Holding his palm out, he slowly moved his hand toward the straw but didn’t touch it or the bottle. She sucked in a breath as the straw suddenly pivoted and rotated in a clockwise motion without falling.
“Te egy varázsló!”
He stilled his hands and the straw stopped moving. “What?”
“Varázsló…” she repeated, then translated, “You’re a wizard!”
He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes as he winked. “Jedi.”
That subtle wink accompanied by the dimple in his shadowed jaw unraveled something inside of her. It was so genuine, so sincere. The usual tension she felt around men wasn’t there. This was something new and different. Perhaps a platonic association she didn’t usually experience.
“Do you want to try?”
She drew back, as she’d been hovering over the edge of the table in awe. “I can’t do magic.”
“Sure, you can.” He slid off his stool and rounded the table. “Stand up.”
She stood and he stepped behind, taking her hand in his.
“You have to concentrate.” His voice was low, his breath lifting the stray hairs that escaped from her bun. “Focus on the straw and send all your concentration to the tips of your fingers. Ready?”
Swallowing, she nodded, very aware of her fingers as he lightly angled her palms. Her gaze was fully committed to the straw still balanced on the beer cap. He slowly moved her hands forward.
“Keep your palm open.” His breath teased another strand of fallen hair and she shivered.
She gasped, as the straw shifted, her hand no less than four inches away from it.
“Steady,” he whispered, guiding her palm in a slow circle over the bottle. “Don’t break your concentration. Picture it moving and your mind will move it.”
All of her focus concentrated on the teetering straw. She giggled, in awe. As he directed her hand the straw rotated, picking up speed and twirling like a propeller. It didn’t make sense.
“How am I doing this?”
He chuckled, releasing her hands. The straw teetered and rolled to the table.
She turned and faced him, eyes wide with shock. There had to be some explanation. Her mind wasn’t magic.
“Tell me how it works.”
Gray eyes squinted behind the lenses of his glasses. A tight smirk twisted his lips. “A magician doesn’t divulge his secrets.”
Disappointed, she pouted. “Oh.”
He slid into his chair and she did the same. He continued to watch her. “I’ll tell you.”
Surprised and enchanted, her smile returned.
“It’s an imbalance of electric charges. The straw’s made up of atoms that are equally positive and negative. Before I placed it on the bottle, I used the wrapper to separate the protons and neutrons, causing an imbalance. The neutral charge of my hand repels and attracts the opposite polarity.”
She snorted. “Now, I’m more confused than before.”
“It’s science. Do you ever hold a balloon and your hair stands up?”
“Yes, it tingles and floats.”
“That’s all it is. Static electricity.”
She frowned, still not understanding the method, and teased, “So you’re not a Jedi after all.”
He smirked. “Just a boring scientist.”
She tsked, disliking that he’d think himself boring. She was thoroughly entertained. “You are not boring, Elliot. I think you’re fascinating.”
His grin trembled and he looked away. Unsure why her words would upset him, her own smile faded.
Perhaps he was anxious to leave. Now that she thought about it, he probably had somewhere he needed to be. Maybe someone was waiting for him at home. Reaching for her second drink, she finished it so he wouldn’t feel obligated to stay.
“Thank you for telling me your secret.” She nudged her glass, showing him it was empty.
His attention returned to her, uncertainty playing in his eyes. “Will you go to his place?”
She grimaced. No amount of tequila would change her reality. It was all waiting on the other side of the pub walls, unchanged and unflattering as usual.
“Until I find a better option.” She thought of all the complications she now needed to address. “Lord knows where I’ll be in two days.”
“I’m sorry he did that to you.”
Her smile was sad. “Me too. But I did it to myself. You’re very nice to blame him, though.” Her situation wouldn’t be so hard to swallow if Ian were truly to blame, but, like always, the cause of her problems could be traced back to her.
She could almost pinpoint the exact week their sex life shifted from pleasure to obligation. There was a specific moment in time when her attraction became less about Ian and more about the security he offered, which proved to be no security at all.
From then onward, her sexual appeal seemed a tarnished coin and each time she put it to use her dignity paid the price. But her looks had always been her most valuable asset—her only asset when it came to persuading others. It wasn’t the first time she needed to lean on her appearance and it likely wouldn’t be the last if she didn’t start making more money at the studio.
Suddenly tired, she slouched and groaned. “This is a nightmare.”
His head cocked as the dim overhead lamp cast a glow on his rosy complexion. He seemed more at ease since he’d started his second drink. “Why?”
Humiliation pinched as she faced the truth. She didn’t want him to see her as pathetic, so she kept to basic facts. “Because I’ll never find an apartment in two days. My mother is moving back to Budapest and I have no other relatives here. I’ll probably end up sleeping in my studio until I find a place, but if my landlord catches me it will be bad. I’m not allowed to sleep there.”
“You can stay with me.”
She stilled, certain her ears were playing tricks on her.
By his wide eyes, his words clearly caught him off guard as well.
“No,” she declined, loathing a possible repeat of her last few male relationships.
Elliot was different. He wouldn’t stand for messy. Though she didn’t know him well, his tidy appearance and guarded mannerisms gave the impression he wasn’t like the men she usually associated with. And by his tight expression, his invitation had been an accidental one.
“Thank you, though.”
If he was relieved she rejected his offer, he hid it well. “Where will you go?”
“My studio.” It was her only option.
“Does it have a kitchen? A shower?”
“No, but I’ll figure something out.”
His forehead creased as he glanced away. He appeared rather put out by her situation. “I can’t let you go there.”
Her brows lowered. “Pardon?”
His focus returned to her, his eyes determined. “You can stay with me. My house is large enough. I have plenty of bathrooms. You can stay until you figure things out. You shouldn’t have to sleep in your studio.”
His generosity overwhelmed her, but she couldn’t accept. “Elliot—”
“What other option do you have?”
“I told you.”
“It’s not a problem. I’m gone during the day and my nights are usually quiet. I won’t be in your way.”
She scoffed. “It’s your house. I’d be the one in the way. I couldn’t possibly impose on you like that.”
And what would happen if he wanted her to go before she found something? She didn’t have the money for a new apartment and saving that much would take time. Her stomach soured at possibly having to offer some sort of compensation to a man as classy as Elliot.
No. She couldn’t accept his offer. It seemed too … intimate for reasons she didn’t understand. “We hardly know each other.”
“So?”
She frowned at his persistence. Typically, men only made offers like this after sleeping with her. What sort of man invited a woman he just met into his home? She thought he was different, but maybe he wasn’t. Maybe h
e saw this as a way to get her into bed. True, they met before, but tonight was the first time he ever spoke to her. She couldn’t allow herself to impose on him, not after Ian took the last of her pride and threw it in her face. She didn’t want Elliot to become the next Ian. She didn’t want him to look at her like that.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know me, and I don’t know you.” But she liked the impression he’d made in such a short time. Perhaps it was all magic, or one distraction hiding the abrasive reality. Regardless, she didn’t want to shatter the illusion that Elliot Garnet was somehow different. Her bleeding heart needed to believe good men existed, or she would have to admit her life was just a played-out love song full of unfulfilled hopes and dreams.
Disappointment flashed in his eyes as he lowered his gaze. “Do you have money for a new place? I can give you money.”
She drew back, forcing her hands into her lap. “I’m not taking your money, Elliot. I’ll be fine. Trust me. I’ve survived much worse.”
A V formed above the bridge of his glasses. “Why won’t you accept my help? I wouldn’t charge you rent. It’s a free place to stay until you get back on your feet.”
“Elliot.” He was rather persistent and the temptation put pressure on her morals. “I think you’ve had too much tequila.”
But he was determined. “Nadia, take the offer. Let me loan you money or at least give you a place to stay. I promise, there are no strings attached. I’m trying to be a gentleman. I can’t let you sleep in an empty dance studio. Don’t be stubborn.”
“I’m stubborn? Do you hear yourself? You’re inviting me to live with you and we only met an hour ago.”
“We met more than a year ago.”
But the shy man who participated in her class over a year ago didn’t resemble the determined, sweet man keeping her company tonight. “I’m messy.”
“I have a maid.”
“Of course you do.” She was again reminded of how affluent he and his friends were. “I don’t know how long it will take me to save up for my own place. Most of my income goes toward rent at the studio.”
“There’s no timeline.”
Her lips pursed. It wasn’t right and she didn’t want to take advantage of such a nice person. She didn’t want to be indebted to him, either. Or discover he could take advantage of her the way other men had. “Why are you doing this?”
He paused, the question seeming to catch him off guard. “I … just want to help you. Do I need a reason?”
“There’s always a reason, Elliot.”
“Then … blame chivalry. It’s the right thing to do.”
She frowned at him, waiting for him to laugh and tell her this was some sort of joke. Nobility? When had a man in this lifetime ever spoken of such outdated ideals? “You’re a strange man.”
“Is that a yes?”
She sighed. He seemed safe and dangerous. Somehow vulnerable and all too cocky. She hated the possibility that she might take advantage of his kindness, so she swore this wouldn’t be like all the other times. Elliot was different and that meant the situation had to be as well. “Perhaps just tonight.”
Chapter Three
“I'll get the blankets, you Google how to have child-like fun.”
~Sheldon Cooper
The Big Bang Theory
Elliot anxiously tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for Nadia to return with her belongings. It was almost midnight and he still was processing how he’d gotten himself into this mess.
True, he didn’t like the image of her sleeping on some cot in an empty dance studio lacking all the habitable necessities a woman might need, but that didn’t make it his duty to fix her problems. Since when did he involve himself in other people’s drama?
Never. The answer was never. So why was he suddenly taking some homeless dance instructor back to his house? This bordered on every possible creepy stalker scenario out there and he was the pitiful culprit, justifying his motives as noble. Pathetic.
The door to the apartment complex opened and he sucked in a breath, doing his best to appear relaxed as she carried a large bag to the car. Wrenching open the door, she wedged her belongings behind the passenger seat, slid in beside him, and growled.
Her words, mumbled Hungarian, tickled his brain, but he couldn’t decipher a single phrase. He made a mental note to pick up a book on the language.
When she finished her foreign tirade, he glanced behind her seat. “Is that everything?”
“Yes,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.
Not one for translating female body language, he shifted gears and edged onto the road. He’d always heard women were heavy packers. Maybe that was a myth because she apparently lived with very few clothes. The apartment wasn’t in the nicest area, so hopefully, they wouldn’t have to return.
The ride to his house was made in silence. Her sour mood seemed to escalate as if her temper was actually heating the interior of his car. The closer they came to his home the higher his anxiety spiked. He should have offered to put her up in a hotel.
The idea of actually exposing his personal quarters to someone as complex as Nadia left him nauseous. What if seeing his private home disappointed her in some way or she found his house strange? Some people’s homes had a smell. Did his? He was starting to sweat.
The ingrained practice of hiding his vulnerabilities from the rest of world was something he mastered long ago. The sense of exposure, even or especially to Nadia, formed a knot of dread inside his stomach so tight he suddenly recalled humiliating moments from childhood with painful clarity, embarrassing events he’d assumed were buried and forgotten. It wasn’t a welcome sense of nostalgia.
He turned the car toward the entrance of his property, pausing to key in a code at the gate. As they eased up the long, winding drive, his gaze bounced between her shadowed presence and the dark road.
Her scowl lifted as the house came into view. “Ez nem egy ház.”
“I don’t speak Hungarian.” He was definitely picking up a book tomorrow.
“This is not a house. This is a fortress.”
He cherished his privacy, which made his decision to let her into his home all the more startling. But it was definitely a house. Just a big one.
“The gate code’s three one four, but I ask that you keep that to yourself.” Once she left, he’d have to change it. Such a slight inconvenience, but it felt mammoth in his well-ordered world.
Still, an unfamiliar part of him wanted her there. His disliked this indecisive side of himself very much and wasn’t used to wavering, emotionally or otherwise. This was why women confused things.
Parking by the front steps he shut off the engine and they sat in utter silence. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, her soft fragrance overpowering the delicate leather scent of the upholstery.
“Are you sure about this, Elliot?”
Every time she enunciated the “T” in his name his body shivered. Despite his reluctance to let anyone in, some definitively masochistic side of his psyche demanded he do this. Perhaps it was some skewed sense of decency that insisted he help her, but more realistically it seemed a perverted chance to be near her—even if near was as close as they’d ever come. This was going to be torture.
“Yes, I’m sure.” He opened his door and she followed suit.
She gathered her bag and met him at the foot of the steps. He took the duffle from her, surprised by its light weight, and led the way to the door.
“The front entrance code is one five nine.”
His entire security database was programmed to the digits of pi, but she’d only need to know the gate, front door, and alarm. No need to go into the many other codes protecting his belongings. As he typed in the code, the door chirped and opened, flaying his composure and tempting him to rescind his invitation and escort her to a hotel.
The light blinked on the security panel and he quickly typed in the disarm code. “T
he alarm code is two six five.”
“Will you write the numbers down for me?”
“Yes.” Switching on a few lights, he drew in a stabilizing breath that barely steadied him at all. “I should let you know the house is under surveillance, not the bedrooms or bathrooms, of course, but all the common areas have cameras on them twenty-four-seven.”
She probably thought he was a pervert. You are.
“It’s just for security.”
“Why?”
He shrugged, not wanting to revisit the memories of having his home robbed while he hid in the pantry, terrified. That was a different house, but still. “I have a lot of valuables in the house. I’d rather be vigilant than sorry.”
She nodded and turned, taking in the expansive foyer. “Where do you sleep?”
“Upstairs. I’ll show you the guest rooms.” Hefting her bag in his arm, he led her up the staircase and paused at the first closed door. “This room’s private.”
No need to risk her judgment. Most grown men didn’t have an entire chamber dedicated to Legos. Building things with his hands helped him relax and some of his best ideas had been born in that room.
“This is my room.” He continued to walk, pointing out the purpose of each door. “Closet. Game room. Home theater. Arcade. Library. And this is a powder room.”
Her expression was unreadable, so he went on. “This is one of the guest rooms. You can take a look to see if it suits. There are four more.”
She stepped forward and eased open the door. He wasn’t much for frills, finding methodic practicality necessary in many cases. Whenever his work required attractive design schemes, he passed the ball to Ash or Hunter. If it was out of their league, they hired a specialist.
She didn’t appear enchanted or disheartened by the room’s dark color scheme. Though there was no label, he often referred to the room as The Penguin Suite—the villain, not the aquatic bird.
“This is very nice.”
“I’ll show you the others.” Leading her down the hall, he opened the door to The Riddler Suite. Deep green walls made the violet comforter pop.
“They’re all so nice. It’s like a hotel. Do you have guests often?”
Untied: A Mastermind Novel Page 3
