Christie Ridgway - The Love Shack

If she’d thought the mention of a wedding would send the man on his way, she’d been wrong. He was at her shoulder as she perused a display of orange blossom products packaged in white organza. Hyperaware of him, she selected several items that she’d put together in a gift basket.

“Can I help you?”

They both turned toward a salesgirl, her platinum hair ironed to a shiny fall, her sparkling blue gaze focused on Gage.

His smile spread slowly. “I don’t know,” he said, not looking away from the young woman, who was dressed in a layered trio of tank tops and a napkin-sized skirt. “Do we need any help, Skye?”

Speaking of scents, she could smell the sex appeal he was beaming toward the pretty blonde. “I’m fine,” she said, and turned her back to give the man privacy for his flirtation.

And he did that, flirted, his voice low and warm as he asked the woman’s opinion on a birthday gift for his mother. With half an ear, Skye heard her recommend the Melusine products and couldn’t miss Gage’s quick dismissal of that idea. Next they walked to a row of tester vials and Skye rolled her eyes as the salesgirl insisted on spraying her own skin: wrist, back of hand, crook of elbow, and then held each to Gage’s nose for his appreciation.

Her selections were bought and bagged while he was still sniffing at the blonde. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Skye waiting by the door and frowned. “You’re ready? I’m sorry.”

“Take your time,” she said, with a go-ahead gesture.

But he deftly sidestepped the salesgirl as she lifted yet another inch of her bare, fragrant flesh toward his face. “I’ll take the plumeria set,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “You said you could ship it for me?”

The transaction only took a few more minutes, and then he left behind a clearly disappointed blonde to join Skye at the exit. She started to push at the door, but he took over, swinging it wide with his big hand. “Why didn’t you say something?” he grumbled.

“I wanted to give you plenty of time to ask her out,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Skye...”

“Hey, the Gage Gorge requires—”

“Shut up about that,” he said. “That topic’s off-limits between you and me.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she said. “I understand—”

“Off-limits,” he repeated, implacable.

Still, she couldn’t help being aware of all the pretty women they encountered as they continued to stroll through the streets. More than one female looked at Gage, clearly appreciating his lean good looks and confident gait. A Pilates posse, a small group of women dressed in Lululemon exercise gear and carrying coffees, gave him speculative, sidelong looks. Pairs of office workers in tight suit skirts and sneakers slowed their lunch hour power walks as they passed him by. One nubile young lady, distributing flyers for a new restaurant, made a point of scrawling her number on the piece of paper before handing it to him.

Making the thumb-and-pinky “call me” sign, she grinned as he absently stuffed the sheet into his pocket.

“You’re missing a lot of opportunities,” Skye chided him. “You shouldn’t let my presence stop you.”

He shot her a dark look. “Are you trying to annoy me?”

Maybe. Though she was more annoyed at herself at the surge of ugly green jealousy she felt when she thought of him gorging on anyone. “I don’t know what’s put you in such a mood,” she mumbled, trying to cover her own.

“I need lunch,” he said, then halted, his gaze fixed on a small café across the street. “And God provides.” His tone was nearly reverent. “Fish tacos.”

In minutes they were at a tiny table, both with an iced tea and a plate of tacos in front of them. The lightly breaded white fish smelled delicious and tasted even better cocooned in a small warm corn tortilla and garnished with cabbage, grated cheddar cheese, a spoonful of tart white sauce and a squeeze of lime.

He held one taco high. “The young goose is a good swimmer,” he said, like a blessing, then ate it in three big bites. An appreciative moan followed.

Smiling, Skye tilted her head at him. “Better now?”

“Almost.” Round two went down as quickly as round one.

Her eyes widened as she lifted her first to her mouth. “Until now, I don’t think I had an accurate understanding of the depths of your appetite.”

He glanced up. “You didn’t get a hint last night?”

Skye stilled, remembering the hot look in his eye when he’d fed her ice cream. But surely that had been her imagination—if not projection. Still, her hand twitched, and her taco dropped back to her plate, its contents scattering. Glad for the distraction, she bent her head and busied herself scooping the ingredients back inside the tortilla.

“Maybe we should talk about it,” Gage said, his voice low.

Embarrassment burned up her neck toward her face. Did he mean... Did he suspect... Her brain stumbled over uncomfortable thoughts. When he’d left her house the night before, she’d hoped he’d not noticed the effect he had on her.

The way he was still affecting her.

“Skye?”

She still didn’t want to look at him. But she did, faking a puzzled expression. “Discuss? There’s nothing to discuss.”

And to her relief, he let it go. She didn’t want to squirm through any conversation he’d want to have about her misplaced interest. In her sloppy clothes and scrubbed face, they both knew she wasn’t Gage Gorge material. No need to make them both uncomfortable by spelling it out.

After lunch, they returned to Crescent Cove. Skye pulled into the driveway behind her beach house. The ride back had been silent and, on her side, filled with awkwardness. Gage, however, remained an enigma. For all she knew, he stayed quiet because he was tired, or bored or thinking of that woman whose number he had in his pocket.

“We have to talk about the attraction,” he suddenly said.

Startled, Skye whipped her head toward him. “Huh?”

“Don’t think I didn’t realize.” He pinned her with those bright turquoise eyes.

Damn. She supposed the notion of fooling him had been a pipe dream. An experienced man like Gage would know when a woman was...was drawn to him.

“It was there in the room with us last night, big as life, and I’d like to get past it, Skye. It’s not—”

“Don’t say anything more!” Clearly it was not a feeling he reciprocated. Who could blame him? She knew what she looked like—colorless and camouflaged in baggy clothes. That’s the way she wanted to be, needed to be. Still, the whole situation stung her pride.

Gage cleared his throat. “I’m only trying to say that I—”

“Have really been out of touch for too long. Or your head has been turned by the attention you’ve received since you got back.”

“What?”

She gathered her self-respect around her like a cloak. “Not every woman in the world falls for you, you know.”

“Skye—”

“Your ego is overinflated, Gage. I wouldn’t be so foolish as to...to want you. There’s no way that a woman who looks like this—” she indicated her sweatshirt and wrinkled pants “—would imagine herself with a man like you.”

And on that undignified note, she dashed from the car.

* * *

GAGE TRIED LIGHTENING his expression as he turned toward his sister-in-law-to-be. The scowl he erased was more commonly found on his twin, who had always been the deeper, moodier of the two—at least until Griff had found his Jane. “Wedding stuff going okay?” he asked politely, wrapping his fingers around his beer.

Griffin laughed at him from across the table on Captain Crow’s deck. “Yeah, you’re so interested in the details.”