Only for the Night (If Only Book 2) (11 page)

Her phone and door keys clattered onto the kitchen table where she tossed them. “Very.” Her smile, despite its tired edges, was triumphant. “
But
…more than one regular insisted Alice had made the lemon meringue tarts this morning, so I’m making progress.”

“You’re a pastry chef. How hard can it be to follow Alice’s recipe?” He had a vague memory of Alice telling him meringues were complicated, but for Sage he had no doubt there wasn’t anything complicated about it.

“Having the recipe would make it easy.” Sage toed off her tennis shoes. “Unfortunately this is one of Alice’s ‘a little bit here, a little bit there’ creations. And customers are used to it tasting just so. Getting the little bits right and reproducing what the regulars expect can sometimes be a nightmare.”

She rolled her shoulders, and his fingers itched to grip her tired muscles and massage away the fatigue. Before they could take over his will the way his feet had, Sage picked up her shoes, gave Knight a quick head pat, then moved toward the hallway. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, images of water beading on creamy skin searing the backs of his eyelids. Forcing them open helped only for the seconds it took to refocus on Sage. “Need anything? Lunch?”

She was already halfway down the hall. “No, I’m good,” she called over her shoulder.

Of course you are.

He shook his head at himself, his reaction, the fact that he might as well have his tongue lolling out as he followed her around. The minute she walked into the room, all his control went up in flames. He was in hell.

What was wrong with him?

You’re a pussy, Hank. That’s what’s wrong. A pussy.

He turned his back to Sage, the hall, the shower. His gaze landed on the coffeepot with sudden hunger. He needed something to smack him back into reality, and it was too early for alcohol.

He was ensconced on the window seat, guitar in his lap, steaming mug at his side, when Sage’s phone rang ten minutes later. Hank glanced at the table, then went back to his strings; whoever it was would leave a message. Three rings later, the phone went silent.

He was lifting his coffee for a sip when the sound came again. He debated answering it—twice in a row could be an emergency. “What do you think, boy?” he asked Knight.

The shepherd tilted his head as if thinking over his answer. Before he could give it, the phone went silent again. Hank sank back into place.

The phone rang again.

“That settles it.” He placed his guitar safely out of the way and crossed the room. Sage’s phone screen was lit with a picture of a pretty woman who strongly resembled her—her mother, maybe? Hank swiped the screen and accepted the call.

“Hello?”

A long pause met his greeting. Hank propped a hip against the table. “Hello?” he asked again.

“Who is this?”

The man’s tone, even more than his words, ruffled Hank’s already ruffled feathers. “Who wants to know?”

Probably not the way to handle an emergency call, but hey, he hadn’t started it.

Instead of answering the question, the jackass countered with one of his own. “Where is Sage?”

Hank’s temper dangled by a thin thread he struggled to keep from breaking. This might be someone Sage cared about, though given the man’s attitude, he doubted it. “In the shower.”

“What?”

“She’s in the shower,” Hank repeated, relishing the man’s shock. “May I take a message?”

He’d promptly lose it, but the guy could leave one if he wanted.

“Yes,” the man hissed. “Tell her that her boyfriend called. She’s to return my call immediately.”

Hank jerked the phone away from his ear as the call cut off, unable to decide if he was more surprised that Sage had a significant other—despite what she’d told him at Killian’s, despite
kissing him
the other night—or by the tone that said the man expected to be obeyed. Somehow Hank didn’t think that would fly with Sage, but maybe he didn’t know her as well as he’d thought.

The fact that he hadn’t known about the jackass boyfriend made that highly likely.

His anger was still at a heavy pulse when Sage reappeared in the kitchen, skin flushed with the heat of her shower, eyes brighter than they had been before. He frowned up at her. “Your boyfriend called.”

Sage jumped like he’d goosed her. “Who?”

A spark of relief lit in his chest. She hadn’t lied; Jackass had. “Your boyfriend? He said you’re supposed to return his call immediately.”

Sage reached for her phone. A few moments later, the tension that had invaded her body eased a notch, though it didn’t disappear entirely. Her brows drew together as she stared at the screen. “Kevin,” she murmured.

Hank deliberately gentled his voice despite the lingering remnants of his anger. “Not your boyfriend, I take it.”

Sage turned toward him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, gaze distant. “Not anymore.”

Better than a
no
, but not by much. At least that’s what his inner Neanderthal decided. When Sage threw her phone back on the table, Neanderthal Hank purred with pleasure.
Guess that’s a no on the call back, then.

And yet just the idea that she’d consider calling that jackass had Hank up and pacing the floor. Christ, what was wrong with him? He might as well beat his chest and bark that she was his woman. Fist a hand in that long wet hair and kiss her hard till she was as crazy as—

Alarm zinged through his gut.
No, not like that.
He wouldn’t hurt her, not ever. He didn’t hurt women.

Sage’s light sniff and glance at the coffeepot gave him something to do. Her appreciative look when he handed over a full cup soothed his inner beast, but he couldn’t let the question of her “boyfriend” go, no matter how much he told himself he should.

“Recently?” he asked.

Sage seemed to follow his thinking easily. “Recent enough.” She settled her cup on the table with unnecessary precision. “Let’s just say it didn’t end well.”

“Is he having a hard time accepting that?”
Obviously.

“A bit.”

There was a clear
drop it
in there, one he ignored. “What happened?”

“Hank…” Exasperation and resignation mingled in his name. “After my mom…well, let’s just say he showed his true colors,” she finally answered.

The man’s tone of voice had made it clear exactly what kind of colors he’d shown. Hank wasn’t sure if he was angrier that Sage had been hurt or that she’d been fooled into dating the jackass in the first place. And how much of a jackass did that make
him
?

“How—”

Sage’s hand came up, cutting him off. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

He was across the room in a moment, that demanding hand captured in his. He settled on a chair and pulled their joined hands down until they settled on his thigh, far too close to his suddenly throbbing crotch. The echo of the man’s words, the years Hank had spent asking the questions that needed to be asked to keep a woman safe, refused to let him stay silent. Some things didn’t change.

“How bad has he gotten, Sage?”

She sighed. “He’s texted me half a dozen times. A couple of calls. I don’t answer, but…” Her shrug pulled against his grip, but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t, not with the alarm bells blaring in his ears.

She didn’t seem to want to let go either. Her fingers idly rubbed the jeans covering his thigh, her gaze centered there as if the movement fascinated her. Hank was pretty sure she wasn’t seeing it at all. “What did you tell him?” she finally asked.

He smirked. “I told him you were in the shower.”

The surprised laugh that burst from Sage’s mouth sparked pleasure deep inside him. “You didn’t!”

“Of course I did.”

Disbelief deepened the blue of her eyes when they met his, quickly fading under his forthright stare. “Of course,” she repeated. “Thank you. That’s…priceless.”

“It would’ve been better to see his face, but—” He winked, triggering another laugh. Watching her, he couldn’t get past the desperate urge to share her amusement, and not by laughing himself. He wanted to taste it, taste her. He wanted her laughter in his mouth—

He stood a bit too abruptly, but it was either that or kiss the living daylights out of her, so he went with the lesser of two evils. Accompanied by the slow fade of her laughter, he crossed the kitchen, picked up his guitar, then settled on the window seat again. Only when his fingers could caress the taut strings of the instrument did he try to speak.

“So you managed lemon meringue tarts this morning. What do you plan to tackle tonight?” Her nighttime experiments meant he got all the sweets he could eat. Maybe tonight would include cinnamon and sugar.

“Not sure,” Sage said on a yawn. Hank studied her in his peripheral vision. Now that the amusement wasn’t propping her up, her long day shone through clearly. When he said so, she shot him a rueful smile. “Yeah, I think I’ll sleep on my baking decisions, let it be a surprise.”

“You mean you plan to torture me by making me wait.”

“Of course.” She headed for the hallway.

“You know, I could probably help you decide,” he called. He could help her with a lot of things, including her nap. Not that she’d get much sleep if he was back there. Better to stay put. And keep his mouth shut. His thighs tightened, preparing to stand, but he forced stillness, forced himself to focus on the guitar in his hand instead of the heat burning in his core, his cock.

“No way!” Sage shouted back to him before closing her door.

That would probably be her answer for anything he offered. Hank ignored the ache of disappointment in his balls and concentrated on the opening riff from Weekend’s latest single.

But even focusing on his music couldn’t drive away the need for Sage, the memory of her in his arms, her soft breasts and sweet mouth and…

A growl escaped, dissatisfaction and a sudden choking realization. For the first time in eight years, he craved more than his music. This music. A faint, unfamiliar rhythm hummed through him, called to him. He closed his eyes, and Sage was there, staring into his soul, her fingers idly stroking his thigh. As those fingers moved higher, his own trailed along the guitar, creating a melody that, though soft, quiet, still burned hotter than anything he’d written before. The sound shook him almost as much as the fantasy that played behind his eyelids. Words echoed in his mind. Desire throbbed through his body. He sank into his creative headspace fully for the first time in weeks, only emerging when his fingers cramped and his eyes were too gritty to blink. What he dragged along with him was a mostly complete new song.

“Well damn.”

He poured himself a glass of water and moved to the table to make notes before the song did a disappearing act. Most of his work took days to perfect, but this one… He needed to let his horny side out more often if this was the result, though he suspected it had less to do with his libido and more to do with the new muse that had suddenly appeared in his life. Sage affected him in ways he didn’t understand, ways he’d never experienced before.

Yes, there’d been plenty of women in his life, but this was something different. Hank drew up the memory of Harley’s face. As much as he’d wanted her, even she hadn’t packed this hard a punch, though the two women were similar. Harley was strong too, full of spunk, just like Sage. She was also happily married now. He wasn’t in love with her anymore, but he would always admire her, and many of those same qualities served to strengthen the feelings buzzing under his skin for Sage. He was beginning to think he had some sort of complex—he was only fascinated by women he couldn’t have. Which was about as fucked up as his libido currently was.

Or fucked over. All he could think about was the fact that Sage was right down the hall, probably undressed, sleeping and vulnerable and sexy as hell, separated from him by nothing but several feet he could easily cross and a damnably thin door…

He smothered a groan. Knight, seeming to sense his turmoil, came up to nudge his leg. Hank sent a sour glance at the hallway as he slid his palm over the silky smoothness of Knight’s ear, then tugged the shepherd’s chin up. “How do you feel about a run, boy?”

Knight’s bark of agreement was muffled, as if the dog sensed Sage sleeping and didn’t want to wake her.
Even the damn dog loves her.

He might be fighting a lost cause.

His gut agreed. Which meant he needed a contingency plan.

He went to his room to change into running clothes. Again. He needed to think.

Sage didn’t realize she was sneaking up the stairs until one of the old wooden boards creaked loudly. Her cringe told her all she needed to know about how tense she was. How hard she was trying not to alert Hank or Knight that she was coming into the apartment. Not that her living here for the past month had been a bad thing, but it had been…strained. The attraction she felt for Hank hadn’t eased at all, had actually increased until sometimes Sage felt like her skin might split with the need to have Hank touch her. Even long hours at the bakery, pushing herself until her legs balked at the climb upstairs in the evening, couldn’t keep thoughts of Hank away, especially when she slept. If she didn’t stop waking up hot and bothered and ready to scream—in frustration, not pleasure—she might jump her roommate and damn the consequences. She knew she shouldn’t, knew it was too soon and she was still too screwed up and sleeping with the man who was essentially her business partner could be the dumbest move she’d ever made, but knowing all that didn’t change a single thing. She wanted Hank.