And most certainly didn’t want it to end badly.
So she walked, uncaring that the sand was sticking to the bottom of her dress, or, for that matter, that she could only take smallish steps. She felt beautiful. Womanly. And a tad wild, too, out on the beach all dressed up.
Like some kind of worldly woman who had it all.
When they reached her cottage and Gray made no move to head up to it, her sensation of freedom escalated. Because it was momentary, not purporting any kind of change that she didn’t want, she kept walking, too.
Responsibility was important. Necessary. She’d be lost without it.
And a few minutes of time out of time, of vacation from real life, was necessary, too, she was finding.
She couldn’t drive if she didn’t refuel her tank.
Something her mother had once said to her father. Telling him he’d needed to relax a little bit. She couldn’t remember her father’s response, but also didn’t recall any time that he’d followed any advice but his own.
Or had taken a vacation.
And...oh, God...had her years with only him as a parent rubbed off on her more than she knew? Had she become him?
“Do you think I’m too much like my father?” The question burst out of her.
“No.” Gray’s answer was swift. And certain-sounding. Comfortable. “You’re nothing like him.”
“I’m responsible. All the time. I work and I come home and lots of nights, after Leigh’s in bed, I work more.” Fear engulfed her for a second.
Until Gray took her hand, pulling her to a stop. Faced her to the ocean and pointed. Then turned her around to gesture to her cottage in the distance. “Can you see your father living here?”
“Hell, no.” He’d wanted the view, but... “He hated the sand.”
“What did he enjoy?”
Standing there with him, staring at the ocean, she had to think a minute. “I’m not sure.” She couldn’t remember her father ever just hanging out and relaxing or bursting out with uncontrollable laughter. “Work, I guess. And being a father.”
He’d taken pride in his kids. Spent a lot of time with them.
And her words... She swung toward Gray, horrified at herself again. “That was in no way directed at, or intending to be, a dig at you...”
He lifted a finger, touched it to her lips. “I know.”
She heard his voice, but all she was aware of was the warmth of his touch on her lips in the Southern California chilly night air. And bare shoulders that were no longer as cold as they’d been starting out.
She burned.
And when his face came closer, haloed by moonlight, she watched. Her mind blank.
Her body filled with want.
The touch of his lips shocked her system. Like water when she was dehydrated. She recognized the sustenance, felt the desperate need, but had been without for too long.
More docile than normal, she stood there, letting him kiss her. Drinking from the sensations flowing through her, and nothing more.
He pulled back. “Sage... I... I apologize. I’m sorry.” He turned away, and she came to life.
“Don’t, Gray,” she said, not recognizing her own voice. Not sure what she was expecting from him. Or herself. “Don’t walk away from me.”
She grabbed his arm.
And held on.
