With His Touch

It hurt to laugh at himself.

He was done with denial and done with waiting. And at the moment, he had no intention of letting some ass-passing-in-the-night get between him and the woman he…loved. Yeah, that’s right. He loved Sugar.

The idea made his head spin. This wasn’t how falling in love was supposed to work. You were supposed to gradually realize the depth of your feelings, not get clubbed over the head and dragged down the hall.

But that was what had happened. And he was too much of a pragmatist to deny it. No, the practical thing was to go for it.

Flooded with adrenaline and determined as hell, he barreled down the hall to Sugar’s room. He had the fleeting thought that he’d completely lost his mind, but he pounded on her door anyway. He wasn’t himself and whoever he’d turned into wasn’t backing out now.

In a few seconds, Sugar opened up, her eyes startled. “Gage? What are you doing here?”

“This.” He cupped her face between his palms and kissed her, kicking the door shut behind him with one heel. He threw everything into that kiss—all the heat and need—holding her face the entire time.

She made a little whimper, stilled, then softened against him for a few seconds as she’d done on the water bed.

Then she yanked away. “Hold it…. Stop.” She sagged, bracing her hands on her thighs, struggling for breath. “Wait.”

What about his plan? Be casual and easy and fun? Okay, not too late. Slow down, give her a second, start over calmly. Instead he said the worst possible thing. “Sugar, I’m in love with you.”

“I HAVE TO SIT.” Sugar felt as though she’d been dumped into a washer and tossed around the drum until her brain rattled in her skull. She backed to the closest bed and sank onto the spread, the satin cool against her stocking-covered thighs. She’d only managed to get her jacket and shoes off when Gage began pounding on her door like the hotel was burning down and her room was next.

She couldn’t catch a solid breath and her whole body trembled. Much worse than the Water Bed Moment. She dug her toes into the thick carpet, pressed her soles flat, desperate for solid footing. “What did you say?” She lifted a hand to stop his answer. “Never mind. I heard. Give me a second.”

Her sensible partner had just come at her like an avenging angel or an EMT giving her the breath of life.

And what a breath it had been. That kiss had you’re mine force combined with how do you want it? tenderness. He’d held her face between his palms, adoring her, making her feel every millimeter of his mouth—strong lips, coaxing tongue. Now her sex felt like an overwound rubber band about to snap.

And then he’d gone and said it. The L word.

“You love me?” she asked weakly. He couldn’t, could he? The possibility made her feel two things at once: Oh, hooray and Ah, shit.

Gage dropped onto the bed beside her. Taking her hands in his, he laced their fingers together and rested the clump on his thigh. “That wasn’t how I wanted this to go.”

“It wasn’t?” Maybe they could erase it and start over. Hope rose.

“It’s true, though,” he said. “I do love you.”

Damn.

“I don’t know what to say, Gage.” Her head was still in the washing machine, banging into the sides so that her ears were ringing and her mind was mush.

“You’re saying it.” He managed a wry smile. “You’re freaked. If it makes you feel any better, so am I. I mean, we worked this all out, right? Way back in college.”

“Exactly.” They were still on the same page, at least. She’d almost gone for him back then—his quiet solidity had attracted her—but she’d been with Dylan, who was hot, also Riley for a while, and others. The great thing about college was that no one got serious. Except Gage. And he hadn’t approved of how actively she dated. She’d concluded he was kind of a tight ass, but forgave him because he’d been a dependable friend. “And when we started the resort, we talked it out, right?” she added.

“Right.”

“So this is just chemistry?” she asked weakly. More like the Fourth of July, nuclear fission and an exploding comet all rolled into one.

“Chemistry?” He wasn’t buying that, either.

“The important thing is our partnership. And we’re friends. Don’t forget that.”

“Couldn’t forget that.” He sighed and squeezed their fingers together. “Maybe if we’re good at being partners and friends, we could be good at…more.”

“It was that water bed!” she blurted. “I mean, shaking and bumping and rocking like that.”

He shook his head.

“I guess not.”

“I think it’s always been there. For me.” He leveled his gaze at her. “I just blocked it.”

This isn’t fair, she wanted to whine. They’d figured this all out. They knew what mattered. How could a giant quivering mattress full of water make them forget?

She had to get them back on track. “We’re so different, Gage.” That’s what she told herself whenever she had hot thoughts about him. She liked variety, action, late nights. He was Mr. Same Old, Mr. Rut, Mr. Early To Bed, Early To Rise. Probably predictable in bed, too—all missionary, all the time.

“We can work that out….” The tiny hesitation in his voice told her she’d made some headway, so she kept going.

“I don’t do permanent, remember?” Gage was the kind of guy who got married for good. In fact, she was surprised he wasn’t already ringed up.

His eyes held hers. With me you could.

She knew better. She’d let a couple of guys get serious on her. They’d wanted to spend every minute with her until she felt smothered. The breakups were dreadful. She’d felt as though she’d led them on. She’d been in love with love—the guys, too, no doubt—and she’d vowed to never put anyone through that again. She was just better off sticking with short-term sex.

Plenty of women were built like her, though many refused to accept it, got married and made themselves—and their husbands—miserable when it fell apart.

Sugar wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t. And certainly not with a man she cared as much about as Gage. “We don’t see relationships the same. Look at how we reacted to our parents’ divorces.” Gage thought his parents quit too soon, while she accepted her folks’ breakup without complaint. Relationships were dynamic systems that could fly apart. Especially for people like Sugar and her parents. It happened. No sense torturing yourself, your spouse or your family over it.

“That’s different,” Gage said. “Completely.”

“I’m not built like you, Gage.” People like Gage knew how to make love work. And when their relationships faltered, Spice It Up got them back on track. She loved being part of that effort. Somehow, that made up for her own lack. Not lack, exactly, but she did get an empty feeling from time to time.

Which she didn’t appreciate being reminded of.

Gage was looking at her with so much hope, she panicked. “I need change, Gage. New furniture, for God’s sake.” That was lame, but she was flipping out, almost getting sucked into Gage’s fantasy.

“We’re talking about couches now?”

“It’s just a symbol. I need variety. You want sameness. You’ve had those shoes since Clinton’s second term.”

“Hey, I had them resoled.” He studied them briefly, then looked at her. “What’s wrong with sticking with quality?”

“Nothing. It’s just not me. I’m cheap, disposable fashion. You’re solid, classic traditions.”

“This is you and me, Sugar, not Better Homes & Gardens. Pretend I didn’t blurt what I blurted. Try this—Hey, Sugar, how about we see what develops? Better?” He gave that self-mocking smile she loved so much.

“Not much, no.” The truth was out. And the fact that he’d behaved so out of character told her how big his feelings were. Shutting him down felt criminal, but what choice did she have? Her stomach joined her head in the churning washer.