The Pagan Stone Page 0,43

better go back in, get started."

Layla tugged Quinn back as Cybil went inside. "Am I really the only one who noticed that she just kept describing herself as the kind of woman Gage would fall for?"

"Nope. But isn't it interesting that Cyb didn't appear to get that?" Quinn draped an arm around Layla's shoulders now. "Even though, in my opinion, she was right on target. She's exactly the woman he'd fall for. Won't this be fun to watch?"

"Is it Fate, Quinn, or choice? For all of us?"

"I vote choice, but you know what?" She gave Layla a pat. "I don't much care, not as long as we all live happy-ever-after."

Thinking of just that, Layla looked at Fox as she walked into the kitchen. He popped the top on a Coke, laughing at something Cal said. As his tawny eyes glanced her way, they warmed like suns.

"Ready for a little fortune-telling?" He held out a hand for hers.

"I want to ask you a question first." It was important to ask now, she realized, before those cards were turned.

"Sure, what do you need?"

"I need to know if you'll marry me."

The conversations around them stopped. For several long seconds there was no sound as he stared at her. "Okay. Now?"

"Fox."

"Because I was thinking more like February. You know what a crappy month February is? Why shouldn't there be something really great to look forward to in the mostly crappy month of February?" He took a slug of his Coke, then set it down as she stared back at him. "Plus, it was February when I saw you for the first time. But not Valentine's Day because, you know, complete cliché and way too traditional."

"You've been thinking?"

"Yeah, I've been thinking, seeing as I'm completely in love with you. But I'm glad you asked me first. Takes the pressure off." With a laugh, he lifted her off her feet. "February work for you?"

"February's perfect." She laid her hands on his cheeks, kissed him. Then lifting her head, she grinned. "Fox and I are getting married in February."

Amid the congratulations and hugs, Cybil caught Gage's eye. "Don't worry," she said quietly. "I won't propose."

She put on the kettle for tea, to keep her calm and centered when they went back to work.

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

GAGE SLEPT POORLY, AND THE INSOMNIA HAD nothing to do with dreams or visions. He wasn't used to making serious mistakes, or worse-certainly more mortifying-clumsy missteps. Particularly with women. He made his living not just reading cards and the odds, but out of reading people, what went on behind the eyes, the words, the gestures.

It was small comfort to understand, at about three a.m., that he hadn't read Cybil incorrectly. She was just as intrigued and attracted as he, just as interested-and probably just as wary-of acting on those now-famous buzzing sexual vibes.

No, he wasn't wrong about the sexual connection between them.

His monumental mistake had been knee-jerking off a disquiet inside himself and kicking it right into her face. The second layer of the mistake being-and Christ, it was lowering-he'd been after reassurance. He'd wanted her to agree with him, to tell him there wasn't anything to worry about. She wasn't any more willing to get dicked around by Fate than he was.

With that all tidied up, they'd work together, sleep together, fight together, hell, maybe die together, and no problem.

All that talk about emotion and emotional connection had spiced the stew he'd already had simmering inside him. Hadn't he watched both his closest friends, his brothers, fall in love? And weren't they both heading toward the altar? Any man in his right mind would take a hard look at the hand being dealt and fold before the draw.

And, with hindsight flashing like neon, he had to admit he should've kept that move, that thought, that opinion to himself. Instead, he'd fumbled it, gone on the defensive. And had, essentially, accused her of setting him up. She'd been right to kick his ass over it. No question about it. Now the question was how to put things back on a level field without having to wade through the sticky waters of an apology first. He could use the greater-good ploy, but however true it might be, it was weak.

In the end, he decided to play it by ear, and walked into the rental house. Quinn was halfway down the steps, and paused when he came in. After the briefest of hesitations, she jogged the rest of the way down. "Hi. You wouldn't