Angel's Rest(68)
“It’s a date,” she replied, then immediately wanted to bite her tongue. They’d been easier together the last few hours. With all the fun stuff taking place, she hadn’t dwelled on the bad stuff. She didn’t want this slip of the tongue to ruin that. “I didn’t mean … it’s just an expression. I say it all the time to Sarah and … well …”
“Nicole, I get it. See you in twenty.” He reached to shut the door to her bedroom, then stuck his head back in and added, “No need to parse your words around me. It’s a date.”
She relaxed. Good—she was tired of living in a minefield. She emptied her suitcase and cosmetics bag, then gave in to the urge to test the mattress. She stacked the pillows against the headboard, then kicked off her shoes and curled up atop the coverlet. The pillow case smelled of lavender and sunshine, she thought. It was pure heaven.
Heaven brought to her by her very own angel, Gabriel.
She snickered at her own nonsense and closed her eyes. Except for being exhausted, she felt better than she had in weeks. Her problems were far from solved. Yet she no longer wanted to either cry or commit murder every time she looked at Gabe—a huge improvement.
She’d had a long talk with herself during the flight to California and she’d made some decisions. She was determined to forgive and forget all the past hurts, both real and imagined. She was prepared to do her part to see that this trip accomplished its purpose, and they could return to Eternity Springs having established a comfortable, compatible relationship going forward. As long as she kept her emotions and expectations under control, they should be able to make this work.
Nic stretched like a cat, then snuggled back into her pillows. She awoke ten hours later to find the down comforter spread over her, a plate of cookies, and a small carton of milk chilling in an ice bucket beside the bed.
“Well, shoot,” she grumbled. She’d missed both the sunset and the bath she’d craved. But on the positive side, she hadn’t spent a single second sulking over the circumstances of her wedding night. All in all, she’d come out ahead.
For the next five days, they played. The weather cooperated, giving them blue skies, sunshine, and unseasonably warm temperatures. He rented a Ferrari and they drove Highway 1 along the Big Sur coast. They played golf, making sure to have their picture taken together at the famous eighteenth hole at Pebble Beach, then she made an e-postcard with the photo and sent it to old friends in Colorado Springs by way of a wedding announcement. She felt a shameful bit of glee in knowing the news would get back to Greg. They toured the famous aquarium in Monterey and wandered through the quaint shops in Carmel. Gabe played more golf while she indulged in some serious pampering at the spa.
It was a lovely trip, and Nic told herself to be happy. She was a guest in a gorgeous hotel in a part of the country whose beauty rivaled the Colorado Rockies. She’d been pampered and spoiled, her every whim indulged.
Well, not every whim. He’d said no sex, so of course all she thought about was sex.
It was hard not to think about it. She was on her honeymoon, after all, and her husband was drop-dead gorgeous. But he’d gone out of his way to avoid any hint of romance on the trip: no candlelit dinners, no dancing cheek to cheek to soft music, no moonlight walks on the beach. Nevertheless, she couldn’t seem to look at him without imagining him naked.
Her hormones were obviously running amok.
When he downshifted the Ferrari and shot her a grin, or sank a six-foot putt and gave her a cocky wink, or threw a stick for a sandy dog on the beach and laughed, Gabe Callahan exuded sex appeal. She found herself wanting to touch him, to sink her fingers into his hair. To fit her mouth to his, her body against his heat.
Gabe, on the other hand, showed no sign of suffering a similar desire. He was casual with her, relaxed. Friendly. She told herself to be happy for it, to be glad that the awkwardness and tension between them lessened every day. She warned herself not to expect too much too soon. The goal had been for them to return to Colorado at ease with each other and their situation, and in that respect the honeymoon had been a success.
She just wished he didn’t turn her on with a glance.
Pesky hormones.
Gabe needed to run. Or swim. Or run and swim. And lift weights. And do sit-ups. Or take a cold shower. Or jump in the very cold ocean. Or do all of the above.
Something, anything to distract him.
Well, except for the obvious anything.
This honeymoon had been a disaster. Oh, he and Nic got along better. Their conversation never got much beyond small talk, but the awkward moments weren’t happening as often. Over the past few days they’d learned to get along more like friends than like enemies. She didn’t seem as angry at him, didn’t appear to be so sad. Their time together this week had made Gabe feel better, too. His heart was lighter, his outlook more positive.