’re never going to have her.”

“Sure, but what does that have to do with this? With us?”

She rose from the bed and dashed for a robe. Then she threw his jeans and boxers at him. “You have to go.”

The expression on her face was so serious, he did as she asked. Her hands on his back, she practically pushed him down the hall to her front door. But he drew the line at leaving before he had his shirt on—swooped to grab it—and before he had a clear explanation. “You’re serious? We’re not friends?”

“No. We’re not friends.” She closed her eyes. “That’s over.”

God, how it hurt. “Gator, I don’t understand—”

“Because I’ve loved you for years, all right? I’ve been in love with you for years, but you’ve never really seen me, or you would have seen the truth.”

Stunned, he stared at her. “Polly—”

“Go,” she said. “Just go and stay away.”

And because a feather would have knocked him over, he did.

* * *

SKYE LOCKED THE DOOR of the room that held the Sunrise Studios archive and headed back to the beach, Mara Butler beside her. The other woman sighed a little. “I love that story of your great-great-grandparents. He sacrificed his career, his passion for her.”

“Did he consider it a sacrifice? While we have the letter that makes clear she was the one who wanted to get out of the silent-film business, we only have her side of the story. She thought he would have wanted to make movies forever, but obviously he wanted to make Edith happy more.”

Mara breathed out another sigh, then tented her hand over her eyes and gazed down the stretch of sand. “I hope Anthony’s okay.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. Tess is looking out for him and he has her little boys to play with. Duncan and Oliver will make sure he’s having fun.”

“You’re right.” Mara slanted her a smile. “I have a tendency to hold on to him pretty tight.”

“Nobody would blame you for that.” Skye studied the other woman’s profile as they strolled in the direction of Beach House No. 9, where the Lowell-Quincy clan was gathered to discuss wedding logistics and entertain Anthony and Mara Butler. Her reporter husband had been held for ransom and then killed when the American military went in to rescue him. Charlie Butler had left behind Anthony, who was now five, and the fragile-looking Mara, who’d had the soul-squeezing responsibility of okaying the failed attempt at releasing her husband from his captors.

She hunched her shoulders and shoved her fingers in the pockets of her shorts and glanced at Skye again. “People blame me for other things.”

Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. “Surely not...”

There was heartbreak in Mara’s blue eyes. “Not every country leaves it up to the loved ones, you know. But that’s the U.S. rule, so it’s the next of kin who make the decision and bear the guilt if it doesn’t go right. Charlie’s parents will never forgive me.”

“Oh, Mara,” Skye said. “That’s terrible.”

The other woman shrugged. “I understand their pain. Some days I have a hard time forgiving myself. But...but we had to try. For Anthony.”

“Of course you did.” Skye patted the woman’s shoulder and could feel her thin, birdlike bones. “I’m just so terribly sorry.”

Mara dashed a hand over her cheek. “No, that would be me for bringing all that up on this beautiful day at this beautiful spot.” She smiled at Skye. “It’s quite a legacy. You can’t be sad in a place like this.”

“I think you can be sad anywhere,” Skye replied, “but today we can do our best to enjoy ourselves.” That had been the whole intent of inviting Mara to the cove, to get her mind off her troubles. “Which I think calls for walking with our bare feet in the water, don’t you?”

Grinning now, the other woman slipped out of her sandals. Skye followed suit. Then they trotted to the surf line, both inhaling sharp breaths as the cold water rushed over their toes and ankles.

Skye looked at Mara. “As my dad always says, ‘refreshing.’”

“Is ‘downright cold’ not allowed?”

“I’ve been trained not to say it,” Skye admitted as they continued splashing through shallow water on their way back to No. 9. “We don’t want to discourage the visitors who keep the cove busy all summer long.” With a nod, she indicated the crowd of day tourists and cottage guests.

But it would be so different, so deserted as fall took over. Skye could sense the change in seasons coming already. The air smelled different as summer drew to a close, the slightly bitter scent of drying grasses adding to the sweet aroma of sunshine.

“What’s it like during the off-season?” Mara asked, as if reading Skye’s mind. “What do you do?”

“I keep busy, with maintenance and upkeep projects that I can’t accomplish during the peak months. In the tradition of my father, I do what I can myself. I’m great with cleaning products as well as a paint roller and brush, though I don’t tackle plumbing or electrical beyond the very, very basics.”

“I’m thinking of taking a home repair course myself,” Mara said. “Even though Charlie was gone a lot of our marriage, he’d tackle the honey-do list when he came home. It must be great to be even minimally capable.”

“Yeah,” Skye murmured. Until her monster-in-the-closet fears made that capability moot. For the hundredth time she wondered if she could make it through the desolate months ahead. There’d be Gage’s letters to look forward to, she reminded herself, though that thought didn’t cheer her much.

“Anthony!” Mara’s fingers suddenly closed around Skye’s arm. “That’s Anthony’s scream!” she said, then lurched down the sand at a run.

Skye caught up with her just as the other woman skidded to a halt, a sheepish expression on her face. “It’s okay,” Mara said. “I believe those are shrieks of joy.”

Up ahead, Gage and Griffin were in the water, supervising their nephews, Duncan and Oliver, as well as Anthony. The other little boys were five and seven, and accomplished shallow ocean-goers. Anthony looked more tentative and wore a pair of neon water wings on his skinny upper arms, but had a grin on his face even as he squealed every time he was splashed by a low, foam-topped wave.

Duncan was encouraging the younger boy to get on a small canvas raft with him and Oliver. When Anthony glanced up at Gage, the man smiled and bent over to help him onto the apparatus. Then the twin brothers waded into the surf, one to launch the raft on the small waves, the other to catch it at the sand before starting the fun all over again.

Skye knew she was staring, fascinated, at the half-naked man who had been all hers for the past several nights. In a pair of low-slung board shorts, he was tanned and strong, his arm and back muscles rippling as he maneuvered the raft through the water.

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

He was her lover. Her summer fling. A shiver rolled across her skin as she thought of the long nights and the sleepy mornings. Sometimes she wondered if she should hold back a little, just for self-preservation’s sake, but then he’d stop whatever he was doing and look at her in that alert way of his—as if he sensed her retreating and disapproved. She’d flush hot and her breasts would tingle and that low-belly clenching would happen, which she absolutely recognized was arousal now, and thoughts of preservation seemed a case of too little, too late.

He’d get a glint in his eye, curve his finger at her and then she’d be close enough to breathe his body heat, her gaze fixated on his mouth.

It would curve, an all-male, all-macho smile. You want a kiss.

Never a question, because she always wanted his kiss.

Mara was talking, and Skye had to force her gaze off that wet, tanned man flesh in order to absorb her words. Something about Griffin appearing pretty relaxed for a man about to get married.

“Even Jane doesn’t seem rattled,” she said.

“You’re right. Maybe because it’s going to be at No. 9, where they met,” Skye said.

“I heard it was your idea to have the ceremony on the deck.”

“It seemed natural.” Skye glanced over to the beach house in question, and pictured how it would look on the day of the wedding. White tulle wrapped around the railings, flowers and candles everywhere, barefoot Jane walking down the aisle demarcated with sand toward her devoted groom. She sighed.

Mara grinned at her. “Do I hear wedding envy?”

“No, no.” She stopped before she protested too much. “I admit to enjoying the romance of it, though.”

“Jane told me about their whirlwind courtship. I’m so glad Griffin’s given up the war reporting. I never asked Charlie to do that....”

“Do you wish you had?” Skye asked.

The other woman shrugged. “I married him knowing what his life was like, the kind of work he was driven to do. Would it have been fair to insist he change? Now I wonder. Your great-great-grandmother asked her husband to give up his passion—perhaps I should have asked Charlie to do that, as well.”

Skye didn’t know how to answer. Yes, Max Sunstrom, her great-great-grandfather, had given up the movie business, but that was probably because his passion for his wife was greater than his passion for creating silent-era classics like Sweet Safari and The Egyptian.

Like Mara, though, Skye thought she’d refrain from asking or expecting a man to walk away from what he loved for who he loved.

“Are things serious with you and Gage?” Mara asked.

Skye glanced over. “How do you know there’s a me and Gage?”

“Felt it in the air,” Mara said, then laughed. “Oh, and Jane happened to mention it.”

Relieved that she wasn’t so obvious with her feelings, Skye’s gaze slid to him again. He was striding through the surf, one of his nephews riding atop his shoulders. They looked enough alike to be father and son. For a moment—just a tiny moment—she let herself imagine it. A life at the cove with Gage. Dark-haired children playing pirates and mermaids on the beach. Boys poking at clumps of rotting kelp with sticks, girls bringing back handfuls of treasures to put in jars that held collections of shells or beach glass.

Gage smiling at her over their glossy heads. You want a kiss.

With an abrupt pivot, Skye turned her back on the image. “Let’s go find Jane and Tess,” she said to Mara. “We can sip cold drinks on the deck and watch the action from under an umbrella.”

But she’d find some other action to watch, Skye promised herself. She’d keep her gaze off Gage and her mind off a future that wasn’t to be.

They were trudging through the soft sand on the approach to No. 9 when wet arms suddenly grabbed her from behind. Startled, she squealed, but didn’t struggle as she understood instantly who it was. His hair was wet, too, and the sopping strands made her shirt damp as he nuzzled her neck. “Got you.”

She pretended to bat at the forearms banded under her breasts. “You’re getting me all wet!”

He snorted, then moved his mouth to her ear. “Come with me to your place and I’ll take care of that,” he whispered.

Her eyes closed at the sweet, dark promise in the words. “We have a friend visiting,” she said primly. Mara had gone ahead of them and was now mounting the steps to No. 9’s deck.

Gage turned Skye in his arms. “How’s she doing? I appreciate you showing her around.”

“I’m happy to—I like her a lot. But I think she’s having a hard go of it.”

“Yeah.” All the playfulness seemed siphoned from his mood, and his gaze shifted away from Skye’s face to look off into the distance. “I’d hoped a little Crescent Cove enchantment might help.”

Lifting her arms, she linked them around his neck. “Are you all right?”

He shook his head. “Seeing little Anthony made me think of things. It made me think of Charlie and it made me think about...about what could have been.”

What could have been. And what couldn’t be, Skye thought, her mind returning to that little fantasy she’d cast with Gage and dark-haired children that looked just like him. As if he sensed her mood lowering, too, he pulled her close and pressed her head to his chest.

And his beating heart indeed made her more hopeful—as if the mere fact that he was alive promised all things were possible. Her gaze shifted to where she’d last seen Mara. Even with the other woman’s example right in front of her, Skye couldn’t help imagining a future that would never be.