He cleared his throat, trying not to look at his phone displaying the view of the kitchen from where it rested on the carpet. Perhaps if he ignored it, she wouldn’t notice. “Thank you.”
He scooted back as she carried the tray to the bed, resting the legs of the tray on either side of his knees. She handed him a linen napkin and he was distracted by the scent of autumn spices rising from the bowl of what looked like porridge. “Is this oatmeal?”
“Gruel. My dédanya’s recipe.” She squeezed his bicep, sending blood rushing to his lower extremities. “It will make you strong.”
Thank God there was a tray over his lap. “Dédanya?”
“Great-grandmamma. She made the best gruel.” Turning, she bent to scoop up his phone, glancing at the screen before handing it back to him. “I’m also making you soup for later, but I guess you figured that out with all your sneaky cameras.” She smirked. “Are you a spy, Elliot?”
His face heated as he tried to match her playful smile and failed. “Sorry. I … wanted to see if you needed anything.”
“I met your maid. She’s very nice, though I don’t think she was expecting to find someone like me in your kitchen.” Making herself at home, she lowered herself to the edge of the mattress, her curvaceous body brushing his knee through the covers. “Why is that? You must have women stay over from time to time.”
Distracting himself by searching for a spoon, he cleared his throat. “I don’t entertain much.”
“Yet you have all the cameras. I assumed a lot of people come to your home.”
People, not beautiful women. “Mostly employees.” And even that was rare.
“Do you not trust the people that work for you?”
She asked a lot of questions. “I don’t trust anyone.”
Her head tipped to the side, a dark curtain of chestnut waves falling down her arm. “Not even Asher?”
“I trust my partners, but that’s about it.”
“Yet you opened your home to me.”
Something he still didn’t understand the logic behind.
It’s because you’re pathetic and you’re using this as an excuse to get close to a woman who wouldn’t notice your existence otherwise.
“You needed a place to stay.” He took a bite of the gruel, surprised by the sweet flavor that filled his mouth. “What is this exactly?” He went in for another bite.
“Family recipe. I make it from spices and nuts. You have a great kitchen. It makes it fun to cook.”
Holding the bowl in his palm, he practically inhaled the stuff. “Thank you. Feel free to use it whenever you like. This is delicious.”
She laughed, the sound overriding his appetite with other urges. “I’m glad you like it.”
Placing the bowl and spoon back on the tray he sighed. “Gruel. Interesting. I’m definitely a fan.”
“Wait until you taste the rest.”
He stilled, his body throbbing. Her lips pulled tight as she held his stare. She was talking about soup, right? Definitely soup. Had to be soup.
“Drink your tea before it gets cold.” He reached for the mug just as her knuckles pressed to his brow, testing his temperature. “You still feel warm and your skin’s flushed.”
“I’m sure I’m fine.” He couldn’t keep lying to her, although illness seemed a great excuse for the symptoms of arousal he couldn’t hide. But the last thing he needed was her thinking him fragile—although he wasn’t as sturdy as the men she was probably used to.
“Still, you’ll rest.” She stood, removing the bowl and surveying his room. “Do you want anything else?”
His gaze clung to the curve of her hips, the soft, nearly invisible hairs dusting the flesh beneath her belly button. “I’m sorry, what?”
“It’s not nice to stare, Elliot.”
Mortified, his stare jumped to her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not … used to this.”
His heart thundered, and he diverted his attention to the mug in his hands, scalding his tongue. He grimaced as the robustly potent flavor filled his mouth and forced himself to swallow when he wanted nothing more than to spit the tea back in the mug. Maybe gruel was the only good thing she made. If not for the trace of cinnamon, he wouldn’t be able to swallow whatever was burning the shit out of his tingling esophagus.
“You don’t like my tea?”
He forced it down and made a face, ensuring it stayed down. “It’s … different.”
“Well, you need it. Drink up. It will make you sweat out whatever bug you have.”
The mug suddenly seemed dauntingly large. And he didn’t want to sweat any more than he already was.
“I’m going to check the soup.” She carried the empty bowl to the door.
He frowned. Despite the luxury of her attention, it wasn’t right for her to do so much under false pretenses. “Nadia?”
She turned, too much trust in her gaze.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” She ran her own dance studio. He’d feel terrible if his playing hooky interrupted her schedule.
“Not today. My next class is tomorrow night. My days are usually free.”
Tell her you’re fine. “Well … thank you … for this.”
She smiled and left the room. Picking up his phone, he waited until she was back in the kitchen to dump the tea down the bathroom sink. Whatever that was, it was intense and more likely to make him sick than actually make him well—which he already was.
He sighed, not looking forward to a day wasted in bed. He should’ve just told her he wasn’t sick. Instead, here he was, shuffling around in his undershirt letting her wait on him hand and foot.
“You’re so screwed up.”
At precisely nine o’clock, his phone rang as it did every morning. Figuring a day off wasn’t so bad, he told himself it was a mental health situation so the workaholic in him would ease up. His thumb slid over the phone.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Good morning, sweetie. How’s your day going?”
“Good. I, uh, took the day off.”
“Oh, no. Are you sick?”
He shut his eyes. He couldn’t lie to his mother. “No. Just … relaxing.”
She laughed. “Because you needed a challenge? You already sound flustered.”
No one, not even the guys, knew him as well as his mother. She’d put up with his tireless attention to detail since before his toddler days and she was probably already wagering he’d be back in the office by noon. He never handled idleness well.
“I have a house guest visiting for a few days. A woman.”
The line silenced. “O—okay. Is this a girlfriend of yours?”
He laughed without humor. “No.”
“Who is she?”
“Just a friend who was in a bind.” The term friend might be a stretch, too. He didn’t want his mom getting her hopes up. “She’s a bit out of my league.”
She tsked, always his greatest champion even though she was also completely biased. “What makes you say that?”
While his mother, an ever-persistent optimist, only saw the triumphant moments of his existence, there were eons of painful interludes he’d managed to hide. Suffice it to say, his earlier years were enough to scar him for life.
“She’s just different.”
“Different is good, Elliot. You’re different.”
“I mean different in a good way.”
She tsked again. “Every difference is a good thing. We don’t need a world full of clones.”
He smirked, appreciating her justification. “She just got out of a relationship.”
“You like this woman.”
He sighed quietly, sparing his mom the hollow details. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Elliot, you have to take risks to get what you want in life. You, of all people, should know that. Look at your success.”
“I know, but some risks aren’t worth the consequences.”
“But are they worth the reward?”
His mind came up short every tim
e he tried to imagine the reward of connecting on an intimate level with Nadia. There were just too many obstacles to navigate and he was exhausted by the idea before making a single move.
Of course, his mother assumed he was an average bachelor with thirty years of life experiences under his belt, but in truth, dating was and would always be an unsolvable conundrum to him. It was the epitome of tedious socializing and therefore best avoided.
Realizing his mother was still talking, as she would continue to do until satisfied she’d pulled him out of whatever slump he was in, Elliot slipped in some false reassurance.
“You’re right, Mom.” He wasn’t sure what he was supporting but offered his agreement all the same.
“Good. And when it works out you bring this friend over so I can meet her. I’ll admit, I’m intrigued. She must be pretty special for you to tell me about her. You’re so private about your lady friends.”
He didn’t have lady friends. She was getting ahead of herself. Way. Ahead.
“Well, I don’t think she’s interested, so I wouldn’t assume too much. We’re better as friends.” It was more realistic to call himself Nadia’s temporary landlord than her friend.
“Well, I have faith in you. What else are mothers for?”
The door pressed open and he winced as Nadia stepped in. Shit. Had she been listening to his conversation—with his mother? “I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, sweetie. Love you.”
“You too.” He ended the call.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He should lie and say it was work. “The tea’s gone. I feel better already.”
She stepped closer and brushed her fingers over his brow. “Your skin’s still warm to the touch, but that’s okay. It’s likely working. Was that your girlfriend on the phone? Your voice was different with her.”
Dear God—his girlfriend? He inwardly cringed. “Who said it was a female?”
She tapped her ear. “I heard her call you sweetie.”
Shit. He gave up and grimaced. “It was my mother.”
Her mouth curved into an approving smile. “You’re close with your mother?”
Awkward. This was so damn awkward. “She’s an important person in my life.” He needed to make it clear he wasn’t a momma’s boy. He adored his mother, of course, but his need for closeness stemmed from a deeper concern. “My dad passed away last year. I try to touch base with her for a few minutes each day to make sure she’s okay.”
“I’m sorry about your father. Were you close?”
His mouth opened but he hesitated. “He was one of my closest friends and my hero.” He glanced away. “I … don’t like talking about it.”
She patted his leg through the covers. “You’re a good son. Not many men talk to their mothers every day.”
She bent to lift the tray, distracting him with her body as she leaned in front of him. The sight of her full breasts only slightly retained by her top had his mouth watering and he swallowed, unable to blink. “Are you close to your parents?”
“My mother is not a citizen and she’s going back to Hungary. I should probably call her.”
That wasn’t necessarily a yes. “Is your father in Hungary?”
“No. He’s gone.” There was little emotion to her answer.
“Are you … a citizen?”
Her smile beamed with pride. “Yes. I have been for some time. My aunts raised me when they lived here in the States. My mother only comes to visit every few years. She stays for a few months. This time was the longest so far.”
“Are your aunts still in America?” Why hadn’t she stayed with them—not that he was complaining.
“My Aunt Petra passed when I was twenty and my Aunt Mira went home a few years ago to be with family. She’s not doing well, which is why my mother is leaving.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Will you go back?”
The thought of her returning to her homeland actually disturbed him, though he had no claim to her time here.
“It’s expensive.” She rubbed her fingertips together. “I can barely afford a taxi ride at the moment. The studio doesn’t do well during the warmer months, but I have new classes opening this week.”
He frowned, wondering what dance instructors made as far as income and irritated he didn’t know.
“I’ll leave you to rest.”
As she lifted the tray, he blurted, “You don’t have to go.”
She smiled and glanced at the tray. “I’ll come back. I want to wash these dishes and check on the soup.”
He didn’t know if he should be excited or scared about lunch. The slight scent of something unfamiliar was drifting up the stairs, but it wasn’t strong enough to sway him either way.
“Maybe we can watch a movie—since I’m apparently bedridden today.”
She laughed. “Rest will do you well. Sure. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
When she left he used the remote to trigger the television behind the wall. Searching through his collection, he tried to find something she might enjoy but didn’t have a clue about her taste in cinema. By the time she returned he still hadn’t selected anything.
“You have a television in here too? I’ve never seen a house with so much… What is the word for electric stuff? It’s like a space house.”
“Technology?”
“Yes. You have lots of technology. I like it.”
She’d changed, replacing her distracting boy shorts with a tight pair of black pants that did nothing to disguise her figure. The straps of a teal bra showed underneath her black tank top, making it a thousand times harder to breathe.
“What kind of movies do you like?” he asked, voice strained as she invited herself to sit on the other side of the bed.
“I like drama, but I mostly watch foreign films. What do you like?”
He hesitated, pretty sure his preference would seem juvenile in comparison to foreign films. “I like science fiction and fantasy.”
“Make believe?”
He grimaced. “Yes.”
“Then we’ll watch that. Pick a good one, Elliot, or else I might fall asleep on you. Someone woke me up extremely early this morning.”
His chest tightened as she scooted close to his side, her bare arm brushing his. Though his thumb directed the remote, his eyes made no sense of what was on the screen. Her hair tickled his arm and he had to remind himself to breathe.
“Have you ever watched Star Wars?”
“No.”
“Well…” He swallowed again, his voice seeming to dry up under the scent of her body so close to his. “There’re two ways to watch them. We can go in order of production or in order of the series. The first one didn’t come out until 1999, but the fourth one aired in 1977.”
She frowned. “Why did they do it that way?”
Finally, something he could discuss without feeling like an utter moron. This was his arena.
“George Lucas started by writing what he called a Space Opera, but it was so long he chopped it into nine parts, breaking it into three trilogies. Not knowing if the movies would succeed, he started with the only part that could be viewed as having a beginning and an end. It was a huge success, of course.”
“Then I say we start at the very beginning. If there are nine, we have a long journey ahead.”
“Well, the third part of the trilogies is being produced by Disney. You can see the difference. I saw the last one eight times in the theater.” Too much information! He stopped talking as his enthusiasm made him sound like a zit-faced, no-life teen.
Her eyes creased as she smirked. Was she laughing at him?
“We don’t have to watch it,” he said quickly, directing his attention back to the television.
“Oh, no! Not after you talked it up so much.” She scooted lower, her hair now touching his pillows. “I want to see why you love it.”
He studied her, trying to weigh her sincerity, but distracted by her presence in his bed. Holy h
ell. She was in his bed. Don’t get hard!
She seemed genuinely curious. Star Wars wasn’t just a saga about outer space. It was political symbolism, epic battles, breathtaking scores, and timeless trials of good versus evil. He didn’t know if he could handle how much hotter it would be if she actually enjoyed the series as much as he did. That was just unrealistic.
We’ll see if she falls asleep…
He cued up The Phantom Menace and placed the remote between them. As the Twentieth Century Fox lights showed and trumpets played, she stretched her body over his chest, and he froze as she shut off the lamp.
Glancing over her extended arm, she whispered, “I like movies in the dark.”
In perfect timing, the symphony instruments burst into a climactic eruption as her breast brushed his arm. And he died for a split second as she slid off of him. Shutting his eyes, he willed his body to behave.
“Who is that?”
He hardly had to look at the screen, knowing the movie by heart. “That’s Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon-Jinn. They’re important.”
Her eyes followed the characters across the screen. Along her temple were baby fine hairs, dark, but delicate. He’d give half his mint collection of priceless collectibles to trace his fingers there.
She turned, catching him staring again. “You’re not watching the movie, Elliot.” Her dark lashes fanned low while his eyes could barely blink.
Everything seemed heavy, even the breath filling his lungs doubled in mass. What was this woman doing to him?
“Sorry.” He looked at the television, promising himself he’d be more careful.
She shifted, sitting up a bit, her attention back on the movie. “Why do you look at me like that, Elliot?”
“I’m sorry?” He turned back to her because it was easier than looking away.
She gave him a pointed stare and he understood how unnerving it could be. “Why do you do it?”
“I…” What the hell was he supposed to say? You’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever met and it makes no sense that you’re sitting in my bed watching Star Wars with me? Come to think of it, this had to be a dream. He pinched his arm. Shit! That hurt.
Her body twisted so she sat on her knees and fully faced him. “Is it because I bother you or because you think I’m nice-looking? Or is it something else?”
Untied: A Mastermind Novel Page 5
