With His Touch

3

AN HOUR LATER, Sugar stood outside Gage’s room, holding his birthday gift, determined to be positive. No way would Gage leave over something as crazy as a sudden surge of lust. It was as though they’d gotten drunk at a high-school reunion and confessed an old crush.

Gage had had time to read what she’d given him, so they’d debate the franchise through to the other side and be fine. One day soon, they’d laugh about that silly Water Bed Moment and the Amazing Washing-Machine Kiss.

She tapped on the door. For a second, she wished he would yank it open and kiss her mindless again. That kiss had been wild and free and safe and sure all at once. She’d been almost afraid to relive it in her mind. It was like too much ice cream too fast. It gave her brain freeze.

The door opened. Gage stood there. He looked…normal.

Disappointment stabbed her. What was wrong with her? Normal was good. Normal was her only hope.

“Come in,” he said and backed up.

Inside, she smelled dinner. Something sweet, orange, garlic with an under note of…what?

Roses. On the rolling dinner table in a vase surrounded by white tea-light candles, their gold tongues turning the transparent vase into a dancing prism of colors.

“You got roses?” She bent to the flowers. The cool petals brushed her cheek, the fresh musk filled her nose.

“So you would stop and smell them,” he said, smiling sadly.

“Saying it with flowers, huh?” Esmeralda had urged that, too. To avoid his eyes, Sugar ran her finger down the curve of the vase, which suggested a sleek woman’s body.

“The shape reminded me of you,” Gage said.

She started to joke about her waist being thicker and her hips broader, but she didn’t feel like laughing and he didn’t seem to, either.

She saw two packages on one of the beds—one small and hand-wrapped, the other large in fancy gold paper with a huge bow bearing the hotel’s gift shop sticker. He’d bought that since they arrived. Probably where he’d been headed when she’d seen him from the bar. A gift to go with his blurt of love.

Her heart pinched. If only she were a different person, the kind of person who could say yes to Gage and mean forever. “Gage, about what happened—”

“Let’s forget it for tonight,” he said. “We both have things to think about and decisions to make.”

“Did you read my stuff?” She nodded at the far bed, where her folder lay, hoping against hope that would solve everything.

He shook his head. “Let’s just celebrate our birthdays, okay?” He sounded weary.

“Sure. That’s smart.” The tradition of celebrating birthdays together had started the year they met in a psych research class at Arizona State. She had asked Gage to be her study partner—he took great notes—and she’d invited him to her small birthday party, where, with some probing, she learned his birthday was within days of hers. It was so like him to keep that private. All his emotions roiled under the surface.

Except 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 checked the label. “Perfect.”

“Maybe you should try it. That way you can exchange it before we leave if you need to.” He swallowed. He wanted to see her in it.

She wanted him to. “Okay. I’ll try it on.”

The suit fit like a second skin, she saw in the bathroom mirror, with a front zipper for the jacket and a side one for the skirt, and she even looked slimmer in it. She stepped, barefoot, into the heels she’d kicked off earlier and walked out to him.

Gage’s jaw dropped at the sight of her. “Men will follow you like dogs. Howling.”

“Hardly.” She blushed, walking closer, stopping when she was a breath away.

“Are you kidding? They’ll rip each other apart to get to you first. But then, I knew that when I bought it.”

“It feels good on.” She ran her hands down the sides of the skirt. Gage’s eyes followed like a breath on her skin.

“Let me see.” He fingered the open collar, brushing her collarbone with his knuckle. “Glove leather. Very soft.” She could tell he was contemplating ripping the suit right off her.

She swayed in the magnetic pull of his desire. Two zipper yanks and she’d be nude except for panties. She’d skipped a bra, which she did whenever her clothes were opaque enough.

“It’s gorgeous, Gage, but you spent too much on me.”

“Worth every penny to see you in it.”

Or out of it?

She forced herself to step back, breaking the force field. “So, did you bring birthday candles?”

He patted his pocket. “What do you think?”

“You’re always prepared.” Did he have condoms? She had some in her purse….

He held out the box. “I say we do seven,” he said. “Thirty-five twice is seventy. A candle per decade between us.”

“Sounds good.”

She made her way shakily back to the table, the suit creaking as she moved.

Together they found room for the candles among the plump strawberry slices on the yellow-cream surface of the cheesecake and Gage lit them all with one match. What great fingers he had.

All the better to stroke you with.

Stop. But it was tough, with the candles casting mysterious shadows on Gage’s face in the room’s low, golden light. Her entire body was alive to Gage’s every breath, the twitch of each muscle, the gleam of candlelight in his dark hair, those caramel-swirled chocolate eyes.

It’s just lust, Sugar.

So, go with lust. Lust is good.

Could they just sleep together one time? Get it over with?

What about the L word? Maybe he’d mistaken lust for love. Maybe lust was the L word he meant.

“Make your wish,” Gage whispered.

I wish we could sleep together.

Too risky, even for a wish. She shook her head to clear it.

“What’s the matter?”

“Just figuring the best wish.” She shut her eyes. I wish we would come to our senses.

They leaned over the cake, faces close, the candle flames making Gage’s pupils seem on fire. Whatever he was wishing was something hot and sweaty.

They blew out all the candles in a sweep of warm breath. And the swirl of smoke and burnt smell made her think of sad endings and lost chances.

“What did you wish?” Gage asked, his face close over the tiny cake.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

“Maybe we don’t want your wish to come true,” he said softly. “Maybe we want mine.”

Maybe they did. She realized Gage had always been there for her. Comforting her during the bad times, celebrating the triumphs, always with his wry smile. They’d been through a lot together, the early years of financial pinch, the fat of recent success. They’d shared everything. They were close.

And all this time, she’d blocked her attraction. But that ability was gone for good. Now, wearing the suit he’d given her, looking into his dark, hungry eyes, desire flooded through her so strong and inevitable she was powerless to resist it.

Screw thinking, screw being sensible, going numb, waiting until it faded. She wanted this man now. She grabbed Gage’s face in both hands and kissed him with all her might.

He tasted familiar, but new, of himself and the meal and the wine. He leaned into the kiss and held her face, too. The table jiggled and she realized they’d both leaned into the cheesecake, getting some on their clothes, but she didn’t care.

Gage stopped the kiss, but held her face still. “What are we doing?” He seemed to be struggling for breath.

“What we both need,” she said. Before she went for him again, she threw in, “Friendship with benefits.” Whatever.

The steel plate covers clunked to the floor. Silverware rattled, a wineglass toppled, but neither of them seemed to care. All she knew was that she had Gage’s tongue and he had hers and they were turning their faces from side to side, bumping noses, gasping to breathe while gobbling each other up as though they were the Splenda-sweetened cake neither had tasted.

Wanting body-to-body contact, she pushed to her feet, taking Gage with her, moved away from the table and walked Gage backward, still kissing, until they both landed on the bed, her on top.

Gage slid his hands under her arms to cup her breasts through the spongy leather, then tugged at the jacket zipper. “Why is this okay again?” he murmured.

“Because we’re friends and we want each other and what’s the point of saying no when it’s driving us crazy?”

Her jacket flapped open, exposing her breasts. “Good enough for me,” Gage said, taking one breast deep into his mouth, greedy for it, his breath hot on her skin, the suction thrilling her. He ran his tongue across her nipple, making her squirm against him. Her skirt rode high on her thighs. “Ohhhh.” Lord. When had this ever felt so good?

Except there were so many damn clothes. She went for Gage’s belt, but he shifted to the other nipple and she was lost to the sensation—the pull, the heat, the pressure, the tease.

Her mind flitted, like static electricity, flaring and zipping everywhere. What are you doing, Sugar?…Don’t think…. Stop thinking…. What’s the deal with this belt? Can I tear it open with my teeth? You’re thinking again….

She gave up on the belt and touched him through his pants. She wanted the hard length of him inside her. Now. Now. Now.

She hadn’t been this frantic since, well, forever. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anyone. Ever.

He shoved her skirt higher, reached between her legs and stroked her through her panties.

“Oh. Yes. Yes.”

He slid two fingers beneath the elastic to find where she was wet for him, and she lost complete control, crying out, moaning, managing garbled syllables.

“I’ve wanted you so long,” Gage breathed. “I never let myself know how much.”

“I know,” she said. There was so much here. Too much. Her body responded as though someone had blown open a door that had been barricaded shut. She rocked against his fingers. He held her gaze. She felt pinned to him, locked to the feeling only he could give her. She was afraid she might never, ever get enough.

She felt the twining sensation of her body warming up for release.

I could come with him. The fact startled her. She handled her own climaxes, pushing herself over the edge after her partner came or sometimes just before. A minor glitch in her system, but many women didn’t come during intercourse. Or at least not all the time. It was fine. She was in charge of her own pleasure and maybe that was best. No disappointment that way.

Except now she seemed ready to fly through space at Gage’s touch. Which thrilled her and scared her.

And distracted her.

“Are you okay?” Gage stilled, sensing her hesitation. He looked at her, not allowing her to escape.

“I’m just…I’m on the pill. Are you healthy?” The birth control discussion would buy her time.

“I’m good,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” she said, going for his belt, fighting to get back in the groove.

He gently eased his fingers away from her spot and stopped her hand. “What just happened, Sugar?”

“Nothing,” she said, embarrassed that he’d noticed. “I guess I expect Oliver to interrupt us with a call.”

He smiled at the joke, but he was watching her. “Do we need to be interrupted?”

“Of course not. Friends with benefits is definitely the way to go. We—”

Amazingly enough, the phone did ring. They stared at it, then at each other and burst out laughing.

She fell to the side beside Gage, who picked up the phone. “Yes?…Oh, hello, Chef Winslow.” He grinned at her, then focused on the caller. “The meal was wonderful. We enjoyed it very much…Yes. Very moist…Definitely…Yes, a terrific choice for the menu. Absolutely. No problem…thanks again.”

He hung up and looked down at her lying beside him.

“The chef?” she asked.

“Yep. He’s working up a low-carb menu. I didn’t have the heart to tell him we hadn’t tried the cheesecake. Wait.” He slid his finger across a spot on her suit, then licked it. “Excellent.”

He ran his gaze down her body, making her feel naked, even though her jacket had fallen closed and she still wore her skirt, then he seemed to gather himself, get control. “Probably good we got interrupted, huh? We’re not thinking clearly.”

“Forget thinking,” she said. “Let’s finish what we started.” She moved to kiss him, but the expression on his face stopped her cold. He wanted more than just sex.

Sex was all Sugar could offer him.

Which meant he would go. Cold fear clawed at her. “I don’t want you to leave Spice It Up,” she said softly.

“How can I stay?” He took her hand, linked their fingers.

Things change. People change. Even Gage could change. She understood that clearly. “But I’ll need your help.”

“The franchise is a bad idea, Sugar.”

Thinking fast, she came up with a solution. “We need time. You said it yourself. We have to let things sink in before we make any decisions.”

“How much time?” Gage said, his eyes searching hers.

“A month. Until the travel convention. Give me a month to convince you franchising is the way to go.” A month to convince him to stay.

“Franchising won’t work, Sugar.”

“You have a month to prove it to me.”

“Are you serious?”

“You can’t just walk away, Gage. Not yet.”

They were great partners, dammit. Great partners hips didn’t grow on trees. She refused to think beyond that, not while Gage still looked at her, his eyes clear and hot, and held her hand so tightly she never wanted him to let go.

That’s what had happened. She’d been trying to hold on to him, and that need had turned sexual. It was just human nature. As simple and conquerable as that.

SUGAR WANTED MORE TIME.

So did Gage. He’d been foolish, pushing for too much too fast. Had he thought he was in some romantic movie with violins and pink sunsets? Lord. This was Sugar, who treated men like library books—check ’em out and turn ’em in before they’re due.

On the other hand, they’d had twelve years. If they were meant to be together, wouldn’t it have happened by now? Maybe he was grasping at straws.

No. Something wonderful had brimmed in Sugar’s green eyes when he’d touched her—surprised hope. Arousal, too, which he’d loved. Then she seemed to scare herself. What exactly frightened her? How she felt? Or what she’d seen in his face?

“One month, huh?” One month to decide. One month to get her to fall in love with him.

A month of making love? God, how he wanted that.

But Sugar hid behind sex—rushed into it, used it, ironically enough, to keep people away. Except she hadn’t kept him away. He’d seen that, too, in her face. Connection, closeness. Was that what scared her?

Maybe she hid her fear behind detachment. What did she say about her parents’ divorce? Nothing stays the same. Love and let go. He didn’t buy that. It had to be fear that made Sugar crave motion.

If he could only show her another way, make her see that if she would just hold still for a second, happiness could settle around her.

Since everything between them was negotiated, it was his turn to propose terms. Think, man. Get it together.

But he could still taste her sweet breasts on his tongue, feel her lush wetness under that slip of underwear, where she was soft and needy and eager.

Say something rational.

She was waiting, her cheeks pink, her breasts peeking from the unzipped jacket. What about that friends with benefits option?

Nope. Not even close to what he wanted with Sugar. He zipped the jacket all the way to the top, shutting away temptation, before he could get a word out. “Okay. One month. But you have to do something for me.”

“What?” She tilted her head, lips pursed, ready to haggle.

“Let me show you the magic of Spice It Up.”

“I know the magic. I helped create it.” They both shared the conviction that couples’ therapy required deep examination of intimacy in a relaxed environment, which was what they strove to create at Spice It Up. Gage came to that knowledge through research—he’d done extensive studies of the literature. Sugar had formed her opinions after three years as a couples’ therapist. A weekend retreat was often just the start of transformation, so she’d wanted an environment to comfortably pursue more success, more intimacy.