“Oh.” She’d said that word many times before, but not while looking at him naked.
“Don’t be nervous.”
She shook her head. “Oh, I’m not. I’m—”
“Afraid?”
“No, I’m—”
He puffed out his chest and pulled a condom from his wallet. “Impressed.”
Her fist connected with his chest again. “No, dammit. I’m ready. I want this.”
Gloved, Cannon was ready to be loved. “Sage, look at me.” He waited until her eyes rose from his rod to his face. “This isn’t about sex. It’s about so much more. It’s the beginning of everything.”
In her eyes, he saw a mirror of his feelings. She was scared and vulnerable and broken like him. And like him, she was willing to let him be the glue to put her back together.
“Yes, I want everything.” She rose up to kiss him.
When he pressed inside her, everything dark became light. He gave his body. He gave his heart.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sage sucked in a breath. Stretched to her limits, she was full of him, but it was more than their bodies joining. Like liquid, he seeped into the holes of her heart and soul, sealing all the fissures and making her complete.
Never had a man looked at her the way he did with eyes full of love and compassion. Kissed her with lips that left heat long after they were gone. Hands that held her gently but firmly enough to let her know he was there and he had her.
No one had seen to her needs before their own. Not purposefully anyway.
His movements were slow and deep. Every stroke, every touch, every kiss was a promise of everything. If this was everything, she wanted more. Nothing different. Just more.
“Oh God.” Her hips lifted to meet each thrust.
Her fingertips skimmed the hard edges of his body. She reveled in the ridges and ravines of his muscles. His skin remained bronzed, despite the lack of sun from a long, cold winter. She loved the way his eyes turned emerald green when passion filled him. Eyes that stared down at her now. In their depths, past the hint of blue and speckles of gold circling the black, was love.
Her lungs seized as the impact of what she saw and felt became known. Cannon Bishop loved her.
Although it would be so easy to lie to herself, she couldn’t. What she felt for him was profound. What started as loathing had turned to love.
She cautioned herself, because Sage gave her heart too easily. Was this love she was feeling, or was he another project like the goldfish, the butterfly, the bird? Was he the man who could fill her world with happiness, or another who would take everything and leave her in despair?
As he moved in and out of her body, she held her hand to his heart and felt it beating, its steady rhythm a reminder he had taken nothing from her. She’d given it freely. She’d opened her heart to love him, and if that turned to hurt, then so be it. To have loved him for a second was better than not to have loved at all.
“You with me, sweetheart?” He pressed his lips to hers. The fog of her thoughts cleared. It was just them, and no one else.
“I’m with you, always.”
She pulled her knees up and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer—deeper. Mouths met. Tongues sparred. Hands roamed. All the while, their eyes never lost sight of each other.
The buildup was slow and delicious. Each time she didn’t think she could rise any farther, he took her a step higher. What started as a tingling in her core burst like an explosion around him. His name rushed from her lips.
She gripped his hips tightly so he’d stall his motion and feel her shudder around him. He plunged forward once more and stilled. “Jesus, Sage.” Strung tight with tension, he fell over the edge with her, then collapsed half on and half off her body.
His labored breath tickled her bare skin.
Entwined with each other, they fought for calm.
Her hand slid up and down his back. Bumps rose under her fingertips. “I’d give anything to hear your thoughts,” she said.
The low rumble of laughter vibrated against her skin. “Are you sure about that?”
She pushed him off her and rolled onto her side to face him. “What are you thinking?” Even though she would have loved for him to say something like, “I’m thinking about how much I love you,” she knew it was too soon. The thirty-year-old cynic knew it wouldn’t happen, but her inner sixteen-year-old romantic wanted it anyway. “Tell me,” she pressed.
He pulled her close to his body, where she could feel his steely hardness probe her thigh. “I’m thinking we need to do that again.”
“Seriously?” She had no idea a man could be ready again so fast, but then again, it became apparent Cannon wasn’t an average man.
He pulled off the spent condom and wrapped it in a nearby tissue. “Only when you’re ready.”
She curled into his open arms. “Anything for you, Cannon.”
“Be careful what you promise.” He reached for his wallet, where another foil packet waited.
She took it from his hand. “Be careful what you ask for.”
In spite of all the words of caution, Sage rolled on the condom and straddled him. She was a giver, not a taker. She’d accepted everything he offered and intended to give more than she took.
When she settled her body onto his length, she watched his eyes roll back. Never had she seen the look of bliss until then. Pure, unadulterated satisfaction shone in the softness of his expression, beat in the rhythm of his heart, and hummed in the deep timbre of his voice.
She paced herself so they reached climax together, and although it was the end of this moment, she knew it was the start of everything.
The rich aroma of coffee filled the air. Sage rolled over, reaching for the body that had enveloped her all night. It was no longer naked or under the blankets. She opened her eyes one at a time to take in the sight of a shirtless Cannon sitting in bed beside her, propped up against the headboard. In one hand he had a cup of coffee, in the other a newspaper.
She rolled over and laid her head on his bare stomach while her hands rubbed the soft cotton of his sweatpants.
“You awake?” He set the paper down and ran his free hand through her hair. She wanted to groan, because she knew what her hair looked like on a good day. There was no telling what the mop on her head looked like after a naughty night.
“Barely.” She pulled herself up to sit beside him. Her head rested on the firm muscles of his chest. “Are you going to share that coffee?
“It’ll cost you a kiss.” He tipped it to her lips. There was something about a cup of fresh brew that made her blood pump, or maybe it was the sexy man who had rocked her world all night. Or . . . maybe it was both. She swished the coffee in her mouth and swallowed. With a tilt of her head, she sought out his lips, and that was the start of their morning.
In all honesty, she was game to stay in bed and feast on Cannon all day. Under the sheets, it was only them. There weren’t the stresses of the world. No drunken father. No noisy honeymooners. Just them. But by noon, both of their stomachs were louder than their sounds of satisfaction. To keep up with the activity that brought them so much pleasure would require sustenance.
“I’ve got Pop-Tarts at my place.”
“Let’s shower, and I’ll cook.” He hopped off the bed. Before she could roll out of bed herself, he had her wrapped in his arms.
“You cook?” All she could think about was that she’d hit the lottery. He was a man who had mad bedroom skills, and he cooked.
“My mother insisted on it.” He set her on the cold bathroom counter while he turned on the shower. “She sat Bowie and me down when we were teenagers.” He pulled two towels out from under the sink and placed them next to her.
“Was this the birds and bees talk?”
“Yes, but it was more. She said if we had a woman in our lives, it should be because we wanted a partner, not because we wanted a hot meal or clean clothes.”
“I wish I could have met her.”<
br />
A soft smile framed his face. “I wish you could have, too. She would have liked you.”
Although Sage would never meet Cannon’s mom, it meant a lot that he’d given the seal of approval on her behalf.
“Did you check on your dad?” They had left the cocoon of Cannon’s bed, where nothing but them existed. Back in the real world, she had to consider others, and Ben’s well-being was a huge consideration.
“I did. He’s not here.”
Her heart raced. “Oh no.”
Cannon brought his hands to her lips. “He’s okay.” The steam from the shower floated around them. He dropped his sweat pants and lifted her from the counter. They both entered the warmth of the soothing water.
“Good.” There were so many questions she had, but she leaned back and let the water wash them away. Cannon would share what he wanted. One thing she’d realized about him was that if she waited, he’d give her everything.
“I got up when I heard him. I made him coffee. Even set a bottle of vodka on the table.”
Sage picked up the bar of soap and ran it over his body. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
“What did he do?”
“He measured a shot. Downed it. Drank the coffee.” He pushed off the wall and towered over her. “You know what else he did?”
Sage searched Cannon for injury. She analyzed his expression for internal pain. There was nothing but a smile. “No idea.”
“He apologized, and then he asked me for a ride to the bakery. Told me he had painting to do.”
Sage dropped the bar of soap. “No kidding.”
“How is it you show up in town and turn everything upside down, and yet it all feels right? Your presence, unwelcome at first, has become my saving grace. You came when I needed you the most. You saved me.” He covered her mouth with his and showed his gratitude with an earth-moving kiss.
“I didn’t save you.” She hated the word save or anything to do with it. Saving someone was impossible. She knew the truth of that now. “All I did was show up. I stirred things up. Sometimes that’s all it takes.”
“Call it what you want. I know what you did.”
It sounded like she had a master plan, but she didn’t. “All I did was care.”
“That was enough.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
For the next two weeks, Sage never slept alone. Ben was back on track and doing all right. The bakery had lost its dinginess and flourished under a new coat of paint and the kindness of strangers who were fast becoming friends.
The secret deliveries slowed down to where Katie found items on her doorstep less frequently, but she no longer needed the handout. What started as a dozen muffins a day turned into two, then five, then ten dozen. And although her earnings wouldn’t make her wealthy, it was quite a lot for a town the size of Aspen Cove. Since the property was paid for, and the only overhead was utilities, taxes, and supplies, Katie was in good shape.
The bed and breakfast had turned around a few guests, too. Nothing to write home about, but spring brought with it fishermen and hikers. Thankfully, there were no honeymooners to speak of. The biggest risk now was her guests being disturbed by the noises she and Cannon created.
“So, you made all these beds.” Sage ran her hand over the wood of the big king-size bed in Bea’s room. The bed they had been sharing for weeks. Her fingers rested on the inlaid seashell. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
He pulled the bedspread over the pillows and tucked it with the precision of a hotel housekeeper.
“I didn’t think about it. It’s part of my old life.” He swiped the change from the nightstand and put it in his pocket.
“Did you love it?” Over time, Cannon had opened up about his life. His experiences. They talked about past relationships. Past hurts. Future wants. But never did he say he was a furniture maker.
“It was my life. I saw things in the wood that no one else could. I took found items and made them treasures.”
“You should do it again.” She hopped up on the bed and pulled on her white loafers. It was Wednesday, and Doc needed her help at the clinic. “Don’t give up something so important to you.”
He rounded the bed and stood in front of her. “I found something more important. I found you.”
Sage gave him a passing kiss. “Maybe you should thank your father for that introduction.”
Cannon winced. Even after all the weeks of love and affection, he continued to apologize for that day.
“Let’s not replace alcoholism with an inflated ego.”
Ben had gone from three drinks a day to two, and now he was down to one. It wasn’t because he needed it, but somehow it comforted him.
“I’ll stop by the bar after work.” She kissed him and ran out of the house. Otis watched her from the door. He liked going to Doc’s, but he liked being with Cannon and Mike more. Sage couldn’t remember the last time he’d snuggled his stuffed bunny. Why settle for fake when Mike purred and licked Otis’s fur?
When she arrived at the clinic, Doc was brewing a cup of coffee. She’d convinced him to get rid of the drip maker and buy a Keurig. If she was volunteering her time, the least he could do was invest in a decent cup of coffee. He never missed a chance to tell her that she ate her wages in peanut butter cups.
The bell above the door rang, and in stumbled Zachariah Tucker, cradling his right arm. She could smell the charred flesh. It was a smell she’d never forget. Even though her parents’ coffins were closed, the acrid smell sat under the scent of roses and lilies covering the casket. To Sage, it was the scent of death.
She rushed him to the exam room. Filling a basin with ice and water, she submerged the wound into the frigid mix. The old man yelled and screamed until Doc walked in.
“All that screaming will not take the pain away.” He pulled on a pair of gloves.
The only sign that this was more than Doc could handle was the lift of his brows. “Good job, Sage.”
She reacted instinctually. The problem with burns was that they continued to burn at a sub-dermal level. Ice was the only way to neutralize the heat.
Doc picked up Zachariah’s arm. The flesh fell off in jagged pieces.
“I can’t help you here. You need a burn center.”
At the mention of a burn center, Zachariah became angry. He picked up the metal ice basin and hit Doc across the head, leaving a deep, bleeding gash on his forehead. Doc stumbled back and slid down the wall to the floor, where he sat in a puddle of cold water and ice cubes.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sage yelled.
Zachariah lunged forward and headed to the door.
“Sit yourself back down now.” The power of her voice surprised her. She stalked toward the grizzled old man. Fear flashed across his features as he shuffled back and sat on the table. “Don’t you move.”
She opened a package of gauze and pressed the bundle to Doc’s bloody head. He attempted to get up but slipped on the ice and water. “Stay.” She held up her finger like she did with Otis.
Once Zachariah’s arm was back on ice, she picked up the phone to call for a Copper Creek ambulance. The old man argued, but she silenced him with a look.
“You want to get up and walk out of here? That’s fine, but let me tell you what will happen.” She pulled a chair over to Doc and helped him into it. Blood oozed through the gauze. She turned toward the old bootlegger and continued. “I know your type. You’ll go home, coat the burn in butter, wrap it in a towel, and secure it with duct tape. It will fester. Next, you’ll be at the emergency room for an amputation.” She pressed a damp cloth to Doc’s pale forehead.
“Mr. Tucker, your bootlegging has hurt many in this town, including Ben Bishop, and now you. If you want to live longer, I suggest you switch careers.”
Doc gripped the chair one-handed and tried to stand.
“I told you to sit down.” Sage glared at her boss.
“Last time I looked, I was the doctor.”
<
br /> Sage had it with these two stubborn men. “You two are impossible.” She slammed the drawer that held the sterile gauze and walked toward the door. “Suit yourself. If you want to bleed all over the clinic, go ahead.”
“You’re acting like a bossy nurse,” Doc said.
She narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “I was a bossy nurse.”
Behind the grimace of pain, he smiled. “You still are and will always be a nurse. It’s in your blood, bossy or not.”
Zachariah groaned. “She’s a mean, bossy nurse.”
“Shut up,” Doc and Sage said together.
The old man pressed his arm deeper into the bin.
“My ice is melting.”
She ignored his complaint. Minutes ago he was ready to walk out the door, and now he wanted to argue about ice levels? As long as cubes were floating on the surface, he was fine. She turned her attention to Doc.
“What do you need?”
He pulled a hand mirror from a nearby drawer. When he peeled the gauze from his head, he inspected the wound. “I need gut and suture.” He staunched the flow of blood and leaned back into the chair.
“You’re going to stitch yourself up?”
“No, you are.”
“I can’t legally suture your wound. I could lose my license.” While she argued, she gathered supplies.
“I won’t turn you in. Now get to it.” He rose and took a seat next to Zachariah. “Old man, all I have to say is you better heal fast, because this will cost you a lot of firewood. I’ll expect mine by the end of the summer.” He turned toward Sage, who gloved up. “When would you like yours?”
While she shook her head, the Doc nodded his. “Everything has a consequence. This old man knows that. You mix grain alcohol with fire, and you get burned. If you get burned and need help, you have to pay. Our payment is firewood. I think a cord for each of us will be fine.”
Zachariah grumbled but nodded.
Sage dabbed at Doc’s wound with antiseptic.
He growled. “That hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“Maybe you should numb yourself up. I can’t stitch you if you cry like one of the Williams kids when I pierce your skin.”
One Hundred Reasons Page 17
