so sure anymore.
At some point during the past week—maybe when they played hockey or when she lit up like a schoolgirl over the Slinky—Sage had become more than a puzzle for him to solve. She was no longer a beautiful woman who intrigued him, or fun company on days when solitude held no allure. She was more than a woman he wanted—rather badly—to sleep with. Sage Anderson meant more to him than that. She’d become important to him. He cared for her.
Which made his hesitation all the more confusing. Since he cared for her, shouldn’t he want to know everything about her? Shouldn’t discovering her secrets be of even greater concern to him now than when curiosity alone guided him?
This indecision wasn’t like him at all. Seeing those paintings had truly thrown him off his game.
So ask her. Be blunt. Be direct. You’d better get the details before you go back to Washington and burn bridges.
He sucked in a breath, then blew it out harshly. He would ask her. He’d pick his time and bring up the paintings and see what he could glean from her response.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“No. Not at all.” Having reached the turnoff to Reflection Point, he glanced to his right, where Sage sat in shadow, and added, “Today has been a nice day.”
“Yes, it has. It truly has.” She turned her head, and he could just make out her smile. “I’m glad you asked to borrow that cup of sugar, Rafferty.”
“Yeah?” He arched a brow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t believe you came across with any sugar.”
“Well, play your cards right, G-man, and you might be surprised what you can beg from the neighbors.”
In the process of turning into his drive, he almost turned into a snowbank at that. He shot her a look and wished for more light to see her better. Had she meant that to sound suggestive? With this woman, he simply couldn’t tell.
He pulled the SUV to a stop and hit the remote to open the garage door, then glanced at her as soon as the automatic light pierced the darkness. She wore an enigmatic smile that told him nothing.
Once the car was parked, he walked around to open her door. “Be careful where you step. I found a leak out here earlier. There’s some ice on the ground.”
“Thanks for the warning.” She took hold of his hand and didn’t let go. His pulse jumped and he stifled a self-mocking snort. Good Lord, she had him revving like a seventeen-year-old again.
Inside, he gestured toward the great room. “Do you want to start the movie now or—”
“Now is good. Here.” Holding his gaze, she reached into her purse, pulled out the DVD, and handed it over.
Colt glanced down at the box and frowned in confusion as he read the title aloud. “Raising Cane. The story of sugarcane production in nineteenth-century Texas?”
“It’s a documentary about raising sugarcane. I’ve watched it before. It’s very boring.”
“O—kay.” He looked at the blank screen on the television, then back at her. “I don’t like my dates to be bored.”
“Oh?”
There came that damned smile again, and Colt was suddenly reminded of the look in her eyes when she’d thrown that last snowball at him. He’d had it all wrong. Forget the nickname Cinnamon—he should call her Vixen. She’d been leading him down the pine forest path all along, and he’d been too dense to recognize it.
Well, the blinders were off now.
“No. Boredom won’t do.” He reached out with his index finger to trace the V of her neckline, where her skin was as soft as the cashmere that caressed it. “Gonna let me entertain you?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I thought we’d start with that dip in the hot tub.”
“I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”
“That’s handy.” He skimmed his hand down her torso, grabbed the hem of her sweater, and whipped it up over her head. “You’re not gonna need it.”
ELEVEN
Sage had never had hot tub sex before, so it was possible that what took place over the course of the next forty minutes wasn’t unique in the history of hot tubs. However, it was definitely unique in the history of her world.
The man was a fantasy come to life. He did magical things with his hands, marvelous things with his mouth, and his penis … well, if a Hall of Fame for penises existed, surely he’d qualify for membership.
And she’d reached those conclusions prior to abandoning the hot tub for his bed. By the time