Closing her eyes, she let her head rest against the wall of the cottage. It would be all right, she reminded herself now, as she had then. And this time she was old enough not to make stupid blunders in her search to fill the void of a man’s absence in her life. In a couple of weeks she’d have rows of little bodies to occupy her during the day and she’d fill her evenings with paperwork and classroom prep.
What did she need a man for when she had enthusiastic hugs from five-year-olds to look forward to? A romantic bouquet was no better than a handful of wilted dandelions grasped in the grubby fist of one of her ubiquitous B-boys. This yawning loneliness would be filled soon with parent conferences and after-work hash sessions with her female teacher friends.
“Polly.”
She opened her eyes. The sky was silver, all warmth bled from it, and the masculine figure in front of her was a dark silhouette. She didn’t need to see a face to know who it was.
“What are you doing here?” Big Boobs boring?
“I thought I’d just...check on you. Things seem—”
“Check on me?” She didn’t let him finish. “What for? You’re not my big brother.”
“I know. I just saw you with that guy and I...” Teague’s voice trailed off.
“You...what? You wanted to see if I’d bring him back here with me?”
It was too dark to see Teague’s expression, but she could feel his rejection of the idea. “God, Pol. No.”
“Why not?” Everything she’d been feeling lately—frustration, dashed hopes, jealousy, loneliness—rolled into an ugly, uneven ball of annoyance, thumping around inside her belly. “You don’t think I’m attractive enough to get him into my bed?”
“Polly, that’s not what I meant at all.” He sat on the chair beside hers. Its seat was narrow, his legs were long and one of his knees brushed hers.
She jerked away. “Then what did you mean?”
“I know you. I know you wouldn’t just meet some man for the first time and bring him home with you. You’re too...I don’t know, that’s just not what you’d do.”
A bitter laugh barked from her throat. “That just shows how wrong you are. You’ve got some squeaky-clean image of me that’s completely off the mark.”
He went still. “Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
There was a long pause. “Is there something you want to tell me?” he finally asked.
There were a dozen. How she sometimes stared at his hands while he ate and imagined him feeding her juicy slices of peach in bed. The illicit thrill she got out of rubbing sunscreen on his back. That she never asked him to reciprocate in case he guessed why his touch raised goose bumps on her flesh.
“Pol?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Yeah, there’s something you should know. There’s a good reason I give all those bad boys a second chance...because I was once a very bad girl myself.”
It didn’t take a genius to understand why she hadn’t shared this with him before. While she might have put up a token objection every time he referred to her as “perfect,” she’d held the truth close to her chest because she figured he preferred her that way. But now that she knew he didn’t prefer her at all—in any romantic sense—she might as well burst his bubble herself.
“How bad could you have been?” he scoffed, though she thought she detected a note of uncertainty in his voice.
“Pretty bad,” she said, matter-of-fact. “I lost my virginity to the private tennis coach my mother hired after my father left. He was thirty-five years old.”
Teague stiffened. “And you were...?”
“Fifteen. He was hot, newly separated from his wife, and my backhand didn’t actually need as much work as some of my other physical skills.”
“Jesus.” Teague rubbed a palm over his face. “Jesus, Pol.”
“The next year, I had an internship at a small accounting firm. I don’t know how old Greg was—he refused to tell me—but he was another lonely divorcé.”
This time Teague didn’t say a word, but she knew he held his breath, clearly waiting for the denouement. Well, then.
“Senior year in high school, there was this mean girl who made fun of the one friend of mine who refused to go away like all the others I’d pushed off during the divorce. It was a cruel campaign of ridicule that didn’t let up even after the mean girl beat my friend for Homecoming Queen. I got her back, though.”
“How?” he asked, his voice tight.
“I fucked her daddy,” Polly said, matter-of-fact. “Then anonymously emailed her a photo of her smiling papa between the sheets of a stranger’s bed.”
“Oh, Gator.”
The nickname made a high whine start in her ears. She’d probably never hear that word on his lips again. She steeled her spine, and sent him a cool look. “So, what do you think of Perfect Polly now?”
He reached out, found her hand. “I think she was looking for love in all the wrong places.”
The compassion in his voice made her stomach jitter. She jumped to her feet, her hand sliding from his as she dashed for her door. Opening it, she allowed herself a single backward glance. “You nailed it. And how funny is that, when you’ve never nailed me?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
June 1
Dear Gage,
Well, my sister has packed her bags and driven off. I thought she might be persuaded to stay at the cove and manage the properties with me, but once again it’s a man who sent her on her way. Not at a run this time...it’s a happy, not a tragic reason, thank goodness. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m the only Alexander left in Southern California and I’m rethinking my stubborn determination to stay. Maybe it’s time for Crescent Cove to be someone else’s legacy.
Skye, contemplating other horizons
Skye,
Could you trust anyone else to preserve the magic? No pressure (ha) but I don’t think I could. I see myself visiting there one future day and taking photos of you surrounded by your children, the next generation that will curate the living museum that is the cove. Shall I come sooner? Maybe my camera and I can remind you of the extraordinariness of your heritage.
Gage, alarmed
Dear Gage,
Don’t come! I’m aware that might sound unwelcome, but I believe some things are better served as memories savored from afar.
Yours, Skye
When Gage woke alone the morning after he’d had Skye in his bed, her state of mind was in no doubt. If she’d been on the pillow beside his, he might have worried, but her absence said everything.
That what they’d done between the sheets had been nothing.
Well, of course it wasn’t nothing. Good God, not that, but it had changed nothing between them. He’d lusted after her, she’d lusted right back and despite her momentary hiccup after suspecting intruders in one of the cove cottages, they’d had a satisfying adventure between the sheets.
He was glad he’d proved to her that there was fun to be had there. Sure, there were those final moments of...of...somberness, when he’d felt connected to her in a way that went beyond the physical, but certainly that made sense. They’d shared so many thoughts through their letters that it was only natural that the lovema—sex—was on a slightly different-than-usual plane.
Despite his lack of concern over their night together, he wished he’d had a chance to visit with her in person the following day. But he’d had to scramble to make a sequence of meetings set up by his photography agent. The L.A. traffic had been its usual beastly self, swallowing him up and only spitting him out after his dinner meeting ended at 10:00 p.m. Exhausted by all the business, social, and vehicular maneuverings, he’d fallen into bed at No. 9. It was the second best night of sleep he’d had since Jahandar had taken him to that fateful meet in the arid countryside.
Now, though, with a shower, breakfast and a few hours of catching up on world events under his belt, he decided to seek out Skye. They’d exchanged cryptic texts between his ap
pointments the day before, and she’d seemed in good spirits, but he was going to make sure all was well. With his time at the cove dwindling, he refused to be patient about any lingering awkwardness she might feel.
He needed to know that Skye knew she could be with him in the days that remained without being with him.
It was nearing midday as he walked up the beach. He figured she might be home for lunch. Maybe he’d grab her by the hand and take her with him to Captain Crow’s for a sandwich.
But as he neared her bungalow, he saw that someone else had gotten there ahead of him. A man stood on her porch, obscuring almost all Gage could see of Skye’s slender figure. He lengthened his stride, eating up the asphalt of her front walk.
“Skye!”
She peered around the other guy, and that’s when he realized there were male hands on her shoulders. Hands that were not Gage’s.
His feet stuttered to a halt as a caustic green acid seemed to pour into his gut. Had he eaten something rotten for breakfast? But what was rotten, he realized almost instantly, was the idea of another man touching his siren of the cove.
Shit. That wasn’t good.
“Gage?” She sent him a distracted smile. “Did you need something?”
Her companion—that ex of hers—now turned to look at Gage, his arms dropping back to his sides. “Oh,” the man said. “It’s you.”
Gage ran his gaze over the other man’s natty outfit. He apparently had golf on his agenda, unless dressing like an ice-cream man and wearing white tasseled shoes had become the latest fad in the States. “Dagwood,” Gage said with a nod.
“Dalton,” the ex corrected, not the least amused.
“Whoops.” Gage tried to look repentant.
Rolling her eyes, Skye stepped around her visitor. “Did you need something?” she repeated.
It was his first real look at her since he’d fallen asleep spooned around her body. He’d nuzzled the curve of her neck and shoulder, breathing in the scents of Skye and mutual lust as he fell into sleep.
Perhaps she remembered that, too, because a faint flush stained her cheeks. Her hair was unbound again, the lovely dark mass of it no longer contained but allowed to stream down her back. A faint gloss of lipstick shined her soft mouth and she’d shunned the menswear for a formfitting T-shirt and a full skirt of thin cotton layers that skimmed the top of her knees.
Again, it wasn’t a particularly revealing getup, except in that it revealed that Skye was feeling more comfortable in her own skin.
Her skin... His mind spun another memory. He remembered the smooth heat of her thighs, the tender flesh between them. His mouth had left love bites there, and he wondered if he’d find his marks still on her if he tossed up those filmy sheets of fabric and bared her for his gaze.
“Gage?” she asked expectantly.
He cleared his throat. He’d had a purpose; it just seemed to have slipped his mind. “I...uh...”
Dalton interrupted. “I only have a few minutes before I have to leave to make my tee time,” he told Skye.
“If you’ve just a few minutes,” Gage said, starting forward again, “you’d better get a move on. Traffic’s a bitch.”
The other man frowned at him. “Thank you, but—”
“No thanks necessary.” Gage looked at Skye and jerked his head in the direction of the restaurant up the sand. “You. Me. Lunch.”
“Oh, I don’t...” Her words trailed off as he reached over and snagged her hand. Her gaze fell to their entwined fingers, her expression arrested.
Gage knew why. It was the Bowline on a Bight, the Icicle Hitch, the Rat-Tail Stopper. The Big Trouble he’d called it two days before. That sense that they were inextricably bound was washing over him again.
It was because they were such good friends, he thought, his fingers tightening on hers.
Pen pals.
Except neither of those relationships explained the absolute sense of...of rightful belonging that overtook him when touching her like this. They lifted their gazes at the same time and he stared into her eyes, their color the deep ocean green where every mystery of the universe dwelled. He couldn’t breathe.
“Skye,” Dalton said, his voice impatient. “I really need just a little bit more of your time.”
Gage needed just a little bit more of Skye—or a lot more, he admitted to himself. Going back to platonic pals wasn’t an option any longer, he was beginning to realize. Unless he left the cove early, unless he skipped his twin’s wedding and hopped on a plane this very afternoon to take him thousands of miles away, he was going to have more of Skye.
If she’d let him.
Her eyes were saucer-wide and he squeezed her hand again. “Let’s go have lunch at Captain Crow’s,” he said, his voice gruff.
“I...” She glanced at Dalton. “I can’t right this minute. Wait for me there?”
Leave her alone? With a man who couldn’t seem to understand the word no? Gage shook his head. “I don’t think—”
“It’s fine,” she assured him. “I’m fine.”
He gazed on her another long moment, gauging for himself.
“All right,” he finally conceded. “But don’t think you can escape me.” With effort, he tacked on a small smile to lighten the warning.
Her flush deepened. “I’m not sure escape was ever an option,” she murmured. Then she withdrew her hand from his. “I’ll be there soon.”
Dalton sent him a pointed look of triumph, which Gage ignored, despite another deluge of the evil acidy stuff flooding his system. Your victory is just temporary, dude, he thought, then shoved away the notion that whatever concessions he won from Skye himself wouldn’t be long-lasting, either.
But his discomfort didn’t ease up, even when he was shown to a free umbrella-topped table on the restaurant’s crowded deck. The day was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at it—the sky azure, the foam of the toppling waves a brilliant white, the sand sparkling from the mica that caught the sunlight. Squinting against the glare, he drummed his fingers on the varnished wood, impatient for Skye to join him. Impatient to get the cards on the table.
His order of iced tea was set in front of him, and he brought the sweating glass to his forehead, hoping it would cool him down a little. His nerves jangled and his libido was hopping about like a jumping bean. He’d never felt so damn unsettled when it came to a woman. Jesus.
What would happen if she didn’t say yes?
What the hell had she done to him? he suddenly wondered, resentful. A continued liaison was never part of the plan. He’d considered going to bed with her in terms of...of a sort of good turn, their night together her sexual Rx, and instead he was the one who now felt a little sick.
With jealousy. With want.
With need.
Women!
He scowled at the one walking by his table, then realized it was Skye’s BFF, Polly, who hesitated as she passed. “Are you all right?” she asked, giving him a wary look.
He grunted, and shoved at the chair opposite him with his foot. “Would you like to sit down?”
“I’m not sure,” Polly said, a glint of humor in her eyes. “You look a little dangerous.”
“I need a distraction.”
She made a play at glancing around. “The day isn’t gorgeous enough for you?”
“Maybe this place is too gorgeous,” he said. “It’s making me soft.” Stupid.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. You’re the guy who always needs a challenge,” Polly said, slipping into the free seat. “Are you bored here?”
Not for one minute. Though he supposed an indefinite dose of Crescent Cove might get monotonous. If it was a permanent home like Tess and David’s Cheviot Hills, he’d probably go nuts in a month...though the ocean was ever-changing, no sunset was the same, and the horizon hinted at endless possibilities.
“I’ve got obligations overseas,” he said.
“And you can always get your cove fix through letters,” Polly suggested brightly. “I assume
you’ll keep corresponding with Skye.”
“Well, of course—” He halted. She might not reply. If he screwed this up and left things on bad terms with her, then he’d have lost that lodestar that had kept him sane. That he might need to keep him sane again. Shit.
Maybe he better keep his hands off her in the future after all.
He was staring, unseeing, at his iced tea when he heard the clearing of a female throat. His head lifted, and there she was. A breeze came up. It played with the layers of fabric at her knees and caught at her hair, dragging it over her face. She clamped her hands to her thighs to keep her skirt in place. Gage jumped to his feet and tended to her hair himself, pulling it back with both hands to tuck the glossy mass behind her ears. Then he cupped her face in his palms, gazing at the delicate beauty of her.
His body went on high alert, his muscles tightening. Instinct urged him to put himself between her and the gusty breeze, and the too-bright sun, and any other element that might endanger her. Doubts and second thoughts evaporated. He wanted to wrap himself around her; be both her fortress and her sanctuary, and then, when he was gone, the lover she never, ever forgot.
“I’ll leave you two alone.”
Startled at the intrusion, he glanced over to see Polly rising from her seat. “Yeah,” he said, already dismissing her from his mind. “Thanks for the company.”
Without even waiting for the other woman to move off, he was staring at Skye again, the pull of her like an undertow, but he didn’t give a shit about survival.
He touched his forehead to hers, and felt her tremble in his hold. “You know, we seem to generate some powerful juju between us,” he told her.
She nodded, trembled again.
He laid it on the line. “Forget about lunch. Come back to my bed. Stay there until it’s time for me to go.”
* * *
SKYE WAS TUGGED AWAY from Gage, just as his words started to sink in. Come back to my bed. Stay there until it’s time for me to go. Polly had her by the arm, and it appeared she had no intention of letting go.
The Love Shack Page 18
