It Might Be You

by Jennifer Gracen

  She was a damn seductress who obviously enjoyed what she was doing, and he was one lucky bastard. His mind went blank as the incredible sensations washed over him. His breathing turned harsh, raw need battering him . . . until he groaned hard, unable to hold back anymore. “Amanda,” he panted, a last warning. “God, baby, I’m gonna come. . . .”

  Not stopping her fierce pace, her hand moved down to cup his balls and squeeze. His orgasm hit hard, leaving him grunting and panting as the climax sent him flying over the edge. One hand fisted in her hair while the other clutched her shoulder. She took it all, only releasing him when he was done, licking and kissing him as he gasped for breath.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, woman,” he managed in a gravelly voice.

  She gave him a lazy, sexy smile as she moved back up his body. He grasped her head in his hands and kissed her, long and hard.

  “I love doing that,” she confessed. “And I love making you lose yourself to me, taking you over . . . hearing you and feeling you like that. That was hot.”

  He groaned softly and stared at her. “You’re a goddess.” He kissed her again, then pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her possessively. The adrenaline was ebbing; sleepiness set in fast, making his limbs as heavy as his eyes. His whole body felt weighted, relaxed, at peace. “Please don’t be mad, but I think I’m going to pass out now. You destroyed me.”

  “Good. Why would I be mad?”

  “Leaving you hanging.”

  “Nope, this one was for you, remember?” She nestled into his side, dropping a kiss on his shoulder before resting her head there. “Besides, we have all day.”

  “Yes, we do.” His hands swept slowly up and down her back. “When we wake up, I’ll take care of you. Then we’ll get something to eat.” He gave her a quick kiss. “I promised to feed you. I didn’t forget.”

  “See that you don’t,” she murmured. Her arm slid across his stomach to snake around and hold him, and her foot dipped between his. His arms banded around her. They were sweetly, comfortably entwined, a warm tangle of limbs. Her breath slowed, his tired eyes slid closed, and he knew they’d sleep for a good few hours before surfacing again. That was fine. Like she’d said, they had the whole day.

  Surprisingly, she fell asleep before he did. He held her close and enjoyed it. She felt so right in his arms. For the first time in weeks, things felt okay. He knew it was temporary, and the week ahead would be harrowing. But he’d take it where he could get it right now, and right now, he felt good.

  * * *

  Nick had more than come through on his promises. Amanda honestly couldn’t remember enjoying a day this delicious. They spent most of the day in bed, luxuriating in each other’s bodies, talking about trivial things, laughing, whispering in a way that felt like . . . real intimacy. It made her bloom inside, made her want more, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She was getting tired of reminding herself this was a fling, it was temporary, he just wanted things to be casual, when with every look, kiss, touch, and word, it seemed like those things were morphing into something else. Something real, if she let herself get swept away by it.

  They ordered in brunch, and later dinner, eating at the table while wrapped in the hotel’s plush robes, not wanting to get dressed. The whole day was like a dream. After showering together in the evening, they stretched out again in bed, just holding each other as the sky slowly darkened.

  Amanda felt like she was glowing as she nestled into his embrace, rubbing up against his side like a cat, practically purring. Radiating with a softly humming energy that flowed through her limbs, shimmering with it, floaty . . . happy and sated, deep in her bones.

  “I don’t want to take you home,” he murmured against her temple, kissing her forehead as his large hand swept slowly up and down her back. “I don’t want this amazing day to be over. It’s the best day I’ve had in a really long time.”

  Her heart melted. “Same here,” she whispered. She trailed her fingertips up and down his muscled arm, across his broad chest. She didn’t want to stop touching him, breathing him in, much less leave the room. After being together for twenty-four hours straight, she figured she should be tired of him by now, ready to go back to her own space. But no. She couldn’t get enough of him.

  He nudged her chin up so he could kiss her, taking her mouth in a long, sweet kiss. His dark eyes, filled with warmth, focused on her face as he said, “So . . . about this week. We have to talk about it.”

  She sighed. It was the only thing they hadn’t talked about. They’d danced around it, an unspoken accord not to let reality crash in on their perfect fantasy day. Now she felt the crack in the façade, and the first drops of tension seeped into her.

  “You’re going to be fine,” she said firmly.

  “I know that. And so is Myles.”

  “Well, he’s going to be watched around the clock. You aren’t. And you’re going to need help.”

  “Nah,” he said dismissively. “I’ll be fine, like you just said. Maybe sore for the first day or two, but I’m sure that—”

  “Stubborn ass.” She turned onto her side and leaned up on one elbow to hold his gaze, which she saw had quickly grown wary. He didn’t want to talk about it either. “It could be more than that. It could be a week or two. You don’t know. And I hate to tell you this, Miami Vice, but you don’t have a say.”

  He shrugged.

  “I won’t be working at the mansion, you know. Not for a while. As long as Myles stays in the hospital—”

  “I know all that—you told me.”

  “So let me help you.” She rubbed his arm as she said, “I can come over every day, spend some time here, just check and make sure that you’re—”

  “No.”

  His fierce, low charge startled her. Suddenly the cracks into their cocoon expanded into a wide open breach, and the unforgiving bright light of reality splashed over her. As if she’d spent days in a dark, cozy room and then been thrust outside into the midday sunlight, squinting, wanting to shield her eyes until they adjusted to the brightness. Nick’s one clipped word, a sharp reprimand, had had that effect on her.

  Her hand stilled on his skin as a chill prickled over hers. “Why not?”

  “Because I told you. I’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m a nurse. I know what could happen.”

  He moved back an inch, but it might as well have been a mile. She felt him pulling away, body and mind. “I’m not your patient, and I’m not going to be.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, studying him for a long beat. “You’re too proud to let me help you? Is that it?”

  He huffed out a breath and grumbled, “Charles already said he’s hiring someone to check on me that first week. Against my wishes, but I caved. So someone will be here.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair and added, “He needed to feel like he was doing something.”

  “Maybe I do too.” The words flew out of her mouth before she’d even processed how true they were.

  “That’s sweet,” Nick said, almost dismissive. “But I don’t want you to.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. It was like the blood in her veins, the air in the room, slowed. She swallowed hard, not sure what she was feeling, but it was something unwelcome and uncomfortable. Something that made her skin chill and her throat thicken as a lump lodged there. And it must have shown on her face, because as she drew back, he frowned hard.

  “Amanda . . .”

  “You don’t want my help. I heard you.” Something had shifted inside her. The gauzy, luminescent shimmer she’d bathed in all day was gone, leaving her chilled and vulnerable. She got out of bed.

  He sighed, almost a groan. “Come back here. Don’t just take off.”

  “I have to get dressed.” She went to the small suitcase she’d brought. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be naked in front of him. She felt naked on the inside at the moment, and being naked on the outside too was unbearable. “It’s time for me to go home. We both know that.”

>   He threw the covers back, got to her in three long strides, and gently gripped her shoulders. He bent a little to make sure they had eye contact. “You’re mad at me now.”

  “I’m not mad,” she said, even as her stomach churned. “Frustrated, a little annoyed, but I’m not mad.” She shook him off. She didn’t want to have this conversation at all, much less with both of them standing there naked.

  “The whole vibe in here just changed,” he said. “You’re a lousy liar.”

  She shrugged, unwilling to look him in the eye, mad at him and madder at herself. Why was she feeling this way? She reached for her bra and panties, but he hooked her elbow to bring her back to him.

  “Talk to me,” he demanded.

  “Nothing left to say. I offered help, you said no. Okay, fine. That conversation’s closed.” She wiggled her arm free.

  He stared down at her as his arms crossed over his broad chest, making his biceps bulge a little. When he stood there naked, with that stormy look on his face . . . his presence was so commanding, it stole her breath for a second. Then her irritation kicked back in and she shook her head at him. At herself.

  “Amanda.” His voice was almost a growl. “I’m . . . I’m not good at asking for help. And I’m even worse at accepting it. Obviously.”

  She stood still for a long moment, trying to process a good response. But all she came up with was, “You didn’t ask. I offered.”

  “And I appreciate that.” His voice softened, but his stance stayed rigid. “I really do. But since Charles is hiring someone, let that faceless, nameless person do it. Not you. All right?”

  She swallowed hard. She wasn’t crazy about this side of him; she had to admit it. His male ego was a little more fragile than she’d thought. His stubborn pride was fiercer than she’d realized. He didn’t want to seem weak, vulnerable or needing, in front of her, was that it? It made her want to shake him, or try to debate further....

  But hey, he wasn’t her boyfriend, or even her lover, not really. He wasn’t her anything, and she wasn’t his. They’d shared some nice times together, especially today, but clearly it was more special to her than to him. She’d thought they’d connected on a deeper level, had moments of intimacy so true and real that they . . . A rush rose up in her throat, clogging it. Apparently not. Nope. It was all good when they were having hot, crazy-good sex, or talking about things that didn’t really matter, or just hanging out. Bend her over the mattress and have his way with her, sure, no problem. Talk about TV shows, okay. But when she tried to offer help, something of substance, something real she could give him? He wasn’t interested. It wasn’t even up for discussion. Just: “No.”

  She was hurt. And that made her madder than anything else. Mad at herself.

  She flicked him a nod, then reached for her panties and pulled them on. Her heart rate jittery, she got into her leggings.

  He watched her dress in unsettled silence. As she pulled on a mint-green T-shirt, he sighed, then turned away to go to the dresser and grab his own clothes.

  She double-checked that she had everything she’d brought with her. It was all there except for one thing. As he got into his jeans, she went to the bathroom to retrieve her toothbrush, came back and dropped it into her suitcase, and zipped it up. Rejected, she thought with a start. I feel rejected, that’s why I’m being like this. Recognizing it didn’t make it any better. It was a sticky, uncomfortable feeling, and she hated it.

  “What I was originally going to say . . .” He pulled a black T-shirt over his head, yanked it down. “. . . is I’d like you to come visit me after the first few days. When I’m more myself again. You will, right?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Yeah?” He peered at her as he sat on the edge of the bed to pull on a pair of socks. “You don’t look or sound like you want to.”

  “Stop it. Of course I’ll come by,” she said. “You’ll text me when you’re up to visitors. Feeling a little more like yourself.” Maybe by then, I’ll feel more like myself too.

  He arched a brow at how she’d thrown his words back at him. “Not mad, huh?”

  “Nick . . .” She ran her fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her face. “Last night and today were wonderful. A perfect little break from reality. A fantasy, right? Let’s not ruin it with arguments at the end. Your reality isn’t mine. Your recovery isn’t any of my business. Clearly I overstepped.”

  He stared at her for a few seconds, eyes narrowed as he studied her. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I should’ve kept it light,” she said, ignoring the way her heart bounced around in her chest. “We’re bed buddies. That’s all. Got it.”

  “What?” His eyes flashed; he looked confused and frustrated, similar to how she felt. He stared her down for a few long beats before swearing under his breath. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion. I shouldn’t have been so curt when I said no, and I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful.”

  “Oh, God.” She could feel the flush from her chest up into her face. “Stop. Don’t patronize me.”

  “I’m not!” He crossed the room, took her into his arms, and said, “I don’t want to argue either. I don’t know how we got here. Five minutes ago, you were curled up into me, and now—”

  “Now it’s time for me to go home.” She steeled her insides against him, against how she felt, against the unwanted feelings zinging around in her brain and the sting of misery she was trying to ignore.

  He threaded his hands through her hair, coffee-colored eyes still scrutinizing her features. “Can we play nurse another time? After I’m better?”

  That made her bristle from the inside out. Not only didn’t he want her help, he didn’t take her seriously. Anger rose quick and hot. “I don’t play at my job, thank you very much.” She shoved out of his embrace with both hands against his chest.

  “Whoa, wait. I was just joking, Amanda.”

  “It wasn’t funny. Or I guess I’m not in a joking mood anymore,” she said, knowing how cold her voice sounded and not caring.

  “Hey.” He reached for her, but she stepped back. He blinked and said in a low, deliberate voice, “I was kidding. I’d never want to offend you, Amanda. Not about your job. You’re good at what you do, and I respect you. I think you’re wonderful. Don’t you know that?”

  She bit down on her bottom lip, annoyed at herself that she’d gotten carried away. Why was she overreacting like this? A fresh lance of withering fury pierced her. This was on her. He’d never made promises. This weekend was just about fun and sex—that was it. She was the one who had unwanted, sticky feelings. She was the one who was . . .

  Realization hit and broke over her like a tidal wave with merciless brute force. Oh, God, she was in love with him. That’s why she was going overboard with this. Her limbs felt heavy, wavy, and her knees went weak. She gripped the nearby armchair to stay upright.

  Her eyes slipped closed. She had to get a grip. What the hell . . . she was in love with him? How stupid. And that was unacceptable, because she wasn’t stupid. She was smarter than that, stronger than that. She wasn’t in love with him. This was a serious infatuation—that was all. They were caught up in an emotional storm, both on edge because of Myles and the surgery and his sudden new family and everything that went along with all of that that had thrown them both off-kilter.

  She’d let herself get caught up in the fantasy. He was temporary, passing through her life. He’d told her that from their first date. After the surgery, he’d go back to Miami and that’d be it. He’d forget all about her. And she’d miss him, and pine for him, and . . . goddamn it, she was a hot mess all of a sudden.

  “Hey.” He held her chin with gentle fingertips, willing her to open her eyes and look into his. “You’re trembling. What’s going on?”

  She stared up at him. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth, her throat dry. She was sure her feelings were so obvious, plastered all over her, but he was scouring her face like he couldn’t fi
gure her out. That was good.

  Frustrated with herself, feeling scattered, vulnerable, thrown, she said in a harder tone than she’d intended, “I’m just tired. It hit me all of a sudden. I’m really tired now, and I have work tomorrow. Could you please take me home?”

  * * *

  On the drive from his hotel to her apartment complex, Nick felt his blood buzz and his limbs hum with excess energy. His gut was tight, nerves jangling. Amanda had pulled away from him, right in front of his eyes. The whole day had been incredible—one of the best of his life, honestly. He’d been entertaining thoughts of more days like this, more time with her. Maybe trying to tell her his feelings had deepened.

  But at the end, the whole vibe had changed. Because he’d snapped at her. He kept replaying the look in her eyes, the way her soft skin had gone all goose bumpy under his hands . . . and then that stupid crack about playing nurse, which she’d taken as an insult. He’d upset her. Of course he hadn’t meant to, but he had.

  He didn’t know what to do. He’d fallen for her so hard. All day, he’d so gladly drowned in her softness, her sensuality, her playfulness, her wit and charm and smarts and beauty. When he held her close, when he moved inside her and looked deep into her eyes and she gazed back . . . it felt dangerously close to something deep and real.

  And a few harsh words had sent her scurrying.

  He’d insulted her skills by turning down her offer to care for him, and then again with the dumb joke. She took pride in what she did, and thought he’d belittled it somehow—which belittled her. He got that; hadn’t he been all bent out of shape when he’d perceived her “no dating cops” rule as a subtle insult against his profession and his life’s work, no matter how unintended her slight? And he’d just turned around and done it to her.