Untied: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

  She sat back and folded her arms loosely in her lap. “You can be quite bossy when you want to be, mister.”

  “Direct,” he corrected.

  Whatever. She liked it.

  The meal was delicious. She only managed to eat a quarter of her filet, but it was worth every bite. “We should bring this home and have it for lunch tomorrow.”

  “We won’t be here. Our flight leaves before dawn.”

  The entire week passed in a blur and she was hardly prepared for the trip. “I still have to pack and now you’ve put me in a food coma.”

  “How much could you possibly pack? You came to my house with a bag.”

  “I picked up more of my things this morning. I was missing some sweaters.”

  His hand stilled as he held his glass to his lips. “You went back to Ian’s?”

  “I was only in and out.”

  “I didn’t realize. Did you see him?”

  She laughed. “No, Ian was not there. Thank God.”

  He visibly relaxed. “Customs will only allow a seventy-pound bag.”

  “That should be enough. I hope.”

  “Well, if you still have to pack we should get moving.” He looked for the waitress.

  “Don’t you have to pack too?”

  “No. Martha took care of that.”

  “You had your maid pack for you? Aren’t you worried she might have forgotten something?”

  He shook his head. “I wear the same thing every day. It’s a little difficult to screw up.”

  “Why do you dress like that? Do you wear ties on the weekends when you’re sitting around at home?”

  He again looked for the waitress. “Everyone has a preference.”

  “Yes, but I wear heels because I think they’re sexy, not because they’re comfortable. Why do you prefer to wear a tie around your neck?”

  He shrugged, notably avoiding her question and gaze. “Where did the waitress go?”

  “Relax. We have plenty of time. Tell me why you’re always so buttoned up.”

  He adjusted the position of his butter knife. “I like it. It’s proper.”

  Her lips twisted. “That’s not the reason. Tell me why you like it.”

  Giving up on his search for the waitress, he huffed. “Why does it matter? When I was a boy it was how I always imagined I’d dress. Men wear suits.”

  “Not all men.”

  “The sort of men I admire do.”

  Perching her chin on her palm she studied him. “And what sort of men do you admire?”

  He rolled his eyes. “This is stupid.”

  “No, it’s not. Tell me. I won’t laugh. When I was a little girl I wanted to be a unicorn. You can imagine my disappointment when I realized that was impossible.”

  He chuckled, an unguarded dimple forming under the slight flush of his cheeks.

  “Please,” she cajoled, desperate to know how his mind worked.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he flashed her a bashful glance, so teasing and boyish her heart skipped a beat. “I wanted to be like the best of them, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Tony Stark, James Howlett, and Matt Murdock.”

  Tone teasing, she laughed. “I can’t believe I told you I wanted to be a unicorn for that. I don’t know who any of those people are.”

  “What?”

  She shrugged, not believing they were presidents or anyone she should recognize. “Who are they?”

  “You don’t know who Bruce Wayne is?”

  “Should I?”

  “Yes! He’s Batman!”

  “Oh, I know who that is. Christian Bale.”

  “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” he grumbled, dropping his face into his hands. “Christian Bale was just one actor who played him. Batman originated long before Bale was even alive, in DC Comics back in 1939.”

  It was amusing how scandalized he was that she didn’t know this. “Sorry, I’m a girl. I don’t read comic books.”

  “Plenty of girls are into comics.”

  “What girls?”

  “When we go to conventions there are lots of women there.”

  “Really? Are they mothers, taking their sons to buy comic books?”

  He narrowed his eyes, his smile fading. “No. Forget it.”

  Okay, so he really liked these comic characters. She regretted taking her mocking too far. “I’m sorry. I was only teasing.”

  He shrugged, no longer in a playful mood. “I’m used to it.”

  She frowned. She hadn’t meant to offend him or make him feel foolish. She told him she wanted to be a unicorn. That was foolish.

  Not only did she regret pushing his buttons, she wondered if she was somehow lacking because she didn’t have this comic book connection with him that other women might.

  Folding her napkin on her lap, she murmured, “Do you only like girls who are into these characters?”

  “They’re heroes, and I think it would be awesome if a girl understood them like I do.”

  She bristled, trying not to take his remark personally. “Will you teach me to understand them?”

  His mouth opened, but no words came out. He blinked and frowned. “You don’t have to pretend to be interested—”

  “But I am. Please tell me about them.”

  He hesitated. “I’m not really sure where to start.”

  She truly wanted to know what made him feel so fervently about them. She wanted to know that passionate side of him, more than she was willing to admit.

  “Tell me about your favorite ones. What do they do?”

  “The characters are cool, but it’s not just about what they can do. Comics were a source of escape for me. Even the bad guys … Lex Luther, who had nothing, taught me not to sulk about the things I couldn’t have. Peter Parker showed me I could pursue a career while still acting as a student. There are hidden morals. They taught me people aren’t always what they seem. That was something I really needed to learn at one point.”

  “Why did you need to learn that?”

  His gaze skated away, his voice dropping. “Because for a very long time I hated everyone.”

  She drew back in her seat, unable to imagine a cruel side to him. “Why? Hate is such a strong word, Elliot.”

  Keeping his focus on the table, he whispered, “There are a lot of mean people in the world. I think I met half of them before I was fifteen. Comics made me strong enough to walk back into hell … day after day after day.”

  “Hell?”

  “High school—and middle school—and a good part of grade school. I hated most of school—hated it. I love learning, but the entire process of social integration has always eluded me. Comics gave me hope that one person could suddenly show up and change everything. It’s what got me out of bed each morning, the hope I might find that person.”

  He shook his head, his eyes staring off just beyond her shoulder. “But no one ever showed. When I realized the real world was short on heroes, I decided to try to be one. I run a club for kids like me, and I try to show them intellect’s more of a superpower than anything else. They don’t have to be ashamed because they love math or chess or whatever makes them tick. It gives them a reason to enjoy school when so many social factors make it unbearable.”

  Nadia tilted her head and studied him, assuming she should see some physical shift from the impact this man’s words had on her. It was quite an evolution from who she assumed he was that morning and it was difficult to imagine him being picked on or hurting in any way—even if his pain was over a decade old.

  “You make children brave? Build their confidence?”

  “I try.”

  “I think that’s amazing.” Most people didn’t go to such lengths to make strangers feel better about themselves. She thought he was just a computer guy.

  “If I believed what others saw in me as a kid … I probably wouldn’t be here. So, yeah, figuring out that underdogs can sometimes be the most powerful men of all is a lesson that stuck, a lesson I got from reading comics.”

  She
had no idea how to respond. There was nothing lacking in Elliot’s appearance that made him seem … less than anyone else. The truth was, once she cracked his shell, he was hiding so much more than most men. This man had depth, and she’d only grazed the surface.

  Here she thought comics were just picture books and movies about people with supernatural powers. To think something so simple could have such a complicated impact, it gave her a new appreciation for the genre. “I’m envious.”

  He blinked at her. “Why?”

  “Nothing’s ever made such an impression on me. I’m sorry I teased you about it, Elliot. I see now that they’re much more than children’s books.”

  He smiled and drew in a breath to say more, but the waitress suddenly returned, interrupting the moment. Though he never said whatever he was going to say, he seemed to forgive her for making light of something that carried substantial weight in his life.

  The ride home was quiet and though she should have been planning what to pack, all she could think about was this sweet man overcoming some sort of childhood adversity. He’d managed to bury the pain and evolve into one of the gentlest souls she’d ever met.

  Elliot parked by the front steps of the house. “Wait, I’ll get your door.”

  As he jumped out of the car she laughed. He truly was a gentleman in every sense of the word.

  As they walked up the steps he reached for the keypad and she caught his hand, her heart rattling in her chest as she went against all of her good advice to simply be his friend. But after their dinner, and the week she had, there was no disguising how much she wanted him.

  “I believe it’s customary to kiss your date at the door,” she whispered.

  She didn’t want to kiss him out of gratitude or any sense of indebtedness. She wanted to kiss him out of sheer attraction.

  His head lowered, not turning toward her in any way, but she knew he heard her. Maybe he didn’t want to kiss her. Embarrassment made a slow crawl up her spine and her heart quivered.

  It hurt, realizing he might not find her as attractive as she found him, but she accepted that might be the case. The more she learned about him, the more she realized he had a right to hold a high standard. He was, after all, a great guy.

  “Elliot?”

  His brow creased, an internal debate playing over his shadowed features. She shouldn’t have said anything.

  “It’s okay. You don’t have to.”

  The soft scuff of his shoes over the pavement had her sucking in a breath. Without saying a word, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tipped up her chin. His gray eyes glistened under the porch light. “But I want to.”

  Looking up at him, her body trembled. “Okay.”

  Soft lips brushed hers and an uproarious wave of pleasure swelled in her belly. She rose on her toes and slowly wreathed her arms around his shoulders, her chest tightening with the thrill of having his lips on her once more. As he deepened the kiss, his palm dragged low, stopping just above her hips and he pulled her closer. She loved the way he kissed, so focused on the actual act rather than what might come next.

  Sliding a hand down his arm, she followed to his wrist and nudged his fingers lower. His body tensed for a moment and then his grip tightened on her ass as the kiss doubled in intensity. His other hand sifted through her hair, tightening and holding her to him as he squeezed her close.

  When he broke away he was panting. She licked her lips and pressed her cheek to his chest. “You’re very good at that,” she whispered, wishing they could do more, but enjoying the anticipation he was so skilled at dragging out.

  “So are you.”

  His grip on her body loosened as he stepped back, clearing his throat. Her front chilled the moment he pulled completely away. The lock buttons beeped and the door opened.

  “Do you need anything? Luggage or…?”

  She’d never met a man who could slam on the brakes so abruptly and show no signs of distress. His ability to hide any signs of arousal or discomfort left her off balance and unsure. “No, I should have everything I need. What time do we have to leave?”

  “A car will be here at two-fifteen.”

  That was in a few hours. “Will you go to sleep?”

  “For a little bit. I don’t sleep well on planes. I try to get what I can while I’m home.”

  She nodded, figuring she’d likely wrap up packing around two-fourteen. “Well then, I guess I’ll see you here in a few hours.”

  They took the stairs in silence. The entire journey she wordlessly begged for him to take her hand, but he kept his distance. When he stopped at his bedroom door a pinching ache formed in her chest. She deeply wished he’d kiss her one last time. But he didn’t.

  “Goodnight, Nadia.”

  She stuffed away her disappointment and tried to smile. “Thank you for dinner.”

  When she reached her room at the end of the hall, he was gone. This time he didn’t watch her go and she didn’t know what that meant. His restraint made her desire seem imbalanced. She shouldn’t be so forward with him in the future.

  She didn’t want to be some wanton woman, too eager for a good man to appreciate, too easy for any man to turn down.

  She wanted it to be real with him. Elliot definitely had control over their situation and she wasn’t even sure he’d call it a “situation”—romantically speaking. To him, it could be a dilemma.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Once we accept our limits, we go beyond them.”

  ~Albert Einstein

  Elliot watched the belt at baggage claim go around, waiting for their luggage to appear while Nadia hung at his side, falling asleep on his shoulder. He’d never seen a woman sleep for practically twenty hours straight, but somehow she managed it, only waking up for a few minutes here and there during the flight. And she was still tired?

  While she had slept on the plane, he learned as much as he possibly could about her language. Her grogginess kept her close to his side, however, so he wasn’t complaining.

  “There’s my bag.” She lifted her head and reached for her suitcase.

  Watching the rubber curtain, he waited for his to appear. A new load came through and several people surged forward to claim their belongings, but he still didn’t see his. The longer they waited the more his concern grew.

  “Do you think we should file your name with baggage claim? They’ll contact us when they find it.”

  “Let’s just wait a little longer. Here come some more.” His stomach knotted at the horrifying possibility he might have to make do without his things.

  “None of these people were on our flight. I think our lot’s done.”

  His jaw ticked as he tried not to lose his temper. He didn’t want Nadia to see how much a little setback could rattle him, so he worked hard to keep it together. Of course, his bag was the only one missing on the entire flight. That was just his luck. Forcing out a deep breath, he grit his teeth. “Fine.”

  After filling out the superfluous forms and leaving Nadia’s aunt’s phone number, along with his cell, they found their way to the exit. It was just after six a.m. and the sun had yet to rise.

  Loading their carry-on and her suitcase in the trunk of a cab, he focused on keeping his breathing even and held her door. Nadia gave the driver the address and they were on their way.

  “It’s so strange being back. Everything looks exactly the same, yet so different.”

  Budapest was lovely. The European architecture always impressed him, but Nadia didn’t live directly in the city. Her family resided just outside the city limits in the town of Érd.

  Congested streets gave way to thoroughfares in ill repair, so narrow at parts two cars wouldn’t fit. Scrubby land left wide-open patches of earth, adjacent to terracotta-roofed homes packed tighter than sardines. It made his skin itch, seeing the two-hundred unit apartments and imagining close to eight hundred residents crammed into one building.

  The number of older citizens out and about, on foot, had his brow li
fting. Hungarians were not an idle people. It was clear the country was not at its economic best, but an evident work ethic was implied after only a brief glance.

  Nadia sighed, stealing his attention from the road.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” She smiled softly, her hands wringing in her lap. “Anxious.”

  He should do something to ease her tension. His mind shuffled through the traits of the men he admired, wondering what they might do in such a situation with a beautiful woman. He could say something clever to distract her or… Sliding his hand across the tattered cab seat, he slipped his fingers around hers and squeezed. Her eyes turned to him and there was a moment of sharp doubt in his chest that faded when he caught her smile. Her fidgeting stilled and he slowly pulled away his touch, satisfied that he’d helped her in some small way.

  The cab slowed outside of a pale, stucco home and her fingers started fidgeting again. The lawn showed dry patches where the soil seemed made mostly of dust and two of three shrubs were dead, long without leaves and showing nothing but gnarled branches that looked dry enough to snap with his fingers.

  Reaching into his pocket, he removed the money he’d transferred. “How much do I give him?” he asked Nadia in a low voice.

  Nadia took the bills, sorted out a few and handed them to the driver. “Köszönöm.”

  She appeared a bit shaky as they retrieved their belongings, pausing at the iron gate to draw in a steadying breath. “Otthon,” she whispered and he was pleased to identify the word. Home.

  Before they reached the door it opened and he recognized her mother. Rapid Hungarian words flew between them, caught with smiles and tethered in welcoming hugs, yet Nadia still appeared tense.

  Was he the only one picking up on her nerves? Her family should notice such things.

  “Mama, emlékszel Elliot,” Nadia introduced, pulling him to her side.

  “Jó újra látni, Kisné Rozsa,” he greeted with halting efficiency.

  Both Nadia and her mother smiled, but then lost him as they rattled off words too fast for him to track.