Kiss the Girl

by Susan Sey

  “Eat up, princess.” He got to his feet and reached into his pocket. “I’m going to hit the jukebox. This place needs some Patsy Cline.”

  Nixie was chewing her second bite of burger when the strings wound up for Patsy’s honky-tonk heartbreak. All that crying, trying and loving inappropriately.

  Tell me about it, Nixie thought.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Erik pulled into the Watergate complex an hour and a half later. He glanced over at Nixie. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, her hair a shiny, cinnamon tangle against the headrest. Those famous lips were curled into a contented almost-smile, and the pull they exerted over him was so constant he was almost used to it. Almost. And then, in quiet moments like this, it punched him in the gut all over again. He sighed. She could be a problem if he wasn’t careful.

  He angled the truck into a spot near the door and tapped her shoulder with one impersonal finger. She stirred, and her mossy eyes took a moment to flutter open and focus.

  “Oh.” She blinked around the parking lot. “Here already?”

  “You conked out.”

  She gave him a sheepish grin that ended in an enormous yawn. “Sorry. Must be the tryptophan, or whatever.”

  “Yeah, that’s turkey.”

  “Oh.”

  “What you’re suffering from, Nixie Leighton-Brace, is a good old-fashioned red meat coma.”

  He reached over and gingerly unsnapped her seatbelt. Her hands remained curled loosely against her thighs, and his stomach went tight and hot. What else was she willing to let him do for her? Did she even realize how damn soft and inviting she looked with those curls rioting around her sleepy eyes?

  He risked a glance at her face and had to chuckle at himself. She was half-snoozing again already. He got out of the Jeep, rounded the hood and opened her door.

  “Come on, princess. Let’s get you home.”

  Her eyes opened at that and the flash of hope in them surprised him. Then she looked at the building and again at him, and it died out.

  “Right. Home.” Her voice was curiously flat but Erik didn’t ask. Hadn’t he told her it wasn’t so easy to build a home? It wasn’t his fault she was disappointed. He took her elbow and helped her step down from the truck.

  He started to guide her across the parking lot. She said, “You don’t have to come in. I’m okay now, honest.”

  He looked down into that heart-breaker face of hers and saw that it was true. Her eyes were open and alert, and the wind had slapped away the sleepy flush and replaced it with the pinched bafflement of a complexion more accustomed to the tropics. He should relinquish her elbow, pat her on the head and say goodbye.

  “It’s no trouble,” he heard himself say. “I fed you the burger. As your friend it’s my duty to get you to your couch so you can sleep it off in peace.”

  She frowned at him. “Wait, we’re friends now?”

  “Any girl who can polish off one of Steve-O’s burgers is a friend of mine. You nailed the fries and shake, too, so you get a Christmas card for life.”

  Her frown dissolved into a brilliant smile. “And I don’t regret a single bite.” She tucked her hand into his arm, gave it a companionable little squeeze. “You’re a terrible influence.”

  “What are friends for?” Friends, he repeated silently. Friends, friends friends. It didn’t do a lot to neutralize the lust in his heart, but it was a distraction. She kept her hand in his elbow as they got into the elevator, a small, warm connection between them. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she nestled her head into his sleeve and took another quick nap. Something hot and wanting bubbled in his blood at the thought.

  The doors swished open, and Erik all but sprinted down the hall toward Nixie’s apartment. She was killing him. She was killing him and she had no idea. He stood there, tensed on the edge of either bolting or seizing her up in his arms while she rooted around in her purse for her key. She finally came up with it, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Almost done.

  She inserted it into the lock, but didn’t turn it. Instead she faced him.

  “Thank you, Erik.” She laid a hand on his arm and he closed his eyes against the vicious tide of wanting it created in him. “I know this was a pity lunch. I’m sure between the hospital and the clinic you don’t have many free afternoons, and I can’t tell you what it means to me that you were willing to part with one of them to keep me company.”

  He forced a smile. “Friends don’t let friends eat eggplant, Nixie.”

  She shook her head. “We’ll do it your way, then. No heartfelt speeches. Just know that I’m grateful, okay?”

  She rose up on her toes and brushed a kiss onto his jaw. To be fair, it was a friendly kiss. The kind a friend gives another friend. A thank-you note of a kiss. But her hair slid over his chin, silky, sweet and lemony, and it issued an invitation all its own. It all but begged Erik to tangle his fingers in it, turn her face to his and address those lips properly.

  Erik tried, really tried, for the space of three endless heartbeats to ignore it. Then she backed up and gave him a chagrined half-smile. “And now I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’m really sorry, Erik. I can’t seem to get the rhythm of making friends.”

  He could resist the elegant bones, the lost eyes, even that smart-alecky mouth. But when she went all endearingly, awkwardly self-conscious, she pushed him over the edge.

  “Have I ruined everything?” she asked, her brows knit adorably.

  “Nope. I’m going to do that.” He buried one hand in those gorgeous soft curls and pulled her up onto her toes so he could finally, finally, finally kiss her.

  The breath caught in Nixie’s lungs, tangled there, and refused to come out. But that was okay with her. She would never breathe again and not mind as long as Erik kept kissing her. His mouth was everything she’d imagined it might be and he was kissing her like she was breath itself, like she was the center of the universe. Like he’d been starving for her.

  One of those big hands speared into her hair, lifting her up, holding her steady, while his mouth moved over hers in a dance that was both fierce and seeking. He wanted something from her, she realized. Something besides the obvious. There was more than just desire here, and it was dark, needy and jagged. She wondered what it was at the same time she recognized it in herself.

  She rose up, wound her arms around all the solid strength of him and offered up a matching need, a desire to know and explore and have that had been dogging her relentlessly and against her will since she’d met him. She opened her mouth under his and tasted him. He made some kind of noise that might have been approval, might have been anguish. Nixie smiled. She felt the same way.

  His hand against her head shifted, brought her to a new angle under him and he slid his tongue along her lips. He tasted her slowly, and Nixie felt...savored. The thrill of it shot over her skin, settled in her stomach and glowed there. His thumb brushed over her cheek and she turned helplessly into it, like a cat begging to be petted. When he pulled back, it took her a moment to surface, to register that he was looking at her. Waiting for something.

  She stepped back, cleared her throat and touched a finger to her lips. They were exquisitely sensitive. “What...um, what was that?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” His blue eyes still glowed with the embers of that kiss and Nixie’s brows shot skyward. She might not be an old hand at casual kissing, but that didn’t mean she was entirely naïve either.

  “Nothing.” She repeated it with patent disbelief.

  He gave her a careless grin. “Well, obviously it was a kiss, Nixie. A nice one, too.”

  “Okay, but why?”

  The grin broadened. “Why was it nice? You want a critique?”

  “No, I want to know why you kissed me.” Mortification burned in her gut, but she kept her face calm and assured.

  “Friends don’t kiss?”

  “Some cultures more than others, but with tongue? Usually not.”

  He rolled his linebacker shoulders in an
easy shrug and said, “No reason, really. Impulse. I thought it would feel good.”

  “Feel good?”

  “Sure. Didn’t you like it?”

  Nixie considered the way she’d almost devoured him. “I guess.”

  “Listen, Nixie, just relax, okay? It was fun. That’s all. Just like the burger. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

  She studied him, then said, “First the burger, now kissing. What’s next? A little harmless tax fraud?”

  “No. Tax fraud is boring.”

  She shook her head, but smiled in spite of herself.

  Suddenly the door under Nixie’s hand opened and she leaped back, startled. She landed on Erik’s feet and he picked her up and set her behind him. She didn’t know if he meant to save her or his toes, but it was strangely gratifying to have somebody who wasn’t paid to do so put his big body between her and an unknown threat.

  “Are you buying this crap, Nixie?” a voice boomed out. A familiar voice. Nixie peeked around Erik’s shoulder and sighed. She knew only one person who habitually spoke at a shout.

  “Hi, Karl,” she said. He was a big man, but next to Erik’s tough, Viking bulk, he looked soft. Almost huggable if you didn’t know him.

  “It just feels good? It was an impulse?” Karl shook his shaggy head at Erik in disapproval. Then he turned on Nixie again. “And you. You’re okay with a quick grope in the hallway? Haven’t I taught you anything?”

  “It wasn’t a moonlight and roses kind of moment.” She shrugged. “My self esteem will survive.”

  He peered past them down the empty hall way. “Any asshole with a cell phone walks by and you and Romeo here are front page news. What were you thinking?”

  She shut her mouth. This wasn’t about her self esteem. Of course it wasn’t. This was about her brand. She reached for a neutral tone of voice and said, “I wasn’t expecting you for a few more weeks, Karl. What are you doing here?”

  “Elementary PR, looks like.” His round glasses had slid down an impressive beak, and he was glaring at her over the wire rims. “Get inside, both of you. Now, please.”

  Nixie looked at Erik.

  “You don’t have to stay,” she told him.

  “What? And miss all the fun?”

  She walked into the apartment, Erik at her heels. Karl clicked the door shut behind them and leaned back against it, arms folded over his chest. He tucked his chin into his chest and drilled Nixie with his patented brand of disappointment-laced reproof.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Nixie said, though she sidled away from Erik like a guilty teenager. “He’s not a reporter or anything.”

  “You could have called,” Karl said. “I know we haven’t been on the best of terms lately, but you could have at least called.”

  “Why? So you could do a background check on a guy I’m not dating?”

  “So I wouldn’t have to scramble for a spin when the pictures hit the tabloids.”

  “There are no pictures, Karl.”

  “There are always pictures.” He shook his head. “You’re a brand, Nixie. How many times do I have to tell you that? If we’re going to be of service to anybody, the brand has to stay pristine.”

  Nixie rolled her shoulders under the sudden, familiar weight of guilt. “Tell it to Sloan.”

  “Sloan is her own brand. Very different.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Introduce me to your friend, Nixie,” Karl said. His overly patient tone made her feel petulant and sulky so she plunked herself down on the beige couch. It was hard, as uncomfortable as it was expensive.

  “Dr. Erik Larsen, meet Dr. Karl Dettreich.” Nixie said. “Karl is my political advisor, and COO of Leighton-Brace Charitable Giving.”

  “Ah.” Erik nodded. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Erik is on the board of directors at the clinic where I’m working.”

  “You’ve associated yourself with a clinic?” Karl’s grey eyes were aggrieved behind his glasses.

  “I told you I was looking for a project.”

  “And I told you to keep me in the loop. For Christ’s sake, Nixie.” He stalked toward the laptop humming on the coffee table at Nixie’s knees. “Sloan!”

  Nixie covered her face with her hands. “Oh, God. Mom’s here?”

  “Sloan Leighton is here?” Erik asked in awed tones. Nixie ignored him. It was bad enough that her old life had just hijacked her new one. Did she really have to watch while the object of her raging and unrequited lust turned into a slack-jawed, starry-eyed fool over her mother?

  Sloan strolled out of the kitchen, an iPhone in her hand, a wireless phone bud parked in her ear, only to find her daughter--whom she’d last seen from a prone position beneath their mutual lover--parked in the center of the sofa. She looked miserably unhappy. Sloan could have told her not to sit on that couch. It was desperately uncomfortable.

  “We’re booked on the eight o’clock flight out of Dulles,” Sloan said to Karl, flipping her curls over one shoulder and smiling at the tall, broad stranger standing beside the coffee table. “Scheduled to touch down by nine tomorrow local time.” She let her gaze drop to her daughter. “Hello, Nixie.”

  “Hey, Mom. How’s James?” Nixie asked. “Or should I say how was James? I understand you dropped him somewhere in Prague.”

  Sloan fluttered a hand dismissively. “I did. He was such a bore, and a bit of a disappointment once the dirty wore off. Didn’t you think so?”

  Nixie stared at her. “I am not going to compare notes on men we’ve both slept with.”

  Sloan laughed lightly. “You are a paragon, aren’t you? Note to self: Nixie doesn’t mind a bad lay. Steer clear of her boyfriends in the future.” She cut her eyes toward the silent stranger. “Though I may make an exception in this case.” She draped herself over the arm of the couch, offered him a languid hand and said, “I’m Sloan Leighton.”

  He took Sloan’s hand, gave her a smile that, had Sloan been a few years younger and several lifetimes more innocent, might have sparked an interest. As it was she only thought Nixie’s latched onto a live one this time. Careful, baby girl.

  “Erik Larsen,” the man said. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Leighton. I’m a big fan.”

  Sloan dropped her lashes and gave him a little smolder. “The pleasure’s all mine,” she purred automatically, but her attention was fixed inward. She should feel something, shouldn’t she? This was the first time she’d seen Nixie since seducing the poor girl’s boyfriend, after all. Surely even she ought to suffer a twinge of nerves or guilt or...something.

  She poked at the arid, barren place where her conscience used to live and a faint glimmer of feeling rose up inside her. Was it shame? How wonderfully novel. She hadn’t had the self-respect to feel ashamed of herself in years. Had she finally gone too far? Had she finally been outrageous enough to shock even herself? To wake up the dead weight that was her heart?

  She focused on the sensation curling in her stomach, willed it to strengthen, to grow, as if it were a tiny spark she could coax into a flame.

  Shame, she told herself. For shame, Sloan.

  But her heart was silent. Dead.

  She felt nothing.

  “Don’t bother with the sex-kitten routine,” Nixie said, rolling her eyes. “This one’s spoken for, and not by me. His heart belongs to his best friend Mary Jane.”

  “How...sweet,” Sloan said as Erik continued to hold her hand and grin at her with that slightly dazed look men so often wore around her.

  “Isn’t it?” Nixie said. She stood up and delivered a sharp slap to the back of Erik’s head. “Pull it together, lover boy.”

  Erik frowned at Nixie and let go of Sloan’s hand. “God. Cut me some slack.” He rubbed the back of his head. “That was the fulfillment of a twenty year old fantasy.”

  Sloan gave a twinkling little chuckle. Nixie plunked herself back down on the unforgiving couch and said, “Eyes on the prize, doc. Moony idiots never won fair ladies. Think of Mary Jane.”
/>
  Karl snapped shut his laptop and seated himself in the chair to Nixie’s right. “Cancel the flights, Sloan.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Nixie’s aligned herself with a local clinic.”

  Sloan sighed and punched a few buttons on her cell. “Amelia? It’s Sloan again. Cancel the tickets, will you? Nixie’s giving us trouble. Thanks, darling. I’ll be in touch. Soon, I hope.”

  She slid bonelessly into the square arm chair to Nixie’s left. It was just as beige and hard as the couch, but Sloan worked hard to make every piece of furniture she touched look like a love nest. There were appearances to maintain, after all.

  “So?” Karl leaned back in the matching chair on Nixie’s right. “Tell us about this clinic.”

  She watched with interest as Nixie bit her lip, a sure sign her chronically honest little girl was about to play fast and loose with the truth. How entertaining. Sloan exchanged a glance with Karl and settled in for the show.

  Nixie hesitated, gnawing her lip. I’m a receptionist didn’t have quite the gravitas of I’m fostering peace in the Middle East. Karl was going to blow a gasket.

  Erik said, “We’re a medical clinic based in Anacostia. Nixie’s been--”

  “Named Director of Outreach!” She nodded vigorously. “I’m spearheading a project to build awareness around poverty-related diseases.” She was silent for a moment, in awe of her own lie. Nobody spoke, so she cleared her throat and said, “The focus is on childhood asthma. It’s practically an epidemic in the local projects.”

  Karl tapped thick fingers against his knees. He glanced at Erik, who stared at Nixie in bemusement. She shrugged. She was a desperate woman. She didn’t care what global disaster Karl wanted her back for, she was not going to suck up her pride and trot after Sloan like a kicked puppy.

  Besides, the more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of tackling the asthma epidemic in Anacostia. Mama Mel would be a killer ambassador for the cause. She was making a mental list of reporters and legislators to contact when Karl finally spoke.