More Than Crave You

by Shayla Black

  Bas, who says he’s planning to quit before this deal goes through, seems relieved, too. We’re investigating possible reasons Colossus wants to acquire Stratus Solutions—and Nia—so badly, especially without a COO. They’re an investment corporation. They don’t manufacture or service tech. This acquisition seemed logical when they intended to keep me around to run things and reap the rewards. Now that they want to operate everything themselves, it makes far less sense. Sure, the staff could assist them, but even collectively they can’t run the company.

  “We’re doing all we can. Are you going to stop brooding?”

  I turn to face Bas. He’s been asking me this for days. The short answer is no. Not only do the Lunds bug me, I have this nagging worry that my blunt honesty isn’t what Nia wanted on our last date. I shouldn’t be surprised; what woman wants a husband who doesn’t love her? But I doubt I’m capable of opening myself up again. It would be wrong and unfair to lie about that. Besides, there are plenty of logical reasons for her to say yes.

  “Are you going to leave it alone?”

  “Dude, I’m your best friend. If you need to talk to someone—”

  “I don’t.”

  Bas sighs. “Something is up. You and Nia have both been acting weird lately. Since I was raised by a single mom and I’ve got four pain-in-my-butt sisters, I speak female. You don’t. I can help.”

  He wants me to be happy, and I don’t want to be an ass, but… “I have to figure this out for myself.”

  “Listen, buddy. I think Nia is good for you, and I’d rather not see you screw this up. I overheard you say on the phone earlier that you two are going out tonight. Let me help. What are your plans?”

  Since he means well, I can’t be mad. “She’s planning tonight, so I have no clue. I admit I’m anxious because I had no idea she enjoys performing in a burlesque show in her spare time. So who knows what she’ll come up with for us to do?”

  Bas laughs. “And you hate not being in control.”

  Almost as much as I hate him ribbing me about it. “Bite me.”

  “Do you know what you two are going to talk about?”

  “I need an agenda on a date?”

  He rolls his eyes. “No, but if you want to move your relationship forward and you’re looking for a way to tell her that—”

  “Nia knows exactly how interested I am. The ball is in her court.” And it’s going to be a long six weeks without knowing whether she’ll be moving to Maui with me as my wife. Because even if I sell out, I’m moving. I can start a business on the island. There’s nothing keeping me in Seattle.

  But no matter what, I’m not letting Nia go to the Lunds.

  “Okay. Well, if she gets back to you and you need to talk, I’m here.”

  “Thanks.” Right now, there’s simply nothing to say.

  “Have fun tonight.” Bas gives me a jaunty wave, then he’s gone.

  Since Nia left the office an hour ago and it’s nearly six, I pack up and head to my place. She’s supposed to meet me there at six thirty.

  As soon as I hit the door, I pick up the few odds and ends lying around. My running shoes go in the closet. Yesterday’s water glass goes in the dishwasher. I fluff up the comforter on my bed, which has clean sheets as of yesterday, thank you very much.

  By the time I change my clothes, check my hair, and find a bottle of wine in case I can talk her into staying here for the evening, the bell rings.

  “Hi.” Somehow, I manage to breathe the word as she stands in my doorway.

  I must look somewhere between bowled over and stupefied because she grins. “You like my dress?”

  “Like isn’t the right word.”

  She’s wantable. Edible. Fuckable. I swallow, but I can’t tear my gaze away from the thin straps grazing her shoulders, leading to a tight white, corset-style dress that dips low and hugs her plump breasts. My mouth is already watering as I take the visual tour lower and trace the nip of her waist, the womanly swell of her hips, and the lace trim that flirts with her thighs. Her white wedges show off her insanely gorgeous legs and a flash of turquoise toe polish.

  “Are you going to invite me in?”

  “Are we going to stay in so I can talk you out of that dress?”

  She laughs and shakes her head. “No. We’ve got plans.”

  “I said that out loud?”

  “You did.”

  “I…um, only meant to think it. Oops.”

  Nia smiles. “I see you took my wardrobe suggestions to heart. White shirt, black pants, black loafers. Perfect. Let’s go.”

  When she takes my hand, I drag my feet. “Where are we going?”

  “That’s not how this works. You surprised me on Tuesday night. Now it’s my turn.” She tugs again.

  I still resist. “Are we doing anything that’s going to embarrass me in public?”

  Why else would she have me dress so specifically if she didn’t want me to show off somehow?

  “You’ll be in public. Embarrassment is relative since some people find most human contact uncomfortable.”

  She means me. And she’s poking.

  I scowl. “You’re not answering my question.”

  “Just keeping a little mystery. Let’s go or we’re going to be late.”

  When I help her into my car and slide behind the wheel, I slant a stare her way. “Where to?”

  Nia smiles as she fiddles with the radio. “You’re not the only one with tricks up their sleeve. I’ll give you directions. Head north on I-5 for now.”

  As she searches for a station, something slightly familiar hits my eardrums. She stops there with a little smile. “My grandmother used to love the Beach Boys. I remember listening with her when I was really little.”

  Then she falls silent, lost in her memories. I focus on the old tune. I don’t remember the sleigh bells, and it seems funny on a non-Christmas carol? But okay…

  That quirkiness aside, the opening lines resonate with me. I may not love Nia, but she should never doubt my sincerity. I will do whatever it takes to make her sure of us, of the fact I’ll make her happy. Then the male vocalist croons with a plaintive tone something I should probably be asking myself when it comes to my lovely assistant-turned-girlfriend. Because really, God only knows what I’d be without her. Lost at work and home. Lost professionally and personally.

  I can’t let her go.

  Twenty minutes of her meticulous navigation and a few more classic tunes later, we arrive. I’m not exactly sure why we’re at an older strip mall in an unfamiliar but established neighborhood. The second I help her out of the car, she takes my hand in hers and drags me to an Italian place tucked away in the corner.

  Once we’re inside, it’s obviously a casual, family-owned place. Nia catches sight of an older man, who suddenly beams. “Bella!”

  “Hi, Lorenzo. I couldn’t let another week go by without seeing my favorite chef.”

  The man is fifty-five if he’s a day, and she still manages to make him blush as he comes forward and wraps her in a big bear hug. “Bah. It’s not me you love; it’s my pizza.”

  “Can’t I love you both?”

  He laughs and wags a finger at her. “Mateo is still single. I give you all the pizza if you marry him.”

  “Sorry. I can’t do it, not even for that.”

  Lorenzo tosses his hands in the air. “I’ll beat sense into him, make the man-whore settle down.”

  Suddenly, a broad woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a no-nonsense expression bustles into the room. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? That son of ours…” She shakes her head and asks before giving Nia a hug. “Oh, bambina. Good to see you.”

  “Hi, Guilia. Good to see you, too. This is my…new boyfriend, Evan.”

  She frowns. “Same name as your boss?”

  “Same man as my boss,” she admits wryly.

  “Evan Cook,” I hold out my hand, fascinated by her closeness with the Italian couple.

  “Nice to meet you. Be good to our girl or I’ll
find a way to marry her off to my son.”

  They treat it like a running joke, but I think they’re at least half-serious. “Not if I marry her first. I’ve already asked, by the way.”

  I’m staking my claim, and I want everyone to know it.

  Nia turns to me, stare pointed. Apparently, she didn’t want me to mention that. I shrug.

  “Have you now?” Guilia asks, then regards Nia. “Where is the ring?”

  I pause. Valid question. Perhaps a ring wouldn’t change Nia’s answer, but it would prove I’m serious. After all, the notion of putting a ring on a woman’s finger led me to proposing in the first place.

  “I haven’t said yes,” Nia points out.

  “Yet,” I add. I may have overlooked something that, in retrospect, seems obvious, but I’m hardly done trying to convince her. “I’m not giving up.”

  “Okay, I like this one,” the older woman says. “If I must give up the idea of you reforming Mateo, I can do that if this man loves you.”

  Her smile is jovial, but beside me Nia stiffens.

  That L-word. Again. Why has everyone attached such illogical and often fleeting emotion to an arrangement that can be both practical and necessary? A home, safety, and financial security in exchange for sexual ease, domestic help, and companionship; the arrangement is enduring and timeless. Of course, Nia supports herself, but I can give her far more. And I’m convinced that she alone can give me everything I need.

  “It’s only our second date,” she says into the awkward silence, then winks. “But I’m hopeful.”

  The older couple smiles and shows us to our table. We’ve barely opened a bottle of Chianti and enjoyed a few ravioli appetizers that melt in my mouth when Lorenzo delivers us a big, veggie-laden pie.

  As much as I believe in clean eating, I have a weakness for pizza. After one bite, I’m hooked.

  “This is fantastic. If the pizza is free, maybe you should marry Mateo and keep me on the side,” I joke.

  “Ha. You only say that because you can’t cook. And because you haven’t met Mateo.”

  Suddenly, something occurs to me. “Did you date him?”

  “For about three months.”

  I don’t like the way she gets quiet. “And?”

  “Like Lorenzo said, he’s a man-whore. The whole time he was dating me, he was sleeping with someone else.”

  And her. She doesn’t say so, but it’s implied.

  “He hurt you?”

  “Not really,” she assures. “He pissed me off. Not caring as much as I should that he was boffing a co-worker was my clue that I needed to end things.”

  “How long ago was that?” I want her to tell me it was a long time ago. I want her to tell me it was way before we met.

  “Two years ago. Remember when I told you I was spending a lot of time with friends on a houseboat in the bay that summer? I lived with Mateo in July, August, and part of September. So I spent a lot of time with Lorenzo and Guilia.” She shrugs. “Everything ended when my mom got sick and passed away. Mateo wasn’t there for me, but his parents were. I don’t know how I would have made it through that time without them. They’re like family to me.”

  I have mixed feelings about that. When she sees them, I’ll bet she sometimes runs into her ex-lover. That hardly thrills me. But I also know how much family and the bonds of closeness matter to her. Since she has none, it’s understandable that she found people she adores to act as her surrogates. It’s endearing, too. But it also proves that Nia is smart since she didn’t marry Mateo simply to have one.

  Isn’t that what you did?

  I shove the voice in my head aside. It doesn’t understand. Becca and I were different. We were not only survivors and like minds, but well-matched. Kindred spirits, even. We’d been together long enough to know one other and understand what our marriage would be. Becca appreciated our quiet. Maybe we weren’t as passionate as some couples, but she had been through a lot. Besides, there’s more to life than sex.

  Though I admit it’s feeling a lot more important now that I’m with Nia.

  I scowl at that observation.

  “I’m not interested in him anymore, so wipe that frown off your face. I only brought you here tonight because of the amazing pizza.”

  As much as some stubborn part of me wants to argue with that, I can’t. “It’s delicious.”

  “And because it’s really close to where we’re heading next. I hope you’re in the mood to dance.”

  Dance? I’m picturing a bar with loud music and strangers pressing against one another, getting more desperate as the night goes on. The good news is, people are usually having fun and getting drunk, so they shouldn’t notice me. “I’ve never danced.”

  “Never?”

  I don’t know why she looks so shocked. “A lot of people have never danced.”

  She raises her brows. “I don’t know any. Surely you danced at least once at your wedding reception.”

  “Rebecca and I were married at the county courthouse. After I paid for the marriage license and the costume-jewelry wedding rings, I had forty-three dollars to my name. Neither of us had family or friends attending. So no reception.”

  Nia looks stunned. “Diana didn’t come?”

  “She never liked Becca.” And that always bothered me.

  “Why?”

  “According to Diana, I’m a ‘strong personality,’ and she thought I needed someone equally strong to balance me. Becca was fragile. As she matured and felt more secure, she grew a better sense of self. But Diana is the sort of person who makes up her mind once and there’s no changing it.”

  Nia pauses. “Okay, so you didn’t dance at your wedding. What about school events? The prom?”

  I shake my head. “I spent most of my time with computers, and Becca’s foster father would never have let her go to anything like that.”

  “Well, since you’ve missed out on all the fun of the dance floor, I’m going to help you make up for lost time.”

  “I’m going to be horrible at this.”

  She laughs. “First, we don’t know that for sure. Second, everyone has to start somewhere.”

  “What about you? How did you start dancing?”

  “My mom worked a lot. One of her friends owned a dance studio and watched me after school so I wouldn’t be alone. I was six when I decided I didn’t want to watch anymore.” She shrugs. “I spent years dancing, lots of it competitively in high school. I’ve got ribbons and trophies galore if you want to see sometime.”

  “When did you find burlesque?” I’m displeased that she seeks attention from strangers by taking most of her clothes off on stage, but I still want to understand.

  “My first year of college. I had a TA who danced on the side. She broke her ankle skiing and asked if I could fill in until she healed.” Nia shrugs. “I’ve been hooked since. I know you think it’s the same as stripping, but burlesque is an art form. It’s a tease. No one is shoving bills in my thong. No one touches me. And no one gets to ask me for a lap dance. I have all the power to shake my thing, give the audience a wink, and go home alone.”

  “Do you get hit on at the club?” I don’t know why that possibility hasn’t occurred to me sooner. Heck, I don’t even know why I bothered to ask now. “Of course you do.”

  “It happens. Most guys accept a gracious but firm no. For the ones who are a little more persistent, Kyle is usually around and willing to play boyfriend. It’s not perfect, but it works.”

  Not for me, it doesn’t. And it seems as if everywhere I turn, I’m confronted by Nia’s exes.

  “How many lovers have you had?” The question is out before I can stop it.

  She tenses. “More than you. Is that a problem? It doesn’t make me a slut.”

  “No. It doesn’t. I-I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  This is my insecurity showing. This is me wondering if I can make her happy emotionally…and sexually. I lack her experience. It’s not as
if I can blame her for what she did before we got together. And I don’t regret my years with Becca. After all, our choices have led us here.

  Sex with Nia blew my mind, but I’m wondering if I can really do the same for her. The passion we shared in her dressing room was unexpected and urgent, like a sudden tornado that swept us both up. But if we deliberately planned to spend the night together, took our time and shared our pleasure slowly? I don’t know if I could turn her inside out and persuade her to surrender herself to me. Once with Nia was enough to tell me that she’s vastly different in bed than Becca. I’m wondering if I’m actually prepared for a woman like her.

  “That I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  She softens. “I don’t think you can.” I must still look unconvinced, because she sighs and takes my hand. “Look at it this way: I’ve had a little experience with a lot of guys. None of it lasted. None of it wowed me. None of it was with anyone I loved. You have a lot of experience with one woman. You know what it’s like to really connect, keep it fresh, and make something last. I don’t think one kind of experience is better than the other. And I don’t think any of that really matters. I’m not thinking about Kyle or Mateo when I’m with you. And I hope you’re not thinking about Becca when you’re with me.”

  “No.” In truth, Nia seems to have settled somewhere inside me and taken over half my brain functions…and most of my cock.

  “Then let’s just be us. No labels, no judgment. No worries. If it’s meant to be, we’ll figure it out. If it’s not, then we’ll hope that we’ve each learned something from the experience and made one another feel good while it lasted.”

  I suspect she’s right, but I prefer something more. “I’m looking to get married.”

  “And I’m only looking to get married for the right reasons.”

  Love. That’s what she means. This conversation frustrates me because a poetic, idealized emotion is completely unnecessary. I’m even more annoyed that I have four more candidates I could interview for the position of wife, and yet I’m only interested in Nia. This is clearly a defect in my thought process. Maybe I should chalk it up to the sex drive not being logical. Whatever the reason, I’m not willing to give up trying to convince her that we could be happy together without silly Prince-Charming fantasies.