Our First Kiss

by Judy Lynn Hubbard

  He inwardly groaned at the feel of her body against his. Shoving his hands into his jacket pocket, he fought down an overwhelming urge to grab and bury all ten of his fingers deeply into that gorgeous hair of hers and pull her soft, tempting mouth against his.

  “You’re going to have a good time, Nathan,” she promised as they entered the elevator.

  Not if I can help it, he silently promised.

  As if she could read his mind, Marcy’s smile widened—the sight was like a kick in the gut. Lord, she was a beautiful woman—one he had no business agreeing to go shopping with. He was just being polite to his future sister-in-law—no harm in that. Hell, if he could routinely deal with terrorists, assassins and threats against the United States or its citizens, he could handle going shopping with Marcy Johnson for a few hours. However, could he squelch his exponentially growing attraction to her? That was the real question for which he didn’t have a satisfactory answer.

  * * *

  “Isn’t this lovely, Nathan?” Marcy held up a silver photo album.

  “Yes, lovely, just like the candlesticks were, and the picture frame and the tray at the other store,” he reminded her.

  He was annoyed. What he had prayed would be a short trip had turned into a marathon. Why couldn’t women ever make up their minds? They had been window-shopping over two hours—he had spent two long agonizing hours fighting his attraction to this captivating, spirited woman, and each passing second in her presence felt like torture.

  “True, but this is really nice, isn’t it?” She lightly fingered the inlaid rose pattern, undaunted by his exasperated tones.

  “Yes, Marcy, it’s lovely,” he dryly repeated. “I don’t know why you’re wasting so much time over it. You’re not going to buy it.”

  “Women like to browse and find the best bargains.” She wrinkled her nose at him as she replaced the album on the shelf. “What is it about men that you hate shopping?”

  “We don’t mind shopping. What we do mind is the uncertainty you women exhibit at every turn. Men know what we’re looking for, go out, find it and buy it.”

  “Well, you must not know what you’re looking for because you haven’t bought anything yet, either,” she sweetly reminded him.

  “Maybe I’m not going to give them silver or crystal,” he quickly replied.

  “No?” She placed her hands on her shapely hips. “Then what do you have in mind?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of...” His voice trailed off, and he thought fast but not fast enough.

  “You have no idea what you’re going to get, do you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Really, then tell me what it is,” she challenged.

  “I was thinking of something else, but since you dragged me to all of these crystal stores, I’ve decided on wineglasses.”

  She smiled and pointed behind him. “They have some lovely ones here.”

  “I saw them. They’re not what I’m looking for.”

  “What type were you thinking about? Goblets? Champagne glasses? Flutes? Are you looking for a particular brand of crystal? Waterford? Baccarat? Mikasa? Bavari? Lennox?” She expertly rattled off possible choices.

  “Stop hurling possibilities at me.” He smiled despite himself. “I’ll know them when I see them.”

  “Sure you will.” She chuckled and couldn’t resist impishly adding, “There’s nothing indecisive about you.”

  “Are you going to get that?” He pointed to the music box in her hands.

  “No.” Marcy set the box down, linked her hand through his arm and pulled him away, smiling at his knowing smirk. “Let’s try this other little shop down the way.”

  They exited one of the wonderful specialty shops in Greenwich Village and walked toward another. Marcy could get lost in this part of Manhattan for days. As they walked down the pedestrian-filled sidewalks surrounded by various shades of redbrick buildings on either side of the busy one-way street filled with cars, buses and cabs, Marcy glanced at the barren trees that littered the sidewalk; she couldn’t wait for them to bloom with the arrival of spring.

  She had purposefully taken him to five different places simply to prolong their time together. Now she guided him into the store where the wedding present she had ordered for Damien and Natasha was being held.

  “Ms. Johnson.” The female clerk beamed as they entered. “I know why you’re here. Let me go and get it.” She disappeared into another room.

  Nathan’s lips thinned. “You’ve already bought Natasha and Damien’s present?”

  “Yes.” Marcy laughed at his exasperation. “Wait until you see it.”

  He sighed loudly and then asked, “Then why did you drag me to all those other shops?”

  “I thought you might like some ideas,” she innocently responded. At his look of displeasure, she asked, “Is my company so unbearable?”

  Quite the contrary; he enjoyed being with her. She was a breath of fresh air, and in her presence, he felt as carefree as sails of a boat being hoisted by liberating winds. He shouldn’t be here with her, but honestly, he had no desire to be anywhere else.

  “I don’t like being played.” He tried to sound stern but failed miserably.

  “And I love to play,” she admitted around a chuckle, touching his arm and moving closer to him. “What are we going to do about that blatant contradiction?”

  He shook his head at her as a smile played about his lips. He had never met a more brazen or fascinating woman.

  “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he drawled.

  “Oh, I’m sure I will,” she agreed.

  “Here you are, Ms. Johnson.” The clerk returned carefully cradling a twelve-inch crystal sculpture of a male and female ballerina, limbs frozen in movement dancing close to each other.

  “Oh, it’s gorgeous.” Marcy approved, gently taking the figure from the woman’s hands and lifting it for Nathan’s inspection. “Isn’t it, Nathan?”

  “Yes, it’s very nice.” He smiled at the joy lighting up her face—joy at doing something for someone she loved.

  She carefully placed it down on the glass countertop and flipped a switch in the back to send soft music filtering into the air. She cocked her ear listening and then enthused, “It’s perfect!”

  “Is that music from the ballet?”

  “Yes, it’s the theme song,” she informed him before returning her attention to the clerk. “You’ve done a wonderful job in such a short time.”

  “We’re pleased you’re happy, Ms. Johnson,” the woman assured her as she took Marcy’s credit card. “Shall we gift wrap it for you?”

  “Oh, yes in something white and silver. It’s a wedding gift.”

  “We have just the thing,” the woman said. “Would you like to wait for it?”

  Marcy glanced at Nathan and returned her attention to the clerk. “Yes, we’ll wait.”

  “I don’t know how I’m going to top that.”

  “Do you really think they’ll like it?” She turned anxious eyes on him.

  “They’ll love it,” he responded positively, taking her hand in his reassuringly.

  She glanced at their linked fingers and then back into his now slightly uncomfortable eyes. When he tried to drop her hand, she tightened her fingers in his.

  “I like Natasha. She’s a wonderful woman.”

  “Thanks. Damien seems devoted to her.”

  “He is, and she’s perfect for him.”

  “They certainly didn’t waste any time deciding to marry, did they?”

  She frowned. “Why should they?”

  “No reason.” At her curious stare, he elaborated, “It’s just not like Natasha to be so brash. I mean she and Damien haven’t known each other long.”

  “It doesn’
t matter how long you know someone. When your heart tells you that you’ve found your soul mate, you have to listen to it.” Her eyes never left his as she delivered her double entendre that wasn’t lost on him. “Besides, we Johnsons are a decisive lot, and when we make up our minds, we go full steam ahead until we achieve our goal.”

  “Yes.” He warily stared into her twinkling eyes. “I’m realizing that.”

  “That’s good,” she softly approved.

  Her sexy voice stroked him in all the deliciously wrong places. Why did he have to meet her now when he logically knew he couldn’t do anything about the obvious attraction they both felt? Why did she insist on making things harder by refusing to stay away from him as he had been trying so hard to stay away from her?

  “I’m going to look at some wineglasses.” Needing some distance, he disentangled his hand from hers and walked away; of course, she followed him.

  “Those are lovely,”

  She leaned close to him, brushing her arm against his. The maddening scent of her perfume assailed his over-heightened senses. He wanted to grab her and kiss her desperately. He wanted to press her soft, yielding body close to his and plunder. He wanted... Damn! Get a hold of yourself, man!

  “I think I like those better.” He pointed at a pair of champagne flutes a few feet away from her—to gain some space between them.

  To his amazement, she stayed put, but when he glanced back at her, she was smiling amusedly as if she was completely aware of what his intentions had been.

  * * *

  “How about an early lunch?” Marcy suggested as they left the store a short while later, Nathan carrying her package and a set of Baccarat champagne flutes he had bought.

  “I really have a lot to do today,” he replied.

  That was a lie. The truth was he was enjoying himself with her much too much. He needed to get away from her bubbly, contagious, easy-to-be-with personality. If things were different, though...

  “You have to eat, don’t you?” She interrupted his thoughts.

  “I’ll just grab something later at the hotel.”

  “Hotel food!” She screwed up her face in disgust. “Have you ever been there?” She pointed to the first restaurant she saw.

  “No, but some other time,” he declined, preparing to hand her package to her and leave her on Hudson Street.

  “There’s no time like the present.” Disregarding the shopping bag containing her gift, she took his free hand and guided him into the restaurant doors.

  “Marcy, really...” His protest died on his lips as the hostess walked over to them.

  “How many?” the woman asked.

  “Two, please.” Marcy refused to release his hand until they were seated at a charming white linen-covered table for two with a view of downtown Manhattan. “Isn’t this lovely?”

  He frowned at her. “Do you ever take no for an answer?”

  “Not if I can help it,” she said as she treated him to a brilliant smile.

  “What can I get you two to drink?” a white-coated waiter asked.

  “Would you like to order the drinks, too?” Nathan grouchily asked.

  “If you’d like me to,” she shot back, smiling at his obvious bad humor.

  “I’ll have a Perrier with a twist,” he snapped without asking what she wanted.

  “And you, ma’am?” The waiter turned to her after raising an eyebrow at Nathan’s rudeness.

  “The same,” she said and smiled. Once the waiter disappeared, she picked up her menu. “Nathan, are you going to scowl all the way through lunch?”

  “I don’t appreciate being forced into this.” He pointedly glanced at his menu.

  “Forced?” A perfectly arched eyebrow rose. “Look at the two of us. I’m not even half your size.” She lowered her menu to the table and met his hooded eyes. “If you really wanted to decline, you could have easily done so.”

  Of course he could have declined, but he hadn’t wanted to; therein lay his problem.

  “Maybe I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” he countered.

  “How sweet.” She suddenly smiled.

  “I am not sweet,” he quickly denied.

  “We’ll see,” she softly promised. At his silence, she continued, “Nathan, it’s just an innocent lunch.”

  “Nothing is innocent with you, Marcy Johnson,” he surmised and then suddenly smiled.

  “Just plain Marcy,” she corrected. “You have a gorgeous smile.” She rested her chin on her clasped hands. “Why do you frown so much?”

  “I don’t frown,” he disagreed. “I just don’t walk around grinning like an idiot all day long.”

  She gazed into his deep chocolate eyes and was immediately lost. Lord, this man just frazzled her until she didn’t know her own name.

  “No one could ever accuse you of being an idiot,” she charmed, sitting back in her chair. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” he quickly countered, taking a grateful sip of the drink that was placed in front of him.

  “Are you two ready to order?” their waiter asked.

  “What are you going to have?” Nathan decided to be a gentleman this time.

  “You order for me,” she suggested.

  “I don’t know what you’d like.”

  “Oh, I think you can figure out what I’d like,” she naughtily countered, eliciting a nervous cough from their waiter and slight chuckle from her date.

  She was a breath of fresh air, and he absurdly wanted her like he had wanted no other woman. He’d love to see her by candlelight dressed to kill, smiling only for him as he took her into his arms to dance. Whoa, take it easy, man. You won’t be alone with her again, especially not for a romantic dinner—got it?

  “The waiter’s waiting, Nathan,” Marcy interrupted his thoughts.

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll have the shrimp platter, and the lady will have the coq au vin.”

  “I’ve always wanted to try that,” Marcy said, approving his choice.

  “I like it. I hope you enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure I will. If I don’t, you’ll share your shrimp with me, won’t you?”

  “Don’t count on it.” He shook his head.

  “I’m sure I could persuade you.” She leaned forward and trailed a finger lightly across the back of his hand before picking up her glass and taking a sip of water.

  “It might be fun to let you try,” he admitted, smiling slightly.

  “That’s the spirit,” she approved, glad he was loosening up. “You were going to tell me about yourself,” she reminded.

  “Like I said, there’s not much to tell,” he reiterated, barely disguising a sigh at her tenacity.

  “I doubt that,” she said as she lowered her drink to the table. “Lawyer for the State Department—you must have a dozen interesting tales.”

  She didn’t know the half of it. What would she say if she knew he had spent the past ten years of his life as a member of an officially nonexistent military unit that not even his family knew about? He could relate stories of danger and intrigue that would rival the plot of any movie—if he could talk about his Black Ops job that is, which he couldn’t.

  “My job’s confidential.”

  She noted his fingers tightened around his glass. Doesn’t like to talk about his work, she mentally noted—strange and intriguing.

  “Are you enjoying being home?” she asked, changing subjects, and his fingers noticeably relaxed.

  “Yes,” he said and nodded. “It’s great to be back.”

  She absently slid fingers through her silky hair, and he hid a groan, longing to do the same thing; he knew from experience how incredibly soft it was. His mind wandered to the one time he had touched her hair, had held her
in his arms and tasted her incredibly sweet lips—a week ago on New Year’s Eve.

  Staring at the vibrant woman sitting across from him only intensified the seeds of dissatisfaction with his life. His job was necessary, and he knew he made a difference, but he was growing tired of the necessary secrecy, weary of running around from one side of the world to the other—most of the time with little or no notice. He was fed up with having nowhere to really call home and more importantly of having no one to share his life with.

  His country had always come first before everything. He didn’t regret his years of service, but perhaps it was time for some serious reevaluation. Maybe he was just getting old; after all, he was thirty-one, and his priorities had naturally changed. A dissatisfied soldier was a dangerous one, and there was no denying the fact that he had become increasingly dissatisfied of late and meeting Marcy had really emphasized that fact for him.

  “Nathan?” Marcy touched his hand and called his name more forcefully, “Nathan!”

  “Hmm?” He snapped out of his disturbing introspection.

  “Where were you?” She pretended to pout. “Am I so boring that I can’t hold your attention?”

  “Marcy, no one would ever call you boring.” He laughed and she joined him. “I was just thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Nothing important,” he assured. “What were you saying before I spaced out?”

  “I was asking if you’ve missed New York.” Her well-manicured fingernails played with the ends of a napkin.

  “Very much,” he admitted, wanting to cover those long, feminine fingers with his, pull her into his lap and...

  “Are you involved with a woman?” she asked out of the blue.

  “That’s rather personal, isn’t it?” He fought back a grin, realizing he had smiled more today than he had in the four years he had been away from home, and the reason was sitting across the table from him.

  “Not as personal as I plan to get,” she promised, and he could do nothing except chuckle. “Well, are you?”

  “No, my job takes up all of my time.”

  His words were music to her ears. He was free, and she was determined that when all was said and done he would be hers.