“Even Jane doesn’t seem rattled,” she said.
“You’re right. Maybe because it’s going to be at No. 9, where they met,” Skye said.
“I heard it was your idea to have the ceremony on the deck.”
“It seemed natural.” Skye glanced over to the beach house in question, and pictured how it would look on the day of the wedding. White tulle wrapped around the railings, flowers and candles everywhere, barefoot Jane walking down the aisle demarcated with sand toward her devoted groom. She sighed.
Mara grinned at her. “Do I hear wedding envy?”
“No, no.” She stopped before she protested too much. “I admit to enjoying the romance of it, though.”
“Jane told me about their whirlwind courtship. I’m so glad Griffin’s given up the war reporting. I never asked Charlie to do that....”
“Do you wish you had?” Skye asked.
The other woman shrugged. “I married him knowing what his life was like, the kind of work he was driven to do. Would it have been fair to insist he change? Now I wonder. Your great-great-grandmother asked her husband to give up his passion—perhaps I should have asked Charlie to do that, as well.”
Skye didn’t know how to answer. Yes, Max Sunstrom, her great-great-grandfather, had given up the movie business, but that was probably because his passion for his wife was greater than his passion for creating silent-era classics like Sweet Safari and The Egyptian.
Like Mara, though, Skye thought she’d refrain from asking or expecting a man to walk away from what he loved for who he loved.
“Are things serious with you and Gage?” Mara asked.
Skye glanced over. “How do you know there’s a me and Gage?”
“Felt it in the air,” Mara said, then laughed. “Oh, and Jane happened to mention it.”
Relieved that she wasn’t so obvious with her feelings, Skye’s gaze slid to him again. He was striding through the surf, one of his nephews riding atop his shoulders. They looked enough alike to be father and son. For a moment—just a tiny moment—she let herself imagine it. A life at the cove with Gage. Dark-haired children playing pirates and mermaids on the beach. Boys poking at clumps of rotting kelp with sticks, girls bringing back handfuls of treasures to put in jars that held collections of shells or beach glass.
Gage smiling at her over their glossy heads. You want a kiss.
With an abrupt pivot, Skye turned her back on the image. “Let’s go find Jane and Tess,” she said to Mara. “We can sip cold drinks on the deck and watch the action from under an umbrella.”
But she’d find some other action to watch, Skye promised herself. She’d keep her gaze off Gage and her mind off a future that wasn’t to be.
They were trudging through the soft sand on the approach to No. 9 when wet arms suddenly grabbed her from behind. Startled, she squealed, but didn’t struggle as she understood instantly who it was. His hair was wet, too, and the sopping strands made her shirt damp as he nuzzled her neck. “Got you.”
She pretended to bat at the forearms banded under her breasts. “You’re getting me all wet!”
He snorted, then moved his mouth to her ear. “Come with me to your place and I’ll take care of that,” he whispered.
Her eyes closed at the sweet, dark promise in the words. “We have a friend visiting,” she said primly. Mara had gone ahead of them and was now mounting the steps to No. 9’s deck.
Gage turned Skye in his arms. “How’s she doing? I appreciate you showing her around.”
“I’m happy to—I like her a lot. But I think she’s having a hard go of it.”
“Yeah.” All the playfulness seemed siphoned from his mood, and his gaze shifted away from Skye’s face to look off into the distance. “I’d hoped a little Crescent Cove enchantment might help.”
Lifting her arms, she linked them around his neck. “Are you all right?”
He shook his head. “Seeing little Anthony made me think of things. It made me think of Charlie and it made me think about...about what could have been.”
What could have been. And what couldn’t be, Skye thought, her mind returning to that little fantasy she’d cast with Gage and dark-haired children that looked just like him. As if he sensed her mood lowering, too, he pulled her close and pressed her head to his chest.
And his beating heart indeed made her more hopeful—as if the mere fact that he was alive promised all things were possible. Her gaze shifted to where she’d last seen Mara. Even with the other woman’s example right in front of her, Skye couldn’t help imagining a future that would never be.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AFTER MARA AND ANTHONY left the cove, and all of Gage’s relations returned to their respective homes, Skye made dinner for him at her house. They’d been spending their evenings at No. 9, but tonight she was considering sending him back by himself and sleeping at her home...alone.
Yes, she’d experienced that spurt of optimism, but good sense counseled it wasn’t smart to get too accustomed to company.
Gage prowled the kitchen while she cleaned up after the meal. He poured her more wine and grabbed a new beer from her fridge for himself. “Close the door from which the wind blows and relax,” he said, tapping the lip of his bottle against the rim of her glass.
“If I thought you knew, I’d ask you what that means,” she told him, wishing he’d at least heed the admonition to loosen up. He was more restless than she’d ever seen him and his constant movement put her on edge, too.
Or maybe that was because she was contemplating her lone bed, with no one in it to share the nightmare hours.
He was flipping through the catchall basket that sat on the counter where she dumped grocery receipts, pizza coupons and other offhand items that a tidier woman would relegate to the trash can on a more regular basis. She was considering wondering aloud if his actions weren’t an invasion of privacy when he went still.
Frowning, she craned her neck to get a look at what had garnered his sudden interest. She hoped to God she hadn’t left about any scraps on which she’d doodled ridiculous junior-high-style sentiments like Skye + Gage 4 Ever.
“How well do you know him?” he said.
“Who?”
“Dagwood.” Gage flipped the rectangle of paper in his hand toward her. It was a photo taken at a semiformal event sponsored by a business association. She’d been Dalton’s date and they’d been snapped by the professional who’d taken everyone’s picture on their way inside.
“You know what his name really is,” she said, frowning a little. “I don’t know why you pretend you don’t.”
“Because he looks like a Dagwood,” Gage said. “How well do you know him?”
Drying her hands on a dish towel, she gave him a wary glance. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“Could he have been the guy who tied you up?”
Shocked by the question, Skye stared at him. “No!”
“Think, honey, don’t just react. Could it have been him or maybe some pervy buddy of his?”
“No.” Agitated, she ran her hands through her hair, then tucked them in the pockets of her shorts. “I don’t know why you’d suggest such a thing.”
“Because I’d like to solve the mystery.”
“You think I wouldn’t? But the police believe it’s a random event. There weren’t any similar crimes in the area before, haven’t been any since, and the men walked out of the house with just the cash from my wallet—which wasn’t much. So there’s no incentive for them even to return.”
Unless the creepy one, him, came back to fulfill the sexual threat he’d promised.
Just like that, memory attacked. She could feel the awful prick of the knife across her chest. How her naked flesh felt only more vulnerable surrounded by shredded clothes. The blindfold’s pressure on her eyes. A stranger’s hoarse, disgusting voice. I’ll come back one day and finish what I started.
The contents of her stomach revolted, and she felt herself go clammy. “Oh, God,”
she muttered, then rushed for the bathroom.
Gage was on her heels. She slammed the door in his face and took great gulps of air, trying to calm the pitching and tossing seas in her belly.
“Honey, are you all right?” His concern came through the paneled wood.
“I’m fine.” Her fingers clutched the porcelain rim of the sink as the sense of certain upchuck slowly faded.
“What can I do?”
She splashed cold water on her face, took a few more deep breaths, then pulled on the knob to face him. “You could not bring up that night again, okay?” Her palm pressed to her belly as if it could contain another bout of panic. The afternoon with Mara had definitely unsettled her, she decided.
“It wasn’t Dalton,” she told Gage. “It wasn’t anyone I know. I’m sure of it.”
“Okay, okay.” He grimaced. “I’m a little off today. Sorry.”
The afternoon with Mara—and thinking of Charlie—had unsettled Gage, too. “All right.”
He rubbed his knuckles against the top of her head, a fond noogie that made him even more forgivable. “C’mon, let’s go outside for some fresh air.”
On the porch of her house sat two wide-bottomed, thick-cushioned chairs. He took one, but when she tried to take the other, he snagged her arm and pulled her into his lap. His strength surrounded her, and she let herself relax against him for a moment, his warmth and the rhythmic sound of the surf dispelling the last of her queasiness.
Still sleeping alone tonight, she reminded herself.
“Are you going to see him again?” Gage said in her ear.
She turned her head so they were nose to nose, astonished that he’d ask. “You mean Dalton?”
“When I’m gone, are you going to start dating him again?”
It wasn’t any of Gage’s business. As he said, he was leaving. But she was too tired to point out either of those things and settled back on his shoulder. “No.”
He sifted his fingers through her hair. “So...what did he want the other day when he was over?”
“To make clear I understood he was dumping me.”
Gage’s movements stilled. “I thought you’d already broken up with him.”
She shrugged. “He conveniently forgot that part, I guess.”
“What a Dagwood,” Gage said, his tone disgusted.
Skye laughed.
They sat together in silence, the whispering hiss of water on sand the only sound besides some faint music floating down the beach from Captain Crow’s. The stars were bright in the dark velvet of the sky and she could make out the haze of the Milky Way. It drifted across the constellations like a bridal veil.
When Gage left, they’d never share another night like this, she thought, not even under separate skies. As she’d learned, when it was night here, it was day in that other part of the world.
If she asked, would he light a morning candle for her?
“Gage.” Thinking of his return to that dangerous part of the world raised another concern. “Mara told me about the precautions and protocols the foreign press adhere to when they’re overseas. You do that, right? Make sure you’re as safe as you can be?”
She felt him stiffen a moment; then he scooted lower in the cushions, his arm across her waist to hold her more securely. “Those precautions and protocols didn’t save Charlie, did they?” he said.
“No, but you do leave notice of where you’ll be going and when you expect to return, right?”
“Exactly what Charlie did.”
“Gage—”
“Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay?” Shifting her so she was sideways on his thighs, he leaned close. “Isn’t this better?” he said against her mouth.
It was, even as she knew he’d set out to distract her. The kiss consumed her with heat and greedy need, and all niggling worries and maudlin thoughts fled. She threaded her fingers in his hair and opened her mouth to the aggressive thrust of his tongue. He slid his hand beneath her shirt at the small of her back, and the slight roughness of his palm brought out goose bumps that climbed her spine and then spread up the nape of her neck and over her scalp.
He groaned and found the back clasp of her bra, unhooking it with ease, then sliding his hand around her ribs to cup the weight of her breast. His mouth trailed over her cheek to her ear as he toyed with her nipple, pinching at the ruching flesh until she squirmed on his lap. He was thick beneath her bottom, hard and eager.
“Let’s go to bed,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling the whorls of her ear. He nipped the rim and she shuddered.
“Gage...” He was muddling her mind. There was that promise she’d made to herself, remember? She had to...she had to...
The specifics evaporated as he urged her to her feet, then kissed her again, her upturned face cupped in his hands. His forehead pressed hers. “I want you naked.”
She wanted that, too, and hauled in a deep breath to tell him so. But oxygen brought clarity. Hadn’t she decided to sleep alone tonight? “Maybe it—”
Her protest was cut off by another luscious, delicious, demanding kiss. Without thinking, she had her hands on his skin beneath his T-shirt, her palms absorbing the heat and play of muscles along his spine. A grunt sounded from deep in his throat, and her response was instinctive: she tilted her hips to press against the bulge of his arousal.
His hand palmed her bottom, keeping her close, making her squirm. He broke this kiss. “God, Skye—”
A wolf whistle pierced the darkness. A passel of kids jostled each other on the beach, wading in the shallows at the surf line. “Get a room,” one yelled.
Skye buried her face in his chest, half-embarrassed, half-amused.
“Shit,” Gage said. “Let’s get inside.” Without waiting for her answer, he tugged her through the doorway.
In the entry, though, she resisted farther forward movement, her head and her hormones going to war again: Don’t get used to this! But he’s a limited-time offer!
Gage glanced at her over his shoulder, his expression puzzled.
“I think I should sleep alone,” she blurted out.
Still holding her hand, he turned to study her face. “All right,” he said after a long moment. “If that’s what you really want.”
It wasn’t what she really wanted! It was never what she really wanted! “I... No, never mind.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist and butted her head against his shoulder. “It’s been a long day.”
His sigh blew against her hair. “Yeah. Yeah, it has.” He rubbed a comforting hand down her back.
Skye leaned into him, drawing his exotic-spice scent deep into her lungs. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the moment of closeness and warmth. Weeks ago she hadn’t wanted a man to look at her, but this particular one had slipped through her barricades and earned her trust. Why would she put him at arm’s length?
He tucked his fingers beneath her chin, bringing her gaze back to his. “Would you rather we both go back to No. 9? Spend the night there?”
Skye hesitated.
His hand took another soothing pass down her spine. “We haven’t been to bed here. Is that what’s bothering you? Me and you in this particular house?”
It was today that continued to bother her, Skye knew. It was the time she’d spent with Mara. As much as she liked and empathized with the other woman, those afternoon hours had reminded her of the danger looming in Gage’s future. He’d be on his way to more risk soon, while every moment she spent with him risked her heart.
Insist on sleeping by yourself, her common sense whispered again. Make a move. Start putting distance between you.
“It’s not the house,” Skye told him, and she massaged her right temple where an ice pick was suddenly trying to gouge through her skull to get to her brain.
He made a soft, sympathetic noise. “You have a headache.” His fingers closed around her wrist and drew her hand away. “I can fix that,” he said, then started towing her, his touch gentle.
To
her surprise, he turned into the bathroom that had two doors, one that opened into the hall and the other into her bedroom. It was a large space, tiled in old-fashioned white and pale yellow, and included two pedestal sinks, as well as a walk-in shower with nozzles on opposite walls.
“Wha—” she started.
“Shh,” he said, disappearing for a moment to turn on a bedroom lamp. When he reappeared, he flipped off the overhead so that the only light was what spilled from the other room. She found the dimness soothing and, bemused, allowed him to press her down onto the closed lid of the commode.
He reached inside the tiled enclosure and flipped on both fixtures. Water pattered down like rain from the circular showerheads. Then he crossed to her and knelt to tug the sandals from her feet.
“I can do that,” she protested, but he hushed her again.
“Let Dr. Lowell do his work,” he said.
In moments she was naked and so was he, and they were under the soft, warm spray. “Close your eyes,” Gage whispered, tilting back her head to drench it thoroughly. Next she smelled her shampoo, and he had his hands on her again, his fingers massaging her scalp, creating light suds.
The headache was barely a whimper now, and seemed to wash down the drain when he drew her back under the water to rinse her hair. “Good,” she said, feeling lethargic now that the pain had abated.
“Good,” he confirmed, kissing her lightly. Then he went to work with soap and cloth, washing her with slow, hypnotic strokes. No flesh went untended; he started at her forehead and ended at her feet, always unhurried, always with deliberate movements that were caring but not sexual in nature.
The attention loosened her joints and liquefied her muscles until she had to lean against him to stay upright. His chuckle was soft in her ear, and she kissed his bare shoulder as he shuffled her back under the spray. “I think I could fold you into a Jell-O mold about now.”
“Mmm,” she said, feeling like a spoiled lap cat.
“Better?” he asked.
“So much better,” she said. “Today...”
“Today?”
Almost Paradise (Book 4) Page 23