The Love Shack

Chapter EIGHT


SKYE STARED AT THIS NEW representation of herself. The other had been dressed in bright colors and she’d been delighted when she expanded the shapes to discover they were really cove flowers, cove people, cove comfort. She hadn’t viewed them all yet, but she knew they’d each bring a smile to her face. A grin, actually, because Gage had chosen them for her.

But these, these were not strictly Gage’s choice—in the same sense.

Because they were her. All her.

He hovered over one thumbnail, and the photo enlarged. Flesh-toned, a soft-angled curve.

Skye swallowed. “That’s my ankle bone.”

“Pretty feet,” he said.

The next, a slice of the small of her back. She must have been reaching, painting a high spot, probably, because the hem of her shirt was raised. The too-big pants hung low on her hips. And there was the curve of her waist, the scoop just above the dimples of her butt.

That place prickled now. She moved from her spot behind Gage’s chair, surprisingly drawn though not one part of her body had brought her pleasure in months. Her breath drew in quick as he snaked an arm about her and tugged her down to his lap.

She would have jumped away, if at the same moment he hadn’t expanded another thumbnail. There was her hand, with the yellow paint freckles, and it looked funny and oddly sweet and reminded her of how well they had worked together. How hard he had worked to make her comfortable with him.

Her fingers stretched toward the mouse pad. He let her control the unveiling then, and she opened new photographs, all of herself. There was the feathery dark fringe of her eyelashes, the slender column of her neck, the defenseless curve of her palm, her fingers half curled over it as if she cradled something precious inside.

She frowned. “When did you take that?” The hand looked so...vulnerable.

“When you had a little catnap yesterday after lunch.”

Uneasiness trickled through her. That was the second time she’d fallen asleep when she was alone with him. It shouldn’t be possible—but it had been from the very first. Despite the anxiety she’d been suffering from for months, deep inside, below the defenses and the fears, she trusted him.

Of course she trusted him. This was her friend. Her pen pal Gage.

Still, she saw that her fingers shook a little as she hovered over yet another small rectangle. It bloomed, and there was her mouth, tender-looking, half parted. As if in expectation of a kiss.

Skye’s chest tightened and heat washed over her skin. Her lips, the real ones, tingled. That low-belly clenching was back. Nerves—no, she knew what it was. She’d acknowledged it days ago.

Desire.

It raced through her blood, making her heart bang against her ribs like the clapper on a bell sending out tidings of...of gladness.

She was so glad that she wanted to kiss. To kiss Gage.

The air disappeared as she slowly turned her head to look at him. Even in the dim room, his incredible eyes smoldered with a soft heat and he studied her face with an intensity that made her shiver.

Yet he didn’t make a move. She was still surrounded by him, his thighs hard beneath her, his chest rising and falling as it took in oxygen she couldn’t find. But he remained still as that burning, ardent want made its way through her system.

“Gage...” she whispered. When she licked her lips, his gaze followed the movement. “I...”

He touched her cheek with one fingertip. That tiny point of contact unspooled another ribbon of heat that rippled across her skin. “All for you,” he said, his voice quiet. “Whatever you want.”

She wanted that kiss.

Shifting on his lap, she moved into better position, sitting sideways across his legs.

He watched her without comment. When her hands gripped the solid heaviness of his shoulders, she felt a twitch beneath her bottom. It stopped her for a moment, the evidence of his arousal reminding her he was flesh and blood. A man.

A voice began whispering in the back of her mind, getting louder with each passing second. His voice. The scrape of a cold blade against her even colder skin. A cruel, groping hand on her breast. “You like that? You’ll like what’s next even better.”

She trembled, her fingers tightening on the slope of muscle and bone that was so big, so masculine, so much more powerful—

“Come back, Skye,” Gage murmured. “Come back to me.”

And like that, she was returned to the moment, back with her pen pal, her friend, the one who could see inside her. Who knew her well enough to remind her of all the fractured pieces that she thought his kiss might just make whole.

Before she lost her nerve, Skye leaned in. His mouth was warm against hers, his lips smooth, the contrast between them and the whiskered grit of the surrounding skin making her insides jitter. She lifted one hand and cupped his lean cheek, angling his face so she could press her lips harder against his.

His mouth opened and her tongue slipped inside.

Her clanging heart redoubled its rhythm even as they both froze. Then he rubbed the edges of his teeth against her tongue. She gasped as he bit down, trapping it inside his mouth. Then he sucked, slow and gentle, the action unhurried, yet so carnal that her breasts swelled, the tips contracting to hard points that stung with the need to be touched.

Instead, Skye touched Gage. She wormed both hands beneath the hem of his T-shirt, her fingertips riding the ridges of his belly muscles. His breath hitched and she lifted her mouth, needing to take in air, too. But she didn’t want to stop...not just yet. Her lips brushed over his chin and the tickling whiskers there. Harsh breaths moved his chest against her hands as she palmed his hot skin. When her thumbs brushed over the points of his nipples, he groaned. She swallowed her own groan, shivering, as she ran the flat of her tongue along his jawline. He tasted tangy, like the air at the cove, and she lapped at it, reveling in the flavor.

His hand shot up, fingers spearing into her hair at the back of her head, then quickly released. His arm dropped to his side, even as she felt a new rigidity in the muscles beneath her palms. She kneaded his pectorals, appreciating the sleek skin, the rough softness of hair, the power that he gave her to play.

“Take this off,” she said, withdrawing her hands to pluck at the soft cotton of shirt. “Please?”

“All for you,” he murmured again. “Anything you want.” One hand reached behind him and he leaned away from the seat back to pull off his shirt. The movement brought his chest closer to hers, and suddenly she needed more. As he threw off the fabric, she stripped her own T-shirt away.

They stared at each other, both of them breathing hard. He’d yet to relax against the seat, and with every inhalation his chest was tantalizingly close to her erect nipples, which were pressing into the lace of her bra. Moving as slow as a starfish inching across rocks, Gage lifted his hands to her waist. His fingers gripped her gently, turned her more completely, so instead of sitting across his lap, she straddled him.

The hot, moist center of her legs pressed into the thick bulge at his crotch. Without even thinking, she rocked against it, rubbing, pleasing herself, assuaging and stoking the ache there at the same time.

Gage’s fingers flexed and then one palm brushed up her spine, bumping over the strap of the bra that now maddened her. She wanted it gone. She wanted them skin to skin.

Her fingers unhooked the front clasp herself. She shrugged the undergarment from her shoulders. Gage fell back against the seat, his gaze fixed on her breasts.

A chill rushed over her bare skin and her lashes drifted low. He had looked at her there, she’d felt his lascivious eyes on her even when her own were blindfolded. His ragged fingernails had bitten into the tender side flesh and she’d whimpered behind the gag, hating herself for releasing the sound of fear. The ugly memory continued building in her mind, word upon word, image upon image playing against the back of her closed lids.

“No, Skye,” Gage said, his voice sharp. “Open your eyes. Open your eyes and see it’s me.”

She half lifted her lashes.

Dipping his head, he caught her gaze. “It’s me,” he said again, and raised his hands, brushing at her nipples with the backs of his knuckles. “My touch.”

Skye shuddered, and it was pleasure quivering through her again. Gage slid his palm under one breast, his skin warming hers, lifting the weight of it. Without taking his eyes from hers, he lowered his mouth and kissed her nipple. Then he licked it, laving a circle around the contracting point. She drew in a quick breath as the sweet pleasure speared deep in her belly. Her hands slid to either side of his head, his sleek hair against the sensitive inside of her fingers. He began to suck, drawing her flesh into his hot mouth, and she squirmed, the place between her thighs throbbing.

“Oh, God,” she said as he switched to her other breast. His fingers toyed with the wet nipple, rolling and squeezing. Desire dizzied her as he continued to play with her breasts, torturing her nipples with soft licks, spiking her need with the edge of his teeth.

Her hips rocked against his pelvis. His rigid erection fit against her, providing friction—except not enough.

Anxiety rose in her—not the same kind as before, but a fretful sense of frustration. It had to be now, she thought. Right this second she had the chance to recover what had been lost. But satisfaction only hovered, and she was afraid if she didn’t find it now, she never would.

A hoarse moan sounded from deep in her throat. Her fingers tightened on his skull, pleading wordlessly for a different touch, a stronger stroke, something...something more. “Gage.”

He lifted his head from her breast. “Shall we move—”

“No. No. Please.”

“Shh,” he said, his gaze seeming to take in the situation. “It’s all right.”

“Please.” She wiggled against him, aggravation threatening to splinter the need, just when it had to be honed.

“Here, baby, here.” He slid lower in the chair, adjusting their fit. When she moaned again, he slipped a hand beneath the waistband at the back of her pants, then her panties. His hot palm against her bottom jolted her heart, and jolted her forward just that infinitesimal, necessary distance. Rightthererightthererightthere, she thought as he took her mouth in an aggressive kiss. His erection pressed upward, his free hand came between them. Over her pants, he ground the heel against the top of her sex.

Pleasure layered over pleasure. She rose on it, like a surfer being taken by a wave. Her arms circled Gage’s neck and she thrust her tongue against his as she bore down on his next upward thrust.

Instead of falling down the face of the wave, she flew right off the top of it, her body shaking against Gage as the release shuddered through her. A flush broke over her skin and tears stung as a succession of emotions coursed through her: physical bliss, mental relief, unadulterated joy. Something that had been lost was found.

And then she came to herself, and the reality of what that recovery had cost struck her, hard. She was half naked in Gage’s arms, her forehead pressed to his shoulder, one of his hands sweeping up and down her spine. She’d...she’d led her pen pal, her friend, into a physical intimacy that might have ruined that other relationship with him that she cherished.

She felt selfish and awkward and horribly embarrassed. “This is terrible,” she said, scrambling to get off him. Not daring to look at his face, she swiped up her shirt and quickly yanked it over her head and shoved her hands through the sleeves. Lace caught her eye and she snatched up her bra, stuffing it into the front pocket of her pants.

“Skye,” Gage began, his voice gentle.

“No.” She backed away from him, addressing the neutral zone of his kneecaps. “You shouldn’t... I shouldn’t...” Argh. “‘All for you,’ you said. ‘Only for you.’ Everything’s...imbalanced now.” Ruined. She’d let her stupid physical problems mess up the best male-female relationship she’d ever had.

“Not imbalanced,” Gage said, his voice wry. “Would it help to know you made a liar out of me?”

Her gaze jumped to his.

He straightened in the chair and pushed his fingers through his hair. “You’re not the only one who got off, baby. And that hasn’t happened to me with my jeans on since I was about fourteen years old. Does that make you feel better?”

Skye shook her head as she continued to back away. It was time to go, because the only thing that would make her feel better was to find out this was all just one of her bad dreams.

* * *

POLLY WAS SEARCHING for her car keys when a rap sounded on her front door. She knew that rap. Sighing, she considered pretending she wasn’t home. But that wouldn’t work. Teague would have seen her Volkswagen Beetle parked in the driveway behind her cottage.

He knocked again. And like metal filings to a magnet, she found herself drawn to the door. As she pulled it open, he waved a bakery bag in her face. “Your favorite muffins.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she said, breathing in a scent so delicious she automatically stepped back so he could walk inside.

“Pass right by the bakery on my way home from the station.”

How considerate of him, she thought, to make the stop even though he was coming off a twenty-four-hour shift that began and ended at 7:00 a.m. “I’m going to get fat,” she protested, even as she drew in the mouthwatering aroma of zucchini, cinnamon and walnuts.

“Your body’s perfect.”

At the deep note in his voice, her gaze flew to his. But he wasn’t looking at her. Instead he busied himself placing the bag on the breakfast bar that separated the small living room from the tiny galley kitchen. Polly walked to a cupboard to pull out a couple of plates.

“You brought one for yourself, yes?” she asked.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Then I probably shouldn’t take the time to eat, either,” she said. “I’m on my way to my old classroom. I have to box up the last of my things in preparation for the move to the new building.”

“Want some help? I don’t have to be back at the station until 7:00 a.m. tomorrow.”

“No.” She softened her voice. “No, I couldn’t ask you to do that on your day off.” And yes, though she’d agreed to be his plus-one for the wedding-related events, she needed to discourage this casual dropping-by. The plus-ones were for determining how well the weaning-off was going...but if there was never any true separation, then how could she judge?

“I don’t mind.”

“I do.” She bustled around, tying a sweatshirt at her waist and scooping her purse off the countertop. “Now if I can only find my keys,” she muttered.

Brushing by her, Teague strode into the kitchen. He popped open the narrow pantry door, rummaged a moment and then his hand emerged, dangling a bristling set of keys. “Here you go.”

She frowned at him. It wasn’t the first time he’d retrieved her missing ring. “How do you do that?”

“It’s easy. If you get in late, you come home and make a cup of tea. It was Movie Night with your teacher group yesterday evening, ergo, you absentmindedly left your keys on the shelf beside the Celestial Seasonings.”

“Ergo,” she repeated, admiring, but added, “I don’t always make tea once I get back.”

“Only when it’s late, like I said. If they go missing after a session at the gym, look beside the bathroom sink—you always wash your hands the minute you return from your weight-lifting class. Following a run to the grocery store, check the refrigerator.”

“I’m not sure if I’m more annoyed by my predictability or by my lack of discipline. A smarter woman would have some kind of dish to set them in by the door.”

“One of your few imperfections, Pol. Cut yourself a break.”

Oh, she’d been far, far from perfect. “Still, I don’t see how you can be aware of things I don’t know myself.”

He shrugged. Then he gave her a two-fingered salute. “Later, Gator.”

Gator. His private name for her that had morphed somehow from her protest against him using the inevitable and unimaginative “Pollywog.” That he used it now made her look more closely at him. “Wait.” There was something about the way he held himself... “Are you hurt?”

He halted halfway to her front door and glanced over his shoulder. “Nah. Just tired.”

Polly narrowed her eyes. Teague never talked about his job as a firefighter, unless it was to share a joke he heard at the station or to discuss what he should make when it was his turn for dinner duty. Yet she’d be a ninny not to assume he witnessed violent, disturbing things when he went out on calls. They couldn’t all be kittens in trees.

Her instincts told her that today he was having trouble doing that compartmentalizing that Griffin had mentioned the other night. He needed a distraction, and she didn’t have it in her to withhold it. They were both public servants, after all.

“You really want to help in my classroom?”

He turned to face her, a smile breaking across his face. “I would be happy to.”

And she was happy to have him, she told herself. Using an extra set of hands didn’t mean her real plan had changed. Yes, she was still giving up her foolish dreams of him, even if he sat beside her as she drove them to the elementary school that was in the center of the beach town up the highway.

She led him toward her classroom and unlocked the heavy door. “Some of the buildings are pre–World War Two, and while they’re being updated I’ve been assigned to another on the other end of campus.”

He took in the stack of boxes she’d already filled. “You’ve made progress.”

“I’ve been packing a little at a time,” she said. “It’s mostly the reading area that’s left.” With a nod, she indicated the far corner, separated from the main room by a floor-to-ceiling peeling plywood facade shaped and painted to look like a whale’s yawning mouth. “Though I won’t be sad about leaving ol’ Jonah behind. I inherited him from the previous teacher, and if you ask me, kids aren’t all that excited about going into the bowels of a mammoth mammal to enjoy their books.”

Grabbing up a couple of empty cartons, she ducked beneath Jonah’s flaking, pearly whites. Teague followed, and they both approached the shelves of books set against the walls. Floor cushions were scattered about for those children brave enough to read inside the whale. Teague took one of the boxes from her. “Is there a method...?”

She waved a hand. “Just how you find them on the shelves would be great. I may reorganize them differently in the new classroom. I’m trying to decide if I want to come up with an enticing theme for the reading niche or just go the simple route. The truth is, I don’t have the skills to construct anything on a Jonah scale.”

His first handful of books made a soft thud against the cardboard. “What would you choose instead of a whale?”

“A castle, maybe? Something that would ignite their imagination.”

“I remember from my visit last year that they’ve got imagination to spare.”

She laughed. The kids had wanted to know if he had a Dalmatian, if he’d ever rescued someone stuck in a toilet—that was from last year’s resident bad boy, Barrett—what he dressed as for Halloween since so many kids dressed up like the fireman he was. “Still, I try to infuse excitement into anything that has to do with reading or letters. We even use my old pom-poms. Boys and girls.”

He stopped. “Huh?”

“Close your mouth, Mr. Macho,” she said, grinning at him. “We have arm gestures that represent the alphabet. The kids can’t wait to be the class cheerleader of the day—the one up front with the big tufts of plastic streamers.”

“I’d like to see that,” he said.

“I’ll arrange for a demonstration when you come in again on Career Day.” When you come in. Damn, she thought, replaying the words in her mind. That wasn’t separation, now, was it? But she couldn’t deny her kindergarteners one of their favorite visitors. Firefighters were the rock stars of the five-year-old set.

Teague removed a full box from the reading area and came back with an empty one. As he scooted past her, his foot knocked over a lidless plastic bin, spilling its colorful contents. “Oops. Sorry,” he said.

“No problem.” They both knelt, both reached for the same piece of red-and-white fabric. Their fingers tangled.

An electric spark seemed to jump between them. Her gaze lifted to his face and she saw that he was staring at her with a new, dark intensity. It scrambled her pulse, evaporated the air in her lungs and made her want to lean forward. Lean into him.

He shot to his feet, breaking the contact. “Whoa... I...” His hand rubbed his face and he shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “What’s that?” he asked.

“I...” He wanted her to explain that combustible reaction? Then she noticed he was looking at the red-and-white item in her hands. “Oh.” To cover up her fluster, she jammed it onto her head. “It’s part of a costume. Cat in the Hat. I wear it when we read Dr. Seuss.”

His brows rose. “You wear the whiskers and the tail, too?”

She stuffed the hat back in the plastic bin. “And the red bow tie, if you must know the truth.”

He returned to emptying the shelves of books. “I didn’t think you could still surprise me, Polly,” he murmured.

What did that mean? Was he referring to what had just happened when they touched, or did he merely mean her penchant for dress-up? “I’m a woman of mystery,” she told him.

“What, you’ve got a Mata Hari costume in there?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

When he focused again on the books, she plucked out a pinafore, a mob cap and granny glasses from the costume bin and quickly put them on. “Not Mata Hari—Old Mother Hubbard.”

Turning, he burst into laughter. “Really, Pol? You go to all this trouble?”

“And more,” she said. From one of the higher shelves, she picked out a binder. “Check out last year’s class album. Among other things, I dressed as Raggedy Ann, a friendly pirate and, of course, one of Maurice Sendak’s wild things.”

Teague looked over her shoulder as she turned the pages. In each she was surrounded by last year’s kids, all who would be in first grade next month. She sighed. “I’ll miss them.”

“They’re damn cute,” he agreed, then sighed himself.

Turning her head, she scrutinized him through Mother Hubbard’s glasses. “What’s up?”

“Just thinking. You know I want kids.”

He never failed to mention his interest in having a family. “Most men your age aren’t as eager as you are.”

“Yeah. But I’ve told you about my childhood—the whole lonely only thing was just that...lonely. I’d love a do-over with my own tribe...rushing off to soccer games or swimming lessons. Squabbles over Scrabble. Campouts in the backyard telling ghost stories.”

“You can have all that.”

“Gotta find the right woman,” he said. “And for a time I thought...Tess had those four adorable kids. It was as if she and her family were made just for me.”

Polly swallowed, trying to lubricate her suddenly dry throat. “That was David’s family. David and Tess’s kids.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his hand over his hair.

“And other people’s kids don’t stay that adorable for long.”

He slanted her a look. “Pol, your job is other people’s kids. You seem to think they’re pretty adorable.”

“Mmm.” She shut the album and turned away from him to place it in the bottom of an empty box.

“Polly?”

When she didn’t answer, he put his hand on her shoulder and spun her to face him. “What is it?” he asked. His fingers took hold of her chin, to tilt her face toward him. “Something’s wrong. What aren’t you saying?”

You’re an idiot! she wanted to yell. Here I am, a woman who clearly likes kids as much as you do, who has similar interests and priorities. Had he not felt that sexual jolt when they touched? Did he not see her at all?

Or was she too entrenched in the Polly-the-pal role?

“Pol?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, backing away from him. Nothing that she seemed able to change. Her hands reached around for the pinafore bow, preparing to untie it...then they dropped to her sides.

Was that where she’d gone wrong? The role-playing? Here she was, hoping to attract a man, and the only time she stepped out of her part as Pal Polly, she dressed up as Old Mother Hubbard.

Maybe it wasn’t time to surrender her dream, but time to modify her strategy. Instead of continuing as the comfortable, never-make-waves friend, she would force him to consider her in an entirely different light. In a few days she’d agreed to be his plus-one at an engagement party thrown by Tess.

Polly would go there, dressed to kill and determined that Teague finally see her as a sexy female.