The Love Shack. Christie Ridgway

The streets in its center were closed to car traffic, but she and Gage still had to keep an eye open for bicyclists, skateboarders and moms pushing Hummer-sized strollers. He didn’t say anything as they ambled, his gaze roaming the myriad cafés and restaurants as well as the shops that sold everything any used-to-it-all-and-more Southern Californian could want.

      “Culture shock?” she asked.

      He turned his gaze from the window of a store that sold nothing but ball caps to look into her face. “I always forget how much...stuff there is available for purchase.”

      “Is that disapproval I hear?” She tilted her head. “All the ‘stuff’ offends your sensibilities?”

      “I don’t have a lot of possessions myself, because I travel so much. I’m like a hermit crab...carry all I need on my back.”

      “Nothing to weigh you down?”

      He shrugged. “It’s true I’ve lived light. I...” His words faded away as his gaze caught on the bare legs of a woman in short shorts and platform sandals. He watched her swaying hips until they disappeared into a high-end lingerie boutique.

      “There’s something to be said for Western excess,” he said, grinning. “Look at all those pretty little nothings.”

      The stork-legged mannequins in the shop window were dressed in panties cut high and bras cut low.

      “Ironic how Western excess results in a definite shortage of T-and-A coverage,” she grumbled.

      He laughed. “Shall we go inside?”

      “No!” she said, mortification washing new heat across her skin. “I’m not going in there with you.”

      “I’ll buy you a present.”

      “No,” she repeated, then quickly stepped into the specialty body and bath products store that had been her destination. Instead of scantily clad mannequins and posters of supermodels in wings, this boutique was decorated with murals of flower fields and lush vineyards. Various lines of organic skin care products were arranged by scent. Skye headed toward the back corner.

      “Wait.” Gage’s head swiveled and he drifted toward a display of products nearer the front. There sat bottles and tubes colored a pale, green-tinged blue. Stacked beside them were hand-hewn blocks of soap the same color. They smelled of freshwater and flower petals. “This,” he said, pointing to it. “This is you.”

      Skye shrugged a shoulder, half uncomfortable, half pleased. “You’re right. That’s their Melusine line. It’s what I use.”

      He brought a waxy bar to his nose, inhaled. “I like it. It suits you, cool and sweet at the same time.”

      Another surge of pleasure warmed her, even as her nerves tingled a warning. Should she change her bath products? She didn’t like the idea that her personal fragrance was so recognizable. Drawing attention to herself through looks or even scent didn’t sit well with her any longer. As she watched, he closed his eyes and drew in another breath of the soap’s perfume, clearly enjoying it.

      Her nerves tingled again. Maybe it was the kind of detail only Gage would notice, she thought.

      Which didn’t make her feel any more at ease. Backing away from him, she cleared her throat. “Don’t worry about sticking close. Go on out, browse the other shops. I can find you when I’m done picking out the bridal present I’m after for Jane.”

      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