The Love Shack

Chapter FOUR


STANDING 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.

Gage cleared his throat. “I’m only trying to say that I—”

“Have really been out of touch for too long. Or your head has been turned by the attention you’ve received since you got back.”

“What?”

She gathered her self-respect around her like a cloak. “Not every woman in the world falls for you, you know.”

“Skye—”

“Your ego is overinflated, Gage. I wouldn’t be so foolish as to...to want you. There’s no way that a woman who looks like this—” she indicated her sweatshirt and wrinkled pants “—would imagine herself with a man like you.”

And on that undignified note, she dashed from the car.

* * *

GAGE TRIED LIGHTENING his expression as he turned toward his sister-in-law-to-be. The scowl he erased was more commonly found on his twin, who had always been the deeper, moodier of the two—at least until Griff had found his Jane. “Wedding stuff going okay?” he asked politely, wrapping his fingers around his beer.

Griffin laughed at him from across the table on Captain Crow’s deck. “Yeah, you’re so interested in the details.”

The couple had arrived at Beach House No. 9 an hour ago to take measurements for...something. Okay, Gage had tuned out the particulars, and only tuned back in when they’d suggested a happy-hour visit to the bar up the beach. His mind had been occupied by other things.

Reaching over, Jane squeezed his hand. “Don’t mind him. Wedding stuff’s going fine. Tell us about your day. What did you do?”

Gage shrugged. “Went shopping with Skye.”

“Oh,” Jane said, her forehead creasing. “You’re spending time with her, then?”

“Some.” Though today’s excursion might be the last occasion. Damn woman made him and his ego both feel like asses for his attempt at discussing that little tug running between them. Had he been wrong about the reciprocal sizzle? He thought not, and if so, then he hadn’t been wrong to address it.

Skye was his lodestar and his talisman, and he didn’t want to compromise those by infusing sex into their friendly, caring relationship.

Except, he reminded himself, feeling another scowl coming on, she didn’t seem to care for him all that much. Tipping back his head, he took another sip of beer. His gaze landed on a pretty girl sitting alone at a table not far away. Their gazes met, and a small smile curled the corners of her lips.

He liked her light brown hair, lifted from her neck in one of those messy updos.

He liked her V-necked blouse that was low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage.

He liked the fact that she seemed to like him back, so different from the prickly woman who’d practically stormed from her car after making clear she considered him an arrogant so-and-so.

Why was she his lodestar again?

What he needed, much more than that, was a sex star. Okay, it didn’t have to be nearly that stellar. He just needed someone with whom to blunt this horny edge. He acknowledged the pretty lady with a dip of his beer, grinning as her long eyelashes fluttered in a half bashful, half teasing manner.

Griffin groaned. “Get a room, bro.”

“Got a room,” Gage said, letting his gaze drift back to his brother. “Gotta get a woman now.”

“Well, have the decency to wait until Jane and I leave, okay?”

His brother’s fiancée had that little pucker between her brows again. “I thought you were, uh, spending time with Skye.”

“That was then.” Now he wanted to forget the annoying, infuriating, insulting female. Your ego is overinflated, Gage.

Jane’s frown deepened. “But, Skye—”

“Look, can we not talk about her?” If he had a chance of getting laid, he had to pretend she didn’t exist. The memory of her naked earlobes, her flower-water scent, the way her nose wrinkled when she used that god-awful phrase, the Gage Gorge, was attempting to interfere with the satiation of his very normal, natural, nothing-to-feel-ashamed-about needs. “I’m declaring this table, this whole night as a matter of fact, a Skye-free zone.”

Griffin and his woman exchanged glances Gage didn’t even try to interpret. Instead, he signaled the waitress for another beer and sent over a whatever-she’s-having to Updo. When his twin and Jane finished their drinks and made their goodbyes, he was gratified to see the pretty stranger get to her feet and approach his table.

Yeah. Screw the afternoon. The evening was going to end so much damn better for him.

Several hours later, Gage squinted, trying to bring the hands of his watch into focus. They wouldn’t stay still. Lifting his wrist, he addressed the man standing on the other side of the bar. “Does this say it’s wiggly time?”

He frowned, because that sounded really idiotic. How much had he had to drink? To clear his head, he sucked in a breath, and a delicate scent he couldn’t forget entered his lungs. “Damn woman,” he groused. “She can’t even leave my air alone.”

“What’s that?” the bartender asked, stepping closer. “I didn’t hear you, friend.”

“That’s what we were supposed to be,” he told the man. “Me ’n’ Skye. Friends.”

Someone slid onto the stool beside his. His head still bent over his watch crystal, he pitched his voice toward the newcomer. “Are you another pretty woman? ’Cuz there were two...no, three sitting there before you.”

“Is that what you’re waiting for?” a voice said, low.

“Apparently not,” Gage grumbled, “since I’ve sent three—or was it four?—on their way.”

“So many,” the person beside him murmured.

The bartender spoke up, a helpful note in his voice. “It was Ladies’ Night. He kept opening his wallet.”

“And yet I still couldn’t cinch the deal,” Gage added glumly. With bleary eyes, he stared at the TV screen over the bar. When had Letterman lost so much of his hair? “I must be getting old, too.”

“Or maybe more discerning.”

The moralistic tone sent Gage’s head swinging to the side. His mood, already on morose, slid straight to grim when he saw it was Skye on the next-door stool, wearing another of her circus-tent sweatshirts and a pair of jeans. “What the hell are you doing here? I declared you off-limits.”

“I didn’t get the memo.”

“Blame me, bud,” the bartender put in. “I knew you were staying in the cove and I called her when I wasn’t sure you were good to drive to your cottage.”

“I walked here,” Gage said.

“Okay. But I’m not sure you’re good to walk to your cottage, either.”

“Of course I...” His voice dropped off. To be honest, he couldn’t feel his toes.

“Give us a couple of coffees, will you, Tom?” Skye asked. “Black, a little sugar?”

When the mugs were set in front of them, she picked hers up and gave him a sidelong glance. “I’m off-limits?”

“In more ways than one,” he muttered, taking his own long swallow of the strong brew. Even if she smelled like damn heaven, he wasn’t interested in her in the way he was interested in other women.

“What’s that?”

He took another drink of coffee. “Look, I didn’t want you around when I...when I...”

“Went on a gorge?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “We discussed that terminology, didn’t we?”

“Sorry—”

“Because it’s probably what ruined my evening. I had Updo in the palm of my hand. Halter Top claimed she could tell I was going to get lucky tonight by reading the foam on my beer. Tiffany—”

“Oh, so at least you bothered to find out one of their names.”

He frowned at her. “It was engraved on the heart-shaped pendant she wore around her neck.”

“What a guy.” Skye rolled her eyes. “That’s not her name, that’s the jeweler it came from.”

“As I was saying,” Gage continued, “every time I was on the verge of suggesting we retire to No. 9 for some private...conversation, I would hear your goddamn prissy voice in my head.”

“I thought it was the margaritas,” the bartender said, pausing to top off their mugs. “That’s what you blamed it on before.”

“Skye can take responsibility for that, too,” he said, using the logic of the inebriated. “Because it had to be a woman who decided to screw around with the perfection of tequila, triple sec and lime juice. Flavored margaritas are clearly a female invention.”

“What are you talking about?” Skye asked, looking between him and the bartender.

“Mango margaritas were the special tonight,” Tom explained. Then he plopped a glass in front of her and poured inside the last icy dregs from a blender. “I don’t think they’re half-bad, myself.”

Gage stared at the orangeish concoction as if it were a snake. He could smell the sticky sweetness from here. Just as pumpkin could take him back to Thanksgiving and peppermint to Christmas, breathing in the mango-redolent air sucked him straight to another time and place. He closed his eyes and felt the grit of dirt on his palms and the sick, uneven thud of his pulse in his ears. His throat closed, rebelling against swallowing, and his belly cringed as he imagined the thick liquid splashing into its aching depths.

“Gage? Gage!”

His eyes flew open and he stared, uncomprehending for a moment, into Skye’s face. “I imagined you a million times down there,” he said absently, “but never could pinpoint your features.”

“What? Down where?” Her brows drew low. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, as if he could shake off the memory like a bad dream. “Never mind.” That glass of mango marg still sat there, mocking him, and he slid from the stool. “It’s time for me to get out of here.”

At his first step, he stumbled a little. “Gage.” Skye put out her hand.

He brushed it aside, heading for the exit. “I’m fine.”

She dogged his footsteps. “I’ll go with you to No. 9.”

“Forget it.”

“Then you escort me to my place,” she suggested.

His feet slowed. Damn. “You walked?”

At her nod, he resigned himself to a few more minutes in her company. By the time they were out of the restaurant and onto the sand, the combination of coffee and chilled air went a long way to sobering him up. He sucked in another long breath and tilted back his head to take in the stars flung against the dark sky. His brain only spun a little.

“You okay?”

“I’d be better if I was with another woman,” he said darkly, starting off down the beach.

She sniffed, trudging beside him. Light from the moon made her face seem to glow. “If your heart was really in it, I doubt anything I might have said could change your mind. Or mango margaritas.”

He didn’t want to go into the whole mango thing. “My heart really isn’t into it. That’s not the body part looking for company. You get that, don’t you, Skye?”

She lifted both arms. “So find some solo relief. What’s the big deal?”

He stared at her.

Her gaze caught on his, skittered away. “What? I think the hairy palms thing is just a myth.”

His laughter snorted out. “Still, honey, it’s not the same.”

One of her shoulders jerked a shrug. “It’s all overrated,” she said under her breath.

But he heard her. Was that what she’d meant when she said she and Dagwood had physical problems?

“All men aren’t selfish in the sack,” he said, guessing at the difficulty. “I make certain my partners have as good a time as I do.”

“I’m sure,” she said, dismissive.

They’d reached her place. She pulled a key from her pocket, reached to insert it into the lock. The mechanism made an audible click, and then she turned toward him, her expression concerned. “Are you sure you don’t need my help getting home? It’s not far and you appear less, uh, inebriated, but...”

Her mouth was moving, but he didn’t absorb any of the words with her insulting I’m sure still echoing in his ears. Her unconvinced tone rubbed him wrong, itching at his skin and worming its way under just like her angel scent, her long lashes, her nude earlobes, that unpainted mouth. It was her fault he was alone tonight, and now she was impugning his ability as a lover?

He took an aggressive step forward, forcing her shoulders against the surface of the door to avoid the brush of his body. They stood so close he could feel her hitching breath against his throat. “I swear I’d do right by you, baby. On my honor, I’d make you come twice before entering you.”

Her head jolted, thudding against the wood. Eyes wide, she stared up at him. The pale silver of the moonlight couldn’t cool the wave of color flagging her cheeks.

On my honor, I’d make you come twice before entering you. Jesus! What had made him speak such a thing out loud? There was horny and then there was clumsy, crude, boorish, and...

...and God, he could see it in his mind. He’d conjured her in his imagination so many times that she slid easily into his bed, under his hands, against his tongue.

“That’s never going to happen,” she whispered, her eyes almost as big as the monster she probably now considered him to be.

“Of course it’s not,” he said, stepping back. His bed, his fantasies, his sex life were all—now and forever—Skye-free zones. The other ways he needed her were just too important.