Nik chuckled, and her cheeks heated. She always spoke too loudly when she was drunk. He kissed her neck, replacing her flush of embarrassment with a different source of warmth. “If I’d known one person could make me feel the way you do,” he murmured, “I’d have used all that energy to hunt you down.” This time, when she met his eyes, all she saw was hunger. Somehow, she didn’t doubt him for a second.
In a moment of drunken clarity, Aria asked herself: how the hell did she get here? Not here, as in a pro footballer’s debauched house party in Marbella—but here, in the lap of a man who seemed to want her more than he should. A man whose desire and affection weren’t swallowed whole by the bottomless pit in her chest, whose presence surrounded her like a shield.
Then the moment passed, and she was just drunk and horny again.
“Never have I ever been married,” hollered the next girl. Aria grimaced and took a shot. Behind her, Nik stiffened—well, the parts of him that weren’t his cock, anyway. That thing was already stiff to begin with.
She giggled at the nonsensical thought. Understandably, since he couldn’t read her mind, Nik didn’t laugh along.
Chapter Twelve
“For real?” Nik whispered in her ear.
“What?”
“You’re married?”
Aria rolled her eyes. “I’m divorced.”
“Aren’t you twenty-seven?”
“That’s more than enough time to get divorced, sweetheart.” She’d been divorced at twenty, as a matter of fact, and married at eighteen. It certainly wasn’t the worst decision she’d ever made.
Or the best.
“Who was he?” Nik asked, after a pause.
“My husband.” She snickered at the joke, but he didn’t join in.
Instead, he asked, “Do you still see him?”
With a sigh of exasperation, Aria turned to look at him. “Do you care?”
She regretted her flippancy immediately—because Nik didn’t laugh or even smirk, and he certainly didn’t snap back. He didn’t say a word, but his expression answered, loud and clear: Yes.
“Aria!” Georgia called from across the circle. “It’s your turn.”
Oh, right. She turned to face everyone as her mind, conveniently, blanked. “Um… Never have I ever…” She really should’ve thought about this earlier, instead of dry-humping the man who was paying her to be here. “Never have I ever played football!”
The room practically exploded. There were cries of astonishment, of outrage, of what appeared to be genuine disgust—interspersed, of course, with gulps as everyone else downed a shot. Literally, everyone. Every single person in the room.
Huh. Awkward.
“Come on, Nik,” Kieran yelled. He got louder after a few drinks, it seemed. “What the fuck, man? Bring her in!”
“How are you dating a footballer and you’ve never played football?” demanded a blonde to Aria’s left.
“Well, I doubt Posh has played, either,” she said defensively.
“Honey,” the woman smirked. “You’re not exactly—” Then she caught the expression on Aria’s face and suddenly discovered the benefits of silently studying the floor.
Behind her, Nik chuckled softly. He traced the thorny roses climbing her bicep and said, “You realise this state of affairs cannot continue?”
Something inside her relaxed at the unmistakable sound of his smile. Despite his probing questions about her ex, he wasn’t… upset. Not that she’d care if he was, since he had no right to be.
Except she totally fucking would, because she was a complete sap.
“The football thing, you mean? You’re not going to make me play, are you?”
“Of course, I’m going to make you play,” he laughed. “Good God, chrysí mou. What do you take me for?”
“Stop talking, you two.” Georgia interjected. “Nik, it’s your turn.”
He sighed. “Alright, relax. Never have I ever…” He smiled as he ran his knuckles over Aria’s collarbone. “Never have I ever gotten a tattoo.”
Most of the room drank at that one. It was the first time Aria had really considered Nik’s lack of ink—usually, when she saw him naked, she was more concerned with his body than his unadorned skin. But suddenly the perfection of such a big, bare canvas hit her.
“I think you should drink twice,” he said, his finger circling the little octopus above her knee.
She snorted. “Nice try.” But she kind of invalidated those words when she did as he’d suggested, taking the shot he’d just poured for himself. “You should get a tattoo.” Aria wasn’t in the business of telling people what they should and shouldn’t do with their bodies—that was the opposite of her attitude, actually—but the words leapt out anyway.
“You think it would look good?”
“No. Well, yes, but that’s not why I…” she trailed off, because explaining her reasoning felt kind of awkward. She hadn’t said it because he’d look good. She’d said it for the same reason he wanted her to play football.
He seemed to grasp that without her finishing an impossible sentence. His smile widened, becoming almost shark-like, and he said, “So give me a tattoo.”
Aria blinked, certain that she was experiencing some kind of alcohol-induced, auditory hallucination. It had been a while since she’d been that drunk, but these people went hard. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious. You’re a tattoo artist.”
She threw up her hands. “We’re in Marbella, Nik.”
“But you can tattoo anywhere. The way people do when they’re learning, right, before they get a gun or whatever—”
“A machine. Call it a machine. And if you’re talking about stick-and-pokes, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You can’t do it?”
“Well, sure, I can do it—”
“Then it’s settled. Tomorrow.” He kissed her cheek. “Try not to kill me.”
“How the hell would I kill you?”
“I’m sure you could find a way.” That dragged a laugh out of her. The sound was cut off by a gasp when he moved without warning, pulling them both to their feet. She looked around the circle and realised that, while they’d been talking, the game had devolved into random drinking and copious make out sessions. Huh. “Upstairs?” Nik asked, packing a thousand words into just one.
She nodded.
Then swallowed a scream as he picked her up.
“You have got to stop doing this,” she huffed as he strode from the room.
“Why?”
“Because…” Well, actually, that was a good fucking question. Why?
“Don’t you like it?” he prompted.
“It doesn’t matter if I like it—”
“I really think it does.” He climbed the first set of stairs, jostling her only slightly. The bouncing must have shaken up her brain, because she finally thought of a response.
“You can’t carry me up three flights of stairs and halfway across the house,” she said with certainty.
“Is that really what you think?”
She sighed. “You’re about to destroy your knee just to prove a point, aren’t you?”
“My knee is fine, moro mou. But I appreciate the concern.”
She swatted his shoulder. “I already told you to cut the sexy shit.”
“You’d take my mother tongue from me?” he tutted sadly. “You English. You think you rule the world.”
Was she laughing so hard because of the alcohol fizzing through her veins, or was this a different sort of intoxication? Aria decided not to think about it too much.
By the time they reached the final set of stairs, their steady stream of banter had faded and Nik’s expression had become slightly ferocious. “You’re quiet,” she snickered.
He flashed her a mock glare. “Excuse me, madam. I’m conserving oxygen.”
Her giggle sounded distant, as if it was coming from someone else. She felt oddly lightheaded as she raised a finger to trail alo
ng the line of his jaw. “You’re all scratchy.”
Nik looked down at her with something that might’ve been alarm. The expression softened into a smile a second later. “You’re wasted,” he accused, humour dancing through his words.
“You’re pretty,” she shot back, tapping the slight bump in the bridge of his nose. Wait—that wasn’t how arguments were supposed to go, was it? Ah, well. Too late now.
“You’re pretty, too.” His voice was like the warmth of a campfire on a cold night.
“Well,” she hedged, “I don’t know if I’d say pretty—”
“You’re right.” He reached their room and nudged the door open with his foot. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were striking.”
“Yes,” she agreed enthusiastically as he put her on the bed. He sat her up against the pillows, but she flopped sideways. That felt better. “Striking!”
“I have since readjusted my opinion, though,” he said. He was leaning over her, fiddling with her… ear? What an odd thing to fiddle with. There were far more useful places he could touch. “I think ‘stunning’ suits you better.”
Oh, he was taking out her hoop earrings. Good idea. Goooood idea. They were very big.
“Or we could go with a classic,” he went on, “and say beautiful. You’re definitely beautiful.” He took out the second hoop and laid them both on the bedside table. His hand went to the zip at the side of her dress, then stopped. “Do you want to take this off?”
“I do,” she nodded. Nod nod nod. She reached for the zip, tugged, fumbled. “You do it. And keep telling me how great I am.”
He laughed and sat down beside her, easing the zip down carefully. “Alright. I like the clothes you wear.”
“Because they are tiny.”
“Because they’re outrageous,” he corrected. “But you wear them so casually. If anyone else had walked into that club tonight wearing fluffy, green high heels, they’d have looked ridiculous. But you just looked like you.” He pulled her up into a sitting position, resting her back against his chest. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I feel great,” she said. And she did. Very warm and tingly inside, from all these very nice words. Also, the booze. “I just got so tired all at once.”
“Okay, honey. If you’re gonna throw up—”
“I never throw up,” she said grandly.
“But if you feel like you might, tell me.” Her zip undone, he began to peel off her dress, easing her arms out of the spaghetti straps. Aria sighed as inch after inch of confining fabric left her body—
Until he stopped with a muffled curse and yanked the bodice back up. “You’re naked.”
“No…” she said slowly. “I’m wearing this dress. Kind of.”
“Underneath the dress,” he ground out.
“No. I’m wearing knickers. Never go out without your knickers. They’re very important.” She paused. “Although I can see why you might go out without your knickers—”
“Aria. Are you sure you want me to take this off?”
“Yes. It’s tight.” She grabbed the fabric and pushed it down, wiggling a little when she reached her hips. She might be mistaken, but she thought she heard Nik muttering to himself beneath the bouncing of the bed springs. He was barely touching her anymore; the palm of his hand splayed against her back like a starfish, keeping her upright, but that was it. He must have a very strong hand, Aria decided. And arm. And shoulder.
She pushed the dress off completely and flopped down on top of the sheets with a sigh. “That’s better.”
Nik grunted. She turned to find him pulling off his T-shirt in that way men did, yanking it over his head with both hands. Then he stood and took off his jeans, too, moving at lightning speed.
“Are you tired?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, but his voice sounded a little odd. “Yes, agapi mou. I’m tired.”
“Okay.” Aria rolled onto her stomach—it truly was the best way to sleep—and closed her eyes, ignoring the glow of the lamp that burned through her lids. She should probably take her makeup off. She’d get mascara all over the lovely white pillowcases. But her body felt so deliciously heavy, all easy and languid like it had after he’d made her come.
The feeling wasn’t going away, either, like it had before. With Nik, she’d only enjoyed that sweet relief for a second before she’d turned all stiff and cold with fear. And then she’d sent him away, but she couldn’t quite remember why…
“We should’ve had sex earlier,” Aria said, her voice slightly slurred, her thoughts blurring.
“What?”
“I mean, more sex. With sweat. And skin. On skin…” Had he turned off the lamp? Everything seemed so much darker, all of a sudden. “Can we do it tomorrow?”
Even as sleep dragged her under, she recognised the feather-light touch of his fingers against her cheek. “Ask me in the morning, Ri.”
“You know I won’t ask you in the morning,” she grumbled.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I know.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Help me,” Aria groaned. “I’m dying.”
Nik’s soft laugh, while sexy as ever, was not welcome. It was irritating, in fact. Doubly irritating because, even with her head pounding and her stomach sloshing around like an ocean, it still sent a tingle along her spine.
“You’re not dying, chrysí mou.”
“I know,” she gritted out. “It’s hyperbole. For dramatic effect.” She winced. Ouch. A bit too much emphasis, there.
“Shh.” His hand settled against her back, a comforting weight that kept her anchored. She’d been lying in bed feeling as if the room was spinning, but that hand made things a little bit steadier. “I got you some water. And aspirin.”
It was a lovely sentiment, and she was thirsty as a motherfucker, but sitting up felt like a very bad idea right now. “In a minute,” she mumbled.
“Come here.” The hand on her back became an arm around her waist, easing her gently but firmly into a sort of… sideways lounge. Oh, that wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t sitting up, at least. Aria cushioned her aching head with one hand and risked opening an eye, squinting up towards the sound of Nik’s voice.
The room wasn’t painfully bright, thank God. He’d kept the curtains shut, so enough sunlight seeped in to illuminate the room, but not enough to make her headache worse. He was sitting beside her at the edge of the bed, freshly showered and despicably attractive. And even though she must have looked pathetic, at best, there was a heat in his gaze that made her head spin.
Which wasn’t great, since her head had already been spinning. In the opposite direction.
His expression changed so fast, she wondered if she’d been imagining things. Now, he looked relaxed and slightly amused, as always, the cocky playboy to a T. Still, she didn’t think cocky playboys brought their fake girlfriends precious, precious aspirin after a night of too much drinking.
“Here you go.” He held out the pills and watched as she swallowed them dry, his brows raised. “That was… impressive, or maybe terrifying. I’m not sure.”
She huffed out a laugh, then instantly regretted it as pain shot through her head. “Habit.”
“A habit you learned by…”
She took the water he held and downed it before answering. “By taking lots of drugs, sweetheart.”
“Oh.” His lips twitched with amusement. “You must think I’m very boring.”
“Because you never popped questionable pills in filthy bathrooms so your parents would pay attention to you? No, Nik. I don’t think you’re boring.” To be honest, she’d rarely met anyone she found so entertaining. She could be locked in a room with nothing but him and the bloody Yellow Pages for twenty-four hours, and they’d have a cracking good time.
Even if they kept their clothes on.
He took her empty glass of water and produced another like some kind of hydration fairy. “I think we should stay in tonight.”
“No. Noooo. You’re not missing out
on your friends’ weird hedonist explosion, not on my account.”
He combed through her tangled hair with his fingers as he replied. “I’m in charge, Ri.”
“You’re a pain in the arse, is what you are.”
“Never. I always take it slow.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and the surprise of that unnecessary affection was almost enough to make her miss what he’d said. “I’m going to make breakfast,” he told her, standing up.
He’d reached the door before her kiss-addled brain lurched back into action. “You’re—you—stop making dirty jokes!” Okay, maybe her brain wasn’t quite at full capacity just yet, but whatever.
He paused in the doorway. “Do you mean that?”
Well, she wished he hadn’t asked. She wished he’d just… assumed. Or ignored her. Because now she had to think about it, and realise that she didn’t, and explicitly say, “No. No, I don’t mean that.”
At which point, he gave her a knowing glance over his shoulder. “Thought not.”
She threw a pillow at him as he left. The action probably hurt her head more than it hurt his retreating back, but really, it was the thought that counted.
By the time Aria felt human again, the rest of the household was getting ready for the night’s events. Nik brought her a bagel covered in chocolate spread—because she still hadn’t gotten out of bed yet—and said, “Georgia sends her love.”
“That woman is trying to make me fatter,” Aria grumbled as she ripped into the bread.
“If you’re waiting for me to complain, you’ll be disappointed.” Nik settled onto the bed beside her and picked up half of the bagel before she could stop him. “Thanks.”
“For what, you thief? Didn’t I warn you about stealing my food?”
“That was before,” he grinned, humour glinting in his eyes. “This is now.”
“What the hell is the difference between then and now?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to take them back. There were a hell of a lot of answers he could give to that question.
But all he said was, “You like me now.”
“I liked you then,” she admitted, “for reasons that escape me.”
Sweet on the Greek: An Interracial Romance (Just for Him Book 3) Page 10
