by Nikky Kaye
“Can I see it?” he asked.
“What?”
“The bathroom. Can I see the bathroom?”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Did I imagine his gaze quickly running up and down my body? He blushed a little. Maybe not.
He followed me down the hallway. The really long, narrow hallway. I swear it was closing in on us. It was dimmer here, the light from neither the entry nor the kitchen quite stretching to reach it. I passed the door to the powder room, then stopped and spun around. His chin jerked up suddenly, like he had been looking down.
“It’s in here.” I pointed needlessly, not sure what to do with my hands.
He reached for the doorknob, his forearm flexing hypnotically, and grinned at me. “You look afraid. Are you afraid?” he teased.
Now I knew what to do with my hands. I put them over my face, mortified. And I told him as such. My face grew even hotter as his fingers encircled mine and pried mine away. I felt the hard pads of his fingertips brush against my knuckles as he held our hands between us. My back stiffened, my breath imprisoned in my lungs. I couldn’t stop looking at our hands still curled together, but strangely, he didn’t let go.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I won’t let that mean, scary bathroom hurt you.” When I looked up, I noticed that his eyes were blue, with a dark ring around the iris holding in his mirth. Really. Fucking. Blue. Maybe it wasn’t like looking into the sun, but lying on the grass on a summer day and just staring at the sky.
I pulled my hand free and smacked his shoulder. “Ha ha.” The strange tension broken, my spine softened a little.
“You ready?” he asked me, gesturing to the door.
“As I’ll ever be.” I jokingly squeezed my eyes shut as he pushed the door open.
His sharp exhalation wafted over my bare shoulder and suddenly my eyes were wide open again. Despite the languid heat of the day, a shiver ran over me. It became clear to me, and I guess to him, judging by the direction of his gaze, that the flimsy elastic bra in my cami did very little to hide my nipples. Wait. He was supposed to be looking at the bathroom, not my chest.
I crossed my arms, trying to hide my headlights but effectively pushing my boobs together and up. His gaze wavered back and forth between my body and my bathroom, as if he wasn’t sure which was more compelling.
My humble opinion was that the exposed plumbing was more important right now, not the hidden kind.
“Um, what do you think?” I asked him.
“I think wow.” His eyes narrowed and his bottom lip dipped.
Was he talking about the bathroom? I started in surprise as his hands reached out for my hips. They were on my hips. I realized then that I was blocking the doorway. Of course he was looking at me, touching me. He was trying to get around me to see the job he was called to consult on. Duh.
Embarrassed all over again, I tried to shift away, but his grip held firm and warm around my waist. We did that weird dance of trying to get out of each other’s way, but futilely held together in orbit like the Earth and the moon. I ended up almost arching my back and sticking my butt out in order to break free.
Of course that just meant that he apparently had another reason to look at my rear end, which I elegantly backed into the towel bar I had inexpertly installed. It fell to the floor with a clang, which seemed to bring both of us back to the matter at hand. I meant the powder room, not his warm, tanned hand touching me.
He was still touching me.
Then he cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said gruffly, and his hand ghosted over my waist as he squeezed past me into the tiny room.
Something deep in my belly cramped and twisted, and my nipples hardened. What was going on with me? I was starting to think I was having a stroke or something. But as he squatted down and his shirt stretched taut over his shoulders, revealing the muscles underneath, I realized that I was having a textbook arousal reaction.
Wow. Go me.
I was thrilled at my “progress” and horrified at the same time. Could he tell that I was getting turned on? Hopefully he hadn’t noticed how weird I was acting.
“It’s not a total disaster.”
Wait, he was talking. I shook the unfamiliar sensations out of my head and tried to pay attention to him. He was still on the floor, his gaze fixed on my bare legs now. I felt the urge to squeeze my knees together, my thigh muscles flexing gently.
“Some is—I mean you—it can be fixed.” Well, he was sort of talking. Apparently we were under the same spell.
As I looked down at him kneeling in front of me, almost feeling his breath on my legs, something inside me clenched again, and I had a telltale wet feeling.
“Uh, would you excuse me a minute?” I asked, my voice a little unsteady.
He shook his head slightly, blinking, and then he turned away. “Yeah. Sure. Of course. Sure.”
My heart thumping in my chest, I escaped into the shadowy hallway and then raced up the stairs to my bedroom. Once in the en suite, I hiked my skirt up my thighs and pulled down my panties.
* * *
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Acknowledgments
This story was the beginning of a new direction for me, and several people have helped alleviate my nerves. Oodles of thanks to Debbie East and Arianne Cruz, for they make my words good-er. Crystal Kook and Vivian Tabonda make my life better. Kate Smith knew I could do it. But the most gratitude goes to my whole DAMN family for their patience and understanding. And to 3M, for making the privacy filter on my laptop.
About the Author
Nikky Kaye believes that shoes should be comfortable and sexy, but she still has to test them in stores by sprinting in order to see if they’ll meet the demands set by her five year-old twin boys. A former professor of impressionable college youth, she has also worked with movie stars and the United Nations—so she’s familiar with conflict and conciliation, if not always true love.
@readnikkykaye
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Copyright © 2016 by Nicola Simpson Khullar
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-0-9951666-5-3
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