Then she noticed the stunning width of his massive shoulders and the intricate vine-shaped tattoos that wound around strong triceps. And how his eyelashes were dense and straight, shot with streaks of auburn. Lust tickled her belly. His face turned sullen at her audible swallow.
“Well, at least this part is simple,” he concluded quietly. He stood up and reached for his jeans.
“All I’m saying is that making the decision to label ourselves a couple is premature.” She loathed the ring of desperation in her voice.
“And ‘sleeping together’ wasn’t?”
He did have a point.
“Maybe it was,” she conceded. “I don’t know. Up until a few days ago, we didn’t even get along. We don’t know how much we have in common — or if we even do.”
“So what do you propose we do, Sabrina?” He pulled up his jeans. “Go out with other people for dinner and a movie, kiss at the door and come home and screw each other senseless while we figure it out? That might work for most people, but it’s way too complicated for this simple flatlander. If you and I aren’t a ‘we,’ I’m not beholden to you exclusively. Or, in fact, at all.”
“By all means, don’t ‘behold’ on my account.” She’d meant to sound unconcerned, but the words came out dripping icicles and poison. Irrationally, the thought of Gage’s body wrapped around any other woman stirred a flood of red into her field of vision.
“I don’t intend to,” he said simply, pulling the zipper up.
“Where are you going?”
“To the station.” His face remained blank. “I have a job to do too, remember?”
“I never said—”
“—No, Sabrina, you never said. You don’t need to say anything.” He jerked his belt tight. “You don’t take what I do for a living seriously. Hell, why should you? I actually have fun at it. And it’s also clear by the way you rushed me away from your running buddy, Ward, that I don’t make the correct impression — at least not one that’s politically correct. Your family? I don’t know. You don’t exactly seem keen on me meeting them.”
“You know that’s not entirely true.”
“Really.” He raised his brows. “Which part?”
Their gazes locked. It could have been one of those cinematic Valentino moments when man sweeps woman into his arms, she thought. Only the look in his eyes was all brutality, no persuasion.
“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel—” She searched for the right words. “—as though what you do doesn’t matter. That’s not what I think.”
But was that the truth? Every derisive comment she’d made about his career and her frantic attempts to silence him at the gala smacked of condescension. Gage may have been persistent, but he was not obtuse.
A muscle twitched at the side of his mouth as he buttoned his shirt in silence. It was one of Sabrina’s favorites, a lapis blue pilled-up flannel that coaxed out the auburn in his hair. Damn it, why was he pulling the strong, silent and pissed-off act on her now? Why did everything about Gage Fitzgerald have to be so black and white?
So … complicated?
“Can’t we talk more tonight?” she asked.
“I don’t see the purpose of drawing this out even more.” His tone was curt. She expected an accompanying look of anger, frustration or exasperation. But the distant look on his face wasn’t one to which she was accustomed, and it was throwing her off her game.
“Gage.” She turned his name into a soft plea.
Instead of responding, he retrieved his black leather duster from the floor, checked the pockets for his car keys, and threw it over one broad shoulder. So this is how it ends, she thought bleakly. Molly was right. She’d played with fire. Only both she and Gage had ended up burned.
He paused and turned when he reached the front door.
“Red. Iowa State — not to be confused with the University of Iowa. Gage is my middle name. My first name is Michael.” He winked without smiling. “A word of advice: playing the field isn’t a spectator sport.”
Sabrina watched the door close behind him, wondering what he could have possibly meant by that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Idiot. Fool.
Gage mentally berated himself as he tossed his socks, underwear and T-shirts into the open bag.
He’d been certain about Sabrina. Certain that she wanted someone to take care of her and to take care of in return. Certain that she wouldn’t have taken things between them to such an intensely intimate level if she didn’t entertain the same thoughts that he did.
Obviously, he had been way too certain about everything.
How had she managed to exert such a stronghold over him? It hadn’t been just the sex, although that was a big part of it. Damn woman had finally won him over with her dark wary eyes and tenuous smile — that was how. Not to mention her inner sweetness, compassion, warmth, and all of her complexities that he wanted to spend the next several years figuring out.
Then there was that nebulous something that he couldn’t nail down. Other people called it “chemistry,” but the something was far more durable than physical attraction.
He was sure she had felt it too whenever she clung to him with her legs wrapped around his waist, gazing at him dreamily and breathing his name like a sigh. He’d never read a woman wrong before in his life. Then he saw the look of alarm in her eyes when he suggested that they couple up, buckle down and give a relationship the old college try.
There’s a first time for everything, he reminded himself as he grabbed his Dopp kit from the bathroom and crammed it into the scant remaining space that wasn’t hogged up by sweaters and winter boots with thick rubber treads.
He wasn’t one of fiancés Number One through Five, and he wasn’t the schmuck she’d married. So what had he been to Maid March anyway? An outlet for her unresolved issues? An alternative to running on her silly hamster wheel? Or just a way to idle away the time until she met another carbon copy stuffed shirt with an eighty-hour workweek who’d never even bother to try and understand what made her tick?
No question about it. He’d deluded himself. He’d always be “Fitz” in Sabrina’s eyes.
And Fitz would never be granted entry into her world.
Was there a place for him in any woman’s life where he’d feel as at home as he had with Sabrina? Gage wondered.
You’ll have what Grandma and Grandpa had together one day. Never doubt it.
He remembered those words, because they were hers. In one short year, the young woman with the bouncing auburn curls seemed to have acquired a wisdom and maturity beyond her twenty-three years, even though he realized now that she’d been young. So very young. He had been twelve, almost thirteen, the same age as Sabrina had been when she discovered that Daddy had let her down.
Only Gage had seen death up close for the second time in his young life. The young woman who sat beside him on the couch had walked with him each step of the way. Both of them were still in the clothes they’d worn to his grandfather’s wake. The white dress shirt she had bought Gage was a cheap polyester blend that was scratchy and hot, but it was brand new, and that was all that mattered. He couldn’t stop thinking of his last visit to that hospital room, with its suffocating smell of alcohol, disinfectant and stewed chicken.
Grandpa told me that he wanted to be with Grandma on his birthday, Gage had finally choked out to the woman beside him. Somehow the poignant beauty of his grandfather’s wish coming true and the poetic idea of his grandparents’ souls rushing together and intermingling in the heaven they devoutly believed in were of little comfort.
You’re not too old to cry, Mikey. You’ll never be too old. She had used his nickname, as she always did when she was comforting him, but she spoke with a new sureness he hadn’t heard before. The sound of that voice with its motherly tone had broken him down, and he had sobbed in her arms, unashamed.
He had cried again since then, but only when it really mattered.
But he sure as hell wasn’t going to
shed a tear over a goddamn broken heart — if that’s indeed what it was.
Gage yanked the suitcase zipper closed and tested the bag’s weight. He was sure he was forgetting several personal items, but they could be purchased as soon as he got where he was going. He wanted to be out of the house long before Sabrina got home from work. If she walked in just as he was walking out, that would demand a conversation. He’d intended to come clean with her about the reason he had to downsize when the time was right, but only after they got to know each other and he knew she wouldn’t judge him harshly.
Now is anything but right, he thought grimly.
Gage tore a sheet out of the back of his day planner and stared at the blank space, pen poised in hand. Events from the past two years of his life flooded into his memory. He couldn’t count the number of moments when he came to the abrupt realization that he had no control over anything but his own actions. He knew that every one of those realizations made him both stronger and less guarded.
He would have told Sabrina everything. He’d needed to tell her.
He contemplated the blank sheet. There was no way to give her the Cliff’s Notes version. Not on a single page.
Then he remembered the shocked look that had spread across her face when he’d extended his heart to her, and the hot Irish temperament he could attribute to certain Fitzgerald ancestors flared. He wadded up the piece of paper and tossed it in the trash can.
He didn’t owe Sabrina March an explanation.
He didn’t owe her one damn thing.
Gage turned off all the lights in the house and made sure that the front door was securely locked before he walked down the driveway, suitcase in hand. He had far more urgent things to take care of. He needed to be present for every minute of it. In the meantime, let Sabrina come home to an empty house and a cold bed.
A little wondering would do her good.
**
“Useless cup,” Moira hissed as she dropped a dripping biodegradable into her trash bin. “I can’t believe eco-friendly manufacturers don’t construct better products.”
“You know what I can’t believe, Moira?” Sabrina said without looking up from her desk. “I can’t believe that you haven’t discovered the virtues of the washable glass coffee mug. I have.”
She reached in her drawer for a bottle of ibuprofen, shook two of the tablets into her palm and downed them with a swig of tepid coffee. It was only ten o’clock, and Moira was already complaining. Carlton was in an uncharacteristically sulky mood too, pacing around the War Room and hissing into his cell phone. At least Sabrina didn’t have to deal with Theo, who had left a vague message on the service telling her he would be back in the office later in the week. She told herself that the Hon. Rep. was probably spending quality time with his wife and three daughters, despite strong evidence to the contrary: the curly red hairs on Theo’s bomber jacket had recently been replaced by long black ones, and earlier that morning, someone from the Four Seasons had phoned the office to inform her that Theo had accidentally left his credit card at the front desk.
Sabrina removed the decorations from the small Christmas tree in the reception area. Her thoughts kept returning to Gage as she packed the holiday décor in boxes and shoved them into the storage closet. She hadn’t seen him since he walked out early Sunday morning. She had initially thought maybe he’d gotten busy at work. But when she had tuned the radio to KCAP on her morning drive, the station was re-airing one of his older shows. “Hey, Dude! Why Did I Get Fired?” was one of his more popular on-air pranks. On behalf of recently and inexplicably sacked listeners who called into the station, Gage cold-called former bosses and HR department heads and pestered them into giving him an explanation on his fans’ behalf.
For all Sabrina knew, he’d taken the week off before the New Year. Her monthly visitor arrived right on time that morning just like clockwork. That was a relief. Coupled with Gage’s absence, that was a sign. Or possibly an intervention. There would be no more recklessness in her house, she told herself firmly.
Or in her life.
By noon, the Think Tank had descended into entropy. Carlton and Moira sat at their desks surfing the Internet for post-holiday fire sales. Sabrina let them loaf.
“Damn it,” Carlton bawled. “I may as well eat off my desk!” He gingerly picked up the biodegradable plate that struggled to hold a slab of meat loaf and a scoop of macaroni and cheese. The bottom bulged ominously and leaked grease. He disposed of it in the trash and stormed out of the office to make a fast-food run.
The phone rang, and Sabrina answered it automatically.
“You are still coming to the café tonight, I trust,” Nola reminded her. “We can have a private post-holiday dinner first. No more last-minute cancellations?”
“Of course not, Mom.” Sabrina had felt terrible about bailing on her mother at the last minute. But after Gage stormed out, the only thing she had wanted to do was mope.
“Good, then. I’ll see you at six. It’ll be just us girls and a bottle of Chablis.” Her mother sounded pleased. But because Nola was, well … Nola when it came to food, she couldn’t help herself from tacking on her guilt gratuity. “You’ll have to make do with leftovers from today’s lunch menu. The poached salmon I made for us yesterday wouldn’t keep.”
Sabrina stepped outside of the annex elevator only to find that the azure skies of that morning were now an oppressive ceiling of intense gray. The weather listed cold. She stopped by the house so she could change from her dress suit into comfortable wool pants and a fleece top. Gage’s car still wasn’t in the drive. But as she walked through the house, she noticed a slight shuffling and repositioning of objects. The stack of mail on the mantle was gone. Although the big four-poster still wasn’t made, the comforter and pillows had been arranged to give the bed some semblance of neatness. The door to the walk-in closet was open and the light had been left on. A pile of clothes was on the floor. She peered into the bathroom. Wherever Gage had gone, he’d taken his Dopp kit with him.
The same sense that told Sabrina whenever one of Theo’s bills got the nay vote in the Senate told her that something about the situation did not bode well. She could phone up Sebastian, of course. She immediately tabled the idea. How juvenile was that? She’d never played the “Does he still like me?” game in middle school, and she wasn’t about to now.
She especially wasn’t going to play it with Gage’s best friend.
A belated Christmas dinner at Ella’s would at least distract her. In preparation for the meeting later that night, Nola had dressed up the café tables with scarlet tablecloths, plaid runners and miniature poinsettia plants. She set out two wine glasses and a bottle of chilled Bel Air et Clardy and directed Sabrina to sit. Then she brought out two plates loaded down with game hen stuffed with nuts and dried cherries, herbed noodles and glazed carrots, and the two women ate. Caramelized pear tart capped off the meal nicely.
After the dishes had been cleared away, Sabrina reached into her messenger bag for a small box. Whoever had coined the phrase “impossible to shop for” must have had the New Nola in mind. Whatever her mother wanted or needed, she purchased for herself, making gift-giving an exercise in gratuitous gestures.
“Thank you, Sabrina.” Nola’s face creased with pleasure as she peeled away layers of tissue paper. “Fourth-row tickets for Turandot. You did go all out.”
“I remembered you used to like Puccini’s operas,” Sabrina told her.
“I still do, although I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this one,” Nola confessed.
“It’s about a very shrewd princess. Her father’s trying to marry her off, and a bunch of royal windbags journey to his kingdom propose. So Turandot thinks up three difficult riddles to ask her suitors. The first one to answer all of them correctly wins her hand. As for the others…”
“Goodness!” Nola looked alarmed. “What happens to them?”
Sabrina drew a line across her neck with her forefinger. “The axe.”
“
Clever Turandot.” Her mother nodded. “You should go see it with me.”
“No, Mom,” Sabrina protested. “The tickets are for you and Rex. Does he like opera?”
“Oh, not at all, but he always goes anyway. He enjoys looking the costumes.” Noting Sabrina’s veiled response to such gross unenlightenment, Nola added, “Well, dear, I never claimed to be dating a man whose interests and pursuits are in completely in line with mine. Now let me get your gift.”
Her mother dug around in her purse and produced her checkbook. “I’ve always believed that most presents should be needed, not wanted.”
“What are you doing, Mom?” Sabrina asked.
Nola paused to give her a nonplussed look, pen in hand. “We’re exchanging gifts,” she said, as though it were obvious. Then she continued scribbling and tore off the check. It was written for the same amount as Les’ check, Sabrina noted suspiciously.
“Merry Christmas.” Nola slid it across the table. “Spend it in the best of health.”
“Where did you get this money?”
“A mother never tells.”
“Oh, no,” Sabrina groaned. “You asked Dad for it, didn’t you?”
Nola firmed her jaw. “Sabrina, if you never listen to another thing I say, listen to me now. You may be too proud to ask Les for help, but I’m not. You could have taken the easy way out. You could have sold yourself to the highest bidder so you’d never need to worry about money. You could have stayed married to Jackson, which probably wouldn’t have been any different. To wit: I won’t let you flounder. Now take the damned check, or I will never speak to you again.”
“Mom, I—” Sabrina swallowed. She’d been prepared to reject the offering until she saw her mother’s familiar round script on the signature line. “Thank you.” She tucked the check in her wallet. “I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
Something About You (Just Me & You) Page 28
