With His Touch. Dawn Atkins
for tonight, evidently.
She held out her present. It was a Global Positioning Unit, which held satellite maps of practically the entire planet. Gage was into orienting himself in the world and she’d seen him studying GPS models on a Web site.
When he accepted the box, their fingers brushed and Sugar’s knees gave way. Again. That was weird. They touched each other all the time at work, brushing bodies, bumping arms, playfully hip checking each other. Gage often led her with a hand to her back and she would link arms with him as they walked together.
But just now, the brush of his fingers made her breathless.
Which told her she’d been ignoring her reaction. Just as Gage had blocked his feelings about her, she’d numbed out whenever they touched.
That no longer seemed an option.
And, damn, he smelled good. Of cologne and soap and just him. And he looked taller…broader…more there.
It was as though she’d been happily wandering around in the dark and someone had flipped on the light, forcing her to notice new and lovely details about the man—his warm, smart eyes, those delicious laugh lines around his firm mouth, the way his thick hair curled a little against the back of his neck, the way he carried himself with quiet assurance and easy strength.
She needed the lights off—now—if things were ever to be normal again.
She put her gift beside the ones for her on the bed.
The bed. In his room. Where they were alone.
She suddenly lost all strength in her legs and practically fell onto the chair behind the linen-covered table. The water glasses sloshed and the warmers rattled on the two dinner plates. Gage caught the wine bottle, which jiggled in its low holder, and sat across from her.
“So, what’s for dinner?” She smiled cheerfully, determined to enjoy the meal, put everything else on hold.
Gage uncovered the plates to reveal gorgeous entrées—golden-brown duck displayed over a small-grained pasta patty, with an exotic-looking salad. “Low-carb duck à l’orange. It’s sweetened with Splenda. I worked out the meal with the chef. That’s a soy polenta, which is lower in carbs. Plus, hearts-of-palm salad—”
“Hearts of palm?”
“There’s that jar in the fridge, so I figured it was on the diet.”
She used it to spiff up her tuna salads at work. “You don’t miss much, do you, Gage?”
“Not about you, no.” He said it so matter-of-factly, as though it was as basic as breathing and her heart filled up tight as a balloon about to burst. She felt cared for.
It’s just a crush. They had crushes on each other. All they had to do was let it fade—like having a sex dream about someone you knew. As the day wore on, the memory extinguished.
He lifted the lid from a smaller plate, which held a tiny cheesecake, crusted with nuts and topped with sliced strawberries. “Five carbs per piece. The crust is cashews. Strawberries are low carb.”
“The lowest of any fruit,” she added, her throat tight. “You went to so much trouble, Gage. I’m so sorry that this meal didn’t go like—”
“Don’t worry. I arranged the meal yesterday, so you wouldn’t feel guilty about indulging.”
Not even knowing he loved her, he’d fussed like this? That was supposed to make her feel better?
“I brought the wine with me. The guy said it has a clean taste and nice finish.”
She turned the bottle to read the label and saw that it was the low-carb merlot she’d read about. “You are such a dear friend.”
“Don’t rub it in.” Another joke that fell flat. “So dig in,” he said, gesturing for her to start.
She bit into a morsel of duck, feeling his eyes on her. “Mmm,” she said. “Exquisite. Try it.”
He began to eat, too. She paused to watch, enjoying how his fingers moved on his utensils, the muscular workings of his jaw and throat as he chewed and swallowed, his tongue, which had felt so perfect in her mouth. That kiss had made her feel a way she didn’t remember feeling in a long time, maybe ever.
But it wasn’t love. It was lust and longing and surprise and denial and…God, she wanted him so bad. Heat flooded her face and her body, reached down her arms and legs, flew up through the roots of every hair so that the strands that brushed her cheek felt like flames licking her skin.
“Sugar? You okay?”
“Uh, fine,” she said, embarrassed. “Just savoring…everything.” She held her wineglass with both hands to keep from grabbing Gage by the collar of his oxford shirt and savoring him. For hours.
The sex couldn’t possibly be that good. Or maybe only at first. Lots of couples came to Spice It Up because their sex life had gone flat as day-old soda.
And even if the sex stayed hot, what about the day-to-day dullness? Gage would read the paper every morning over breakfast and want his eggs a certain way—he’d probably fix them, at least, since he was a great cook. They would set off for the resort together, listening to public radio news in the car, making observations about the traffic, the weather, the work ahead.
After work, repeat conversation. Back at home, ritual chitchat, The NewsHour on PBS, the Daily Show on Comedy Central, early to bed, a quickie and the next day the same routine. On the weekends, movies and concerts, the monotony broken by the occasional vacation. Gage wanted to go on an Alaskan cruise. What could be duller than being trapped on a boat with nothing to do but eat and lounge and play bingo?
She would try to make him happy, to be happy herself, but she’d be miserable. She’d end up buying herself a café racer just for the rush of taking the curves fast.
“Was it good?” Gage asked.
“Uh, what?” For a second, she thought he meant her fantasy, but he meant the food. “Scrumptious. The duck. The polenta. The salad.” In the time it took to nibble a few bites of the meal, she’d had them on the brink of divorce. Good grief. “I’m just so full. Why don’t you open your gift?” She was too upset to eat.
He wiped his mouth, tossed his napkin on the table, then turned to the bed to grab her gift to him. He cut the ribbon with his pocketknife—Gage was ever prepared—tore open the paper and smiled at the box he saw. “You got me a GPS unit. Great.”
“The guy at the store said it’s the best nonprofessional model. And you can download more maps if you want.”
“I’ve wanted one for a while.” His eyes connected with hers, full of affection and appreciation. “Thank you.”
“I saw you checking them out.” It seemed that she’d been watching him pretty closely, too.
“Your turn,” he said and handed her the remaining packages. “Open the little one first.”
“You shouldn’t have gotten me two gifts.”
He only shrugged.
In the small box was a Palm Pilot. “How did you know? Mine is—”
“Failing. Yeah. I noticed.”
Of course. “Thank you.”
“Now the other.” His eyes lit with anticipation.
She tore open the paper. In the candlelight, the red leather suit she’d almost bought gleamed up at her. It had been very expensive. “This is too much, Gage.”
“It seemed right at the time.”
When he’d planned to declare his love. Her heart ached at the thought. She held the jacket under her chin, breathing in the leather smell. “It’s gorgeous.”
“Is the size is right?”
She