I've no right to even think you'd consider it, but could you...would you stay?"
Sage approached his bed without smiling. Fletcher couldn't read her expression.
"Mr. Brown...Zachary...I'm not in the habit of spending the night in the rooms with my guests."
Fletcher reached for her, oddly fearful that he had insulted her without measure, and without meaning to. "Sage, wait—"
She sat on the edge of the bed and put her finger to his lips. "Shhh. Let me finish. To wander these rooms would be highly improper. But if someone I know on a first name basis is sick or hurting, could I be so cruel as to ignore their cry for comfort? Yes, Zachary. I'll stay."
* * *
Sage Jurrell comforted him that night and every night afterward because Fletcher didn't leave as he had planned. A part of him was desperate to stay with her, delight in her, and for now, he gave in to it. For a brief time he would allow himself this small luxury.
When he slept cradled in her arms, the nightmares eased, and he awoke without a throbbing head and swollen eyes. Any anxiety in the night was quickly dispelled by her tender touch and reassuring voice. He found himself smiling, teasing and laughing more.
* * *
He came down one morning and looked for her. She had left his bed early, as usual, escaping before the other guests were awake. It was her custom to oversee the preparations for the morning meal. Fletcher awoke when he reached out for her and missed her warmth beside him. He found her in the kitchen enveloped in a huge apron with traces of flour smeared on her face. He shook his head and chuckled.
"I love your new face powder," he said, grinning.
Her hands full of dough, Sage wiped her face with her arm. "There were a few disasters this morning so I had to lend a hand. Don't tease me or you'll not have the surprise I've planned."
"Surprise? For me? How wonderful; I love surprises." He shot her a rakishly wicked glance and saw a pink blush rise from her neck.
"Shoo—out of my kitchen. I've work to do. I'll find you when the time comes for your special surprise—" Fletcher received Sage’s wicked glance in return. "—and then I'll decide if you should have it."
* * *
Fletcher was outside, inspecting the building when she found him. She was carrying a basket, and he hurried to take it from her.
"It's heavy," he said as she handed it to him. "What's in here?"
"Kiss me first and maybe I'll tell you."
"Here? Outside? At high noon?" he countered, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm quite aware of where we are and the time of day," she said, setting her hands on her hips. "I'm also aware that there is not a soul in sight. If you wish to eat, sir, I suggest you do as you are told."
Fletcher bowed his head to look properly chastised. "Be it far from me to disobey the house rules. I hasten to do thy bidding." He leaned over the basket and kissed her with unabashed craving.
"Mmmm," she cooed. "I fear what's in the basket will not be half as delicious."
"It's to be a picnic then?" he asked, delighting in the idea of spending the afternoon with her.
She peeked at him and winked. A beguiling smile curved the corners of her mouth. "We'll ride out to a wonderful lake I know."
"Now it's my turn to say, 'Mmmm.’ Sounds promising. I can scarcely contain myself."
Whiz was not cooperative about the basket thumping on his back. He flicked his tail, pranced sideways and jigged, attempting to rid himself of the cumbersome burden. However, at Fletcher's insistent firm and steady urging he calmed, and they reached the lake. The afternoon stretched before them with splendid anticipation.
Settled under a large shade tree, Fletcher lay with his fingers locked across his chest as Sage fed him their meal of chicken, fruit and sweetmeats piece by piece. He opened his mouth to take each morsel and caressed the skin of her fingers with his tongue. He tasted each digit as he tried to lick the delicious icing from them. He chased her, caught her, rolled and laughed with her. He scooped her slender body into his arms and swung her around until they both cried out with dizziness—small rituals he had not done with a woman since before his abduction.
He goaded her into swimming with him in the frigid water, then abashedly remembered the scars which latticed his chest and back. While her back was turned, he dived into the water as God had made him; Sage insisted on wearing her chemise. Fletcher smiled wickedly, relishing the pulsing of his blood and the tightening in his thighs as he watched the flimsy material cling to her wet figure with tantalizing translucence.
The woman with him was truly a delicate joy and tempting almost beyond control. Despite the icy water, her comely figure awakened in him heightened desires he didn’t know he could still feel. No, more than that. His sheer lust he had sated with many willing females who had given wantonly of their bodies. Sage Jurrell awakened more than rutting desires. Her fascinating, intriguing nature awakened feelings foreign to him now, feelings he thought beaten out of him: tenderness, gentleness, a wish to please and protect. He admitted to himself that their time together lacked the wondrous sparkle he had always felt with Kyndee, but the kind of love he'd felt for that woman had proven him an asinine fool. Yet Sage was warm and sweet and soothed his spirit deadened by years of unending torment.
The response shocked and intimidated him because Zachary Brown wanted absolutely no complications to interfere with his ultimate goal. If others saw him as stone cold, ruthless and selfish, it was because life in the past decade had given no reason to be otherwise. He had left place in his life for no emotion save hate, left room in his heart for naught but vengeance.
Tread cautiously! The restraint cooled his ardor, and he was content to allow her warm gaze to suffuse him.
Sometime later, they nestled against the truck of the tree. They dozed, allowing the warmth of the day to dry her hair and her undergarments.
Dressing the lady was another intriguing event. Fletcher had spent his youth learning how to disarm and undress a woman, and he chuckled at his futile efforts to fasten the many hooks and buttons properly. The gratifying experience required three tries at the very least, and he doubled with laughter as he viewed each of his failures.
Sage giggled like a young girl at his purposely poor attempt to redo her hair. He kept pulling the pins, watching the locks fall around her shoulders, running his fingers through their silkiness, before again twisting each curl and pinning it properly in place. He had never before had the immensely titillating pleasure of assisting a lady with her toilette.
Having proven herself an accomplished rider, Sage challenged him to a race and they galloped back to town, neck and neck, each of them panting and claiming victory.
"I won," she exclaimed, her eyes wild with excitement. "I told you I would."
Her cheeks were flushed and her poorly pinned hair in total disarray. Leaning close to him, she placed one hand on his chest and smoothed a stray lock of hair from his brow with the other.
"I was burdened with the damned basket. And it spooked my horse," he replied, shaking his head and jutting his chin with feigned indignation.
"Well then, I'd say that
