“Forgive me. I—” She looked at her shoes. Which gave Jasher a chance to admire her legs.
“Sage. Are you sure you’re the one who bid on it? Because I wouldn’t want either of us to get stuck reimbursing Inchy if you mess up her date itinerary. She seems like someone who wouldn’t be amused.”
“Yeah, it’s me.” Sage pulled a half-smile. “And I don’t want to cross Inchy, either. I owe you the truth though—I barely glanced at what was written, other than to see that a certain restaurant wasn’t included. I chose based on what wasn’t on the list, rather than what was. Yours was the only one without Steaks-n-Stuff.”
“You have a thing against prime rib?” Oh, please say she wasn’t a vegetarian. Much of life’s pleasure came from eating a good cut of meat.
“Nothing like that.” She laughed, and Jasher relaxed. “I’ll—let me just tell you about that later. Should we go?”
“Not if you’re wearing that.” Lavender halter dress, platform sandals, hair piling in shiny waves, as glossy as if they were the glaze on one of those cakes in a bakery window.
“Don’t I look okay?”
Better than okay. He’d only seen her in scrubs lately. Scrubs did not do that waist justice. So narrow—and it definitely provided a stark contrast to the ample curves above and below its narrow confine. Oh, yeah.
He shook himself back to the conversation.
“When I listed the date as the sluice, did you have a different sluice in mind than the irrigation ditch that runs across the ravine on route twenty-three? If there’s another one, with less dirty water in it, I’m game.”
She scrunched her eyes shut. “Yeah, this dress isn’t great for ditch water.”
“Hey, I’m aware that the sluice is much more popular among the fifteen-and-under age group. Frankly, if it weren’t for Inchy”—and her hundred thousand dollar stipulations—“I’d much rather stay in.” Give his sofa a spin, maybe reconnect in a variety of ways. “It’s nice and cool in here, with the air conditioning.” The one good thing about this apartment.
Sage glanced around his excuse for living quarters. Nothing about it showed he personally lived here. This short-term rental was more like a hotel room than a home. With a single step inside the place, Sage breathed life into it. For the first time, he wasn’t chomping at the bit to get out of the soulless box. “Yeah, it’s going to be a hot summer.” She fanned herself slightly. There was a sheen at her collarbone.
“Very hot.” Jasher stepped closer to her, and she leaned her back against the door. She smelled like ginger and grapefruit. Her eyes met his, and they captured him alive. “Burning hot.”
“Uh-huh.” She was looking at his lips. She swallowed. “I prefer the hot weather.”
“Some do like it hot.” He trained his eyes on her mouth. It was fuller than when he’d kissed her so long ago. He hadn’t forgotten how the cushioned goodness of her lower lip had felt against his own. “The hotter the better.”
She bit her lower lip, and he caught a split-second glimpse of her tongue. He pressed a hand to the door, just above her shoulder. She wanted to kiss him. She hadn’t forgotten it either—it was written all over her face. She felt that kiss like I did. It still lives inside her and is begging for company.
“Do you remember me from high school, Sage?”
She just nodded, barely perceptibly. Her breath was becoming shallow.
“Because I haven’t forgotten you.” Or how you kiss. Or several other highly impressive things about you. “There are some experiences a man never forgets.”
She sipped a quick breath and caught his gaze. “Jasher, I—”
Jasher’s phone rang. He ignored it, but then recalled himself. Doctors aren’t allowed to ignore phone calls. He tore himself away, and Sage exhaled loudly behind him.
“Hotchkiss.”
“Oh, good! It’s you. I am just checking to see whether your date picked you up—and how you like her.” Gah! Inchworm. “We’ve set up the photographer over at your date location, and she’s waiting now. But don’t keep her waiting long. I need her to do some other errands for the auxiliary.”
“Photographer?” he asked.
“Yes, yes. Just a few snaps to prove to the fundraising committee the date happens. You’re already on your way, I suppose.”
He had been on his way—to somewhere a whole lot better than a redneck version of a water slide. Unless he was made of false hope, Sage wanted his mouth on hers as much as he did. He glanced over. She was touching her neck and leaning against the archway to the kitchen, her face no longer porcelain but blushing.
Maybe the delay would make her more desperate for him. Or maybe he was delusional.
If this was how it felt, he liked self-delusion.
“We’re on our way. Just have to stop so Sage can change.” But she’d better not change too much. She was perfection. “Fifteen minutes.”