Her sex to be exact.
He was deliberately tormenting her. Testing her conviction. The thoughts he put in her mind were exciting and terrifying all rolled into one tempting package.
Frankie ran a hand through her hair in frustration. She reached the top of the bluff and walked across a thin strip of cool, soft grass.
Her little bungalow home was bordered by a concrete walkway allowing public beach access. A brick patio, enclosed by a retaining wall, kept stray animals and people at bay. Her special way of saying, “do not disturb” without obliterating the incredible ocean view.
Frankie shoved the wooden gate open with her hip and dropped the driftwood she’d collected on the chaise lounge just as the patio phone rang. She picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Good morning to you, oh-conflicted-one.”
Frankie chuckled.
“Hello, Andie.”
“Are we still on for dinner?”
“Of course, I’m looking forward to it.”
“Excellent. I can’t wait to hear more of your tortured secret fantasies.”
Frankie groaned.
“Don’t expect much. I think I’ve pretty much shot my secret fantasy wad.”
“I doubt that,” Andie countered. “Anyway, Max will be cooking. He’s got a new recipe he wants to try out on us.”
“Max can use me as a culinary test subject anytime he wants. I love his cooking.”
“He’ll be ecstatic to hear it,” Andie replied.
There was a long moment of silence.
“Are you still there?” Andie asked.
“Yes.” Frankie grew serious. “Can I ask you a very personal question?”
“Of course.”
She cleared her throat. “Before Max came along and stole your heart, how many lovers did you have under your belt?”
“Casual flings or the serious stuff?”
“Casual.”
“Only one.”
“Only one?” Frankie repeated.
“Don’t act so surprised.”
“It’s, well, it’s just that I thought—”
“I know what you thought,” Andie chuckled.
Frankie eased down on a deck chair.
“I didn’t mean to offend.”
“You didn’t.” Andie’s voice grew soft, conspiratorial. “Would you like to know a little secret?”
“I’m listening.”
“This is only my opinion so take it for what it’s worth.”
“Duly noted,” Frankie replied.
“No casual encounter can beat the incredible intimacy of making love to the one who loves you. For me, there is nothing better.”
* * * *
Gage made a left turn on Marine Drive, dodged a chuckhole and coasted down the gravel road to a tidy white cottage. He stopped the truck and scanned the area.
All clear.
He had given Frankie some breathing room that week, to let her get used to the idea of having him around before he planned to get physical again. “Tonight,” he said aloud. “I’ve waited long enough.” If all those hungry looks she had been giving him when she thought he wasn’t looking were any indication, he obviously had her full attention. Time to kick their relationship up a notch before his balls turned blue and fell off.
He knew she had been alone all week. No Lauren. No George Harvey. No unescorted midnight swims—he had made certain of that. Her days were occupied with outdoor activities; paddling her little canoe around the bay and myriad back sloughs. She even subbed a few games for an injured pitcher on the local softball team.
Gage scratched his chin and blinked.
Frankie’s Land Rover, scarred from years of abusive back road exploration, was in its usual parking spot on the concrete slab driveway, her butterscotch-yellow canoe strapped on its hood. Beside the Land Rover was a sleek new Dodge. His hackles rose. Was George there? Lauren?
He sprang out of the truck and walked around to the patio. The sliding glass doors were open, letting a soft breeze filter through the screen. Gage started to knock. His hand was up, wrist cocked, prepared to give a sharp rap on the sturdy door frame when he saw something through the window that sent his blood pressure skyrocketing.
An enormous man was standing in Frankie’s kitchen.
Scratch that.
An enormous man was cooking in Frankie’s kitchen.
Relaxed. At ease. Making himself right at home.
Gage flung the door open with a menacing growl.
“Who the hell are you?”
The giant turned around and smirked. He was wearing one of Frankie’s frilly pink aprons over beige chinos and a white cotton shirt.
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he drawled in a rumbling voice.
Gage’s gaze narrowed dangerously as he assessed the stranger. The man had black curly hair, clipped just above the ears and spiced with gray. Mid-forties. Refined. Strong. Wealthy? The interloper was well groomed, perfectly composed and totally pissing Gage off. Whoever the guy was, he wasn’t the least bit intimidated. Which could only mean one thing.
He felt he belonged there.
“Once more, asshole,” Gage challenged. “Who are you and what the hell are you doing in this house?”
The guy was easily half a foot taller and outweighed him a good fifty pounds. Gage knew he could fell him like a tree if the bastard didn’t come up with the right answer in a hurry. The giant dried off on a flowered dishtowel and extended his right hand.
“The name’s Max,” he introduced. “I’m Andie’s husband.”
Gage took a hesitant step forward, relaxed a bit and shook his hand.
“You must be Frankie’s co-pilot,” he spoke behind a genuine smile. The tangy aroma of rosemary and fresh baked bread permeated the house. Max turned to place another savory chicken breast in the pan.
“The ladies took the dogs for a walk on the beach,” he volunteered with a smile. “They should be back shortly.”
Gage squinted in astonishment. An uncanny stillness of spirit surrounded Max. He began to fuss around the kitchen again, stirring a pan of red sauce.
“The trick to cooking,” Max spoke casually, “is making the meal come off all at once. Except for dessert, of course.” He opened the stove door and gently eased a loaded pan inside. “Dessert is an entirely different matter. Presentation is everything.”
Gage arched an inquisitive eyebrow.
“For the taste buds to appreciate sweets, they have to be made to wait.” Max’s train of thought appeared to swerve. “Your name is Gage, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
“I expected you earlier,” his voice calm and deliberate.
Gage curbed the urge to spout something sarcastic.
“Why?”
Max turned to give him a meaningful look. “Those are your footprints near the patio,” he motioned with his head, “and outside her bedroom window.” He pointed with a long forefinger. “You’re wearing the same running shoes.”
Gage bristled at the accusation.
“Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?”
He answered, “Something like that.”
“I’ve been keeping an eye on her,” Gage admitted.
Max nodded. “I’m sure she would appreciate the fact if she knew.” No censure in the reply. He simply paused in his culinary chores, reached into the refrigerator and tossed a microbrew in Gage’s direction. Gage snatched the beer out of midair without breaking eye contact.
“Sit down,” Max gestured to a chair. “Stay for dinner.”
“Good idea.” Gage settled into the deep cushions of Frankie’s favorite recliner and stretched his legs. The evening hadn’t exactly turned out as he planned yet it was still early and he had no intention of leaving.
Max stood at the sink while he worked. Silent moments passed between them while he diced tomatoes and grated Parmesan cheese. The latest issue of Victoria’s Secret, earmarked with a dozen yellow sticky notes, lay on the coffee
table. Gage picked up the catalog and began to thumb through it.
The mailing label was addressed to Andie yet many of the notes were written in Frankie’s distinctive scrawl. “This would look great on you.” “I like this color.” “WOW! This is hot.”
Then, the one that really got his attention, “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Gage thoroughly scrutinized the picture, committed every detail of the silk negligee to memory.
Max materialized at his side, “What are you looking at?”
Gage grunted an incomprehensible reply. Max joined him. A solemn beauty stared back at them from the slick catalog. Her perfectly coifed hair wrapped around her neck and breasts like a cloak.
“That looks like Andie’s writing,” Max stated, pointing to a sticky note on the edge of a meritorious burgundy chemise.
“No, it’s Frankie’s.”
Max shook his head negatively. “Here and here,” he pointed. “The ‘s’ looks like a sloppy ‘f’. That’s my wife’s writing.”
“Maybe so,” Gage acquiesced. “This note is in Frankie’s loose scribble.”
Silence hung between them for a few moments before Max suddenly asked, “Where’s your dog?”
“I don’t have a dog,” Gage answered peevishly.
“No? My mistake,” he apologized. “I heard my wife’s end of a phone conversation with Frankie the other night and assumed you had a dog named Spotz.”
Gage cleared his throat. Spots? Juicy gossip traveled fast. By now, he suspected every woman in the Sisterhood had been thoroughly informed that he was doing his best to get in his captain’s pants.
Telephone. Telegraph. Tell-a-nurse.
Sensing Max was probably aware of much more than he let on, Gage kept his posture neutral and his voice unaffected. “No pets,” he calmly announced. “I was thinking about getting a little puss—cat, that is.”
Max turned. The solid amused expression on his face was one of those classic priceless moments. “Yes,” he grinned. “That was the general consensus among the ladies.”
Gage swallowed the bait. “I was the subject of a consensus?”
“The Sisterhood often engages in speculation.” Max paused long enough to retrieve his drink and remove his stained apron before he joined Gage again in the living room. “They also indulge in the gender specific practice of taking polls.”
“Like some meat-of-the-month survey?” Gage asked with a trace of bitterness.
Max smiled. “At one time or another I think all of us have been the subject of their intense scrutiny.”
Gage quirked an eyebrow. “So it was my turn?”
Max shook his head.
“The ladies voted between themselves for a man they thought would make a good Chippendale dancer. You won.” Max suppressed a grin. “Apparently they consider you a hunk of ‘beefcake’ and would be happy to pay twenty bucks apiece to watch you dance around in a G-string.”
Gage stared straight ahead.
G-string? Beefcake? His face was calm but his thoughts spun like a tornado. Did Frankie really discuss his beefcake with a bunch of her girlfriends?
He couldn’t stop the slow smile that crept over his face.
Chapter 8
DINNER IS SERVED
Max Daniels inspected Gage Adams out of the corner of his eye, profiling the younger man with his cold, detective’s logic. Everything he had seen so far, Max liked. Everything he had heard from his wife, Max liked. The most telltale sign, however, was the one Max witnessed this very moment. He liked that one too.
Gage, a beer to his lips, stopped drinking and stared. Max turned to the source of his paralysis. Frankie, bewitchingly windblown, had appeared at the top of the bluff. Silhouetted like some enchanting fairy-sprite, her angelic features were focused on some unknown place beyond the curve of ocean. A light breeze stirred her curlicue tendrils of thick hair.
Max watched Gage as he sat there. The younger man was transfixed, gazing at Frankie with a longing that Max recognized and understood. He felt for the guy. Love could rip your heart out.
When Andie suddenly appeared, clad in a yellow dress continually whipping up to expose a fair amount of her shapely legs, Max’s face took on the same wrenching look. He sauntered through the living room, abandoning his duties in the kitchen and assumed the role of enchanted husband.
Max’s deep voice resonated across the porch. “Welcome back.” He stood inside the patio door. Both dogs perked up and bounded his way. Max fended them off while his wife strolled over to give him a lingering kiss. He turned her head and whispered affectionately in her ear. “Code yellow. Adams is here.” Andie nodded against his cheek. She understood that the situation might be tense and should prepare to defuse. Not that defusing a situation was her style. When it came to matchmaking, Andie was more of an instigator.
Max turned to address their hostess.
“I invited a friend of yours for dinner.”
Frankie couldn’t help but gawk at Max and Andie, vicariously basking in the warmth of the love they radiated. “Really? Who?”
Max cleared his throat. “I believe the ladies call him Legs.”
Her mouth fell open. In the space of a singular heartbeat, a throng of neurotic thoughts soared through her mind. I need a bath. I’ve been working in the dirt all day and my nails are filthy. My hair is sticking straight out. I should have washed it last night. I wonder what he and Max have been talking about?
Frankie steeled herself. She could hear Max’s quarterback-huddle instructions to his wife. “Let’s have a quick dinner, grab the dogs and get out ASAP. They need some time alone.” Andie nodded twice, turned and planted a wet kiss on his lips.
Frankie slipped through the screen door with two enormous Great Danes trying to squeeze in beside her. “Knock it off you two,” she protested. They bounded across the floor to the water bowl.
Frankie looked up. Gage was standing alert next to the sofa, watching the commotion, beer in hand. He was all hard, sculpted muscle. She could feel the intensity of his gaze burn over her face, her body.
She froze. A slow smolder began in the pit of her stomach. For a moment her legs refused to move. Palming sweaty hands down her shorts, she took a shaky breath and tried to quell the excitement that bubbled inside.
“Legs. Ah, I mean, Gage. I hear you’re staying for dinner?”
“I wouldn’t want to leave Max alone in a pink apron with two wild women.” Gage gave her a radiant smile that amped up the wattage in the airy room.
“Great. I would love, we would love, to have you stay.” Frankie tunneled her fingers through her hair self-consciously. “I wasn’t expecting you. I’d have cleaned up. I’m a mess.” She picked at the fabric of her shorts.
Gage continued to grin. Frankie continued to ramble. Monica trotted up beside him and pushed a slobbery muzzle under his hand. He gave her an obligatory pat.
“How long have you been here?”
“Long enough.” A weird glint lit up his dazzling eyes. Frankie rocketed to new levels of anxiety. She swallowed hard.
“I should go take a shower. I’ve been working outside all day in the garden with the plants and dirt and stuff.” Her shoulders drooped, “I’ll be right back,” she stammered. “Make yourself at home.”
“That’s my plan,” he answered in the smoothest of tones, turned to watch her rush past and disappear into the bathroom like vapor.
* * * *
Frankie was spastic. Apprehension and a freakish anxiety ran rampant through every cell of her being. She caught sight of her image in the full-length mirror behind the bathroom door. Her nerves were on red alert. Why? Intuition was the only answer she could come up with, the feeling nagged at her that life was about to change, forever.
A breeze gusted through the room, and cooled the flesh at the nape of her neck. She groped through the medicine cabinet for the bottle of sedatives she knew were in there…somewhere. If nothing else, half a pill might take the edge off her nerves. They
had been prescribed back when her sister had been her sickest and Frankie was too anxiety-ridden to sleep.
Gage had been there for her during those bleak times. Quinton and Damon too. They cooked, cleaned and forced her to eat. Occasionally someone gave her a killer backrub that worked out all the kinks and relaxed her to the point that she actually slept for a couple of hours. Jeri’s death was something they never talked about. The team picked up the slack until she could shake off despair and return to normal function.
Her fingers latched on the yellowed plastic bottle tucked behind the dental floss. Frankie clawed it forward and gaped at the ancient expiration date.
Where had all those years gone?
“Shit,” she hissed and tossed them into the trash.
Frankie peeled off her dirty clothes, took a quick shower, towel-dried her hair then rummaged wildly through her predictable wardrobe in search of something nice to wear. It had been a long time since she felt the yearning to wear a nice dress and look appealing. Jeans and sweatshirts were the predominant items in the closet.
After four years of comfortable, platonic friendship, Gage had transformed himself into someone she seriously desired to fuck.
Yes, it was all his fault.
He stared at her in a way that sent a cyclone of wicked thoughts funneling through her brain. Even his accidental touch sizzled her skin with anticipation. Frankie rubbed her arms, forcing herself to relax. She pulled on a pair of snug jeans and navy blue sweatshirt, took a shaky breath and steeled herself for whatever might come.
* * * *
Dinner was delicious.
Frankie was surprised at how quickly it was finished. Max was an excellent cook. Andie’s eyes sparkled with mischief during the entire meal, occasionally winking at her when nobody was watching. She was waving goodbye when Gage’s powerful presence slid up beside her.
Frankie shut the door and turned.
His mouth closed the scarce inches between them and came down hard on hers. Frankie almost shot out of her skin. She put her hands up, trying to get some breathing distance between them and push away. He shackled her wrists with an unbreakable hold and silenced any protest with the tempting slip of his tongue across her teeth. He hauled her up against his hard body and kissed her until she went limp.
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