The Love Shack. Christie Ridgway

      She roused to a hand on her shoulder. Batting at it, she frowned, still mostly asleep. “Go away, Polly.”

      A masculine chuckle tried to thread its way into her consciousness. “I’ll try not to be insulted by that.”

      “Good,” she murmured, and turned her cheek in order to get more comfortable.

      “You’re going to get a crick in your neck if I let you sleep here all night.”

      Her fuzzy mind started to grow more alert. “You’re not Polly,” she said, still not opening her eyes.

      “Not unless she’s been hiding her dick.”

      Her lashes popped open and she glowered—albeit sleepily—at Gage. “That’s crude.”

      “My middle name.” He had slid down the couch to where she was half-slumped against the arm.

      She struggled to sit up and gather her wits. “I wouldn’t think you’d admit to that.”

      “I don’t play games, either. I don’t try to conceal who I am. You know that from my letters.”

      This close, she could smell his scent. It was clean yet mysterious, with a spicy, foreign note. “I feel sure there are some hidden pockets to your soul.”

      “That’s exactly where I keep the crude.”

      She couldn’t help smiling at him. “You think you’re funny.”

      “Hey, I’ve spent a lot of time alone. If I can’t make myself laugh, I’m in trouble.”

      Skye frowned. That had never occurred to her...that when he was out on assignment in wild and dangerous places he didn’t always have a support group around him. “Don’t you get lonely?”

      Gage seemed to ponder that a moment. “I think I will.”

      He will? What did that mean? She opened her mouth to ask, but he beat her to the next question. “Ice cream?” he asked. “That’s what I put in the freezer. Or should I let myself out so you can go to bed?”

      She didn’t want him to leave just yet, she realized. “Ice cream.”

      He exited to the kitchen, then returned to the living room with a bowl of her favorite flavor. “Rocky road, right? Man, you got my taste buds screaming for relief when you wrote me about your new favorite shop in Newport.”

      “This is from Icy Delights?” Eager, she stretched for the bowl.

      Dropping down beside her, he held it out of reach. “You need to run your dishwasher. Only one clean bowl was left, so we have to share.” Scooping up a spoonful, he held it to her mouth.

      She opened, took it in, making sure to run her tongue over the utensil to lap up every bit of the delicious treat. “Mmm.” Her eyes closed in ecstatic appreciation.

      Gage made a low sound. She looked at him, and the heated blue of his eyes staring at her over the bowl was enough to turn the frozen dessert into sugary soup. Skye felt her blood take on the high temperature as it zipped through her system, smoking nerve endings along the way.

      He was so big, she thought. Long limbs, wide shoulders, large feet and hands. Under the tanned skin of his arms, she could see the flex of muscle and the pull of tendons. There was a dive watch strapped on one wrist, and the complex piece of technology only served to make her more aware of the primal masculinity of him.

      Her breath stalled in her lungs.

      That around-men anxiety was back with a vengeance. She should be used to the panic by now, she thought. Except with Gage it was somehow different. Now the fear made her skin flush and feel too tight on her bones. The sizzle in her system, the breathlessness, the edginess of her mood were a totally separate kind of alarm.

      As her heartbeat raced, that place low in her belly tightened. She felt a small rush of moisture between her thighs.

      And that’s when she realized her response to Gage wasn’t her usual apprehension at all. This reaction of her body didn’t signal anxiety—it had just been so long since she’d experienced it she hadn’t immediately recognized what it truly was.

      Desire.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      STANDING BESIDE THE open door of her car, Skye tossed her purse onto the passenger seat, lifting her head when she heard the distinctive crackle of footsteps crossing crushed seashells. Warned that someone was approaching from behind, she steeled herself to stay calm. No need to jump out of her skin.

      “There you are.”

      At Gage’s voice, though, her heart leaped toward her throat and then plummeted to her belly. Pressing her palm there, she pasted on a casual, friendly expression and half turned toward him, determined to maintain her dignity. “Oh, hey.”

      “Thought I could take you to lunch,” he said, continuing to stroll forward until he stood nearly toe-to-toe with her. He wore a pair of battered jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt that must have been dyed to exactly match his eyes. “Payback for last night’s dinner.”

      Her heart bobbed again, a jerky, marionette-like movement. “That’s not necessary.” Last night’s dinner was something she’d been trying to forget since sending him on his way after he finished the bowl of ice cream. One bite had been enough for her.

      He tilted his head, studying her face. She could feel it was flushed, damn it. “Aren’t you a little hot in that sweatshirt?”

      Her fingers toyed with the ribbed hem that hit midthigh. “I’m perfectly comfortable.” All covered up from throat to ankles in the overlarge top and relaxed-fit khakis.

      He stood silent a moment, then shrugged. “So...lunch?” As if he read her impending refusal, he sent her a wheedling smile. “Indulge a guy.”

      Clearly he thought he was irresistible. She swallowed, preparing to deliver an emphatic “no,” partly due to feminine principle, mostly due to self-preservation. More time in his company equaled more time suffering the effects of her unwanted and unexpected physical fascination with him. Her mouth opened just as the breeze kicked up and she was muffled by a long swath of her own hair.

      Before she could drag it away, his fingers were there, tucking beneath the strands and brushing her hot cheek as he drew the hair behind her ear. The calloused pads lingered on the rim, which went fiery as he absently rubbed the tender curl of flesh.

      She felt the touch in a flash of more fire that arrowed down her neck. The erotic burn paralyzed her and she stared up at him, helpless under his enigmatic gaze and deft caress.

      “Say yes,” he said.

      And like a subject to a hypnotist, Skye nodded, then caught herself. “Wait. Whoa. I—”

      “You don’t wear earrings,” Gage said, his forefinger now tracing the lobe of her ear.

      Anyone would shiver at that gentle stroke. Anyone would be confused by the new turn of conversation. She blinked. “Not lately...”

      “So fragile,” he murmured, still playing with her ear, so that his knuckles brushed the sensitive hollow behind it. “And without any jewelry, innocent-looking and...naked.”

      Oh, God. That word, naked, combined with the almost delicate contact of his hand made her dizzy. She hauled in a breath, and his scent invaded her lungs, that same exotic, evocative male scent as the night before. It smelled like some rare, copper-colored spice kept behind a curtain in the last booth of a foreign bazaar.

      It made her want to rub her face against his throat.

      “I’m hungry,” Gage said, still touching her.

      Naked. Hungry. She was melting, going liquid inside. So much heat. “Me, too,” she heard herself say.

      “Lunch, then,” he said, his hand dropping.