More Than Crave You

by Shayla Black

  “Great—”

  “So, when do you want to get married. This weekend?”

  “What? Hang on.” Her expression says I must be crazy. “Cleanliness isn’t the only issue. There has to be mutual respect.”

  “I respect you. Very much.” I frown. “I never meant to give you any reason to think otherwise.”

  “You haven’t, but I needed to say it. And like I mentioned before, I’m making it a policy to only get involved with guys I’m friends with first. From now on, I want to really get to know someone before I dive in.”

  “You and I know each another well.”

  “But not personally. I don’t know your favorite potato chip.”

  “I don’t eat them, actually. You know they’re not good for you, right? The fat content is high, and the calories are empty—”

  “Evan, of course I know they aren’t good for me. I’m making a point that there are lots of things we don’t know about each other. And for the record, we can’t be friends if you don’t eat potato chips. Or donuts. You took one of Bas’s the other day, then failed to eat it.”

  “I prefer a clean diet, but I will incorporate more of your favorite things if it will make you happy. See, I know marriage is about compromise. I’m willing to do that.”

  “That’s helpful…but not enough to base a marriage on. We’ve never even been on a date.”

  “I never dated Becca, and it worked out fine.”

  Well, we never dated in the traditional sense. We held hands in high school because it made her feel happy and safe. We sneaked in some petting because I wanted to know what girls and sex felt like. But her foster father didn’t approve of her having a boyfriend and tried to keep her too distracted at home to be with me often.

  Nia purses her full lips into a grim line. “I’m glad that’s how it worked for you two, but I won’t get married until I’m sure it’s right. If you’re still marrying for the reasons you stated in your bride-wanted ad, we’re going to fail. I’m more than a hostess, a maid, and a lay.”

  “Of course you are. That’s the other reason I think you and I will suit well. We’ll be far more comfortable with each other than I would be with a stranger. We can keep our working relationship intact. And we can explore all the other ways we’re good together.” Because, guilt and confusion aside, being inside Nia is something I’m eager to do again—the sooner the better. “If you’d feel more comfortable dating first, we can try that. We’ll have to navigate the office, keep our personal relationship quiet. We’ll date as much as you like until the move to Maui. Before we leave for good, I’ll ask you to marry me again.”

  I hope her answer will be different then. I don’t know what I’ll do if she says no. That’s something I never worried about with Becca.

  “I’m not convinced I can be sure I want to marry you—or anyone—in six weeks.”

  “That’s all the time we have. I’m not planning to move alone.” I let that sink in. “If I haven’t convinced you by January second, then…you stay here in Seattle and I’ll find you another appropriate supervisor.” And I’ll figure out how not to lose my mind. “We’ll float the story that you didn’t want to move, and I decided I needed someone local. Done.”

  There’s no way not to hear the frustration in her sigh. “I don’t like ultimatums.”

  “I’m not intending to back you into a corner. I’m simply stating my position; I only intend to be single until I move to Maui. I’ve agreed that we’ll date, despite the fact I think it may be somewhere between unnecessary and a waste of time. I know what and who I want, Nia. That’s you. But I’m slowing down, compromising, and dating to make you happy.”

  “What about Saturday nights?”

  She means when she’s performing half-naked with that totally straight asshole who I have no doubt wants to take her to bed again. I very much want to insist that Kyle can’t touch her, even in a dance. But Nia has already made herself clear that she’s unwilling to stop something she genuinely enjoys. In truth, I don’t like the idea of taking away an activity she loves. I’m also not thrilled with the idea of her bumping and grinding with her ex. But I stifle my objections. Once we move to Maui, it will be a moot point. There will be no Kyle and no burlesque, just settling into our new house and our new lives, along with lots of newlywedded sex.

  “I won’t interfere. I may insist on being present, however.”

  That takes some of the starch out of her attitude. “If you’re okay with it, I want you there.”

  Since that’s settled, even though I’ll have to find some way to keep my sanity, I nod. “Should we go out on our first date tonight?”

  “I can’t. Every other Monday, I teach a burlesquercize class at the club. It’s another way for them to increase revenue, and I get a workout in as well. I’m not done until eight, and after that, I’m wiped out.”

  Clenching my jaw, I strive for patience. I know she has a life apart from me. I simply don’t like anything that prevents me from spending time with her since I suspect she needs every spare moment to decide if she wants to be my wife. On the other hand, she was softer and sweeter after her orgasm. Maybe I just need to get her back into bed.

  Behind my zipper, my cock gives that idea a standing ovation.

  “When are you free?”

  “Tomorrow night should be good.”

  “Excellent.”

  She hesitates. “What do you want to do?”

  In truth, I don’t know. I’ve never planned a date. When I was married to Becca, if she wanted to go someplace, she would simply make her wishes known, and I’d either work it into my schedule or encourage to her to go with one of her yoga friends.

  “Is there anything in particular you’re interested in?”

  Nia shakes her head. “Plan something you’d enjoy, so I can see what you’re into. On the next date, I’ll do the same. If we take turns, we’ll both get a good idea of what the other likes. It will help us figure out if we’re actually suited.”

  I’m already convinced since I’ve never felt anything quite like this. But if that arrangement will make Nia more comfortable… “Fine.”

  “Good.” She checks her watch. “I should probably head for the reception desk. Your next appointment should be here in less than ten minutes.”

  “I’m done interviewing wives, Nia. I don’t care how you cancel the last four. Make it happen.”

  Thankfully, she doesn’t argue. “I’ll get it done.”

  “I know you were taking initiative, but I can’t handle any more.”

  She represses a grin. “Sorry.”

  I shrug. We stand close. I want to touch her, but I simply stare and tell myself to back down. I really should keep things clandestine around the office…but I’d rather spread her across the conference table and feast on her.

  “I’ll go tell Peyton, your next appointment, that you’re no longer available,” she says, ending the sexually charged moment.

  “Please.”

  “She’ll be sad that you won’t be funding her new cosmetics start-up.”

  “I don’t care.” I slant Nia a speculative stare. “Since we’re officially dating, does that make me your boyfriend now?”

  “I’ve never dated my boss before. But…I guess so.”

  “I like it.” I lean in, feeling the heat of her cheek almost against mine. Then I whisper in her ear, “But I’d rather call you my wife.”

  She shivers. “Evan…we had great sex one time. That doesn’t mean it’s going to always be explosive. Or even good. And it definitely doesn’t mean we’ll suit long-term.”

  “I think it was a damn telling indicator of our compatibility.” I barely resist nuzzling her neck. “You should get out of here before I stop caring about our professional reputations and find out for sure.”

  Nia drags in a shaky breath. “I’m going. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

  “We will.” And if I have my way, when we’re on this date, we’ll do a lot more than talk.
r />   CHAPTER SIX

  Tuesday, November 14

  When I pull up in front of Nia’s place, I put my BMW in park and stare. I’ve never been here, and I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t anything like this.

  I live in a sleek glass high-rise that’s industrial, efficient, and green. Everything is solar and built with responsible convenience in mind. Nia’s home isn’t typical urban living and isn’t focused on proximity to java while reducing her carbon footprint. Her cottage is full of character and oozes charm.

  When I step out of my sedan, I follow a brick walkway that leads to a simple black gate. Beyond, freshly painted gray siding frames a white door rich in detail. Two dark wrought iron sconces flank it and illuminate the little mosaic porch. Tall topiaries stand on either side like sentries, rimmed by evergreens and an occasional splash of tiny white flowers. I’m surprised by how lush and summery her yard looks, despite the fact Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away.

  Nothing about this place looks practical. It’s probably a hundred years old—especially the windows. It likely doesn’t even have air conditioning. She parks on the street. Her neighbors are almost on top of her. And I wonder if there’s an ounce of insulation in this structure.

  On the other hand, it’s just like her—different, unexpected, wonderful.

  The thought makes me smile as I knock, mixed bouquet of flowers in hand.

  When Nia swings the door open, I can’t help but stare. She’s dressed in a white sweater that flashes a hint of cleavage, figure-hugging jeans, and black lace-up boots that climb halfway up her sleek thighs.

  “Hi.” Since I’m having trouble finding my breath, it’s the most intelligent greeting I can manage.

  She grins. “Hi, yourself. Are the flowers for me?”

  “Yes.” I manage to stop salivating long enough to hold out the bouquet to her.

  “That’s sweet.” She holds them under her nose and sniffs. “But I know you, Evan. This wasn’t your idea. Did a website tell you to bring flowers on a first date?”

  I laugh; she knows me too well. “No. I called Harlow, Keeley, and Britta for advice. My sister suggested I keep you horizontal and naked until you agree to whatever I want. According to her, Noah used sex to persuade her to marry him. Keeley was more subtle. She gave me a collection of appropriate songs to play in the car for mood music.”

  “Are you planning to?” she asks over her shoulder as she retreats to her kitchen to stick the flowers in water.

  The view of her backside is every bit as lust-inducing as the view from the front. I don’t remember ever being fixated on a female’s ass, but I swear Nia’s might be the single sexiest part of a woman I’ve ever noticed.

  “Or not?” she asks into my silence as she sets the vase of blooms on her kitchen table.

  I clear my throat and find my brain. “You know I thoroughly prepare for meetings, so I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

  She smiles. “I do know. Which means Britta suggested the flowers?”

  I nod. “She didn’t say what kind. I guessed. Do you like them?”

  Asking makes me sound uncertain. I am, but I hate the reminder that, other than Rebecca, I have zero experience dating…while Nia has so much.

  “I love them,” she assures, her dark eyes lingering and warm. “Let me grab my purse, and we can go.”

  She disappears for a moment, then returns, bag looped on her shoulder. After she shuts off a couple of lights, she shoves the key in the lock and flips a gaze to me over her shoulder. “So what are we doing tonight?”

  “Dinner first.” I escort her to the car, hoping like hell she likes what I have planned. “I assume you’re hungry.”

  “Starved. While you and Bas and that group of contractors went to lunch, I stayed behind to type up the meeting notes.”

  I frown. “You never ate?”

  “No time. I had an orange when I got home.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I question as I open the passenger door for her.

  “What were you going to do? You had to deal with four grown men willing to get on their knees and beg for your business.”

  I jog around and slide in beside her. “You’re not wrong. They didn’t even stifle their groans when I said Stratus wouldn’t be making a decision until the first of the year.”

  Nia smirks. “I’m surprised no one offered you a blow job to hurry your decision.”

  “They looked desperate, and I’m pretty sure it crossed their minds. But, um…” I shake my head. “Not my type.”

  “You mean you’re not attracted to beards, plaid shirts, and a more-than-passing knowledge of Java programming?”

  “Not even a little.”

  Her laughter fills the car, and I realize that, if I’ve heard the sound before, I don’t remember it. I haven’t amused her much over the years. Worked her a lot? Yes. Frustrated her a lot? Probably so.

  But tonight we’re not at work. And the fact we’re on a date seems surreal. Though she’s been my assistant for years, that circuit-frying encounter in her dressing room scrambled my brain so much that my thoughts about her no longer compute the way they used to.

  This morning, she greeted the arriving contractors with a smile. Instead of absently thanking her while preparing to get down to business, I had to ruthlessly restrain my fantasy of stripping off her dress. As she showed them to the conference room and brought us all coffee, I forced myself to act as if I have no idea how it feels to have every inch of my cock buried inside her. And when one of my visitors eyed Nia like a prime slab of beef, I had to bite back a possessive growl.

  Fast forward ten hours. Now, she’s not merely my assistant, but also my girlfriend. I can shed the professional straightjacket and treat her like a woman. Except…I’m unsure how to proceed.

  As we pull away from the curb, I focus on the plan I’ve been concocting since Sunday and connect my phone to my sound system. Rush hour is tapering off. Keeley’s recommended tunes calm me and fill the silence.

  The first I’ve never heard. Blink 182 is a band I’m familiar with, but not this song, which is appropriately titled “First Date.” It’s got a punk rock vibe and it’s kind of catchy and fun.

  Nia bounces in her seat, seeming to like it, too. “Keeley nailed this one. From everything you’ve said, she sounds cool.”

  “She is, though she’s somewhat hippie and quirky. Maxon is usually very serious, so they’re interesting together. From what I gather, he was a complete bastard before they met. Now, they seem really happy.”

  Before she can comment, the next song begins. It’s another unfamiliar tune, not that I’m surprised. I usually prefer silence, and I’ve never cared what everyone else is listening to. According to Keeley’s cheat sheet, this one is “fallingforyou” by The 1975. It’s a mellow song with an unexpected beat and a slightly sexy vibe. It’s one I’d listen to again, especially when Nia turns to me with a glance that makes me wish we’d stayed at her place.

  When the male vocalist sings that he touches her leg, I do the same. On contact, my body jolts. My heart lurches. I squeeze her thigh when he croons that he doesn’t want to be just her friend. I relate to that.

  Then he admits he’s falling for her. Is that what’s happening to me?

  I let out a steadying breath. It can’t be. It’s too soon, and I won’t fall in love again. I’ll commit to a relationship of mutual trust and respect, especially since the benefits with Nia are incredible. But that’s it.

  “I like it,” she says at the end. “Who is the band?”

  I hand Nia the page Keeley emailed. “Here’s a full list.”

  She scans it. “Eclectic. I don’t know half these songs.”

  “At least I’m not alone in that.” I shoot her a wry grin as another tune starts. “But I’ve heard this one.”

  “‘You and Me’ by Lifehouse? Yeah.”

  It’s an earnest song about a guy who’s realizing he feels more for a woman than he once thought. He sounds confused but mesme
rized by her.

  Join the club, pal.

  The simple melodic strains of the guitar end the song as we arrive at our destination. I park the car near the front door and hop out to retrieve Nia. She steps from my gray sedan, then looks around. “The Living Computer Museum? This is where you’re bringing me?”

  “You said to pick something I enjoy. I actually come here a lot.” Especially since Becca’s death. She always hated this place, but I appreciate the peace and the orderly surroundings.

  Nia gives me a slow nod as she takes everything in. “All righty.”

  I smile as I lead her forward. “It’s a lot more interesting than it sounds. I promise. Give it a chance.”

  She glances at the sign beside the door, then stops mid-step. “They’re closed.”

  “To the public, yes. Not for me.”

  When I knock twice on the glass, a ginger with a bushy beard wearing a black button-down shirt stitched with the museum’s logo lets us in, then locks the door behind us. “Welcome, Mr. Cook.”

  “Thanks, Aiden.” I read his nametag. “Where do we start?”

  “Everything you requested has been arranged. Come this way…”

  I gesture Nia in front of me to be a gentleman…and because I can’t resist the view of her ass. Soon, we reach a door tucked into a back corner of the museum, and the guide ushers us upstairs, into a private room with lights dimmed. Candles flicker on a table set with crisp linens for two against the window overlooking the museum relics of machines from bygone eras.

  Nia takes in the room. “This is amazing. Wow…”

  After I pull out her chair, she slides in. As I do the same, a waiter brings us wine—I remember she likes reds—along with our salads.

  Across from her, I can’t stop staring. How did I see her for three years without seeing how beautiful she was? “You’re surprised?”

  “Shocked. You did all this just for our date?”

  “I did it for you.”