he no longer needed to. Gage thanked heaven for the small mercies. A lot of his buddies, saddled with families and mortgages, were stuck in one city and hadn’t been able to pull up roots when they’d been unceremoniously pink-slipped. His profession was both portable and recession-proof. A radio jock’s salary wasn’t exactly lucrative, but he’d always gotten by comfortably, thanks to the success of his on-air alter ego. Fitz saw to it that he always stayed on his feet and in rare form. His success was proof that there were two types of women in the world. There was the type like Ronnie, who were enthralled by the bad-boy image Gage had cultivated for his radio personality. The other type was highly unlikely to be amused by his profession. Like Sabrina March. If he had told her what he did for a living when they first met, their conversation would have ended shortly after the introductions when she cast a disdainful glare in his direction. Sebastian failed to mention that the maid of honor was cute as hell when she got tipsy. Or that unlike Ronnie and his past assortment of palomino blondes, Sabrina had curiously little guile when it came to seduction. Considering that she regularly mingled with male legislators, lobbyists and other Chiefs of Staff, all well-endowed in the self-assurance department, this had surprised him the most. Gage thought of her sitting there in the sun in that shapeless dress making her port-induced confessions and blowing her bangs out of those big brown eyes. She didn’t know it, but she’d all but dared him to bring it on. Then when he’d leaned in to kiss her, she’d blinked and gulped like a girl on her first date. Yawning, Gage rose from the comfort of the sofa and headed toward the kitchen to scrounge up whatever leftovers were in the fridge. A handwritten schedule attached to the door with an X-Men magnet reminded him that he needed to put in an appearance at a sponsored event at a popular Sixth Street bar later that night. He needed to gird his loins with a serious power sleep before he interacted with the masses of rowdy college co-eds sucking down margaritas laced with Everclear. After wolfing down the remnants of a sandwich, he stumbled to his bedroom and drew the blackout blinds — a requisite for anyone who worked a reverse schedule. His rumpled tuxedo jacket was still draped over the bedpost. Some of Sabrina’s perfume had transferred to the collar, and a diffuse trail of smoke and flowers tantalized his nostrils. There would probably be a little hell enough to pay when Molly and Sebastian got back from Paris. His ears would be burning as the women had one of their girl-power confabs, during which Sabrina would no doubt tell Molly that he’d … what? Gotten her drunk and kissed her silly? Not that she’d squeeze too much juice from that particular fruit. Sabrina had been a willing participant. She’d kissed him like she’d meant it. Gage couldn’t recall a single woman who’d ever put that much heart and soul into a first kiss. Whatever irreconcilable difference put the kibosh on Maid March’s marriage hadn’t been born in the bedroom, unless she was an incredibly good actress or her ex-husband couldn’t figure out which end was up. Fitz had listened to his fair share of callers complaining about bumbling, uneducated lovers. Gage sank his head into the pillow and chuckled as he remembered Sabrina’s remark about kicking dirt. Fitz might have put his own spin on the tale earlier that morning, but Gage had been almost relieved that she hadn’t wanted him to take things all the way. He had no regrets about their steamy, starlit make-out session. But opening himself to anything more would have been courting the one thing he didn’t need in his life right now — complications. Because he had discovered something else about Sabrina March. Nothing about her would ever be simple.
CHAPTER SIX Sabrina parked Carlton at the front desk and