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
