Reaching for his glasses, he slipped them back on his face. His fingers hesitated, then detoured and traced the soft hair at her temple and his body tightened to the point of excruciating pain. She was so damn beautiful.
His thumb feathered over the outline of her lips and they twitched. Easing closer, he brushed his mouth against hers and she released the softest moan. That little hum seemed to vibrate his soul. With choppy breaths, he pulled back, waiting for her to tell him to stop, but she didn’t.
Her eyes softened, as did her shoulders. The strap of her bra showed, tempted, and he wanted to touch it, but wouldn’t.
She thought he was handsome. Him. There was no logical explanation, which only increased his skepticism. She was right. He was cynical. But he wasn’t an idiot and only an idiot would walk away from this situation without taking the opportunity of a lifetime.
This was Nadia, not some random woman. He’d fantasized about her since the day he walked into her studio.
“Elliot?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you done kissing me?”
Shit. He got distracted, his damn analytical mind weighing every aspect. “No. I was thinking.”
“About what?”
“You.”
“Oh?” Her brow lifted. “What were you thinking?”
“I can’t figure you out.”
She glanced away. “I’m not that complicated.”
“But you are. You… I thought about you, Nadia. It wasn’t like I had to stop and place you last night. I recognized you right away. As a matter of fact, you’re the only woman I’ve ever thought about at any length.”
“Me?” This seemed to genuinely please her as her cheeks darkened and her lips parted in a smile. “Why?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. For all my thoughts, not once did it cross my mind that you might someday be sitting in my bed asking me to kiss you. That … that kind of thing doesn’t happen.”
“Maybe it doesn’t happen because you’re not an opportunist with women.”
Yet he was with business. He rubbed his hands over his brow and let out a breath. This was intense. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“And?”
“And I’m not sure I know what to do.” Frowning, he amended, “I mean, I know what happens, but I… Jesus.” His palms were burning up. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I feel like an idiot and I hate feeling like that.”
“Don’t feel that way. I know you don’t have many experiences with women.”
Try one. He inwardly scoffed. He should have taken the guys up on their offer. Never did he expect to regret sending that woman away, but he did now. Thirty-fucking-one years old and this was what it had come to? Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.
If he weren’t such a perfectionist, he’d slide her onto her back and do his worst, but he didn’t want to disappoint her. Damn it. How long would she sit through his endless deliberation? You. Are. Ruining. It.
“Fuck it.” Throwing caution to the wind, he surged forward and sealed his mouth to hers. She toppled back to the mattress and giggled.
His body electrified, as her fingers slid over his scalp to the back of his head. His shirt tightened as she fisted the material and pulled him more on top of her, twisting her lips as she tilted her head.
The soft brush of her tongue sent blood tunneling through his veins as he caught his weight on his hands. Pulling back, he drew in an unsteady breath.
She stared at him through those thick lashes. “Don’t stop.” But her words froze him in an inescapable moment in time.
He couldn’t believe this was happening. “You’re so pretty, Nadia.” He’d meant to compliment her, but she seemed unfazed. She likely heard words like that a million times a day.
She tugged his shirt, pulling him closer with a hand tangled in his hair. The tension in his body made it almost impossible to move. Lowering his lips by the slightest degree, he traced his mouth over hers again.
Lush lips opened beneath his as wet heat closed over his lower lip and sharp teeth nipped him. Ouch!
He drew back, touching his lip. “You bit me.”
“You’re teasing me.”
Not intentionally. If he let himself go full throttle he’d come at her like a ballistic missile. But maybe he could let go a little more.
“Sorry. I didn’t know.” Leaning over her again, he pressed his mouth to hers, this time shutting his eyes and letting the sensations lead.
Her grip on his hair loosened to a slow stroke down his neck as he gently moved his tongue over hers. That little touch sent his muscles on an avalanche of pleasure, threatening his hold on his composure.
Her body lifted, arching into him as he teased his tongue with hers. A fire lit beneath his skin, burning from the inside out as she tightened her grip on his shoulders. He was abundantly hard and there was no hiding it in their position, especially as her knee hooked over his hip, pulling him against her body.
He sank into her and immediately pulled back. “Am I hurting you?”
“No. I want more.”
A slow throb pumped through his brain as her words sank in. Panting, he nuzzled her jaw. “I … I can do more.” He hoped.
Finding her lush mouth again, his entire body trembled. Meeting her halfway, he tasted her mouth. Sweet mother of God, he could die like this.
As her body arched again, he pressed into her, shivering at the relief that came with the slight friction. Her kisses turned hungry, almost greedy as she took as good as she gave. Losing sight of their surroundings, he gave in to the unparalleled thrill of pressing his body to hers. Need built to an unmanageable degree as he dragged his fingers through her hair and rocked his body against the heat of hers.
Throaty moans vibrated from her the longer they kissed. Every press of her nails through the fabric of his shirt delivered a carnal sting. Though they were hardly moving, he was winded, panting with the desire for more.
Ripping his mouth away, he caught his breath. He was going to explode.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes,” he panted, blinking at the familiar surroundings from an angle he’d never occupied. They were twisted in his covers, her hair a curtain of black waves across his pillows, rippling like an ocean under the night sky. And he was about to come. “Maybe we should slow down.”
“We’re only kissing.”
Glancing away, he confessed, “It feels like more.”
Despite her agreeability, he didn’t want to spoil their connection. Sitting back, he covered his lap with a pillow, painfully aware of how flushed his face must be. She slowly sat up and folded her hands on her thighs.
Shy? That was new for her—at least to him. Unsure if he’d offended her, he asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Her lashes lifted, showing him the softest view of temptation he’d ever witnessed first-hand.
They needed a distraction. “We should finish the movie. You have six more to get through.”
Nodding, she scooted back to the pillows as he searched for the remote. Once he found it, he hit play.
She laced her fingers with his. Warmth settled over him as an unfamiliar sense of contentment—no, happiness—blanketed him.
Chapter Six
“There’s no terror in the bang, only the anticipation of it.”
~Alfred Hitchcock
Why did she do these things? Elliot was a perfectly nice man and she’d gone and spoiled it by being her invasive self. As she picked the chicken off the bone, adding the fresh cuts of meat to the boiling soup, she silently berated herself.
She couldn’t go on using men like this, and she hated that her insecure, weak will let her do exactly what she swore she wouldn’t and put Elliot in a category with the others. Her misery was her own doing. But her actions…
What had she been thinking, coming onto him like that? Upstairs, something had come over her. But now that she was downstairs and away from those charming eyes she reali
zed what she’d done. The same stupid thing she always did. She turned him into a safety net when she hadn’t meant to. Damn her.
But what if Elliot was her only hope of getting back on her feet? She couldn’t go back to Hungary, back to the life she left, because even there, her problems hadn’t been much different. At least here, she had a choice in the men she selected.
She shivered. She couldn’t go back to Roland. Finances and the thought of him made the idea of home the most unwelcoming thought she could conjure.
Every day her heart broke a little more knowing her aunt was closer and closer to the end, but if she flew home it would drain the last of her finances, if not overdraw her accounts completely. She’d be forced to stay with her mother and it would only be a matter of time before Roland discovered she was nearby. She had no doubt he’d take full advantage of her financial limitations, and that was something she simply couldn’t stomach. Never again. Not with him.
She glanced at the little camera in the corner and her face heated with shame. Was he watching her? Her heart fluttered at the thought and didn’t that just make her a fool? Whoever Elliot saw, it wasn’t real.
He didn’t see the filthy secrets she kept or the dirty past she hid. She liked that he saw her differently, but the characteristics he assumed also filled her with a terrible guilt.
Elliot was a special man, different. It didn’t make sense that he didn’t have a lover. He was very attractive, but beyond that, he was a true gentleman.
He’s not for you.
The air filled with the delicious aroma of cooked vegetables and fresh stock. She took extra care dressing his tray, folding the linen napkin like they did at restaurants and polishing the spoon for good measure before placing it beside the bowl. Once she ladled out a hearty helping, she carefully carried his lunch upstairs.
Her heart fluttered again as she backed into his room. It was almost impossible to keep her expression casual as their gazes connected. “Lunch.”
He scooted, sitting with his back against the headboard of the enormous bed. “I don’t think I’ve had this many meals in bed since I was six and sent home with the chicken pox.”
“Sick boys need tender love and care. Careful, it’s very hot.” She set the tray over his lap as he took a deep breath of the soup, laughing as his glasses steamed. She carefully sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to taste, anxious to see if he approved.
“Aren’t you eating?”
“I will.”
“You could have brought yours up here.”
She’d thought of that, but worried he might want some privacy. They’d spent the entire morning together. “I have to clean up some things downstairs.”
He frowned and she remembered the cameras. If he’d been watching her, he’d know the kitchen was already spotless. Carefully blowing on a spoonful, he leaned forward and took a bite.
“Oh, my God,” he practically moaned. “This is incredible. You made this from the stuff in my kitchen?”
Smiling at his praise, she nodded. “Give me a chicken and a few vegetables and you’d be amazed what I can do.”
“Consider me thoroughly amazed.” He took another bite. “Delicious.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Great. I think you’ve healed me.”
“It was probably the tea.”
He didn’t answer, more focused on gobbling down his soup. He sure had an appetite, yet he wasn’t a thick man. His body was lean, not overly rugged, but not frail either. He had the trim, muscular build of a swimmer, or a man who never indulged to the point of excess. He was very proper, with his neat and tidy hair always combed to the left and his freshly shaved face. Clean.
His exotic American eyes, bright gray like a hazy dawn, creased as he smiled at her. She liked the square angles of his jaw and the way she often caught him watching her with those piercing eyes. “I should go clean up.”
He stilled. “Stay. Or go get your lunch and come back.”
She laughed nervously. “Aren’t you getting tired of me?”
“No.”
She wanted to kiss him again but held back. He was sick after all and she couldn’t afford to catch a cold, something she should have thought of earlier, but the temptation was too strong.
She’d get her lunch and eat with him, but then she’d let him rest. And there would be no more kissing. He’d stopped her for a reason. “Did you want a second helping?”
“Please. This is the best soup I’ve ever had.”
“It’s just chicken and rice.”
He shook his head, swallowing down the last drop. “I love it.”
Taking the tray, she returned to the kitchen and prepared two more bowls. She couldn’t shake her despondent mood, still trying to rationalize what on God’s green earth would make her think she could get away with coming onto a man like Elliot. He probably thought she was a whore. Maybe she was.
She was being hard on herself, but after last night with Ian, she had every reason to. Her mind stressed over the unknown, finding no security in the spiral her life had taken. But she would not use Elliot or take advantage of his kindness. He was different from the other men she knew. She didn’t know why, but there was something special about him.
It wasn’t bad enough being publicly dumped and left on the curb like day old trash. She didn’t want him to see her the way Ian did. But maybe that was how all men saw her.
That was her fault. “Stupid,” she mumbled.
How had she been so stupid? Of course, Ian didn’t love her. Men didn’t love women that took no effort. She’d made it so easy for him, and the man before that and the one before that. She should know by now that wasn’t how love worked, being that not a single one ever claimed to love her or stuck around longer than a few months—except Roland.
Her mind cringed. Over the years, with every rejection she delivered, his determination only grew. Men, it seemed, only wanted what they couldn’t have, building the unknown to unattainable heights. But Roland had his chance and never forgot. He held their past over her head, dangling it like a lewd chandelier of regrets to cast shadows over the rest of her life. He claimed to love her, but he only wanted to control her.
When she entered Elliot’s room again he smiled. She focused on the tray, afraid if she looked into those eyes too long nothing but yes would come from her lips. His hospitality was an immeasurable gift, one she not only appreciated but also needed. There was no room for awkwardness. No room for games.
“Do you want to watch Episode Two?”
Two more hours of sitting by his side? “You should probably rest.”
“I feel great.”
She bit her lip. “Maybe a little bit, but then you need rest.”
“I am resting. I haven’t been out of bed all day.”
As she slid onto the mattress, keeping a safe distance, he moved the tray between them with a smile. He needed to stop looking at her like that.
She sat cross-legged and ate the soup while he worked on his second helping. It was like a date—a date on a bed over a picnic, with all of that first date edginess. Leave it to her to make out with the man before they even had lunch.
“You’re being quiet.”
Taking her time to swallow a bit of chicken, she stared at him. “I’m just thinking.”
“About?”
Her shoulder lifted and she took another bite, buying more time. He was more talkative than he’d been this morning. “How long I’ll be here. I’ll know my fall roster by the end of the week. Then I’ll have an idea of what sort of money I’ll be making. I’m saving up a down payment for a new apartment.”
Her stomach turned as she considered how long it would take to save first month’s rent, a security deposit, and continue to pay her studio rent. Lowering her spoon, she let it drift deeper into the broth, no longer hungry.
“Hey.”
Bracing herself, she returned her gaze to him. A small divot creased his brow just above the bridge of his glas
ses. “What’s wrong? You don’t have to stress about being here. I told you, you’re welcome here. You can stay as long as you need.”
But this wasn’t how she wanted to live. She couldn’t be some drifter incapable of supporting herself. She never imagined things would go this far.
“I hope you don’t think I’m helpless.”
“Why would I think that?”
She shrugged. “My circumstances … they’re an accident. When my aunt returned home, the apartment was transferred into my name. I had a home—a nice one. Nothing like this, of course, but it was mine. When my mother came to visit it seemed to shrink so I ended up … sleeping out a lot. Then it sort of became hers. When she asked what to do with the lease, I said forget it, knowing I couldn’t afford it and thinking I’d continue to live with Ian. I was a fool to think that.”
He laid his spoon on the tray and frowned. “You don’t have to apologize or explain how you got here, Nadia. I know your situation wasn’t part of your plan. I get it.”
She let out a deep breath. “You’re very understanding.”
One side of his mouth lifted into a half smile. “What was your favorite part of your apartment?”
“My favorite part?” It had been a while since she lived there, her mother making it hard to breathe in the cramped space. “There was a little window in the kitchen leading to the fire escape. I had a planter packed with fresh herbs. In the winter I’d move it to the sill, but in the summer I’d hang it outside. It was my own little farm. I could reach right through the curtains and pluck fresh basil right off the vine.”
“You like cooking, don’t you?”
“It depends. You have so many boxed meals here. It’s easy, but cooking from scratch is a labor of love. That’s all we do at home.”
“Do you miss home?”
The hollow longing she lived with for nearly a decade seemed to hiccup inside of her. “Yes, but I’m happier here. This is my home now. I think I’d miss America more if I left.”
“Do you ever visit?”
“I’ve been gone so long I feel like if I returned the ache might get sharper when I had to leave again. But my aunt…” Her eyes blinked as the sharp awareness of time fleeting by pinched her heart. “My aunt was home to me and soon she’ll be gone. It’s very sad.”
Untied: A Mastermind Novel Page 7
