With His Touch

Sugar was the first to hand over her cup, eager to see if her plans would show up. Esmeralda swirled the leaves, whispered a request for clarity and wisdom, then studied the leaves.

“What is it? What?”

“Give her a minute,” Autumn said.

“Big changes are afoot,” Esmeralda said slowly. “Open your eyes and see what you’ve ignored.”

“What I’ve ignored? What does that mean?”

“Your hunky partner Gage, maybe?” Autumn said.

“No way.” There had been heat between them, back in college when they met and again when they started the resort, but they’d stuck to what mattered—their partnership. “Is that all?” she asked, leaning over to see the sprinkle of leaves. She was startled to see what looked like the outline of Gage’s lower face, complete with five-o’clock shadow, and she got a little shiver.

“That’s all for now,” Esmeralda said, wearing a cat-with-cream expression. “The psychic’s skill lies as much in knowing what not to reveal as in what she sees.” Esmeralda said that every time Sugar pushed for details. And she always pushed.

“Hmm,” Autumn said, staring into her cup. “Looks like I’m getting acne…or maybe chicken pox.”

Esmeralda motioned for the cup, which she studied. “Changes? Oh, yes. In the three Hs—head and hearth and heart and the heart will lead.”

“Head is school, I guess,” Autumn said. “But I’m not moving, so forget hearth and, as to my heart, it’s just along for the ride.” Autumn thought sex was safer than love—an attitude Sugar shared, but for different reasons. Sugar wasn’t built for love. Some people weren’t.

“Just don’t kick your heart to the curb,” Esmeralda said, exasperated. “Have faith.”

Autumn shrugged. Esmie sighed. Sugar cleared her throat, determined to avoid a debate between Autumn Glass-Half-Empty and Esmeralda Glass-Endlessly-Overflowing. “What about you, Esmeralda?” she asked. “Did you get a reading?”

Esmeralda looked troubled. “More than one, actually. Because of the odd message.”

“About your job?” Sugar asked.

“No. That’s fine. By the way, my final interview is Monday.” Esmeralda had applied to staff the Dream A Little Dream Foundation created by a client of hers, an eccentric heiress who wanted to fund people’s dreams. “No. I must begin anew with a man from my past. That’s the message.”

“Your ex-husband? The financial sinkhole?” Autumn asked.

“It wasn’t clear. So I had a second reading.”

“I would, too,” Autumn said. “Jonathan was a los—”

“Easy.” Sugar jabbed Autumn, who was a tad blunt.

“I always wanted another chance with him,” Esmeralda mused, “but the cosmos rarely gives you want you want.”

“Of course not. That might make you happy.” Autumn blocked Sugar’s next jab.

“But the second reading said the same. So, I’ll just see.”

“Sounds like exciting times for all of us, huh?” Sugar said. “Anything else in there?” She thrust the teacup, with its appealing suggestion of Gage’s face, under Esmeralda’s nose.

Esmeralda only smiled. “Just open your eyes and smell the roses.”

“That’s all she gets? Mixed-up clichés?” Autumn again.

“And, you, Autumn, must give the benefit of the doubt.”

“You read that in there?” Autumn peered into her cup.

“Just keep me on speed-dial, you two,” Esmeralda said smugly. “I promise I won’t say I told you so. Now drink up so I can do our nails. I created a special design.” A manicure by Esmeralda was part three of their birthday tradition.

“Here’s to turning thirty-five and turning it around,” Sugar said, lifting the dregs of her margarita.

“Here’s to turning thirty-five and having it all,” Autumn said, clicking her glass.

“Here’s to turning thirty-five and doing it better,” Esmeralda said firmly.

They all laughed, gulped their drinks and grinned at each other. Thirty-five would be big, all right. Sugar could see in Esmie’s wistful smile, in Autumn’s don’t-dare-hope expression and in her own breathless eagerness.

She would definitely keep her friends on speed-dial. She couldn’t wait for the adventure to begin.

1

GAGE MAGUIRE watched Sugar twist the dial on the vibrating water bed so it started up a rhythmic rocking that would have given a stone statue hot thoughts.

Lately, around Sugar, even mundane moments did that to him—balancing their budget, clearing a copier jam, accepting a shake of Tic Tacs. Three days with her at the Sextique International Expo checking out erotic products for their resort had been pure hell.

And now they lay body to body on a vibrating bed.

His usually sturdy defenses were failing him—had been ever since his amicable breakup with Adrienne two weeks ago. It was not the breakup per se, but something Adrienne had said.

You’re in love with your partner, you big dope. She’d shaken her head at him as though he were blind or stupid. Maybe both.

He’d scoffed then. And later, when he thought about it. How could he be in love with Sugar? Sure, they’d been attracted to each other when they met twelve years ago in college, but they’d wisely ignored it. Sugar always had a boyfriend and Gage wasn’t interested in elbowing his way to the front of the line.

And, yeah, there’d been a flare-up when they became partners six years ago, but they’d sensibly squelched that. Since then, the sparks had been muted, like fireworks through clouds. Nothing he couldn’t handle. Until now.

Sugar rolled toward him, a breath away on the shivering sheets. “Would that turn you on?” she teased, her green eyes glowing, big and luminous as a cat’s. She reminded him of one—sensual and quick, purring with pleasure, then dashing away at the slightest noise. And she never came when you called. “Maybe not you,” she amended, “but most guys.”

She harassed him about his self-control, a trait that had served him well for the six years they’d been partners.

“If you’re into paint spinners.” He fought to keep the tension out of his voice.

“Good point.” She turned it down a notch, then fell back beside him on the roiling surface, their arms rubbing gently together. “Better?”

Just great. The new rhythm suggested serious thrusting. “Fine, Sugar.”

“I can’t tell. Maybe it takes an all-night test.”

Good Lord, no. “I think I’m getting the idea.”

Maybe the problem was his birthday—tomorrow he’d be thirty-five. A benchmark year and about time for the other shoe to drop in his life. He felt as though he’d been holding his breath for years.