WindSwept Narrows: #22 Erika & Vianne

by Diroll-Nichols, Karen

  “Erika?” Zee wanted to swipe his palm along his face in case he had something staining his face.

  “You don’t strike me as a surfer boy.”

  “Pretty sure I matured out of that,” he said with a laugh. “I still surf. Great exercise and I take a vacation somewhere warm. Have you ever tried it?”

  She shook her head, one of the tenuous pins holding the long braid against the back of her head sliding free. She caught it and absently stabbed it back into her hair.

  “But you don’t make me think of really good sandwiches, either,” she frowned, deciding it was a little chilly outside and moved to wrap her arms around his waist, beneath his suit coat. “I’m cold. I thought alcohol was supposed to warm you up?”

  “Not much of a drinker?”

  “No. Not really much at all. Probably tonight was the most I’ve ever had before,” she breathed a long sigh. The man definitely radiated heat, she thought, barely noticing the two arms that came up and circled her shoulders.

  Zee considered her answer, his palm stroking along her head while they waited.

  “I like cooking. The sandwich shop is in a great location and very profitable,” he said thoughtfully.

  “And you’re very good at it,” she agreed. “Your people are really nice. I’ll have to apologize to them. I know one of them must have sent you to tell me I needed a bath.” She stepped away as the low car pulled next to the curb. Erika looked at him pulling his wallet free and noticed the color in his cheeks. She laughed. “I’m the one who should have been embarrassed, Zee.”

  “It’s not something I’ve ever had to do before,” he told her after running around the front and joining her inside the car. He adjusted the heat and checked his mirrors. “Where’d you leave your car, Erika?”

  “It’s in the big lot by the pier where the ferry is,” she answered, thinking about her comfortable little car. “He’ll run straight to father, you know.”

  “And I’m supposed to care why? We’re the ones holding the cards, Erika. They either leave you alone or you hold a press conference,” Zee said flatly. “Throwing a wrench into their secrets was just the edge you needed. Now they believe you’re married and out of their reach.”

  “What you did was invite them to mess up your life,” she said quietly. “They won’t see the marriage as an obstacle; they’ll see you as the obstacle.”

  “Then it adds another layer to the game,” he said simply. “I can take care of myself. And I intend to take care of you.”

  “Chivalrous,” she said with a sigh. “You are an anomaly, Xavier Moore. I like your name.”

  “You’re one of the few living I allow to say it without repercussions,” he told her with a sigh.

  “Your parents must have liked it.”

  “They thought it was distinguished,” he admitted with a chuckle. “They’re both professors at the university in literature.”

  “Trust me, there are lots worse names they could have stuck you with, Zee,” Erika laughed, sliding a little lower and sighing. “I didn’t plan well when I ran.”

  “We’ll take a ride to your folks tomorrow and get your things, Erika. I have an SUV we can use,” he waited while the garage opened. “Step out and wait for me.”

  Erika walked toward the stairway, her hands trailing over the thick, smooth banister. She tipped her head back, gazing into the stars above and twirling slightly, grateful for the hands that appeared at her waist.

  “It’s been an interesting day,” she declared, facing the stairs and climbing slowly.

  Zee watched her almost miss a step, catching her back against him with a low grumble, lifting her against him and carrying her to the top landing.

  “No more wine for you until we live in a one story house,” he informed her, listening to her laughter and allowing her feet to touch the floor once more.

  “You’re writing your own story, Zee. A fairy tale, where it’s all about the happy ever after.” Erika stepped out of his grasp, her hand down and pulling one heel free and then the other. “I gave those up when I was very little. Mother informed me that only fools believed in wishing on stars or a prince riding to the rescue or blowing out birthday candles and holding your wish inside. So I grew up practical and filled with logic that they never understood,” she blew a puff of air through her lips. “I think I’m talking way too much. Goodnight.”

  Zee watched her weave down the hall, a shoe in each hand and the braid half way free of the pins that stuck out in all directions. He shrugged out of his jacket and went to his bedroom, hanging it up before crossing the hall to the other room. She’d left the door open, two shoes on the floor just inside.

  Zee sighed, grinned and shook his head.

  Sprawled across the top of the double bed, Erika hadn’t bothered to do more than aim. He turned the small light on next to the bed and collected a dozen hair pins, laying them on the nightstand after pulled some others free of her hair. One hand rubbed against his neck.

  The dress was wash and wear, his male mind told him. So wrinkles won’t make a mess of it. But if he left her like that…

  Zee rolled her to the side and lifted her in one arm against him, pulling blankets and quilts aside and sliding her into the center of the bed. He tucked the covers over her as she curled against the pillows with a deep sigh. For a quiet few seconds.

  Then she bolted upright and wiggled.

  Zee frowned and stumbled back a step, blinking and watching as the stretchy dress was pulled and pulled some more before it flew past his head to the floor. He stared at the bare back that snuggled into the blankets with a satisfied little purr.

  Within five minutes, he was standing beneath the stinging spray of the shower.

  Hot water and soap ran along his body, his mind trying to rationalize what he was doing even though he was pretty sure the mind part of him had only a minor vote at the moment.

  How do you convince a woman it was okay to trust someone again?

  He was stretched out on his bed, hands behind his head and staring through the skylight he’d had installed. He’d worked the surf circuit long enough to make and invest a fortune; spent six years with the marines and wanted something peaceful for a few years while other ideas cooked inside him. He wasn’t unfamiliar to diversions in his original plans.

  And Erika Vincent would definitely be a diversion and an addition to his plans that would improve his life immeasurably. Now he just had to convince her of it.

  Chapter Five

  Breakfast, her stomach grumbled.

  Erika decided she most definitely loved his kitchen.

  She couldn’t recall the last time she saw so much stainless steel in one place.

  And it sparkled.

  Half an hour later fragrance filled the huge apartment.

  Zee Moore lifted his face from the pillow and stared at the clock.

  Saturday morning. He had people who opened specifically on the weekends so he didn’t have to. Which meant he rarely saw seven in the morning on purpose.

  He’d lived there for three years and had never woke to the scents that were assaulting him now. He went to the bathroom, brushed the taste of night from his mouth and padded down the hall toward the fresh coffee smells.

  Eyes not quite ready to be awake, very slowly let the vision in his kitchen register.

  Boots were on her feet, her jeans less than snug but clean and hugging her hips; two T-shirts rose from the low band of her jeans, with sleeves to her elbows in a shade of apricot and another tank type over it in black. The long blond hair was woven into a taut braid and hung down her back.

  Her hips swayed to the softly playing music.

  Erika turned at the grumbling sound. Or was it a growl?

  She blinked behind her glasses and blinked again. Wow.

  It was the only word that came into her head at the low riding cotton pants on his hips and nothing else. A tanned, lightly muscled surfer watching her and ignoring the food spread on the table.

  “
I hope you don’t mind…I thought maybe you’d be hungry…and you’ve been so kind about the mess I’ve made in your life…” she bit her lip, waiting nervously. “I thought I’d cook for you.”

  While his gaze never left the wide eyes behind the ridiculously large round lenses, his vision took in the fact that she cleaned as she cooked. Could he possibly get any luckier?

  He didn’t seem to notice that she took a step back as he moved forward, the sink the only thing stopping her when his hands came up and framed her face. He was listening to a voice tell him he probably shouldn’t, even as he did.

  And damned if she didn’t taste as good as she looked.

  It was obvious she also tasted as she cooked because his tongue swept between the slightly parted lips; French toast, butter and syrup; a hint of coffee and the sweet taste of orange juice with a tangy glimmer of Erika to top it off.

  Erika was positive she was still dreaming. How or why she found it so amazing to kiss this man, this almost stranger, though he did know more about her than most anyone, was baffling her. Alright, it wasn’t so much baffling her at the moment of the kiss, but it definitely did later. Maybe tomorrow, she thought, her palms against his bare chest.

  Bare chest, her mind repeated. Firm, solid and very, very male. Smooth. Muscled.

  Not just a kiss, she thought dreamily, more like an exploration. Her tongue met his, tangled with it and tasted the mint toothpaste he’d used. She could smell sleep on him and the warmth of spice that sleep brought to a body. She could taste more than she’d felt before in a kiss.

  She was breathing heavily when he backed away, her eyes meeting his.

  “You’re a very friendly host,” she whispered raggedly.

  “I’ve never had anyone stay here before, Erika.” He drew one finger down the flushed cheek. “You kissed me back.”

  She sidled to the side, busying herself with the cleanup she hadn’t finished.

  “Are you going to pretend it isn’t happening?”

  “What? That we have an attraction?” Erika shrugged, drying her hands and carrying the coffee to the table. She filled the cup and slid it to him. Mentally, she slapped herself a few times for staring at his chest, his shoulders and those low riding pajama bottoms.

  “Does it bother you that I don’t have a shirt on, Erika?” He almost laughed when her head popped up, instantly shaking in denial. “I’ll admit I’m not used to someone cooking for me. But it smells great. Did you already eat?”

  “I have a habit of eating as I cook.”

  “Will you join me? Or are you going to run from me, Erika?”

  She put a slice of the spicy French toast on her plate and lifted the jar of cherry jam. “You don’t know my family, Zee,” she said quietly.

  “I didn’t kiss your family, Erika. I don’t feel an attraction to any of them,” he met the suddenly wide eyes. “And I don’t run from something I want. You can’t pretend it didn’t feel good. That it doesn’t feel right.”

  “Lots of things feel good, Zee. We’re adults. We know how to…how to be adult,” she finished with a frown that she couldn’t come up with anything more profound.

  “Being adult would mean I carry you off to the bedroom and we don’t surface until we’ve worked it out of our system,” Zee said with the casualness of announcing the weather. He took a long drink of coffee, letting her deal with her own choking issue.

  “And if it doesn’t go away?”

  Zee laughed. “Miss Vincent,” his voice was low and caressing in its approval of her comment. “You shock me. Then I suppose we spend a great deal of time in bed.”

  “You’re a tease,” she pulled the toast apart and bit down, watching him curiously.

  “I have a feeling I’m about rediscover my urge to play and tease, Miss Vincent and I have you to thank for that,” he ate the toast, his gaze shifting from her to the toast. “What’d you put in here? It’s amazing.”

  She shrugged at him. “Secret recipe.”

  “Hmm…another reason to pursue,” he grinned at her. “Why did you ask me to kiss you last night, Erika?”

  “Because I needed to know if it was me,” she said quietly. “The last few months…I never gave much thought to my femininity. It’s just there. It’s part of me. At least I thought that until I spent four months around Adam.”

  “Erika, it’s not your fault he’s gay,” Zee tossed another thick slice of the spice flavored French toast to his plate, slathered it with jam and syrup.

  “You know…in your head…logically…you know that,” she said firmly, her head nodding. “I know that.”

  “I think you might have had a little too much going on in the last few weeks, Erika. Maybe you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Zee didn’t hesitate and took the last slice of the buttery French toast. She’d used the half loaf of French bread he had left over and baked them instead of frying them. “You weren’t in love with him,” he said, more a hopeful sound than a statement.

  “I dated him. The engagement was three weeks long and I spent almost every day that I wasn’t testing or in interviews trying to get him someplace quiet to tell him it was a mistake. My mother was working with this woman and putting together a wedding without bothering to listen to me,” she exhaled, her head shaking. “I should have been more forceful but I really didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He was nice to me,” she sighed at his laugh. “I know. I’m weak.”

  “I won’t hold it against you. I have a feeling there were a lot of people after this wedding with a serious political agenda,” Zee collected the plates and carried them to the dishwasher, surprised at the ease around them as they cleaned up the kitchen. “Give me half an hour to shower and get dressed and I’ll take you over so you can get your car,” he gripped her palm, carrying the curled fingers to his lips. “Don’t run, Erika. You’re safe here and I’d like you to stay.”

  “I have to go to my parents’ home, Zee.”

  “I’m pretty sure your friend Adam has already informed all the people involved in the drama, Erika.”

  “It doesn’t feel right to put you in the middle.”

  “I won’t be in the middle, Erika, I’ll be at your side as your shield and I don’t play fair,” he promised flatly. “Be back in a few.”

  Erika went to the room she was using. She’d packed her bag and left it by the door, waiting. She should go. She could hear the shower running. Her palms were damp as she ran them down the sides of her jeans. She swallowed hard and lifted her sweater, her arms sliding in place and her fingers touching the strap of her pack when the pounding began on the outside door.

  The pack fell to the floor, her breath dragged in sharply.

  It could be someone from the shop, she thought frantically, her feet moved quietly along the smooth wooden floor. The next round of pounding on the door was louder and she jumped, her palm up and reaching for the knob at the same time a palm circled her wrist.

  Zee had to pull hard on his self-control to avoid folding her in his arms and erasing the trepidation in her eyes. And destroying anything that put that fear there.

  “Who’s there?” He called out loudly, his hand sliding to her palm and carrying it to his lips again, his finger on his lips when she opened her mouth.

  “Neil Vincent. I’d like a moment to speak with you, Mr. Moore,” the voice was softly cultured.

  Erika’s body moved back a step, her eyes going to the still damp male standing in the hall.

  He was dripping on the floor with a large towel tucked into a little knot at his waist. Okay, not quite on his waist, riding too low on his hips. His palm went to the doorknob and her head started shaking adamantly, pale lashes wide in panic. She tried to turn and disappear down the hall.

  His hands moved to her sweater, tugging it over her head and sliding it down her arms, he tossed it down the hall. He ignored the palms slapping at him as he opened a few buttons down the front of her jeans, pale lashes wider.

  “What is wrong with you?” She hissed at h
im.

  “I’m crazy about my wife,” he told her with a wink, his hand opening the door before she could react, his other arm around her waist and pulling her body against his. “It’s a little early in the morning for visitors. Especially ones that don’t call before hand.”

  Neil Vincent had begun to raise his palm, extending it toward Zee until the door opened fully. Then his gaze landed on not only his daughter but the tanned man with his arm possessively on her hip and the apparent disheveled appearance of them both.

  “Erika.”

  “Father,” she didn’t know why but her body pressed a little closer to Zee and years of training kicked into play. Polite manners above all else, her mother had always told her. “I should introduce you…Xavier Moore, my father.”

  “I’m aware of who Mr. Moore is, Erika. Adam phoned me last night,” Neil looked coldly at the damp male.

  “Adam and I are…were…a very bad mix,” Erika said carefully. “Are you aware that he…that girls are not his first…”

  “What she’s trying to say, is that Wayne is gay and has no interest in your daughter,” Zee said flatly. “Which worked out for the best, since Erika has no interest in Wayne.”

  “That’s insane!” Neil Vincent blustered. “Where did you get such an idea? You should know better than to pay attention to rumors, Erika. Is that what this is about? Some ludicrous rumor…”

  “I saw him!” Erika straightened angrily. “It isn’t a rumor. I’ve tried to straighten this mess out politely, but no one would listen to me! Even that woman with the ugly dress wouldn’t listen!”

  “I’m sure Adam can straighten this out.”

  “Since we’re already married, there is nothing to straighten out,” Zee told him. “You interrupted our morning,” Zee shrugged at the contempt on the older man’s face. “We just finished breakfast and were getting ready to go out and pick up Erika’s clothes and things from your house.”