Книга - With His Touch

With His Touch
Dawn Atkins

Литагент HarperCollins EUR


The best thing about turning thirty-five? Having the greatest sex of your life! Now that Sugar Thompson has hit the big 3-5, she knows exactly what she wants. She's got big dreams to take her resort to the next level. But her plans slide off the rails once her business partner, Gage Maguire, targets her as the object of his seduction. Who knew that the simmering attraction between them would lead to sex this hot! Too bad the sensual fulfillment is creating havoc in the boardroom.Their competing goals for the business are spiking tensions between them and driving them apart. Will she be able to stop the best sex of her life from ruining everything else?












WITH HIS TOUCH

Dawn Atkins







TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND


To David…for taking the risk




CONTENTS


Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Coming Next Month




ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


I owe unending gratitude to Laurie, Laura and Suzan for showing me that I was limping on a broken leg, introducing me to Ms. Free To Be, and helping me see my way to a new writing life.




Prologue


“HERE’S TO THIRTY-FIVE and our sexual peak!” Sugar Thompson tapped her prickly-pear margarita against her two friends’ wide glasses. The burgundy liquid sloshed against the prickly-pear jelly on the sugar-dusted rim before she brought it to her lips for a tangy slurp.

“Hey…” Autumn Beshkin hesitated, glass in midair. “But you said women get several sexual peaks, Sugar. Only men spike at nineteen and decline from there, right?”

“That’s true.” Sugar had been a couples’ therapist before she opened her sex resort with a partner five years ago, so she served as the intimacy expert for the trio of friends who celebrated their birthdays together each year.

As a stripper, Autumn knew a thing or two about sex herself, though from a different angle than Sugar’s. Sugar valued Autumn’s down-to-earth practicality, a trait they shared. Both believed what they could see, taste, touch or smell over anything emotional or theoretical or certainly romantic.

“The point,” said Esmeralda, “is the seven-year lunar shift.” A nail tech, Esmeralda McElroy also read palms and studied all things psychic. Sugar thought her theories goofy, but she loved Esmeralda’s big heart and generous spirit. She was always helping her clients with loans, a place to stay or a shoulder to cry on. Sugar could tolerate a ton of woo-woo for a few minutes in the warm sun of Esmie’s kindness.

It was Sugar’s secret weakness.

“We’re thirty-five. Our fifth cycle. A biggie and it’s palpable. Can’t you feel it?” Esmeralda closed her eyes and took a yoga-style breath.

“Cycle, schmycle,” Autumn said. “I’ve already changed my life.” She’d gone back to school the previous year to become an accountant, since she had a gift for numbers. She was still dancing, but the shift to school had eased her gritty defensiveness, made her more sunny and hopeful. Sugar was happy for her.

“Here’s to becoming a CPA.” Sugar lifted her glass again. Under Autumn’s bravado, Sugar sensed a core insecurity that even top grades in her first year hadn’t eased.

“Here’s to all of us,” Esmeralda, ever the mother hen, said.

Sugar clicked glasses, then gulped the rest of the icy drink so fast she got brain freeze. Damn. Her partner, Gage, was always after her to slow down. But that’s not how she worked. Progress was her mantra, movement her mode.

She was desperate for change at the moment. Spice It Up, their sex resort in San Diego, seemed stagnant and she had a proposal to shake things up that she intended to spring on Gage at the Sex Expo this upcoming weekend. Unlike Sugar, Gage wasn’t big on change.

“Tea leaves, Tarot or a Chinese reading?” Esmeralda asked. A psychic encounter was one of Esmie’s contributions to their birthday celebration, a tradition they’d kept up even after Sugar had moved to San Diego, leaving the other two in Phoenix.

No matter what, Sugar made time for the gathering. She counted on her friends as her private pep squad, her sounding board, her heart’s voice, which was the role she served for them, too.

“Tea leaves,” Sugar said. “Never done that before.”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” Autumn shrugged. “Read my roots for all it will mean.” Autumn’s cynicism hid a fear of disappointment. Sugar hoped school and whatever wonders befell Autumn this year would resolve that pain.

“Tea leaves it is, then,” Esmeralda said, and fetched a baggie of tea from her huge satchel, which clunked with whatever she had in there. Chicken bones? Tibetan bells? A crystal ball?

Sugar smiled, but kept an open mind. When Esmie had read Sugar’s palm, she’d accurately interpreted the meandering lines as proof of her restless nature, so she had something going on.

“Chinese tea,” Esmie said, waving it under their noses for a sniff. She ordered a pot of hot water and instructed Autumn and Sugar to sprinkle the loose leaves into their cups, then sip slowly to the dregs, swirling the leaves so they made patterns she could read on the sides and bottom of the cups.

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.

“You think so?” Sugar’s voice vibrated with the mattress.

“Yeah.” Just to prove he was still in control, Gage pushed up on his elbow and looked down at her.

Just look at her. His heart punched his lungs so hard he couldn’t haul in a breath. Her breasts jiggled gently under the clingy top, her black hair brushed his arm, but it was her face that got to him. It was sturdy, yet delicate, with a small nose, soft, mobile mouth and huge green eyes lit with intelligence and a no-bullshit gleam. And fire. Lots of fire.

“More like a MixMaster on low, don’t you think?” she said, her easy smile going smart-ass in a heartbeat. Sweet with a bite, that was his Sugar—like a margarita with that scorpion sting of tequila whapping you a good one up the back of the head.

“Maybe.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her. What was going on with him? Was he in love with her?

“A gentle sway would be better.” Sugar turned to adjust the dial, but when she rolled back, she misjudged the wave and landed right on top of him, breasts pressed against him, thick hair a curtain between their faces. She smelled of vanilla and skin and the spearmint gum she favored.

“Wow,” she said, her face going pink, her eyes flickering with startled heat. She seemed to melt into him.

“Yeah. Wow.” Emotion rose and rushed through him on a wave of heat and need. And more. Something bigger and more important.

Dammit all, he was in love with her.

Now what? He had to think, figure it out, decide. But Sugar shivered against him and licked her trembling lips, making him lose all reason.

Kiss her.

Are you crazy? Gage didn’t go with momentary urges. He pondered options, evaluated outcomes, made the wisest choice.

Kiss her, you ass.

Now.

Acting on impulse, he touched Sugar’s cheek, lifted his mouth, and—

“Enjoying the Good Vibrations?” The bonehead salesman loomed over them, eager and unctuous. “I guarantee the Good Vibrations 3000 is the best bed on the market today.”

“We’re not sure about the levels,” Sugar said, rolling to look at the guy. She sounded relieved to be interrupted. “It’s hard to tell in such a short time.”

“We do offer a thirty-day, money-back trial,” the rep said, practically rubbing his hands together.

While the doofus and Sugar discussed that possibility, Gage sorted his thoughts. He was in love with Sugar. When had that happened? A while back? Years ago maybe? Had he just blocked it?

And what should he do about it? Hope it would pass? Or take action? Go for it? He had to do something. First, he had to get rid of Mr. Good Vibrations.

“We’ll let you know,” Gage snapped at the guy, who backed up as though Gage had aimed a pistol at his belly.

When the salesman was out of hearing, Sugar shot Gage a look. “Too pricey, you think?” She scooted off the bed and pretended to study the price sheet. He knew she was avoiding the moment. “Our guests prefer to make their own tsunamis anyway, right?”

He didn’t speak, just watched her from the swaying mattress.

“Shall we check out the sex toys then take a break?” she asked, her voice breathless and high. She was freaked.

“Think I’ll skip the gadgets.” He wasn’t capable of movement, even if he wanted to pretend everything was normal.

“You okay?” she breathed, standing at the edge of the bed.

“Not bad.” For someone who’d mentally been run down by a Mack truck. He was in love with his partner. Probably had been for years. “You go on. I’ll try a couple more speeds on this thing.” He made as if to reach for the dial.

“So, birthday dinner in your room?”

“Eight sharp. I already ordered the meal.” They always celebrated their week-apart birthdays together and tonight was the night.

“Good.” She blew out a breath, obviously intending to do what they always did when things heated up, treat it like sparks on a carpet—a sharp jolt, quickly over.

Not this time. The decision swelled in him, as inevitable as a wave in this water bed. This time he would do something.

Sugar faltered, bit her lip, turned away, then back, confused and unsure. So not Sugar. Sugar was sure about everything. She had more opinions than any woman he’d known. They argued constantly, though she liked to call their swordfights discussions. Sugar claimed that was how they got to the core truths. He found the process wearying, but worth it.

But just now, Sugar didn’t know what she wanted with him and that gave Gage a strange hope. She wiggled her fingers and backed away, shaky in the silk she wore. She belonged in silk. Or maybe leather.

He’d seen her admiring a red leather skirt and jacket in the hotel gift shop. That would have been a much better birthday gift than the PDA he’d bought to replace her failing one. Too late.

Or maybe not. Maybe tonight was the night to act on impulse. Maybe tonight he’d violate his very nature and not think this thing into the ground. He’d buy the outfit and tell her how he felt.

Almost as if she’d read his mind, Sugar spun and fled as if fearful he’d chase her. He’d almost been ready to. He turned off the damn water bed and lay there, swaying softly, trying to settle himself the hell down.

It wasn’t too late to forget the attraction. They’d done it before. He didn’t have to rock the boat.

But he couldn’t go back. The truth had hit him too hard. It all made painful sense. Sugar was the reason none of his girlfriends worked out, why the settled life he craved had proved so elusive. This was the other shoe he’d been waiting for and it dropped inside him like a gravity boot.

It had always been Sugar. Her laughter rang in his head like the purest music. He loved the way her wild ideas knocked his plodding thoughts clean off their tracks. She threw open doors where he’d only seen walls.

She revved him up, made him run on guts and testosterone, made him want to give her anything she wanted, hell, the world. She made him feel alive.

And he was in love with her.

He had to talk to her about it.

Over their birthday dinner? Sure. He’d go gently, the way you coaxed a cat onto your lap. Sugar treated the R word like it smelled bad and the L word like poison.

Let’s see what can happen between us. That sounded about right—easy and casual and fun—not threatening at all.

The Sextique International Expo might not be the best venue for a declaration of love, but they were here, dinner was arranged and he was a practical guy.

He’d get flowers and buy her that red leather outfit. Maybe before the night was out, he’d be peeling her out of it…or ripping it off her.

However she wanted it. He just wanted her. In his bed, in his life. Sometimes a bold move was the most sensible, rational, reasonable thing to do.

But all the while, he felt the dangerous tug of a crazy undercurrent. There was nothing sensible, rational or reasonable about falling in love with Sugar.



SUGAR STUMBLED AWAY from the water bed booth toward the long table of sex toys, so dazed she could hardly see, let alone think. What the hell had just happened?

Looking down at Gage on that water bed, she’d felt as if someone had opened an oven in her face. Hugely, impossibly hot.

They’d been through this, Gage and she. They’d pushed past the college crush, then cleared the air for good on the Night of the Mad Margaritas. The resort’s grand opening had been in the morning and they’d sucked down one too many celebratory drinks and leaned into an embrace that felt inevitable until their operations manager had snapped the tension with a cell call over a last-minute issue.

They’d laughed in relief, agreed that sleeping together was not worth the risk to their partnership. It had been the mood, the moment, the magic.

They’d agreed, dammit.

But just now, he’d looked at her that way and she’d liked it. A lot.

That was all wrong. Gage was not only her partner, he was her best bud, the person who held her hand through bad times—her mother’s cancer scare, her father’s roller-coaster relationships, her sister’s rocky divorce and her own occasional blues. Gage was a great listener, wise and funny and so different from her that his comments felt like a window of fresh air opened in a stuffy room.

She counted on Gage and he counted on her. She’d thought he did, anyway. She glanced back at him, lying on that damnable bed. Her insides still vibrated—as if someone had banged a tuning fork against her innards. Not from the bed, from Gage and the way he’d looked at her. As if he’d been waiting for her all his life. As if she and no one else would do.

Her knees gave way a little.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

She turned, bit her lip, fought the stupid, impossible surge of joy. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Pointless, really.

To distract herself, she focused on the sex-toy table. The arousing items seemed like so much silly plastic after those blazing hot seconds on that paint-spinner of a water bed with Gage.

Birthday dinner in your room? she’d said. In his room. Where there was a bed.

Her blood felt so hot that every heartbeat sent a burn to the tips of her fingers and toes and out the top of her head.

Maybe she was simply, well, horny. She’d been between men for months now, though she hadn’t really thought about it. Which was odd, since, at thirty-five, she was supposed to be at a sexual peak.

She’d peaked all right—or come close just now. With Gage. Her partner. Her friend. Off-limits since forever.

What was she thinking?

Maybe it was Esmeralda’s psychic command zipping around in her brain. You must see what you’ve ignored. The advice irritated Sugar. Just because she kept moving, aimed forward, didn’t mean she ignored what mattered.

She hadn’t missed the important stuff with Gage. What they had was far more important than any affair could offer. And that’s all it would be—a fast fling that would burn bright then fizzle to ashes.

Gage was a wonderful man, but Sugar never wanted any man for very long. She didn’t seem to have the happy-ever-after gene. Not great news, but it was better to accept who she was than fight it or whine about it.

Still, that moment on the water bed had filled her heart with an ache for something she hadn’t thought possible, something that might be there for her if she would reach out and grab it.

Too crazy.

Maybe it was the changes she wanted to make with Spice It Up. Maybe the excitement of growing the resort through franchising had gotten her all stirred up. She planned to talk to Gage tonight. Maybe once she got him excited, too, they’d be okay again.

It wouldn’t be easy. Gage was Mr. Stay Put, Stand Pat, Play It Safe. He never drew a card in blackjack when he had sixteen or bought a new suit until his old one had an unpatchable hole. He had the same furniture from his college apartment. Quality brands and classic designs, of course—leftovers from his father’s small hotel—but, sheesh, didn’t he get tired of seeing the same sofa every damn day?

Of course, this attitude made him a great partner. Their working relationship was a series of negotiated agreements and careful compromises, polished by their debates to a fine gleam.

She and Gage had achieved a delicate balance in their partnership, a perfectly calibrated seesaw of push-pull, rush and calm. Throwing in sex would be like dropping an anvil on one side. Somebody would get flung across the playground. Probably both of them.

Which meant they had to get past the Water Bed Moment—even as it continued to throb through her. She scrubbed at her arms, still covered with goose bumps, and smoothed back her hair, which prickled with awareness, then picked up a box to examine the elaborate vibrator inside. Her task was to find innovative items to add to the inventory of Le Sex Shoppe, the boutique at the resort. Leticia, the manager, was counting on her.

Sugar focused in. Thinking about the resort always steadied her. Maybe she was too intent on her work, letting her personal life fade in importance, but the resort had been all-consuming from the beginning, and reaching this level of success had been a major achievement. Spice It Up, a combination resort and sex-therapy retreat for committed couples, was unique. Therapy-focused, Spice It Up used relationship theory to boost intimacy in long-term relationships, very different from sex-themed resorts and luxury spas.

Their success hadn’t gone unnoticed. Competitors were in the wings. After four years, it was time to grow. Grow or die was basic business law. It happened to be her personal mantra, too. Having a new challenge filled Sugar with adrenaline and relief. She liked making progress.

She would talk through her plan with Gage tonight. The Sextique International Expo, with its theme of Sex Sells…Everything, made a compelling case for her idea. With porn going mainstream and strippers making Entice Your Man videos, sex and all things spicy had never been more legitimate.

She needed to settle herself, focus in on her goal.

Maybe a drink in the bar would help. She had time before dinner. She could distract herself, clear her head, maybe network with conference-goers, get fired up for her pitch to Gage.

In the quietly busy hotel bar, she spotted a guy she’d exchanged a comment with during a marketing presentation. Handsome, he wore a crisp shirt, sleeves folded back, tie loose, and was drinking a martini with olives.

Sex was an appealing possibility and, if not, they could talk business, so she slid onto the stool beside him. “Enjoying the convention?” She tilted her head, accepting his pleased smile.

“I made some contacts,” he said, turning to more fully face her, also indicating interest. “You?”

“Me, too. I’m learning lots.”

“What can I get you to drink?”

“If that’s gin, I’ll take one.”

“A martini girl. Bombay okay?”

“Excellent.” Very classy. “I’m Sugar Thompson, by the way.”

“Conner Jameson. ExerSystems. Exercise suites for hotels and motels.” He gave her a card, which she exchanged with one of her own. “We spoke, I believe, at that workshop.”

“I remember you,” she said.

“So…‘Spice It Up,’ huh? ‘An adventure in enhanced intimacy,’” he read from her card. “I’ve heard of you.”

“Really?” Though she wasn’t surprised. Spice It Up had lots of buzz, she’d learned from other attendees. A woman from the Singles Travel Network had mentioned two resorts were adding sex counselors to their amenities—further proof that Sugar and Gage had a brief window to expand before competitors stole their edge.

“I was looking at your brochure at a convention in Nevada and a woman commented that the place was a gold mine.”

“Oh, really? Who was she?” A possible contact for franchise possibilities.

“She was with Travel Something…Quest, I believe. TravelQuest. Yeah. Business travel. Her name escapes me. She was very knowledgeable. Tall…blond…”

“And gorgeous? Had to be Rionna Morgan.” The woman was the queen of networking.

“You know her?”

“The travel industry’s a tight group.” Plus, Rionna had a thing for Gage, Sugar was sure. At the Business Association luncheon the month before, she’d complimented his incisive mind, batting her eyes so hard Sugar couldn’t resist asking her if her contacts were bothering her.

Gage seemed oblivious, but then he’d been dating Adrienne at the time.

“Good point. Makes me wonder how I’ve missed meeting you until now.” He held her gaze. Definitely into it.

She wanted to talk business still. “I hope Rionna’s right because we’re considering franchising.”

“Seems to be the thing do,” Conner said. “Big moneymaker.”

“I know. I had a great preliminary meet with a consultant who’s done motel-hotel franchises.”

“Which consultant?”

“Foster Matthews of Matthews and Millhouse. You know them?”

“Heard of them. They’re solid. We looked into the concept, too, but it wasn’t right for us.”

“Why was that?”

“Too many competitors, really, and it would have taken too long to build a franchise team. That’s crucial.”

She nodded. “Foster mentioned that. The next step is for them to come out for a diagnostic workup.”

“Have you targeted any franchisees?”

“Not yet. No.” She wanted Gage’s help for that. They would prepare a package for the regional travel convention coming to San Diego in a month. “Any other advice?” she said.

“Make sure it’s a good fit,” he said, holding her gaze. She could tell he was finished with the topic and was considering how he and she might fit in an entirely different way. “So how did you get into the sex resort business?” he asked.

“That’s a long story.” Her martini arrived and she took a sip, loving the warm sting of the gin.

“I’ve got time.” He smiled at her. Getting warmer.

Except she felt no responding warmth. The vibe was as distant as a faraway train, the whistle barely audible.

So annoying. Sex with Conner would be the perfect palate cleanser after that bed jiggle with Gage. Except she was more hot for what he knew about franchises than for what might happen in bed with him.

She sipped more gin, then told him how Spice It Up came to be, how she and Gage had conceived of it six years ago, opened it after a year of prep and planning.

“Very interesting,” Conner said, though he seemed to be talking about her mouth, not her resort.

Sugar still wasn’t fired up. She glanced toward the bar entrance and noticed Gage walking by, headed for the gift shops. Why, she wondered? He wasn’t the type to forget a toiletry item and he never snacked. He looked so purposeful.

Sometimes watching him made her want to stand still and just breathe—slow the hell down for once in her life. Lying on that bed with him, she’d really seen his face. Strong and broad, with nice cheekbones and dark, steady eyes and a firm mouth. She normally liked soft lips, but—

“Penny for your thoughts,” Conner said, honing in. No sense dawdling over cocktails when they could be upstairs.

“Nothing important,” she said, trying to shake Gage off.

“Then you won’t mind if I interrupt them?” Conner leaned forward for a test kiss that could lead to the wild and lovely ride she usually loved.

His lips looked soft, the way she liked them, but she kept thinking about Gage’s firmer ones. Focus. She was about to get a great kiss.

Which, abruptly, she didn’t want.

She felt a strange longing, like a dream where you searched room after room for something you weren’t even sure you’d recognize if you found it.

She put her hand on Conner’s chest. “I’m sorry. I just realized how tired I am.”

His eyes widened. “Did I—”

“Misjudge me? Not at all. I just changed my mind. I’m sorry. I would disappoint you.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” He smiled ruefully. “Another time?”

“Maybe,” she said, then squinted down the bar. “There’s a very hot woman over there. Her line is erotic pastries, I think. Talk about a great icebreaker.”

He looked where she indicated, then smiled back at her. “You have good taste in women.”

She shrugged. “I help where I can.” She pushed her martini away, not wanting more alcohol when she already felt funny, and stood. “I’d better take off. Listen, if you run into anyone who might be interested in a franchise, would you mind giving them my card?” She handed him several more.

“I might know of a limited partnership. I’ll let you know.”

“Great.”

“Keep us in mind, too. Custom systems at prefab prices.” He smiled, showing her the man beneath the pitch. She liked the guy. She just didn’t want to sleep with him.

He kissed her goodbye—softly and with regret—and she really liked his mouth. “Get some sleep.” He cupped her cheek.

“I will.” What the hell was the matter with her? She might not be at a sexual peak, but she sure as hell wasn’t in a slump. She knew her body, knew her needs. She handled her own O, as a matter of fact, and always had.

Maybe she needed her thyroid checked.

She was uncomfortably aware that the Water Bed Moment was proof positive that her libido was in full working order. Something else was going on here and she wasn’t happy about it.




2


THE GIFT BOX CRAMMED UNDER one arm, Gage froze in the bar doorway and watched a guy kiss Sugar right on the mouth.

He was stunned. That Armani-suited bozo was trying to pick her up. And she was letting him. After what had just happened between them even.

That ass couldn’t possibly get Sugar. He’d hit on her because she was hot and lively and fun. But Gage understood the tender woman beneath the fire and bluff.

Motivated by his new feelings, Gage wanted to march in there and knock that lounge lizard right off his stool. Luckily, before he could pull a Neanderthal, Sugar pushed to her feet, smiled goodbye to the guy and walked away—straight for Gage.

He didn’t want her to think he’d stalked her, so he backed up and ducked into an elevator before she saw him.

In his room, he paced, thoughts reeling. What was Sugar up to? Who was that guy? How long before she’d be here for dinner? He looked at his watch. Too long.

He tried to calm down. Everything was ready. He’d worked his plan like the sensible guy he was. He’d bought the leather suit for her and roses in a vase curved like Sugar’s figure. Dinner would arrive in an hour, along with Sugar.

But what if she’d made a date with Mr. Armani? What if he was heading to her room this very minute for a quickie?

She hadn’t been seeing anyone for a few months, Gage knew, but that wasn’t typical. Sugar kept busy to avoid the quiet. Unlike himself, who always took his time. He was too careful, dammit, too slow to act. Look at all the time he’d wasted, without even knowing what he wanted. He’d been doing the breaststroke down the biggest river in Egypt for years and, man, were his arms tired.

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.

“Let it sink in,” Gage said.

But there was no point and too much at stake. She had to sort this out. What would Gage do? That was her mantra when she got emotionally overwrought. Gage was so rational, so sensible. When he wasn’t around to argue her through something, she imagined what he’d say. Now she was using him against himself. But it couldn’t be helped.

“Let’s think this through,” she said. “Why is this happening now? You just broke up with Adrienne, right? So you’re lonely. You and I spend a lot of time together. We’re close friends. Plus, it’s a big birthday for both of us. Thirty-five is time to turn the corner. I know I’ve been thinking about shaking things up. But not…” She hesitated. “Not like that.”

“Shaking things up?” He frowned. “Like how?”

“By doing something different with the resort. I planned to talk to you about it at dinner, but—”

“No, no. Go on. Tell me now.” He folded his arms.

“Maybe later. When we get back home.”

“Let’s have it,” he said wearily. “What are you cooking up, Sugar?”

They needed a change of subject, that was certain. “Promise you’ll hear me out before you start arguing?”

“Go on.”

He hadn’t promised, but she went ahead anyway. “Okay…You know how we’ve been overbooked during busy months?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s revenue just disappearing. There’s growing interest in sex resorts. That’s obvious from this conference. Think of all the travel reviews we’ve had lately. The buzz is that we’ve got a gold mine on our hands. If we don’t get ahead of the curve, we’ll lose out.”

“What are you proposing?” He spoke slowly, considering the idea. Thank goodness. His analytical side had kicked in.

She felt safe to babble on. “At first, I thought we could buy a second location, but that’s capital-intensive and we’d be spread thin staff-wise. Then I read a big trade journal piece on hospitality franchises. The consultants in the article were based in San Diego, so I called them.”

“Franchising?” He lifted his eyes to hers. “You want to franchise Spice It Up?”

“Franchising is the way to go. I was talking to a guy earlier about it. Plus, it’s a cash cow, Gage, and—”

“And you met with consultants? Without talking to me first?”

She preferred Gage’s business bristle to the hurt from before. “It was just a preliminary discussion. No money changed hands. I wanted to tell you about it, share my other research and get your ideas about possible franchisees we could target. It’s all there.” She nodded at her briefcase on the table by the door, ready for her to carry to Gage’s room.

Back before she got dumped in a washer set on heavy-duty.

“A franchise is a package. Spice It Up is too unique to be packaged.” He shook his head. That’s that. A good sign. This was how all their debates started.

She barreled ahead. “I thought that, too, at first. Then I did some reading. There’s a book—Franchising For Dummies, can you believe that?—which has checklists and tips and screening tools. You have to check it out.” She nodded at her case again.

“What about us, Sugar?” His eyes bored into her.

Us sounded sooo good just then. Like a long hot bath with nothing in her mind but the pleasure of it. She sank into that feeling and into Gage’s eyes. She’d never noticed the swirls of caramel in their melted chocolate depths.

Stop it. Enough with the hot baths and candy eyes.

“The only us that counts is us as partners, Gage,” she said. “We got carried away. We have history and attraction. You’re lonely. I’m lonely, too, I guess. And that water bed…wow. Who could blame us?” She was trying to joke, but her throat hurt and she couldn’t make herself smile.

“You won’t even consider it?” He dug at her with his dark eyes. “You don’t feel—”

“We can’t.” She wasn’t sure how she felt, but she wouldn’t lead him on, so she shook her head. “Even if I did feel—Well, anyway, no. Just no.”

“Oh.” Gage released her hands, which fell back to her lap. She stared down at them. Without Gage holding them, they felt numb and empty. Hands were for holding.

Oh, stop. She was so not sentimental.

“Now what?” Gage asked softly, sadly.

She took a deep breath. “Now we do what we do best….” She faltered. “We’re partners. So we’ll debate the franchise idea until we agree and—”

“I can’t do that,” he said slowly. “I can’t go back.”

“What are you saying?”

“Or maybe I just don’t want to. Now that I figured it out.”

“What does that mean?” Her heart leaped to her throat.

She was startled to feel Gage back away. Always when they disagreed about an issue, Gage engaged, fenced with all his might until they were exhausted and the best idea won out.

Not this time. She felt chilled to the bone.

“Maybe I need a change,” Gage said.

“What kind of change?” She felt scared and thickheaded.

“I mean, maybe it’s time for me to go.”

It was as if someone had plunged a hot knife into her chest. “You can’t leave Spice It Up.” This was not the kind of shake-up she wanted at all. “Is it the franchise? Because you don’t know enough yet. Look at what I’ve got before you dismiss the idea.”

She rushed to her briefcase, opened it and grabbed the franchise research folder, Gage’s silence behind her like a wall or a threat. She held out the folder, but he simply looked at her.

“I don’t see how I can stay, Sugar. You don’t really need me anymore.”

“Of course I do. Especially with the franchise, I—”

“Things between us are different now.”

“They don’t have to be.” But they were. She felt it, too. “What would you do instead?” she asked faintly, sinking to a seat beside him.

“I haven’t thought about it. You could buy me out, I guess.” He shrugged.

“I don’t have that much cash. How would that work?” She was flailing for a delay, anything, until she could come up with a fix. The resort was everything to her. And Gage was so much a part of the resort in her mind, she couldn’t imagine going on without him.

“I can be flexible about terms. I’m not in a rush.”

“But I’d need a new partner and everything.” A lump filled her throat, making it hard to speak. “With the franchising…”

“You could take over my work or Oliver could step up to the job. And, as far as the franchise goes…I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Look, we’re both upset, Gage. Let’s not say things we’ll both regret.”

But he looked dead serious, not flipped out, not overwrought. She was the one on the edge of hysteria. Gage seemed…resigned. He stood, as if to leave her room.

She stood, too. “Read over this stuff.” She pushed the folder at him and this time he took it.

“I don’t see the point,” he said.

“I’ll come over for dinner in an hour and we can talk it through.” Debates had always worked with them, so why not now?

When he was gone, she rested her back against the door. He just needed a little time to come to his senses, right?

Why couldn’t he leave? Sugar believed in moving on when the time was right, so why couldn’t Gage? Even Mr. Stay Put had his limits, right?

But this was totally for the wrong reasons. It was practically emotional blackmail. Be with me or I’ll break up our partnership? She should be furious.

But she wasn’t. She was scared. The idea of Gage leaving made her mind stutter and spit like a candle in a draft.

She didn’t want him to go.




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.

“You’ve forgotten a lot. We both have. I want us to sample the guest experience.”

“You want us to stay together? In a suite?”

“Not stay. Just get a feel for it. We can register, go through the orientation with Erika, plan a schedule, choose workshops, even participate, all to gather impressions of how it is to stay at Spice It Up.”

“And what about…this?” She motioned between them, her eyes hot. She was excited, but also nervous.

“Sex would be too easy.”

“Too easy, huh?” She sighed, but he felt her relief. What had just happened between them had upset her.

“We’re doing this as partners.”

“But the whole point of Spice It Up is to improve a couple’s sex life. Intimacy through sex. Healing through sex. Exercises for sex. Sex, sex, sex.”

“We can work around that, can’t we? We’re more than our urges.” Yeah, right. There was just a bit of glove leather between him and her naked body and if she said sex one more time with those lips, he couldn’t be held accountable for his actions. He shifted his body to hide the proof of his distress.

“You would say that.” She sighed. “Mr. Self-Control.”

She had no idea. Just two zippers and he’d have heaven. Forget soothing her doubts, forget the plan, just get in. Why the hell not sleep with her and be done with it?

Because he was more than a chest-pounding primate. He wanted sex with Sugar to count. He wanted all of her—heart and soul, body and mind. He’d waited this long. What was one more month?

She shifted beside him, making the leather jacket swell over her breasts, and her skirt ride higher. Her panties had felt thin. Lace? Black, maybe?

One more month would be hell on wheels.

He would manage it somehow. He would surprise her with the resort and with himself while he was at it, show her she was safe with him. She could fall in love and be happy.

“It would give me ideas for the franchise package, I guess.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, crossed her legs and wiggled one foot—a sure sign she was intrigued. Her skirt shot even higher, so he focused on her feet.

She had puffy toes and a high arch he would love to massage until she moaned. Muscular calves, too, that would feel so good locked around his ass and…

“So, no sex?” she asked, as if she’d read his mind.

“No sex.” He pushed to his feet, slightly hunched.

“You okay?”

“Charley horse,” he said, knowing she’d caught him. This was merely the first of countless moments of sexual agony he would endure in the coming weeks. Worth every twinge if it got Sugar in his life.




4


BACK HOME in San Diego, Sugar pushed ahead of Gage into the Spice It Up lobby, headed for the check-in desk, ready to launch their plan. Gage caught up and took her hand. “Hold on. Look at what we built.” He gestured at the lobby spread out before them, pulling her closer. When he released her fingers, the warmth lingered.

Damn. Since the Expo Incident, there was extra warmth to every breath or touch or smile they shared. Ridiculous, really, and it complicated everything.

Sugar’s gaze floated from the cream marble tile to the polished mahogany walls, from the overstuffed velvet love seats and sofas to the lush Oriental rug in the cozy conversation pit, everything in the resort’s colors of violet, teal and gold. On cool evenings, the massive fireplace crackled and popped with licking flames. She sighed with pleasure.

Gage had a point. Every subtle element was deliberate—meant to create an atmosphere of warmth, sensuality, intimacy and connection. She had to be certain the franchises included the crucial items.

A gigantic flower arrangement stood on a huge table in the center of the lobby. Violet bird-of-paradise, apple-green orchids, purple irises and marigolds stood out against a background of white roses, baby’s breath and freesia.

A few feet away was the gleaming grand piano where music students from the nearby college played for the guests each evening.

For now, piped-in romantic music filled the air, along with the alluring scent of the flowers, lemon oil and vanilla-lavender candles in clusters large and small. Behind the elegant, dark-wood reception counter, staff was busy with guests. Completing her visual sweep, Sugar found Gage waiting for her. “You’re right. We did good, huh?”

Gage smiled in what seemed to be triumph. What was that about? Oh, yeah. She’d forgotten they were in the middle of a debate.

To show him she hadn’t given an inch, she popped the steno pad from the pocket of her laptop carrier and readied a pen. “Mahogany and marble aren’t essential,” she said, writing her thoughts, “but the franchises must include a fireplace, the piano and real flowers, don’t you agree?”

Gage blew out a breath. “I suppose so. Yeah.”

She’d made her point—she was working toward the franchises—and fought a grin. “Shall we check in?”

“Sure you don’t want to wait until after the staff meeting?” Every Monday at eleven, the staff gathered to touch base on the upcoming week’s events.

“More fun to get a natural reaction from the front desk.”

To avoid alarming employees, they’d agreed to tell everyone they were working on a new marketing campaign, which was true enough, since they would use what they noticed in all their promotional materials. Once they’d decided about the franchising, they’d bring staff on board. Less anxiety that way in an industry fraught with turmoil.

“This could start rumors about us being a couple,” Gage said, picking up his briefcase.

“We’ll be absolutely clear, that’s all,” Sugar said.

“Oh, you bet,” he said. “That’ll do the trick.” But he seemed entirely too peppy and pleased with himself. Why? His plan fit perfectly with her own. She’d hardly given in at all, but he acted as though he’d bested her.

“Allowing rumors won’t help either of us, Gage,” she warned. What did he think was going to happen? They’d check into a room, rip each other’s clothes off and fall madly in love? That only worked in the movies. Or for some of their guests, of course, which was the point, after all.

Gage gave her the moony look from their birthday wish, full of hope and yearning. It was as if a romantic pod person had taken over his body. His incredibly buff body.

She had to admit that since the Expo Incident, Gage seemed different to her. Taller, broader and more muscular. That erection had been…impressive. If only she’d ripped his clothes off to get the whole effect. That had been her last chance. They’d agreed—no sex. Still, she remembered Gage sucking on her nipple, stroking her beneath her panties and she felt all shivery and woozy.

She was off-kilter. Plus the flight home had worn her out and she’d slept poorly last night. Whatever. She had to forget the Expo Incident and focus on what a terrific team they made. Gage was smart and savvy and sensible. A great partner.

Well, except for that damn smug smile he wore at the moment. Which was worse—the smug smile or the moony daze? They both irritated the hell out of her. “Quit grinning like you won something, Gage,” she muttered.

“What? I’m just happy to be here with you, partner.” He patted her back. Could a pat be smug?

“So how was the convention?” Brittany asked eagerly, catching sight of them as they approached.

“Bring back anything good?” Luigi said, holding a hand over the phone. “Something new in condoms maybe?” Snap. Snap. The guy’s jaws worked over the inevitable piece of Juicy Fruit. That was one signature element they could leave out—gum-popping receptionists.

“I got a few samples you can have. I’ll bring them into the meeting,” Sugar said. “Some joke items—condom lollipops, key chain penises, tropical-flavored lubricants. Nothing revolutionary.”

“Oh, give the lollipop to Oliver,” Brittany said. “He has a great blush.” Brittany had a crush on their operations manager, Oliver Noble, who was a no-nonsense guy—single, but ten years older than Brittany, and easy to embarrass. To counteract that problem, Oliver blustered at her, which seemed to accelerate the fire, not retard it.

“Jeez. You’re so predictable, Brit,” Luigi said. Snap, snap.

“So, what’s up?” Brittany asked. “Why are you two on that side of the desk?”

“We’re checking in,” Gage said.

Luigi’s jaw froze midchew and he joined Brittany in staring at them.

“It’s for new marketing materials,” Sugar added. “Gage and I are test guests so we can sample the experience. We need a room and an orientation.”

“You’re checking in? The two of you? As a couple?” Brittany’s eyes went wider. “Wow. That’s great! Really great.”

Luigi resumed chewing, but very, very slowly.

“Strictly for research, right, Gage?” Sugar jabbed him with an elbow.

“Ouch.” Gage nodded.

“Sure. I get it.” Brittany winked.

Luigi double-popped his gum.

“Really,” Sugar said wearily. She noticed that Clarice, the Pleasure Concierge and the resort’s biggest gossip, had stopped working and was watching intently. If her ears had been antennae, they’d have been twitching.

“Wait,” Luigi said suspiciously. “Is this, like, going to show up in my performance review?”

“Not at all.”

But he wadded his gum into a pink message slip and tossed it into the trash, stood very tall and smiled a fake smile as he clicked into the system. “So, how long will you be staying with us, Mr. and, uh, Mrs. Maguire?”

“Don’t you have reservations to confirm?” Brittany said, bumping Luigi out of the way to take over the task. She was always eager for extra responsibility.

Luigi shrugged and moved to the second terminal.

“It’s Mr. Maguire and Ms. Thompson,” Sugar said firmly to Brittany. “And it will be for one day.”

“Two, don’t you think?” Gage added mildly. “We’ll need the overnight in case we work late.”

There was a thud, then a swishing sound, as the rack of brochures Clarice had been pretending to neaten tipped over, spraying pamphlets across the glossy marble floor.

“We won’t be sleeping there, so no need for maid service,” Sugar said to be absolutely clear. She shot a frown at Gage.

“But, otherwise, we’d like the full guest treatment,” Gage said. “As you can see, my partner is reluctant about our stay. Wouldn’t you say so, sweetheart?”

Brittany just blinked at them.

“She doesn’t see how a vacation can fix our, uh, problem.” Gage seemed to be taking on a guest persona. “I imagine you’ve heard that before from guests checking in, Brittany?”

Brittany seemed frozen.

“He wants you to say what you say when couples seem torn about being here,” Sugar said. “When one thinks it’s a waste of time or a pricey experiment. I’m the reluctant mate, Brittany, get it?”





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