Untied: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

  Mouth dry, he moistened his lips. Pressing back his glasses, he glanced away. “You’re very pretty, Nadia.” His breath literally shook as it left him.

  When she said nothing, he spared her a quick glance and stilled when he found her smiling. What on earth was this woman doing here?

  She eased forward and he drew back as far as the headboard would allow. “What are you doing?”

  She stilled. “I was going to kiss you.”

  Oh God. “Why?”

  Her eyes darted to the side and her cheeks tinged with pink. “I don’t know. I just decided to do it. I didn’t really think about it.”

  “Why?” he repeated, questioning her sanity.

  She shrugged and sat back on her heels. “I just thought… you think I’m pretty, so…” She shrugged again. “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

  Idiot! You open your mouth and ruin everything!

  “It’s not that…” What the hell was he doing? They should just watch the damn movie. “You don’t have to kiss a man to say thank you, Nadia.” That came out totally wrong! “I mean—”

  She laughed, but now there was insincerity tucked within the sound. “Is that what you think, Elliot, that I was paying you thanks with kisses? I should be offended, no?”

  He pushed his glasses up again. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I just… You shouldn’t feel obligated to do that just because I state the obvious.”

  “Obligated?” Her brow creased, her gaze sinking lower with each botched explanation. “I’m not obligated. Maybe I just wanted to see what it would feel like to kiss you.”

  Again… “Why?”

  She tsked. “Forget it.” Turning, she dropped her back to the pillows and frowned at the screen. “Now, I missed something. Who are these people?”

  Without taking his eyes off her, he answered, knowing the scene well enough. “That’s the queen and Palpatine.”

  She didn’t look at him so he continued to study her, noting everything from the slight rise and fall of her breasts to the subtle parting of her lips. This woman—this woman—wanted to kiss him?

  Without taking her focus off the screen, she whispered, “Elliot, you’re staring again.”

  This time he didn’t apologize. “Maybe…” He swallowed, unable to take his gaze off of her. “I want to see what it feels like, too.”

  Dear God, did he really just say that out loud? His heart was going to explode if it beat any faster.

  Her lashes lowered, her dark eyes turning to find his. She looked almost … skeptical. “Is that so?”

  Her accent seemed thicker, more sensual than usual, which he thought was impossible, but what the hell did he know? His IQ was dropping by the second. Unable to move, he breathed without blinking, anxious to see what would come next.

  She reached between them, picked up the remote, and paused the movie. Sliding back to her knees, she turned and faced him. “So kiss me.”

  She wanted him to do it? No. That wasn’t the plan. Blinking quickly, as if making up for lost time, he let out a staggered breath, all his curiosity corroding with trepidation. There was no way he could make the first move.

  Lame. He was so lame. Chickening out, he reached for her small hand and lifted her fingers to his lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. I hate myself.

  She raised both brows and the last of his manhood disintegrated into dust. “That is how you kiss a woman?”

  “I hardly know you.” It wasn’t what he expected to say, but he was beyond thinking. He didn’t even know her last name.

  “What do you want to know?”

  What your skin tastes like. He shrugged. “I don’t like to intrude on people’s personal business.”

  “You’re not intruding. Ask me anything. I have no secrets.”

  Bullshit. Everyone had secrets. The trouble was he wanted to know all of hers. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-one.” The number stabbed into his self-esteem. He had the track record of a twelve-year-old when it came to women. This was a terrible idea. “We don’t have to do this.”

  She caught his hand. “When’s the last time you kissed a woman, Elliot?”

  His face burned as he shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t want to play this game.”

  “What game? We’re just talking.”

  “I don’t discuss my personal life.” His words came out curter than he’d wanted, but he was not discussing it with her of all people.

  “Last week?”

  He picked up the remote, aiming it at the television and she took it from him.

  “Last month?”

  “Nadia—”

  “Last year?”

  “I don’t kiss women!” he snapped and she drew back.

  Her lips slowly parted. “Men?”

  “What? No! I…” His skin burned as if under an interrogation lamp. “I don’t date.”

  “What does that mean, you don’t date? Ever?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

  “Elliot, are you a virgin?”

  “Of course not.” He took the remote back, hit play, and she caught his jaw in her hands, forcing him to meet her penetrating stare.

  “You’re thirty-one.”

  “I’m perfectly aware of my age, Nadia. Now, if you aren’t going to watch the movie I’m going to go to work. I feel fine.” Or at least he would once he got away from her.

  A small kink formed on her brow, but she backed off, sliding onto the pillows and turning her focus to the screen.

  This whole episode might have permanently ruined Star Wars. Then what would he have left? He flinched as she touched his hand. The breath in his lungs stilled as her fingers entwined with his. What’s happening?

  “What are you doing?”

  She didn’t look at him. “Holding your hand.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off their intertwined fingers. An abnormal amount of warmth bloomed between their palms, radiating up his arm and heating his chest. His blood turned heavy and he shifted his legs, other things reacting. Staring at the covers draped over his lap, he shut his eyes and willed himself to calm the hell down.

  Her head nestled into his shoulder and his eyes shot open. The scent of her hair permeated his senses and his body caught fire. He had roughly one hour and forty minutes left of this torture before the movie ended. And God only knew how long she’d remain his houseguest.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met a virgin that was a man,” she whispered, her attention still on the television.

  His gaze jerked to her and he scowled. “I’m not a virgin.”

  He hated that term. He was a man, goddamn it. A fucking man. Pulling his hand away, he shoved himself into a seated position.

  “Elliot—”

  “There’s no definitive explanation for that term by today’s standards. What might be virginal to one culture isn’t to another. It’s all relative.”

  She shrugged. “I think it’s nice. The men I’m used to just want sex, sex, sex. I think you’re the first man to ever kiss my hand.”

  The tension in his shoulders eased as her response baffled him. “Really?”

  She smiled at him, not venturing to verbalize her answer. When her attention returned to the screen, he casually slouched and rested his palm between them. Waiting.

  Unbelievably, she took it.

  A thousand volts of electricity shot through his body as his common sense drifted out of reach. He slightly tightened his hold and she snuggled into his side again. What was this?

  For several minutes, he mentally debated the truth of the issue, knowing full well he’d never slept with a woman. How pathetic that this moment was likely—no, definitely—the most erotic moment of his life? If she thought it was nice, why lie? But his ears couldn’t bear the truth.

  He didn’t have the patience or fortitude for all the social tedium sex required. But he thought about it enough, despite his avoidance. Tedi
ous. It was all so tedious. The expectations, the silly social rituals, the castigating that came when you weren’t what someone expected. The sheer amount of focus romance stole from other, more important issues after it obliterated an otherwise logical person’s common sense. Who in their right mind would chase something so life altering with so many drawbacks?

  When Asher got involved with Scarlet, his friend became obsessed. Jet, who was overly satisfied, hardly said goodbye to one conquest before making plans for the next. And Hunter… Well, Hunter was a little more paced, but still, if any one of his friends had a choice between ComiCon and sex, sex would always win. Elliot was the only one to find the whole topic repellant, due to its addictiveness.

  Sex was like a drug and he didn’t need such distractions in his life. The others didn’t seem to mind. They were already gone.

  Sex made men short-sighted and he didn’t want his brain clouded by overzealous hormones like it had been in his teens. It was a personal choice, not a deficiency. He liked order and control. Sex was capricious and contingent on others.

  He wanted Nadia to know it was a matter of choice and that there had been opportunities, especially once his career took off, random opportunities for him to choose otherwise. But again, none of those women seemed genuinely interested in him.

  “There was a woman,” he said, distracting her from the movie. “A few years ago. My friends arranged for her to come to my room.”

  Her gaze drifted to his. “What happened in your room?”

  His chest constricted as his lips tightened. “Nothing. Well, some things, but then I sent her away. I didn’t know her well enough and I had no interest in…” He had no reason to feel ashamed. “Sex is personal. I don’t understand how people make it casual.”

  “Was there anyone else?”

  Swallowing, he lost the courage to hold her stare. “No.”

  “Are you ashamed of this?”

  “No. Not really. But there’s a stigma.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Like my eye.”

  He smirked. He loved the charming way she fumbled with the English language. It made her … human. Less intimidating.

  “That’s astigmatism. A stigma is a sense of disgrace in relation to a certain circumstance. Men are defined by their virility. I’d prefer to define myself by intellectual feats.”

  “Just because you don’t have sex doesn’t mean you’re not virile, Elliot. Perhaps it means you’re more patient and disciplined than others.”

  “That’s not the reason.”

  “No? You’ve waited thirty-one years. That’s patience. Some men can’t wait three minutes.”

  And he’d likely be waiting thirty more years. “I’m very particular. People get on my nerves. Half the world’s fake, the other half’s cruel. I have no interest in tying myself to artificial people who…” Why was he telling her all this? “I’m just a private person.”

  “Yet you let me stay with you, in your home.”

  Because she was different. “We’ve been through this. You had nowhere to go.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe that. I think you’re a good man and you saw another man being mean to me and did the honorable thing. There is a word for that. You said it last night. What is it?”

  “Chivalrous?”

  “Yes. You are very much that, Elliot. Gallant. I think I like these things about you.”

  Breathing deeply, he turned away. “Did you remember me? If I hadn’t mentioned Asher, would you have had any idea who I was?”

  “No. But I have a lot of people come into my classes and never return. I did recognize you, once you jogged my memory.” She smirked. “You were very tense in my class that day. You wouldn’t loosen up when I danced with you.” A slow smile took form. “But I remember you gave me evil eyes when I left you to dance with your other friend, the one with the darker hair.”

  “Jet.”

  “Yes. He’s quite handsome from what I recall.”

  His molars locked. Every woman noticed Jet. There weren’t many that escaped Jet’s attention either. “He’s popular.”

  She laughed. “You say that as if we’re kids.”

  “Well, he was popular then, too.” He shook his head never quite understanding how some people possessed such magnetic charm while others seemed repellent. “He’s charismatic.”

  “That may be true, but that’s not where his sex appeal comes from. It’s his confidence. You feel it coming off him in waves and it draws women in. It’s not easy to resist, but a wise woman would.”

  “Why?” There was plenty to envy about his friend but never enough to think badly of him.

  “No woman wants to be second prettiest in a relationship. It’s too much work.”

  He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or offended. Wait. She was like Jet. She was too pretty, too exotic to go unnoticed by other men. “You and Jet have a lot in common.”

  She giggled. “Perhaps, but I want to know what you mean by that.”

  “People notice you. You’re confident—”

  She held up a finger. “I’m not as confident as people assume. I’m always nervous I’ll speak wrong or say something foolish and others will laugh at me. People notice me because I’m foreign and look different. Do you know what that tells me? That I’m not like everyone else when that’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. I love being here, but as soon as I speak people look up and their opinions change right before my eyes, judging me on the spot.”

  “But you’re so … fearless. If they pay attention it’s only because you’re so striking.”

  “Not always a good thing.” She shrugged. “Maybe there’s a stigma to being different. See that? I learned a new word.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, you did.” He never considered she might have insecurities similar to his own. He thought about his mother’s words from earlier. “There’s nothing negative about diversity.”

  “That is how America should be, no? We’re all mixed up here. Everyone is different.” She smiled. “There is so much flavor. When my aunts offered to bring me here, my father fought with them. But I wanted to come here too much. I finally got my way.” She nudged his shoulder with hers. “You Americans are a tricky bunch. You tell a woman how special she is, but it’s not very special at all if you tell every woman those things.” Her lashes lowered as her gaze softened, freezing him in place. “I wonder if you tell all the ladies they’re special.”

  He hardly spoke to women and never met anyone as unique as her. “I don’t.”

  A playful purse twisted her lips. “What do you like in women, Elliot?”

  Stumped, he blinked at her. “I never gave it much thought.”

  “Oh, you are full of it.” She pushed on his chest, teasingly. “Every man wants something.”

  “I just want to be happy.” He’d settle for good old contentment. So far, his greatest happiness came in isolated moments of satisfaction. Outsiders usually made him self-conscious.

  “Do you believe in love?”

  Love came with risks. “I don’t know if I believe in an unconditional love, aside from familial love. The rest seems illogical and mind-numbing.”

  She giggled. “That’s the fun of it. I’m what they call a hopeless romantic.”

  It didn’t sound fun to him. “I like feeling in control. I don’t want to balance my happiness on someone else’s.”

  “You are a cynic, then?”

  “I guess I am.”

  She lifted their entwined hands and pressed her lips to his knuckles. His breath held as he watched her pouty mouth slowly pull away.

  “When you get brave, you come find me and we’ll see if I can change your cynical mind … maybe even leave it a little numb.”

  It was already happening. Surely that concoction she’d tried to poison him with had knocked him out and he was hallucinating. His voice seemed far away as he rasped, “What do you mean?”

  She laughed. “You heard me. Don’t play dumb. I know you’re smart, with
all your technologies and magic tricks. If you want to be brave and see if you’re wrong about love, I’ll be your experiment.”

  What the hell was she offering? “Are you talking about sex?”

  She shrugged. “That depends on you. You have to kiss the girl before ágytorna.”

  “What is that?” Screw it. He was downloading a Hungarian eBook tonight. These language barriers were becoming a nuisance.

  Leaning close, she smiled and whispered, “It means a good, solid fuck.”

  His eyes widened and his blood solidified in his veins, burning his body from inside out. “Nadia…”

  “Elliot…” she echoed with a bit of challenge, holding his stare. “Do you want to kiss me now?”

  “Yes,” he rasped, but couldn’t find the strength to move a single muscle. At any moment he’d wake up.

  Shutting his eyes, he willed himself awake. Wake up. Wake up! Wake—

  The blankets shifted as the heat of her body touched him before anything else. Sweet breath teased his lips as his glasses slid off his face. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t open his eyes, and couldn’t do anything other than sit there in unadulterated panic.

  Her soft lips pressed his. “Let me help you…”

  Pulling in a long breath through his nose, he trembled as her mouth pushed against his. He tensed as her fingers gently brushed his jaw and combed through his hair, traveling behind his ear. When her tongue skated over his lips he jerked back, knocking his head against the headboard, he blinked at her.

  “Good?”

  “Why are you doing this?” Was it because she felt indebted? Pity?

  “Because I think you’re very handsome and you rescued me last night when I really needed someone to save me from doing something stupid. Also because my aunt always told me a man who treats his mother nice will be kind to all women. Am I wrong?”

  There was other stuff, but he’d lost focus after her first reason. “You think I’m handsome?”

  She smiled. “Yes. You know you’re attractive.”

  Her fingers pulled at his ear, the strangest little tug that seemed to reach down to his toes, stroking everything in between. He studied her, but everything was blurred.