[Be for Me 01.0] Breathe for Me

by Natalie Anderson

  “Sure, but sometimes we need reminding. Challenging. We need to shake things up a bit.”

  “With herbs?” How was that going to work?

  “Legal ones.” She laughed. “Sure, why not?”

  He still didn’t get it. He walked over to her, unable to resist crouching so he could see into her face better. “What is it you’re planning?”

  Her smile as she looked down at him was the cutest thing. “I’m working on a series of pop-ups. Temporary shops, eateries, gourmet soup places, coffee carts. Ultimately I’d love to do a whole precinct.”

  “So its retail?” She was going to sell the herbs?

  “More than that. It’s about urban growth and regeneration. Finding something where you’d least expect it—in a construction site or something there’s suddenly something fun and whimsical but practical at the same time. Enhancing the communities we already have. Providing a focal point for a while.”

  “A focal point of herbs.” He couldn’t help the scepticism.

  But she just laughed again which made him warm to her more. She wasn’t bothered that he didn’t get it? It was nice to meet someone who wasn’t bothered about getting approval.

  “I’m putting up a temporary pizza oven. A shack really. A literally ‘living’ room. The walls are going to be made with the herbs.”

  “Uh huh.” He still couldn’t quite see it but he was trying. “Hence the need for so many.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You got people helping you?” It sounded to him like she was going to need it.

  “Team Greene.” She nodded.

  “Cute.” He chuckled. “Who’s in the team?”

  “Um.” She colored. “Just me so far. But I’m working on it.”

  “Other interns don’t want to get in on the action?” Was she gearing up for a total fail? He hoped not, it struck him she had a few burdens she was shouldering already.

  “I think I’ve won one over. But some of them think it’s not what you know but who you know.”

  The networking game. He understood it well. And though he knew shouldn’t want to help—shouldn’t complicate this—he couldn’t resist the urge riding inside. “I might be able to introduce you—”

  “No that’s okay.” She cut off his offer before he could make it. “I’m going to do it anyway. I’m not worried.” Her smile quirked. “Much.”

  He nodded, briefly disappointed at her rejection, but impressed with her determination. She wanted to succeed independently. He respected that. “So all the plants—”

  “Are going to be part of the display, yes. As well as being ingredients. Both form and function.”

  No wonder she always smelt so edible—she was living in a greenhouse. He looked up at the impish grin on her face and had to fight the sudden urge to lean forward and inhale her delicious scent.

  “You’d better go get changed,” he warned.

  He paced the length of the small lounge, and back again after she’d slipped to her room. She really was Snow freaking White, with her good heart and her altruism.

  But how was it she stayed in this apartment building? Upper East it wasn’t, but it was one of the most exclusive on this side of the park. Hell, most of Manhattan was out of an unpaid intern’s league. And with the security, the all too rare rooftop pool, the very selective screening process... he’d bet his lunch she had contacts in the building. But she didn’t want to take advantage of other contacts or that kind of networking?

  He thought back on what he knew. Her accident was the first thing he thought of. Red flags fluttered again. He really should stay away. Except he saw how she looked at him and damned if he could resist the invitation in those eyes.

  She wanted, but she was shy. That was okay. He’d draw her out—hell, he’d already pushed way further than he’d intended by the pool just then. As for the spark that flashed when he got close, the way she blushed when he said something so innocuous—what was she imagining?

  She liked it when he led.

  Xander was more of a turn-about kinda guy—but maybe he could work on that with her. But he was going to have to be careful not to break his own rules. Already he’d succumbed to the urge to offer her help. Fortunately she’d refused. He was going to have to keep his usual boundaries firm.

  Just fun. Always fast, fun and free. And in this case? Definitely just the once.

  It was clear she didn’t want to talk about her problem at the pool. Probably not her past or her accident either. She wanted to keep her secrets and her wounds closed? He was the same. He shared his past with no one—certainly not a woman he wanted to bed. Who wanted to revisit the horrors in their lives? So those shadows in her eyes weren’t his concern. His only concern was their chemistry.

  She reappeared dressed in a long skirt that floated when she walked and a not quite-sheer-enough white blouse. Pretty and feminine, like her. His mouth watered. Any lingering doubts about messing with her vanished. He was all wolf now.

  Chapter Seven

  Chelsea walked as quickly as she could to her door. The look on his face had her heating. Her body was thawing. She still couldn’t believe he’d nearly gone down on her in public, in broad daylight. That she’d let him.

  And now, would he block her exit with a heavy hand like he had at the pool the other night? She half hoped so. It was crazy, but she couldn’t resist going with this. With him. She wanted to know what he’d try next—yet she couldn’t admit to herself what she really hoped it would be. But instead of stopping her, he followed her out to the corridor.

  “You have a favorite restaurant, or is this your first time in New York?” he asked.

  Chelsea shook her head, feeling wired in the face of his focus, his acute attention. “I’ve been here lots, but you choose.”

  “Lots like ten trips, or lots like a hundred?”

  She was from upstate New York but had stayed in Manhattan many times. She knew it pretty well. “Lots like fifty?” She hazarded a guess. “But this is my first time living here. Who doesn’t want to live in the city, at least for a little while?”

  “So you’re not here to stay?”

  She shook her head and led the way out of the building but then paused, waiting to follow his direction. “It’s transitional. Like my work. Temporary installations.”

  “Why temporary?” He slowly drew her along the pavement.

  “Why not?” She smiled. “Everything’s temporary, right?”

  “So you’re an artist.”

  “I’m interested in urban design, yes. Challenging the environment we’re in. Shaking it up a bit. And providing a talking point, preferably one that’s a bit fun.”

  “But not fun enough to stick around?”

  She shrugged. “The novelty wears off. Better to exit on a high.”

  “So what are you going to do once it’s done?”

  “Go to another city. Maybe a smaller town. Do some work there. Try a different project. See how it goes.”

  “It’s all part of your study?”

  She nodded. “Ultimately.”

  “Professor Greene sounds good.”

  She smiled. “Well Dr Lawson sounds good.”

  He grimaced. “It was my cousins who started calling me that. Even before I got the certificate. They like to tease.”

  “And it’s stuck?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  She smiled. Her stomach rumbled again.

  “Better get some food into you before you keel over.” He put his hand on her back, measuring his pace to hers and guided her into the busy bistro on the corner.

  Pride and embarrassment flooded her. “I don’t need you to help me.”

  “I’m not helping you, I’m letting all the other guys in here know you’re with me.” He grinned wickedly.

  “I’m not with you.”

  “Sure you are. This is a date. Didn’t you realize?”

  He said nothing as she stumbled, but his hand at the small of her back slid to tighten around her
waist.

  She was too busy swallowing the idea to pull away.

  “This isn’t a date. This is neighbors sharing lunch.” She hadn’t been on a date in so long.

  He laughed and steered her towards a table. “It’s a date.”

  Suddenly her damaged calf muscle tightened unbearably. She more fell than sat in the chair and as she did she knocked the water glass. In turn that knocked the small already-lit candle. In a panic she reached to grab it, to stop it setting fire to the place, and in doing so knocked the small single stem vase right off the table.

  It shattered on the floor.

  She froze and slowly lifted her gaze from the damp rose mess splattered on the wood. Everyone was staring at them. All conversation silenced.

  Self-conscious she finally braved looking directly at Xander. In less than six seconds she’d proved her incompetence. If her mother were here she’d be hovering and mopping and fussing and making Chelsea more shaky and useless—albeit with the best of intentions.

  But Xander just smiled. “You want salad or steak? They do all kinds of both here.”

  “Salad. Greek please. Sorry,” she said weakly, sending the waiter an apologetic-but-grateful smile as he whisked away the wreckage in record time before coming back to take their orders.

  “So what are you going to do while you’re in New York?” Xander asked once the waiter had headed to the kitchen. “If you’re here only a short time you want to get everything you can out of it.”

  She sucked in one last shred of moxie. “I’m thinking of signing up to a roller derby club.” She’d go girl power. Luisa, the coffee diva, had put ideas in her head. Why couldn’t she get well enough to do that?

  “With that knee?” Xander’s left eyebrow lifted.

  “Sure,” she said defiantly. “It’s getting stronger every day.”

  “You’re working out with it?”

  “Of course.” She was walking a little further on it each day. She’d get there.

  “But not swimming.”

  Fortunately her Greek salad arrived, so she avoided answering by giving effusive thanks to the waiter. He was so getting a big tip from her, his timing was perfection.

  “I meant it when I said I’d teach you to swim.” Xander said the second the waiter walked away again.

  “And I meant it when I said I already could.”

  “So why don’t you?”

  “I do. I just prefer privacy.”

  He was silent a moment. “Why?”

  A lie based on truth was more believable, right? “My leg. I feel self-conscious. I don’t swim as well as I once did, and while I’m working on it I don’t like people staring at it.”

  “I won’t stare at it,” he said calmly. “There are other bits of your body I’d like to stare at instead.”

  She choked.

  “What happened?” he asked softly.

  “Lettuce went down the wrong way.”

  “Chelsea.” Firmer that time.

  She’d known the question was coming. She sighed. “Car accident. It’s a lot better.”

  “Were you driving?”

  She paused, her fork part-way lifted but she looked directly at him, wanting him to understand this was non-negotiable. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Ever.

  He held her gaze. Slowly he nodded. As he did the serious look in his eyes vanished and the roguish one returned. “I’m Scorpio. My favorite color is navy. I like apples but I don’t like bananas—except in milkshakes or baking. I love roasted red peppers.”

  “What are you doing?” She laughed at the random change in topic.

  “Telling you ten things about myself so you won’t feel like you’re sleeping with a stranger.”

  Her jaw almost hit the floor. She shut it with a snap and stared at him her brain both going to mush and becoming acutely alert. Unperturbed he met her gaze, a half smile on his lips and that spark kindling his eyes.

  “I can’t decide if you actually mean that, or are just trying for a reaction.” And he was getting a reaction. A mix of astonishment and scalding heat. The heat was winning, melting her resistance, her reason, slickening her muscles, making her boneless all over again.

  “Why not both?”

  That irresistible mix of laughter and roguishness lit his eyes making him so damn attractive. She lifted her glass and took a long sip of iced water and tried to rein herself in. Well of course the man thought she’d sleep with him the second he asked, given the way she’d been hot and wet and writhing against him less than half an hour ago...

  It was a bad move to remember those minutes in his arms. She was incinerating from the inside out and the urge to fly straight to the source of the flame was overpowering.

  Okay. She set the glass down. She’d play the game. Twist it. “You’re not telling me anything relevant.”

  “I’d have thought vegetables were very relevant.” He speared a piece of steak. “Especially to a woman who loves herbs.”

  “Where did you grow up?” She ignored his comment and went with her burgeoning curiosity.

  He cocked his head, his wicked grin widening. He waggled his fork at her the way an old-school strict teacher waved a ruler. “I’ll only tell you if you tell me. The questions you ask me, you have to be prepared to answer yourself. Game?”

  “Sure.” She could work with that. “Where did you grow up?”

  “California in the early years. Summerhill in the later. It’s a ski town.”

  “Nice. You ski?”

  He nodded. “So your turn—where’d you grow up?”

  “A town near Rochester.” She picked at another piece of lettuce. “Where are your parents?”

  “My mother lives in Summerhill.”

  “And your father?”

  He shrugged.

  Hmm. Broken home? She wanted to ask more, to challenge, to pry. But didn’t want to have to reciprocate. And judging by the amused look on his face he knew it. So far, so not enlightening. She pondered some possibilities. Then couldn’t resist a little tease. “Vanilla or chocolate?”

  His expression sharpened. “Chocolate. I like the richness—I like the variety—from rich, dark and bitter to creamy milk and sweet. You?”

  “Vanilla,” she said, mainly to be contrary. “The scent. The subtlety. And yet it too can be very rich.”

  “You’re not a chocolate lover?”

  “I like it, but the question was preference, right?” She gave him a coy look. “If forced to choose.”

  “Okay. Another question?” he prompted.

  “Best moment ever.”

  He paused, putting on a ponderous look. Then a wry grin appeared, chasing away the solemnity and putting the wicked glint back in his eyes. “It’s going to sound cheesy.”

  “I don’t mind a little cheese,” she said softly.

  “You want me to be honest?”

  She nodded.

  “First summer on the job.”

  “Engineering?”

  “Lifeguard.”

  Oh of course—it was his hero syndrome. “You saved someone?” She’d pulled someone from the water too. But it had been too late. She didn’t know if she could bear listening to his story.

  He shook his head.“ I was fourteen. It was a dog.”

  Relieved yet touched, a small burst of giggles escaped her.

  “It mattered to that little kid,” he said, all seriousness.

  Of course it did. It was sweet. “Did you have a dog when you were a boy?”

  He shook his head. “Your turn to answer.”

  “Yeah, we had a black spaniel. He was—”

  “No,” Xander interrupted with a knowing smile. “Best moment.”

  Damn. She looked away. It should have been the night Tom proposed. “I’ve had lots of good moments,” she fudged. “Still waiting on the best.”

  He kept watching her—apparently waiting for her to say more. But she didn’t. Instead she looked into his pale blue eyes and felt her insides melt.

&nbs
p; “That’s your ten,” he finally said. “Know me well enough now?”

  Chapter Eight

  This was crazy. She should be working on her project. She should be making calls or hitting the streets to scope out possible venues or drumming up some kind of promo. Instead she was refusing to be intimidated as Xander ignored all ‘elevator etiquette’ and turned his back to the doors sliding shut. As the compartment began its ascent he faced her, intent apparent in every line of his body. A half smile curved his lips, his blue eyes burned.

  She stood right at the back of the small space, planting her feet a little apart as if she were bracing for a blow... or something. The atmosphere thickened. Each beat of her heart slammed in her ears. She wanted, but she couldn’t seem to move or speak. She just stared at him until it seemed the rest of the world had disappeared. Stupidly dizzy she leaned back, letting the wall support her. A sweet poison spread along her veins, causing need to uncurl in every cell and heighten her senses. Languorous, yet on edge, she waited, reading the heat in his expression. The dare, the desire. The demand.

  The elevator chimed. The doors slid open. She peeled away from the wall, dragging her attention from him and making herself move out onto her floor. Reality returned as she walked to her door. She couldn’t do this. A one night stand in the afternoon with a virtual stranger? It was preposterous. It wasn’t the kind of thing she ever did. And she couldn’t do it now.

  “You can’t look at me like that and then just walk away.” His low, teasing whisper came from right behind her.

  For the merest moment she paused, touched by that smile in his voice.

  His arms encircled her. Tightly.

  She closed her eyes, stunned at the rush of warmth and need that flooded within her. “This is crazy.”

  “That doesn’t make it wrong.”

  “I never do this.”

  “That still doesn’t make it wrong.”

  Slowly, testingly, she tried to move. His grip loosened only enough for her to pivot on the spot. She stared up at him. His intention—his desire—was clear.

  “One afternoon. One fantasy. Just one.” His eyes were dominated by the huge dark pupils in the center, drawing her into their velvety temptation—warm, liquid pools. “Chelsea?”