Sage was, had always been, in a class of her own. She was funny and smart and generous and, surprisingly, she was the most down-to-earth girl he knew. She had no idea that her smile could stop traffic, that her legs could make grown men weep, that her eyes could be weaponized. She had the ability to cut him off at the knees and that was the primary reason why he needed to keep her at a distance. He could fall into something deeper with Sage. She was the one woman who could tempt him into opening up, to explore a world that went beyond some bed-based fun.
Tyce banged the back of his head on the wall of the elevator, feeling his throat constrict. His mind was all over the place, as unsettled as a raging river. She'd always had the ability to mess with his thoughts, to disturb his equilibrium.
He'd explained about the shares, about Lachlyn, and it would be at least two weeks until the DNA tests came back. Sage said that she needed space and, yeah, judging by his crawling skin and accelerated breathing, maybe he did too. He'd take some time, put some distance between them, get his head on straight, to figure out how to deal with Sage on a long-term basis.
A basis that didn't, sadly, involve getting her naked.
Six
Sage glanced at her laptop screen and frowned at the brief message from Linc that had popped into her inbox five minutes ago.
DNA testing confirms that Lachlyn Latimore is Connor's biological daughter. Family meeting?
Family meeting? What did that mean anymore? Did that mean just her and her brothers, her brothers plus their partners, Lachlyn, Tyce?
They were all now connected through DNA. She was connected to Lachlyn because their fathers were brothers, she was connected to Tyce through the DNA their baby shared. It was all crazy, too much to handle. She had a cousin. A sister, sort of. Who was also her baby's aunt.
The news that Lachlyn was Connor's daughter wasn't a surprise: from the moment she saw Lachlyn's photo she'd known who'd fathered her. How to interact with Lachlyn, what to do, how to approach her had played on an endless loop in her head over the past ten days. They were frequently joined by How involved does Tyce want to be with the baby? and What would he do if I jumped him?
The question of Tyce's role as a father was constructive thinking; the thoughts and memories of Tyce's muscled body and his skilled mouth, and rediscovering what lay under his clothes, were not.
Throwing her pencil onto her workbench, she picked up the sketch she'd been working on-resetting an eight-carat cabochon-cut diamond-scrunched it into a ball and tossed the piece of paper over her shoulder. Her concentration was shot; she couldn't draw a stick figure if someone put a gun to her head.
Sage pushed her chair back and walked across her loft to the windows to look at her city. Linc's email sealed the deal-Lachlyn was Connor's daughter and was a Ballantyne. That meant changes and Sage wasn't fond of change. In her experience change meant sadness and grief. Every time change slapped her it hurt like hell: her parent's deaths, Connor's death. Change always meant tears and she was quite convinced she'd shed enough of those.
Lachlyn's connection to her family meant that Sage had to make an effort to know her, to pull her into the family circle. It was such a big ask. God, she was still getting used to her siblings' women and she was still finding her way with them. She adored Piper, Cady and Tate but she didn't understand them. How could they be so open, so unafraid? They lived bold lives, believing, erroneously in her opinion, that their lives would only and forever be wonderful. Her parents had lived like that: fearlessly, daringly, without worrying about the future, without worrying that life could smack them in a hundred and ten different ways. She'd experienced that intense grief when her parents died, again with Connor's death.
Nobody understood that fear kept her sane, that standing apart from people gave her some measure of control, a tiny barrier to deflect the hard wallop of people dying, leaving, moving away...changing.
Sage heard the first bars of her ringtone and looked at the screen of her phone and hesitated. She should answer Tyce's call but fear and frustration kept her hands firmly in the pockets of her jeans. She ran her hands over her face as a wave of guilt crashed over her. She'd promised to call him but she was still digesting him and their situation, desperately hoping that her fairy godmother would creep into her loft and wave a wand and make sense of her life. It would be easier if she knew what she wanted from Tyce, how she wanted to raise this child, how to start a conversation with him.
The problem was that every time she laid eyes on him, her brain shut down and her body started to thrum. Desire coursed through her and skin prickled and her stomach quivered. She wanted to make love to him again, to explore the angles and ridges of his muscled body and hear him moan with need for her. She imagined his fingers on her, in her, his mouth licking its way down her body, testing her, tasting her, filling her...
Sage placed the palm of her hand against her forehead. Tyce was an alpha male, possibly the most alpha male she'd ever met. He was ridiculously fit and almost overwhelmingly male and thoughts of him made her womb throb and her lady parts tingle.
Okay, this was ridiculous; she was burning up from the inside out. There had to be an explanation for why she was feeling a hundred times hornier than usual...
Tyce was ludicrously good-looking and phenomenally talented at getting her off, but even when she was younger, she'd never felt so on edge, so aware of her libido. Usually when she was stressed-and the events of the past few weeks were enough to stress out a sloth-her libido took a dive.
Her horniness could be pregnancy hormones, she decided and, almost immediately, cursed herself for lying to herself. It was all Tyce, only Tyce. God, maybe she needed a cold shower.
Sage looked out her windows at the dingy day. Or maybe a walk in fresh air would do the trick. Although it was snowing, a brisk walk would clear her mind and work out some of the tension in her body. Making up her mind, Sage headed to her front door, pulling on flat, warm boots and a thick coat. She placed a floppy burgundy hat over her messy hair and wound a scarf around her neck. Her gloves were in her pocket and with her front door key, her phone and a little cash, she headed downstairs.
It was colder than she'd thought. Sinking her chin into her scarf, she pulled on her gloves and started to walk. In summer the trees were leafy and the cafés scattered chairs and tables on the sidewalk but on a bitter winter afternoon, with snow falling, the residents of this neighborhood were either in Florida, at work or tucked up in their apartments. Only fools and the insane walked the streets in a biting wind. She wouldn't last long, Sage thought; she'd walk a block or two to clear her head and when she returned to her apartment she could justify a decadent cup of hot chocolate. Damn, it was slippery, she thought when her feet skidded across a patch of ice. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea.
Turning back to her apartment building, Sage saw a tall figure approach her front door and frowned, thinking that his height and build reminded her of Tyce. When he walked up the steps and jabbed his finger on her button she recognized his profile, the odd snowflake settling on his black hair. Tyce was leaning on her bell, waiting for her to buzz him in. Impatient man, Sage thought, stepping from the road onto the sidewalk.
Because her eyes were on Tyce, she didn't notice the patch of ice and her right foot skidded out from under her. Her left foot followed suit and then she was freewheeling her arms, trying to keep her balance. Can't fall, she thought, she had to protect her baby. She tried to break her fall and her hand slammed down on the pavement and she heard the distinctive crack.
The pain in her coccyx hit her first, the sharp sting rocketing up her spine. Not wanting to be outdone, her wrist radiated short, sharp bursts of agony, causing dots to appear behind her eyes and her breath to catch in her throat.
Sage knew she didn't call out to Tyce-she had no breath to speak let alone to yell-but by some miracle he appeared and dropped to his knees next to her. "Crap! Sage, are you okay? What the hell happened?"
Sage, still looking for air and fighting pain, couldn't reply.
Tyce's hand on her cheek anchored her and his deep, calm voice steadied her. "Okay, honey, just breathe. Slowly. In and out."
Sage concentrated on getting air into her lungs, vaguely aware that Tyce held a phone to his ear, his eyes locked on hers. She heard something about an ambulance, that they should hurry. Sage tried to wave his concerns away; she would be okay; she just needed a minute.
And, she thought, a new coccyx and a new wrist. Then she would be fine.
"Yeah and she's pregnant, about four months," Tyce said. "Breathe, dammit."
Okay, that statement was directed at her. Sage pulled in some more air and felt the light-headedness pass and the pain increase. She was also, she realized, lying flat on her back and every inch of her body was freezing, except for her butt and her wrist, both of which were on fire.