by Stacy Gail
“I’d probably like my own kids, if I ever have any. I’d sure as hell be a part of their lives from the get-go so they’d at least know where they came from, and that they were wanted. That’s everything, knowing your existence is something your parent actually wants.”
She paused in packing up the cookies they had left cooling on wire racks, and took her time searching his expression. “Are you talking about your mother, or your father?”
“Both, I guess. What about you? You never mention your mom.”
That subject-change nearly gave her whiplash. “My mom filed for divorce around the time my dad lost his job with Payne. There was this years-long court battle for Rena and me, where our parents played tug-of-war with us. It got to the point where they forgot my sister and I were actual people, and not trophies they needed to win.”
“Sounds like you got landed with a couple winners just like I did,” he said, rounding the peninsula counter to lean a hip against it. “I know you and your sister lost in that game, but who won? Which parent got the kids?”
She lifted a shoulder as she popped a lid into place. “Nobody won. We spent two weeks with one parent, then yo-yoed to the other parent to spend two weeks with them. That madness finally stopped when we were in our late teens and our mom remarried and moved to Dallas with her new hubs. Holidays were divvied up, which is one of the reasons why I developed my own traditions that were either portable or had nothing to do with them. And speaking of portable,” she added, turning to hand him his promised cookies, “lemon bars and red velvet crinkles. You’re going to have to hit the gym hard to work these off.”
“You think I have something to worry about?” A smile played around his lips as he set the cookies aside and grabbed her hands. Then he pressed them, palms flat, against his stomach and slowly moved them over the taut, clearly ridged muscles of what had to be a mouth-watering six-pack. “See? I wasn’t lying. I do work out to make sure my sweet tooth doesn’t get the better of me.”
She had to take a second to make sure she didn’t drool when she spoke. “So it would seem.”
“So? Think I should worry about getting… soft?”
“Perish the thought.” There went her heart again, tripping over itself. Who knew that another human being could cause a freaking heart condition? “I doubt I've ever felt anything more perfect than you. I think I'm impressed.”
His hands left hers to pull her by the hips up against him. “You think? You mean you're not convinced?”
“It takes a lot to impress me.” Her skin lit on fire wherever they touched, and all at once the only thing she could think about was getting more of that fire and burning herself alive with it. “You're going to have to show me more than this. A lot more.”
“And to think I believed you were skittish,” he marveled, lowering his head. “Guess I've still got a lot to learn about you.”
“I’m sure you'll find I’m a very good teacher.”
“What I'm finding is that you like to talk when you should be kissing the hell out of me.”
“Ah.” She rolled up on her tiptoes, reveling in the friction between their bodies. “I should probably get on that.”
“I won’t be happy until you get on me.” He was still smiling when his mouth claimed hers and made her world explode.
Man, what an amazing kisser he was.
And it wasn’t just his kissing that revved her motor. It was the engulfing way those thickly muscled arms held her, like no force on earth would be able to get to her and he would fight the devil himself to keep her from harm.
When she was wrapped up in Sage’s arms, she felt utterly, perfectly safe, even though life had taught her there were no real safe places in the world.
But they could still be closer.
Her fingers curled on the shirt at the small of his back, pulling it up so she could venture underneath. When her hands slid over bare flesh, a rumble sounded deep in his chest, encouraging her to do more. She was just weighing her options on what that more should be when he suddenly hauled her up and turned to deposit her on the kitchen counter.
Nice.
With his mouth never leaving hers, he wedged himself between her knees and slid his hands possessively along the tops of her thighs.
Very nice.
“Damn, Daniels.” His mouth left hers to slide along her cheek. She shivered as he nuzzled the side of her throat, amazed at how her skin tingled as if branded wherever he touched. “I'm getting hooked on the way you kiss, you know that?”
“The way I kiss?” She tilted her head, giving him better access to her neck. “I kiss like everyone else. Nothing special.”
“No way.” His mouth opened against her skin, and her eyes drifted blissfully closed when he sucked at the place where neck met shoulder, the velvet caress of his tongue tasting her. “You kiss like you want to make me come just by kissing me alone. I fucking love that.”
“You're not so bad yourself.” That was putting it mildly. With him standing between her legs, she couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to have him in her bed, with no irritating barriers like clothing separating them. If his kisses were enough to make her panties wet, getting him naked and feeling all of him with all of her might be the greatest, most life-changing event of her life.
With that in mind, she could only moan through a sigh when he pressed his hips into the cradle of her thighs, allowing her to feel the hard thrust of his cock.
Oh my.
“I like that noise you just made, Skittish.” Excitement thrummed through his growly voice, and just the sound of it made the heat between her legs intensify to the point where she could hardly sit still. “Make it again.”
“I don't do command performances.” Breathless, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer. “You're just going to have to make me.”
He lifted his head and smiled wildly down at her. “Was that a challenge?”
“Most definitely.”
“Then I'd better—”
The peal of her phone cut him off.
“Don’t answer it,” he said, even as she stiffened.
“It’s my sister’s ringtone. Something might be wrong.” Though a part of her screamed in frustration—a large part—she fished the phone out of her back pocket. “Serena? You okay?” she asked, keeping her legs wrapped around him even as she put the phone to her ear.
“I’m just calling to find out if you’re mad at me,” came her sister’s voice. “Are you? And if so, how do I fix that before tomorrow night’s dinner?”
“Mad at you?” Although she wasn’t exactly thrilled with the reminder of having dinner with her father, the rest of her sister’s statement made no sense. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“Because I went ahead and invited Sage to dinner to be there for you, just in case you needed a knight in sleeved-out armor. I know you were kind of waffling about getting close to anyone who works at House Of Payne,” she went on while Mads went statue-still, “but I think that guy genuinely cares about you, hon. He was like a junkyard dog when it came to protecting you from Dad’s teasing. I mean, he really, really had a lot to say about it.”
“Did he?” Her legs dropped from around him, and she slid off the counter so she could get a little distance. With distance, maybe she’d be able to think.
“Yeah. Though I have to admit, now that I’ve had time to think about it, I am a little concerned about having him there with Dad. You don’t think Sage would actually pick a fight with him, do you? When I talked to Sage about how things are with you and Dad, I got the impression there’s not a whole lot of understanding or respect there. What exactly have you been telling Sage, anyway?”
“Nothing, Rena. Look, I have to go, okay? Sage was just leaving, so I need to see him to the door.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sage’s head snap up. “What the hell?”
“Oh, of course. Listen, why don’t you two show up around six tomorrow night? I’m making that creamy chic
ken Florentine dish that Dad likes so much, and a cheesecake for dessert. Feel free to bring some wine that goes with that, okay?”
“Got it.” Not sure if she was more irritated or touched, she looked to Sage after disconnecting with Serena. “Serena said she invited you to our family dinner tomorrow night. Is that true?”
The frown shadowing his face threatened to turn into a scowl. “So what if she did?”
“No need to be so defensive. It’s just a question.”
“It’s just a question that was preceded by the announcement that I’m about to be tossed out on my ass. In my opinion, being defensive is called for.”
Good grief. “I just said that to cut things off gracefully with Serena, but I’ll admit what she was saying at the time inspired that comment.”
“What she was saying?”
“She got the impression from you that I’d been bad-mouthing our father, so now she’s worried you’re going to do your best attack-dog impersonation on him if the two of you are in the same room together.”
His darkening expression wasn’t at all encouraging. “Everything you shared with me about your pops. Was any of it untrue?”
She blinked, affronted. “What? No, of course not.”
“Then you didn’t bad-mouth him. Don’t worry, Skittish,” he went on when that was exactly what she was doing. “I know how to behave myself. As long as your old man minds his Ps and Qs when he’s around you, I’ll be a total charmer.”
“And if he doesn’t? Sage.” Her stomach twisted itself into knots as she stared up at him, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was the only one who felt black clouds of doom closing in. “Promise me you’re not going to do or say anything if my father happens to pop off with something less than… fatherly.”
“No promises, Skittish.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, one arm curling around her to give her a comforting squeeze. “But I think you were right about me heading out, at least for now. When I finally get between your legs, the last thing I want is for you to be distracted or worried. There’s more than enough time to get down to fucking each other’s brains out, yeah? We just need to get past this dinner first.”
“Right.” Little did he know she suspected it would be a minor miracle if she and Sage were even speaking to each other after tomorrow night’s family dinner.
Clouds of doom, indeed.
Chapter Eight
“We should have taken separate cars.” Mads fussed with her camel-colored suede wrap skirt, then wondered if she could get away with telling Sage to turn the Jeep around so she could go back and change. Probably not. “If we were in separate cars, we’d have the freedom to just get up and storm out without having to drag the other one along.”
“If you want to storm out, I storm out with you.” Clearly unperturbed, Sage let the GPS guide him through the maze that was her sister’s suburban subdivision. “Whether tonight crashes and burns or goes off without a hitch, we’re in this together.”
For some reason, her tension level dropped to a level where she no longer wanted to scream. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Now do me a favor and open the glove compartment. There’s something in there for you.”
“For me?” Baffled and more than a little amazed at the possibility of a present, she glanced at the compartment in front of her. “What is it?”
“Open it and see.”
Cautiously she leaned over and popped the compartment open. The interior light bloomed, displaying a rolled-up piece of heavy sketch paper wrapped in a bright red ribbon lying on top of the Jeep’s owner’s manual. Since she highly doubted he wanted her to take the manual, she pulled out the sketch paper and glanced questioningly at him.
“Open it.”
“Is this a Sage McCormick original?” Curious and more than a little touched that he’d even think to give her anything, especially something as personal as his own work, she beamed at him. “What did I ever do to deserve such a gift?”
“Just open it already.”
His long-suffering tone made her chuckle before she tugged on the ribbon. When she unfurled the sketch paper, however, her humor vanished with a small gasp as she took in the caricature-style drawing. “Oh, Sage.”
“You like it? I did it while we were at the hospital.”
“I figured.” And, oh, she more than liked it. The sketch he’d done of her was worthy of a frame, of spotlights, of everything. Her eyes began to mist as she gazed at the bold depiction of her, sitting at an easel and surrounded by happy, celebrating children clutching their own little portraits as if they were precious gifts. The joy in both her expression and on the faces of the children he’d drawn all around her was an almost palpable thing, and it kicked off a sweet sort of anguish inside her that filled her heart to overflowing. “This is so…”
“What?”
She swallowed the knot in her throat and glanced up at him, wondering if he actually saw her the glowing way he’d depicted her. “Wonderful.”
“So you like it?”
“I absolutely love it. Though I doubt my drawings ever gave anyone the amount of happiness you put in the kids’ faces.”
“That’s one of the reasons why I drew it, Daniels, and why I’m giving it to you now before we meet up with your old man.” He slowed, looking to the right toward Serena’s little shotgun-style house. “I don’t think you see yourself the way you are.”
She was so distracted by the immense joy shining out of the sketch and the almost idealized way he’d portrayed her that it took her a second to register his words. “What do you mean?”
“You give so much to the world, yet you don’t seem to think that’s a big deal.”
“I don’t do anything.”
“See? That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Sage—”
“You told me yourself that you bake for your family, producing something out of nothing, and you give your time and talent to kids who need that just as much as they need medicine to keep them going.”
“No.” She shook her head, carefully rolling the sketch back up. “You’re seeing me at my best, but that’s not the truth. Not by a longshot. One month out of the year I’m all about going through my traditions. The other eleven months, I’m all about me.”
“Bullshit,” came the unruffled reply. “Those traditions came from a need deep inside you to give, and that’s fucking beautiful. You’re fucking beautiful. Thing is, I don’t think you see that in yourself, so I thought that before we met up with your pops tonight, you needed to get a little perspective on who you really are.”
Something unbearably lovely moved through her at his words, though that last part snagged her attention. “What does my father have to do with anything?”
“Maybe nothing. Then again, maybe he’s the reason you don’t have a good perspective on who you really are. The joy and generosity and ability to make people happy with your artistic talent is what I saw yesterday. I saw it, because that’s who you are. So if your pops decides to say something that pisses you off or makes you feel like shit, just remember that this—” he reached over and tapped the rolled-up paper, “is who you really are. The woman who gives. The angel that brings joy. Nobody can take that away from you. Got that?”
“Sage.” That sweet something inside her was ballooning to the point where it almost hurt, and her eyes began to swim all over again. “There are times when you say the nicest things, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
“You don’t have to do anything. Just know what I’m saying is true. Is this it?” he went on, turning off the Jeep’s GPS and looking at the whitewashed, single-story house with a tidy front garden. “Cute place.”
“She calls it her spinster cottage. There isn’t room in there for another person, or so she claims,” she drawled, setting her precious sketch carefully back into the glove box, then picked up the twin carrier of wine they’d gotten at the store. “Which, of course, is a warning. It’s going to be a bit cramped for dinner.”<
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“I don’t mind if you sit on my lap and feed me,” he said with a grin before opening the Jeep’s door.
“Welcome, you two.” Serena, all bright smiles, hauled the front door open before Mads had the chance to ring the front doorbell. “You’re right on time, so thanks for that. I’m just getting ready to plate up some seriously yummy food. Sage, come on in and meet our dad, Fletcher Daniels. He showed up not five minutes ago and is warming himself by the fire in the living room. And he, uh… just happened to notice the table was set for four.”
Mads paused in letting Sage take off her coat. “Wait a minute, Rena. Are you saying Dad didn’t know you invited Sage and me to dinner?”
“I could’ve sworn I mentioned it to him, but his hearing can be, um… selective. So, there’s that.” With her bright smiled unraveling around the edges, she gestured for them to venture deeper into the house. “You’ve been warned. At least the food is going to be fabulous.”
“Aha.” Exchanging speaking glances with Sage, Mads found herself reaching for his hand. “Ready, partner?”
“I was born ready for shit like this.” Lifting her hand to his mouth for a quick kiss, Sage led the way down the bright, whitewashed hall with its blonde hardwood floors, and into the living-dining area.
At the sound of their approach, her father looked up from the fire, his bearded face coolly expressionless. At least that was how Mads saw her father, which wasn’t all that promising, so she tried to imagine how Sage saw him. A few inches shorter than Sage, Fletcher Daniels was just this side of gaunt, with the long arms and legs that both she and Serena had inherited. His salt-and-pepper hair now leaned more toward the salt side, and the weathered creases in his brow and around his dark hazel eyes seemed deeper than when she’d last seen him. Tattoos on his hands and neck peeked out from beneath the plain white button-down dress shirt he wore, coupled with black jeans and the heavy biker boots he’d always favored, though he had never owned a motorcycle as long as she’d been alive.