"And you think that way is to move in with me and rub cream on my butt?" Sage asked, skeptical.
"If I move in for a few days, we'll have time to talk, to figure out a way forward, to talk about this baby and how it will change our lives. We can discuss your expectations, my expectations, how we're going to tackle this." Tyce pushed his hands into his hair, frustrated. The adults in his life had lurched from crisis to crisis, had been reactive rather than proactive. By moving in with her, she couldn't avoid him and he'd be able to find out what type of father Sage wanted him to be and whether he could live up to her expectations.
They could build something small but meaningful between them, some type of relationship that would help them to co-parent their child effectively. Yeah, it meant him stepping out of his comfort zone, opening up a little, but his child deserved his best effort. Tyce sucked in a deep breath. They needed a plan and with one in place, there was less chance they'd go off script and venture into unknown, scary, emotional territory. "Am I making any sense?"
Sage wrinkled her nose. "Unfortunately, yes."
"Your enthusiasm is underwhelming," Tyce stated, his voice dry.
Sage tried to swing her legs off the bed and groaned. She closed her eyes and Tyce's heart contracted at her low whimper. "Dammit, that hurts."
Thinking that the easiest way to get her onto her feet was to lift her, Tyce slid one arm around her back, the other under her knees, and easily lifted her into his arms. Backing away from the bed, he looked down into her lovely face. "Okay?"
"Yeah." Sage curled her hand around his neck and lust skittered down his spine. "I'm okay. You can put me down."
"I'll keep my hands on you so that you don't fall," Tyce told her, keeping his voice steady and calm. After Sage was on her feet, he held her elbows and checked her face for pain. Seeing that she was coping, he leaned back and snagged the bag of clothes from the bed. He'd wanted, desperately, to remove her clothes but not like this. He'd intended to kiss every inch of her skin as he undressed her, inhale her scent, drive her crazy.
Sage's eyes slammed into his and, despite her pain, he saw the flash of awareness, heard her quick intake of breath. He couldn't help noticing that the gap between her thighs widened, that she'd subconsciously arched her back, a silent signal that desire bubbled under her pain.
He had to be the better person here... Sage was injured and he was sex deprived. But it would help if she stopped looking at him like he was a piece of fine Belgian chocolate that she couldn't wait to sample.
"Stop looking at me like that," he grumbled.
"Like what?" Sage asked, her face flushing.
"Like you want me to get you naked," Tyce snapped. "You're injured and I need to get some dry clothes on you. I shouldn't be thinking about how it feels to hold you naked, up close and against me."
Sage pulled her plump bottom lip between her teeth. "Are we ever going to get past this, Tyce?"
"Me wanting you?" Tyce clarified.
"And me wanting you." Sage rubbed her eye socket with the ball of her hand. "We keep telling ourselves that we can ignore this heat between us but it's constantly there, like the proverbial elephant in the room."
Nailed it, Tyce thought. Forcing his big brain to think, he pulled out her clothes from the bag. "We have so much else to deal with that I think we should keep our lives as simple as possible. Sex always adds a layer of complication."
"I suppose you're right."
He was but this was one time when he didn't want to be. He wanted to have her, take her and damn the consequences, but he knew that those complications would come back and take a solid chunk out of his emotional ass.
Be smart, Latimore.
"Okay then. If you have a car waiting, let's not worry about my clothes. I can handle the cold for a few minutes," Sage told him, cradling her plaster-cast arm.
"Probably, but you'd be a lot more comfortable, and warmer, in yoga pants and a hoodie than in those scratchy scrubs the nurse found for you to wear."
"I refused a hospital gown."
Tyce gestured to the sterile, unattractive hospital room. There was less chance of them getting carried away here than there was at her apartment.
"Let's just get this done."
Pulling out her clothes from the bag, Tyce stopped to look at her. Her cheekbones were slightly red. They'd discussed this, discussed making love, why was she now embarrassed? Girls could be so weird about their bodies and nudity. "Honey, I have kissed, tasted and explored every inch of you. What's the problem with me seeing you in your bra and panties?"
Sage's shoulders lifted up to hover around her ears. "That was sex. This is...I don't know how to explain it...this is different."
It was more intimate, Tyce realized. And intimacy scared Sage, as it did him. She liked being in control of what she shared with him and how much of herself she gave him and she was suddenly thrust into a situation where she had to allow him control. Tyce sympathized. He didn't like losing control either. He dropped a hand onto her shoulder and squeezed before holding up a pair of soft, well-worn yoga pants.
"So, those clothes or these?" he asked in his most businesslike voice.
Sage nodded at her pants. "Those, please." She started to fiddle with the band of her scrub pants with her left hand, muttering soft curses. "God, it even hurts to stand."
Tyce dropped to his haunches, whipped her pants down and off, trying to ignore those long, gorgeous legs that had wrapped around his hips, back and neck many times in the past. Ignoring the wave of memories, he slid the yoga pants over her lifted foot and then the other. Just get it done, Latimore. He pulled the stretchy fabric up her legs, standing up to pull the material over her butt. He glanced down and noticed the football-size bruise starting to form on her lower back. "Holy hell, Sage, how hard did you fall?"
"What?"
"You have a hell of a bruise on your butt. That's why sitting hurts," Tyce said, reaching for her socks. He quickly put her sneakers on her feet and tied the laces. Standing, he lifted the top half of her scrubs up her torso and gently pulled the shirt over her arm, trying to keep his eyes off her round, firm breasts half covered by a dusky-pink lacy bra that matched the color of her thong. God give him strength! And please, God, make her injuries heal fast; he couldn't wait to have her under him again... No, wait, that wasn't on the agenda; that wasn't part of the plan. The mission was to find a new way of dealing with each other and not to reexplore the missionary position.
Sex, moron, he chided himself, will only add a truckload of complicated to an already convoluted situation. Did you not say that ten minutes ago?
"Are you okay?" Sage asked him as he dropped a long-sleeved T-shirt over her head.
"Not even close," Tyce muttered under his breath. He picked up her hoodie, threaded her injured arm through the sleeve and frowned at the blank canvas of her plaster cast. "I'm going to have to make that more gangsta."
"Huh?"
Tyce tapped her cast. "It's white and boring. We'll graffiti it up."
The corners of her mouth tipped up. "It'll be the most expensive cast in the history of the world. You'd better sign it so that when it's removed someone can sell it on the net and make a fortune."
Tyce finished dressing Sage, helped her with her sling and picked up the spare coat he'd brought with him. "Right, let's bust you out of here."
Sage took one step, yelped, took another and groaned. Not bothering to ask her, he picked her up and held her against his chest, his temple against her head. "Better?"
"Much," Sage murmured as her good arm encircled his neck. "Though they are going to insist on a wheelchair, hospital policy."
"They can insist until the air turns blue, I'm not letting you go," Tyce told her, walking in the hallway.
I'm not letting you go.
Why did that statement resonate with him? Tyce couldn't understand why that particular order of words made deep, fundamental sense. This was the problem with being around Sage, he thought, and the reason why he'd backed away all those years ago. With her, strange thoughts and concepts popped into his head.
Keeping her, he fiercely, and silently, told himself, wasn't an option, not then and not now. He liked his own company, liked the freedom of not being tied down to a woman, a place, city or town. If he wanted to he could leave New York and go to Delhi or Djibouti; he could go anywhere. Lachlyn would be fine. He would sell or rent his space and he could take off. He could only do that because he was free of commitments; he didn't have another person to consider, someone else's feelings and wishes to take into account.