by Sylvie Fox
Something about the way he complimented her seemed more than superficial, but she didn’t probe it and scooted a few inches from him on the couch so she could look directly into his vivid green eyes.
“How’s your—”
“What are you—”
Their words crashed into each other, and they both laughed, dispelling some of the awkwardness. They’d been friends for years; she didn’t know why she was suddenly feeling uncomfortable around Nick.
“You first,” she said, pulling her hand back and rubbing both of them together for warmth.
He clasped her hands in his large ones again, massaging them briskly this time. “You’re cold. Here, take my jacket.”
Before she could protest, he stood and removed the sexy-as-hell brown bomber jacket from his broad shoulders and wrapped it around her. He then rubbed her arms for good measure. His touch alone warmed her. Correction: his touch made her hot. She loved being wrapped in his jacket, even though she didn’t need it to keep her warm. As long as he was near, her body generated enough body heat to ward off the desert night chill. The jacket smelled of leather, saddle soap, and Nick. She couldn’t remember being this turned on just sitting next to, and not even touching, a man.
Nick didn’t say anything. He just looked at her with something akin to longing in his eyes. Feeling the need to fill the silence, to look away from his smoky green eyes, the golden flecks simmering with something like desire, Holly started asking questions, talking about anything to dispel the awkwardness that had returned as soon as he touched her.
“So, how is your house? I haven’t really seen it since you made the offer on it.”
Nick smiled, a tiny dimple appearing on his chin. She’d always enjoyed talking to him about this favorite interest they shared. Holly loved making a warm and cozy living space, and she was amazed that he’d taken on the task of remodeling his own home, even with his busy work schedule as a documentary filmmaker.
“Since you were last there, I’ve finished the kitchen but still have the bathrooms and laundry to do. Not to mention a whole lot of painting.” Nick paused as if he were making up his mind about something. “Hey, why don’t you come see it?”
“Now?” Holly thought quickly. He couldn’t be more than a mile away. It would be better than spending more time at this party. Even from up here, the loud music was getting to her. Nevertheless, she hesitated.
She was feeling vulnerable and didn’t know if tonight was a good time to be alone with a virile, single, very sexy man—no matter how safe and innocent their meeting seemed. She didn’t want her aging libido to overwhelm her and cause her to do something embarrassing. Something was lurking between them, but she wanted to keep it carefully submerged where she could exercise some control over her feelings and behavior.
“C’mon. Why not? We can walk over,” he said cajoling. “Are you here with Sophie?”
“Of course I’m here with Sophie.” Holly laughed. “You know how she thrives on these kinds of parties. I’m sure you saw her cranberry colored, spiked hair in the crowd. I think she dyed her hair to match the martinis.”
Nick laughed, his baritone as smooth as single malt scotch, and grabbed her hand to pull her up. The jolt of touching his large, roughened hand again, shook her to the core. Surely, she couldn’t be attracted to Nick. He was…just Nick.
Holly was sure he was just being his usual gallant self, and that there was nothing more to his touch than good old-fashioned chivalry. Yet there she was getting all hot and bothered in his mere presence. She was glad his jacket hid her pebbled nipples, and obscured the moment when she squeezed her thighs together to stem the tide of longing she felt. She desperately hoped he didn’t notice her body’s response to his touch. Holly stood and tried to pull away feeling as transparent as plastic wrap.
But Nick held her hand firmly. “C’mon. We’ll tell Sophie we’re out of here. I’m sure she’ll get home just fine without you.”
They found her friend downstairs sharing the punch line of an obviously bawdy joke. Holly snatched her hand from Nick’s, but not before Sophie raised her pierced eyebrow speculatively. Sophie pulled herself away from the group and came over to where they were standing.
“Hey, Sophie, I’m going to see what Nick’s done with the house.” Holly ran her now free hands through her wild curls, pulling out the hair band tangled in the mess. Anything to keep her fingers occupied and away from Nick’s. “He’s been renovating it himself. Well, he and his dad, actually. Do you mind? Can you say my goodbyes to Asha and Hayes?” Holly mentally chastised herself. When did she become so chatty? She hoped neither Nick nor Sophie noticed the slight quaver in her voice or how nervous she was.
“Holly, it’s all good,” Sophie said, waving her away. “Go with Nick. I’m sure he’ll take care of you. Don’t worry about me. Just have fun.”
Luckily, Holly missed the wink Sophie gave him as they turned to leave the party, or the woman next to him might have changed her mind. Nick took a deep breath and tried to calm the beating of his heart. He had almost embarrassed himself. Seeing her nipples bead under her thin sweater, he couldn’t stop thinking about using his thumb to brush their tips, his tongue to make her harder, or putting his mouth on her. Thank God she’d put his jacket on. The snap of cold night air seeping through his clothes cooled his arousal. He was saved from having to lope through the hills bent over like the hunchback of Notre Dame.
He wasn’t too proud to admit to himself that he’d had quite a few fantasies about getting Holly alone during the last year of on-and-off contact with her. He’d tried dating other women and hanging out with the guys to get his mind off of her. Sometimes it even worked for a while.
But in the quiet of night, or when he was meticulously working on some aspect of the house, his thoughts would always stray back to her. Holly was inextricably woven into the rich tapestry that was his fantasy life. It was a little overwhelming to realize that finally, he was about to have her all to himself—on his turf—no distractions.
When he’d first met Holly all those years before, he’d thought of her as no more than his mentor’s wife. But after years of spending time with her and Drew, he’d come to realize that Drew didn’t love her—not the way she needed to be loved. Drew constantly worked to give Holly what he thought she wanted. A big house, expensive clothes, and ostentatious jewelry. From spending time with Holly, it was obvious to anyone who paid attention that she had simple but excellent taste, and she wasn’t in a relationship for what her husband could give her, unlike a lot of materialistic women in L.A. who would have happily traded places with her.
Nick figured Drew never came to that realization. Their divorce had relieved him of his guilt. By then, he’d fully understood that his interest in Holly was more than platonic. Childishly, he had hoped that Holly would lean on him after the divorce. Part of his fantasies sometimes involved him helping her work through her grief as she realized that he was the man for her. But when she’d turned inward instead, he’d realized he might have been watching too many of those sappy romantic comedies on late night satellite television.
As time passed and their contact became more sporadic, Nick didn’t quite know how to approach her and reestablish their relationship. When she didn’t respond to the few casual emails he’d sent at first, he’d tried to move on. But he couldn’t shake her from his thoughts.
Clicking through his email tonight, he had seen her name on the electronic party invitation’s “I’ll drink to that” list. Motivated, he’d shaved for the second time that day, put on his most casual-but-makes-me-look-good shirt, and walked over to the party.
At the bottom of Asha and Hayes’ front stairs, she turned around, and her unruly curls blew across her face. Absently, she tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’m lost without my Thomas Guide. Which way is it to your place?”
It was true that almost nobody walked in L.A., but he was glad for the time outside. The brisk canyon air cooled his heated body. He tried desperat
ely to think about anything other than Holly, or her body, or what he’d like to do with her body. Looking down, it was obvious that neither the cold air, nor trying to think of other things hadn’t worked because he wasn’t in a much better state now. He still felt the jeans rubbing uncomfortably against his erection, which had come back with full force.
Walking behind her wasn’t helping the matter, either, except that fortunately for him, she couldn’t see the evidence of his desire. The snug jeans she wore hugged her full bottom and tapered to her tiny waist, setting his teeth on edge. Coupled with her wrapped in the jacket he’d worn just minutes ago, he felt an almost primal link to her.
Deliberately, he grabbed her hand again. Even that small palm-to-palm contact gave him a nervous stomach but solidified what he hoped was a growing connection. “Just follow me. It’s down the hill a bit.”
He held fast to her hand, keeping her close and away from the occasional but swiftly moving cars. None of these old rural streets had sidewalks, and he needed to keep her safe as they walked along Benedict Canyon’s soft berm. They turned onto his street, Easton Drive, and she pulled away from him, smoothing back her flyaway hair.
Nick was almost sure she was as nervous as he because she had a little attraction for him as well. He was secretly thrilled that she had any reaction at all. Maybe he wasn’t out in left field with his feelings for this woman. If there was the smallest chance she would return his feelings, he could work with that. A chance was all he needed—he’d handle everything else from there.
His wood-sided house finally came into view; it had been built in the eighties but hadn’t been well maintained over the last two decades. For that reason, he’d gotten a steep discount on the price, but in lieu of a big mortgage payment, he’d had to put in months of sweat equity to make the place livable. The weather-beaten, blue-gray, wood-shingled home was three stories, with two bedrooms, two baths, and a loft overlooking the master bedroom.
“Nick, have you been landscaping?” she asked, and he was grateful for any conversation topic to ease the tension mounting between them.
“Yeah, sort of, but I don’t think you’ll be able to see it in the dark. C’mon on in and let me show you what my dad and I have done.”
Like Asha and Hayes’ house, they had to ascend narrow, dimly lit stairs to get to the main rooms on the second floor. He flicked on the lights and felt a small swelling of pride in his work when she gasped.
“Wow,” she said.
The walls that had once been deeply marred were now a smooth, primed canvas ready for a splash of color. The delicately coved ceiling had been scraped clean of its former pocked cottage-cheese coating. But Holly seemed most delighted with his completed kitchen. He’d chosen to stain the original oak cabinets with a honey hue, and added all new stainless steel appliances tucked neatly into the warm-colored cabinets. Nick watched as she stroked the brown, black, and red-flecked granite, imagining her cooking in his kitchen.
When she finally looked up at him with admiration shining in her eyes, he suppressed an urge to gather her in his arms and swing her around with a shout of triumph.
“This is great. I mean, spectacular. When I first saw the place, I never imagined it like this. Can I see upstairs?” she asked eagerly.
“It’s really dark. Let me go first,” he said. “I haven’t fixed all the lights.”
Nick grabbed Holly’s hand again, thrilled at their contact, and led her up the narrow, winding stairs. When she stumbled a little at the top, he took the opportunity to embrace her loosely.
“I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I’m such a klutz.”
The feel of her gentle curves under his heavy leather jacket were almost his undoing. He had to make this tour quick and get back downstairs on solid ground. He went hard, again, at the thought of her in his bedroom, in his bed. Nick reluctantly let her go. He didn’t want to scare her or embarrass himself with his inability to control his reaction. Like a good host, he turned on a hallway light and continued the tour, careful to angle his body away from her view.
He showed Holly the outdated black, pink, and green tiled bathrooms, talking about the changes he would like to make, using natural stone and warm colors. After a short walk down the short hall, Nick turned on the only bedroom lamp, casting his darkened room in a soft yellow glow. The only other room in the house near completion, it was dominated by a king-size sleigh bed and stately mahogany wardrobe.
Nick led her to the arched floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the street. He eased his jacket from her shoulders and tossed it carelessly on the bed, fully appreciating the curves Holly’s lacy sweater revealed. With the light shining behind her, her sheer clothing left little to the imagination. And that was a good thing. He was done imagining. He was ready for the real deal.
“You don’t have any curtains,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Don’t worry, no one can see in,” he reassured her. He walked over and turned out the lights. When she gasped in surprise, he said, “Wait. You have to see this.” Once their eyes adjusted, he gestured to the view of the canyon. The sky was a blanket of stars; the ground a sea of lights from the homes that dotted the hills. He knew, from many nights staring at this view that the effect was enchanting.
“It’s beautiful. This is so amazing, everything that you’ve done.”
“I love it here. It’s like sleeping under the stars.”
Nick came over to stand behind Holly at the window, resisting the urge to gather her in his arms and rest his chin on her wild mane. Instead, he placed a hand somewhat awkwardly on her shoulder. His voice was serious when he spoke. “I missed spending time with you.”
The room was too dark, Nick too close. Flustered, Holly struggled to say something, anything to get her out of the bedroom. “Um, it’s great seeing you, too. Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” Holly excused herself before she did anything she might regret later. She fled to the closest bathroom, closed the door, turned around, and sagged against the heavy wood. She listened to Nick‘s footsteps fading as he headed back down the stairs.
Was he coming on to her? This was starting to feel less like a couple of platonic friends getting together and more like a first or even second date. She fumbled for the bathroom light switch and looked in the mirror. Maybe she was imagining things. She looked the same—a little flushed, maybe. Did he see something different in her? In the years they had known each other, she couldn’t remember ever thinking about him in that way—man to woman.
Holly was certainly attracted to him now. Just touching his hand made the butterflies, which seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her stomach, take flight. She couldn’t ignore what even a blind woman could see—that he was hotter than the thirty-two candles on her last birthday cake. They’d always gotten along well and had a lot of fun together, but even as lonely as she was, she didn’t seriously think she could have a relationship with someone six years her junior. Plus, he didn’t even have a couch.
She splashed her face with cool water, hoping to hide the telltale signs of her arousal. Staring at her reflection, she listed the reasons she couldn’t pursue even a one-night hook-up with Nick. Like any other single woman who’d been burned, she’d established rules that would govern her future choices.
First, he couldn’t be married to a wife or his career. Second, he had to want a family. As corny as it may seem, she wanted children, a dog, maybe even a white picket fence, and she didn’t want to start something with a man who didn’t share her vision of the future, even if it was just for hot sex. Third, she needed a man who was settled down. In addition, she thought as she patted her cheeks dry with a hand towel, she needed a new rule, just for Nick: He had to have a couch.
Having ground rules in place, Holly felt much more secure as she turned off the taps. Looking around, she expanded her criteria. Her new rule should be to only date men with couches, real furniture, and paint. Definitely paint should be a requirement. Holly counted on her fingers. Was that five
or six? She caught a glance at her hand-me-down tank watch. It was ten o’clock. She could probably leave now without seeming rude. Holly knew if she put some distance between them, then she would surely come to her senses.
When Holly got downstairs, she noticed a perceptible shift in the atmosphere of the bare living room. It looked the same as before, dominated by his large, flat screen TV. But newly flickering firelight made the room glow warm. Large pillows she hadn’t noticed before were lying on a large rug before the fireplace. It screamed bachelor pad, and the mood was set for seduction. She knew then that she definitely wasn’t imagining his attraction to her. Nick had even made them a small picnic—of wine, cheese, and bread—definitely a feast for temptation.
Thank goodness for age and wisdom. “Oh, Nick. You didn’t have to do all this… ” Holly faltered. Too bad age hadn’t improved her ability to talk herself out of awkward situations. She didn’t know what else to say. “I’m feeling a little funny,” she said motioning to her midsection. It was the best excuse she could come up with on short notice. “Maybe it’s time for me to go.” It sounded lame even to her own ears. But, if she left now, she could be sure of controlling herself around him.
“Did you eat at all tonight?”
“No, not since lunch.”
“Just sit then. Eat a little. You really shouldn’t drink red martinis on an empty stomach,” he said with a smile.
Stay or go? Holly should go home. Her adult brain was telling her to leave, now. If she stayed, she knew what could happen. Sex with Nick. It was like she had a little angel on one shoulder and a little devil on the other. Her devil, who looked remarkably like Sophie, wanted her to stay. The angel was mutinously silent. Her neglected libido won out over reason. Damned martinis. It was common knowledge that alcohol was the sworn enemy of common sense.