The Love Shack. Christie Ridgway

into his bed, under his hands, against his tongue.

      “That’s never going to happen,” she whispered, her eyes almost as big as the monster she probably now considered him to be.

      “Of course it’s not,” he said, stepping back. His bed, his fantasies, his sex life were all—now and forever—Skye-free zones. The other ways he needed her were just too important.

      CHAPTER FIVE

      POLLY WAS PUTTING SCISSORS to brown paper bag when Teague White breezed through her open front door. He stopped short, taking in the stack of bags, the scraps of paper scattered at her feet, the tagboard pattern and pencil that lay on the coffee table in front of the love seat where she sat. “What’s up?” he asked.

      My pulse rate. But, accustomed to hiding her physical reaction to him, Polly aimed a casual smile at his shoulder—she had to avoid looking too hard at the beautiful face above it. The stark, masculine bones framed by layers of short hair the same color as his almost-black eyes had the power to rock her world. She cleared her throat to answer his question. “I’m making Australian bush hats.”

      “Huh,” he said. “Brown bags stand up to the harsh conditions?”

      She went wooden as he approached, preparing for his usual kiss on the cheek. He hadn’t shaved and his whiskers prickled her skin, little needles of sensation that pierced her heart as if it were a pincushion. Pressing her knees together, she kept her gaze averted from him as he lifted the pile of cut pieces on the cushion beside her and took its place.

      “Polly?”

      Intent on not noticing how close he sat, how she could feel his body heat reaching across the few inches between them, she’d missed his question. “Uh, what?”

      “I asked again about the bush hats, sweetheart.”

      “Oh.” A little laugh burst from her lips. It did not sound nervous. After all this time, it was ridiculous to be nervous around Teague. Their years of friendship had inured her to him by now. “They’re for my class, as you should be able to guess.”

      “I’m always surprised at what you kindergarten teachers can do with scissors and paper. Not to mention yarn. I remember the finger-weave belts the kids made last year.”

      She felt a dimple dig into her cheek as she smiled, gratified he’d remembered. “Those came out pretty well, I admit.”

      One of his long legs crossed over the other. “You’re harshing on my midsummer buzz, though, by prepping for September so soon.”

      “I hate to break the news. It’s no longer midsummer. In three weeks I’ll be back in the classroom.”

      “Then we’d better make the most out of the time we have left.”

      Polly’s scissors paused, midcut. No, there wasn’t going to be any “we” about the next weeks. There shouldn’t be. There wouldn’t be.

      She’d made that decision after her coffee with Skye. Her best friend’s words had slapped her like a palm to the face. “We both know your biggest stumbling block to a fulfilling love life is Teague.” How had she guessed? It was Skye who also called her “Very Private Polly.” If her feelings for Teague were wearing through her usual deep reserve, then she was in trouble.

      He reached over now, tugging on the end of her ponytail. “You okay?”

      “I’m good. I’m always good.”

      “Then let’s make you gooder and finalize our August calendar. We’ll make it one to remember.”

      “Gooder?”

      He grinned. “Hey, I’m just a dumb firefighter.”

      She glanced away from that flash of white teeth. He wasn’t dumb. It was her, who had never managed to shut him out of her life. For four and a half years she’d wanted him, wanted him to see her as more than a friend, and even when their physical relationship never went beyond ponytail tugs and busses on the cheek, she hadn’t been able to stifle the yearning in her heart.

      Maybe it was because they’d slept together on the first night they’d met, she mused. Just slept. They’d both attended a New Year’s Eve party at Skye’s place, here at the cove. Teague was her childhood friend. Polly had met her in an Asian poetry class in college. The end-of-year celebration had gone on way past midnight and everyone had been invited to crash rather than risk driving home. Accustomed to a much earlier bedtime, Polly had gratefully found her way at 3:00 a.m. to a dark bedroom and an empty pillow.

      In the morning, she’d opened her eyes to discover herself sharing a bed with the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Staring into his dark eyes, she’d started in alarm, drawing back so far she’d almost rolled off the mattress. The stranger had rough-whispered, “Easy,” and Polly, who was never easy when it came to men, had found herself settling back.

      That had always been the strange dichotomy of her reaction to him. He made her pulse jitter at the same time that he calmed her innate wariness. It was a seductive contradiction, and after that morning when together they’d made breakfast for all the other overnighters, they’d become close friends.

      But she wanted so much more.

      She needed to look for it elsewhere, though, she knew that.

      “I’m going to be seeing Tess a lot this month,” he said now, his dark eyes going bleak.

      Polly needed to look elsewhere because of that desolate expression in Teague’s eyes. Because of Tess, the woman he loved.

      “Why don’t you just avoid her?” Polly asked, acutely aware of how difficult it could be to stay away from the object of one’s affection. She was going to do it now, though. Really.

      Teague sighed. “I would—do you think I want to torture myself? But there’s a lot of events leading up to Griffin and Jane’s wedding. I’ll be expected to attend, since we’ve become so close. She’ll be there, too, of course, as sister to the groom.”

      Married sister to the groom. Married sister who was also happy with her husband of almost fifteen years and four kids. According to Teague, there’d been a bump in the couple’s connubial bliss earlier in the summer, which was when he’d had a brief reason to hope, but that had smoothed out now.

      “I’m never going to get her, am I?” he asked, his voice low.

      Polly kept her gaze on her scissors. “No, you’re never going to get her.” From what she’d been told, it wasn’t as if Tess had even led him to believe there was a chance, not really. But he’d seen the beautiful woman on the beach, remembered her from their childhood summers at Crescent Cove and fallen like a stone in the sea. It probably had something to do with the fact that she’d been the famous face of OM, a chewing gum touted to “tame a wild mind.” More than one adolescent boy had pinned Tess’s yoga-pose poster on the inside of his closet door.

      Teague bent for the scraps of paper at her feet, gathering them into a ball that he squeezed between his big hands. “So...what do you want to do before school starts?”

      Find another focus besides you. It wouldn’t be easy, but she figured cold turkey was the only way to go. “I’m pretty busy,” she said. “I’m not sure I can commit to anything with you.”

      She could feel Teague’s frown. “All work, no play.”

      “Hey,” she protested. “I’m not dull.” Though what else would you call four and a half years of pining after someone who only saw you as a buddy?

      “Pol...” He waited until she looked over at him. “What’s wrong?”

      “I’m good,” she said, her automatic reply. “I’m always good.”

      His dark brows met over his strong, straight nose. “You’re Fort Knox, is what you are. Are you hiding something beneath that cheerleader disguise?”