Buch lesen: "With His Touch"

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.”