by Marina Adair
“Pink, I know when you’re smiling, and when you’re smiling at me.” He leaned in, and, in that tone that usually had women melting like putty, said, “there’s a difference.”
“Why do you insist on calling me Pink? I never wear pink.”
He grinned. “You did that first day I met you.”
“I wore a blue top.”
“I wasn’t commenting on the color of your top.” When she didn’t even blink, he flashed his trademark grin, the one that had been passed down from Easton father to Easton son. “That black skirt of yours was awfully short, and when you bent over to grab my pencil for me...”
Her mouth gaped open. “You dropped it like five times.”
“Seven,” he said, remembering every single time.
“Men.” She snorted. And although her expression gave nothing away, he could tell she felt it. That undeniable heat that went from zero to surface-of-the-sun whenever they were within sparing distance.
“But if you don’t like Pink, I can always come up with something different.” Gage held his car keys out and made a big show of dropping them. “Whoops, look at that, I dropped my keys and I can’t get them because my hands are full.”
She took the wedding album and gave a that’s the best you got? smile.
“Hey, it worked before.” He picked up the keys. “Now, how about we go inside and get to that meeting of ours?”
“Right. Explain to me again why the woman, whose wedding was so important I had to uproot my life, couldn’t make a mandatory meeting, which she agreed to?” Darcy asked warily.
“It’s just this meeting,” Gage said. “And I offered to drop off the contract and her book, which, if you flip through, you’ll see the woman has dedicated a good ten thousand hours to planning the perfect day.”
Darcy opened the book, and with a glare that could have blistered paint, flipped to the first page—which Gage still didn’t understand. It was sketches of hair styles, rudimentary and definitely old fashioned. It made no sense. But Miss Planner didn’t bat an eye, just mumbled, “interesting,” and flipped to the next page.
Which was even more confusing. Pictures of wedding tents, cut from magazines, not a single one of them even remotely similar. To everyone else they would look like a jumble of ideas and fabric swatches, but to Darcy they must have made sense, because she looked up and said, “She has a very clear idea of what she wants.”
“You got all of that from magazine pages and stick figures?”
“Just like you can read a contract and know what everyone’s really looking for in the deal, I can look at these pictures and decipher what Stephanie really wants.”
Gage looked over her shoulder at a photo that showed some kind of giant circus tent, with dozens of white branched trees covered in twinkle lights, and silver globes hanging from the ceiling. “What, a stuffy wedding?”
“No, to feel cherished.” Darcy’s eyes lit with warmth and yearning, and those instincts that had caused Gage trouble in the past, kicked in. He wanted to tell her she deserved to be cherished too, but before he could say a word, she was closing the book and looking antsy. “I’ll study these and give her a call on Monday. That will give me a chance to put a presentation together.”
Gage shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, that’s it?”
Darcy looked at Fancy, who was standing on the dashboard, making a picture with his tongue on the front windshield. “That’s it.”
“Then I guess I should get going.”
“I should probably get back to the cottage. It’s Finger Food Friday, and Kylie likes to help with the preparation. Even though I think it’s more about the chef’s costume.”
Gage smiled at the image of Tiny in an apron and chef’s hat. Darcy lowered her lashes, and—holy Christ—that loose piece of hair escaped, falling softly across her cheek, and suddenly, all he could picture was Darcy. Standing in her kitchen in an apron, those heels from the other day—and nothing else. And it took everything he had to keep his eyes from straying to places he had no business straying.
Not that it mattered, the air turned charged and he watched as Darcy’s pulse picked up at the base of her neck—because, yeah, he’d strayed, and she was stunning.
And every single one of the million and three reasons he’d listed over the years, of why not to go there, vanished. Because Gage might not know the best way to handle this situation, but he knew women. And Darcy’s thoughts weren’t that far off from his.
“I didn’t expect this to be so—” she swallowed, “—intimate.”
“Me either. But I should have expected it.”
As if afraid to ask him what that meant, she said, “No, I bet it’s just spending the day together, with Kylie, then talking about wedding stuff. They’re the two things in my life that I feel passionately about. And sharing them with you, like this, feels…”
“Intimate.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of them moved, to leave or to get closer. They just stood there, staring, as if they were both seeing each other with fresh eyes. Eyes that weren’t clouded with history or anger or judgment. And when the newness turned to interest, and the interest to something heavier, finally Gage took a step back.
“Good night, Pink,” he said, taking another step. Then two more.
“Wait.” Darcy took a step, then stopped. “What about the cake tasting? Jillian, my friend, she owns Cake Goddess, she has a special tasting ready in the main house. She needs time to design it, and designs are determined by flavor composition.” She waved a nervous hand. “I don’t know much about it really, it’s her thing. But she assures me it’s an important step in the process, and she needs to know what flavor combination, or combinations, Stephanie and Rhett want for their wedding. And she’s already behind, and it’s important.”
“You already said that.” Gage thought about walking inside that house and taking a seat at the table. Not the one in the main house, but Darcy’s house. The cottage with the family ready porch and the welcoming front door. Then he thought about how much trouble they could get into making finger foods, and then he was staring at her lips.
Again.
She had an amazing mouth. Full and lush and sweet.
So damn sweet he found himself unable to tear his gaze away, and instead of moving backward and diffusing the building heat, he took a step forward and threw some gasoline on that fire.
“Gage,” she breathed, and he could almost taste the strawberries from lunch on her lips. “Do you want to come and sample the cakes? It’s an important part of the process.”
“Is that the Cake Goddess’s thing or yours?”
“It’s my thing, I guess.” Her eyes fluttered up and—bam—he was a goner. Somehow transported back to junior year, when she aced her final.
They stayed up all night in his room, studying, because she was afraid she’d fail. So when the professor posted their grades, he was right there and she wrapped those arms around his neck and gave him a hug that had him questioning everything. Then she looked up at him with those soul-melting eyes and he’d damn near kissed her.
Even though he’d been dating Cheryl.
And instead of saying, Fuck yeah, he was down for a tasting, he heard himself say, “I’ll have to take a raincheck. I have dinner with my brothers.”
And just like seven years ago, Darcy took a big step back and worried the fabric of her dress.
“Right, Friday night family dinners,” she said with a jerky laugh, and that smile went from playful to professional. But there was a wistful tone that made him think she missed family dinners.
Darcy hadn’t just opened her heart to Kyle, she opened it to the entire Easton clan. Even Margo. She’d been to family dinners, reunions, every important event since Kyle had first brought her home. They’d become her family, and she’d become theirs. Up until the wedding they’d been her entire world—and she’d been cut off without even an explanation.
That kind of loss would wreck the strongest
of people, yet Darcy had managed to pull her world back together. Make her own family out of the wreckage.
Gage considered asking her to come, but then he’d have to explain it was at his mom’s house. And look at that, one thought of his mom and Gage’s body temperature went from heated interest to stone cold—sending his boys into hiding.
He must have been quiet for too long, because her smile cracked at the edges and she said, “I can use the cake for a tasting I have tomorrow, no biggie.”
“If time is an issue, I think I saw a picture of a cake Stephanie was going on and on about on her Pinterest wall. Something about Princess Kate, and gold leafing. You’ll see it.” He turned to open his door, but bumped into it instead. “You and the Cake Goddess can decide what kind of cake would work best. As long as it isn’t chocolate, it should be fine.” And then, because he couldn’t seem to shut up, he added, “You know, Rhett hates chocolate.”
“I remembered. Say hi to everyone for me…Never mind.” Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms around herself in a protective move. “Forget I said that. Have a good night, Gage.”
Chapter 8
He was being watched.
Gage felt it with every fiber of his being. His body ached as if he’d managed less than a few hours of sleep, and the hot doggy breath on his neck was saying that was all he was going to get.
Littleshit wanted to be fed.
“We’re in a standoff, pal,” Gage said, rolling on his back and putting the pillow over his face. “You’re hungry and I’m exhausted. Maybe if you didn’t keep me up all night with that whining, I wouldn’t feel the need to sleep past breakfast.”
Fancy laid down on Gage’s chest and let out a pathetic whimper. Gage sighed in defeat and eyed the dog. “For a guy who tries to rip people’s fingers off, you sure are needy.”
“Yip.”
“Breakfast. Yeah, I got it when you dragged your bowl in here an hour ago and started acting like I starve you.” Gage tossed back the covers and sat up, his eyes scratchy and irritated.
With a glare that said he wasn’t happy about this arrangement, Gage tucked the dog under his arm like a football and padded to the kitchen.
Fancy panted happily, turning those big wet doggie eyes up at Gage. His expression full of gleeful innocence—as if this hadn’t been his plan.
“Don’t get comfortable,” Gage said, as he glanced at the clock over the fireplace. It wasn’t even seven. On Saturday morning. Better than dawn, but not as good as nine-thirty. “One more night, then you go back where you belong, and I get to sleep more than three hours without taking a potty walk.”
Fancy whimpered his apology. Potty walks when one lived in a downtown high-rise meant more than just opening the back door in your underwear.
“Nothing personal, I just don’t share my bed with dogs. And if I did, he’d be a big beast of a thing, with a spiked collar, and jowls, who didn’t force me to put silk sheets on the bed.”
This time his yip sounded more like a defensive yap. And there were definitely teeth involved.
Gage jerked his hand out of bite range. “Hey, all I’m saying is for that much trouble, there had better be a naked woman waiting for me in those sheets.”
So what if the woman he imagined looked a hell of a lot like Darcy, right down to the melt-your-soul eyes and mile-long legs—which would be wearing nothing but a thong and tanned legs in those sheets. If he was showing off his silk, it was only fair she showed off hers.
“Any sane woman would take one look at the state of this kitchen and you’d never get her into the bedroom.”
Margo Easton sat at his kitchen table in a charcoal grey suit, heels, and enough diamonds to accessorize the Grammys, serenely sipping coffee—and folding his clean clothes.
“I was going to fold those.” Gage scowled down at Littleshit, whose nose was tucked securely between Gage’s bicep and chest. “You could have at least warned me.”
Not a single yip in response.
“What are you doing here, Mom?” Gage asked, giving her a kiss to the forehead before pulling the doggie kibble out of the pantry.
“Making my son coffee.” She reached for a pair of boxer-briefs and Gage watched in horror as Margo smoothed them out with her hands, then folded them into a neat little square. “Can’t a mother wake her son up with a fresh pot of coffee and folded clothes?”
Gage looked at the pot on the counter. It was empty. Next to it sat two paper cups boasting the logo from the roasting company in the lobby of his building.
“You brought coffee from downstairs,” he said.
Margo took a sip from the cup she must have snagged from his cupboard. “Your coffee pot is different than mine. All those buttons and levers, I never know what to push. Plus, it doesn’t make blueberry scones. And I know you like blueberry scones.”
His stomach growled on cue, which delighted Margo. “I figured that you must have been starved. Seeing as you missed family dinner last night.”
And the reason for her visit, Gage thought, setting Littleshit on the floor. He grabbed a pair of folded jeans and a clean shirt still in the basket next to the table and tugged them on. Then he filled a cereal bowl with kibble and set it down. Everyone looked offended. Margo for serving a dog out of a people bowl. And the dog for getting kibble.
“You wanted the good stuff? Then next time don’t leave a brother hanging,” he whispered. To his mom. “Sorry I missed dinner.”
“I was just worried. You haven’t missed a family dinner since college.” Not true. Gage hadn’t missed a family dinner since Kyle died. “With no call to let me know you weren’t coming, I got worried.” Margo rolled his socks and set them pointedly on the table. “So here I am, with scones and coffee, checking on my boy.”
Gage released a breath, the guilt so heavy he took a seat at the table. “I didn’t go to dinner last night because I was dropping off wedding stuff for Rhett at Belle Mont, but I should have called.”
By the time he’d arrived back at his loft, his mind was spinning. He didn’t need a family dinner, he needed time to process. To figure out what kind of role he’d play in Kylie’s life. In Darcy’s. And how it would affect his family.
Gage was a fixer, the glue that held it all together. He’d assigned himself that role when, instead of being there for Kyle, when he’d needed his twin most, Gage had been off licking his own wounds. Trying to wrap his head around that fact that even though the wedding was canceled, Darcy would always be off limits.
This time he intended to keep his focus, and find a way to bring everyone together. Only, a week into his plan and he’d nearly botched it all. He’d been one breath away from kissing Darcy. And kissing his hard won control goodbye.
“She’ll make a lovely bride. Don’t you think?”
“What?” Gage looked up.
“Stephanie.” Margo said exasperated. “Did you hear? Her dress is going to be made by Vera Wang, as a present. Well, of course you didn’t hear, you weren’t at dinner. But it’s going to be lovely. And the cake, my goodness, it will be the talk for years to come. Seven tiers, gold leafing, and the Cake Goddess is making it.”
“That I heard,” Gage said, thinking about the way Darcy had looked, standing beneath the old oak tree in her dress, all buttoned up but nervous as she’d invited him to taste her cakes. Then he remembered how her smile faded when he told her about family dinner.
“You can bet I’m going to be at that appointment.”
Gage froze. “Maybe you should let the love birds go to that one alone.”
“Why would I do that?” She took another casual sip.
Littleshit glanced at the door—looking for an escape. So did Gage, but he willed himself to remain calm. There was no way she knew about Darcy. His brothers had all agreed that they’d wait until Stephanie came back to tell her the news.
“Isn’t that what being engaged is about? Eating free cake and disgusting public displays of affection?” Even as he said it, he couldn’t remember a
single time Stephanie and Rhett had engaged in any form of PDA, other than a quick peck.
Then again, they were in the spotlight all the time. Maybe that was their way of keeping some things private.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Margo said. “Here I thought you were trying to keep me away from Darcy Kincaid.”
Gage ran a hand down his face, his stubble rubbing as sharp as his mom’s tone. “Who told you?”
His mother pressed a nonexistent seam out of a t-shirt, then plucked at the sleeve. “Do you really have to ask? Last night was family dinner, and I love your brothers dearly, but they gossip more than my ladies bridge club.”
So much for brotherly bonds. “We were going to tell you when Stephanie got home. We didn’t want to upset you until we knew Belle Mont was completely locked down.”
“Well, if it was for my own good, then who am I to complain?” she said, not looking at him directly. “I guess I should be thanking you.” Clothes forgotten, she stood and walked to put her cup in the sink. “I’ll be going then.”
“Don’t go, Mom.” Gage took the cup from her hand and set it on the counter. “Let me make you some breakfast or at least share my scone while you tell me what you came here to say. Otherwise, you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
Margo might be a busybody when it came to her family, but her concern originated from a good place. Usually. She was a warm and loving mom, big on hugs as encouragement when Gage had been younger. But after their dad died, her fear of loss made her distant, and the hugs turned into pats on the cheek. And when Kyle died, her interest in her sons’ happiness became a mission.
One she was willing to stop at nothing to secure. Even if it meant burning bridges or driving her sons crazy in the process. And when, one by one, her boys grew up and left the nest, she began to find more creative ways to insert herself in their lives.
Such as impromptu early morning coffee chats.
“It’s nothing,” she said flippantly.
“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be in my kitchen at seven on my one day off.”