I crinkle my nose. “That’s kind of gross. Where’d you learn that?”
“I looked it up the other day. I guess quirky facts were on my mind because of you.” She hands me a red berry. As I eat it, I can’t help but grin at something as simple as her researching life’s oddities for that reason. “Your turn,” she says. “Tell me something from Wyatt’s Encyclopedia of Quirky Animal Facts.”
“Do you know why cats can slide under a vanity cabinet in the bathroom like they’re boneless?” I begin, and there’s nothing quite like the old cats-have-no-collarbones factoid to take the sting out of divorcing the woman you fucked on her desk last week. In fact, collarboneless cats are pure gold when you need a conversational lubricant. I also work in a little tidbit about domesticated turkeys (they can’t fly), facts about elephants (with forty thousand muscles in their trunks, they can use them to pick up tiny objects including a small coin), and a bit of insight into fish (they drink water through osmosis rather than their mouths).
Natalie smiles and laughs through my lesson, as she calls it. “Your fascination with animal facts—where did that come from?”
“I used to read National Geographic as a kid. Which probably sounds weird, since everyone thinks Nick and Josie are the smart ones.”
She shoots me a quizzical look. “Who thinks that?”
I shrug. “Dunno. But probably everyone, I figure, since they are the smarter ones. Josie is great with books, and Nick is just . . . well, he’s Nick. The old noggin works really well on him. They did better in school than I did.”
“You already know where I stand on that front,” she says, and holds up a fist. “Black sheep united.”
I knock her curved fingers. “Seems we’ve got some things in common, the-almost-former-Mrs. Hammer.”
“Such a shame, since it’s a fun last name.”
“It is. By the way, I’m assuming the fact that we’re meeting at the farmer’s market, not the office, means we’re trying not to fuck like bunnies again?” I ask, aiming to make light of the situation.
She cracks up and gestures to the tents peddling asparagus, arugula, and artichokes. “What? You think I won’t tug you behind one of the veggie stands so we can get it on behind a box of portobellos?”
Immediately, I scan the market. “Where are those damn mushrooms?”
She swats me, and we make our way out of the market. “I do think we should try to be good boys and girls,” she says, her tone a touch more serious. “That work for you?”
I drape an arm over her shoulder. “Works for me. And it looks like we survived keeping our hands off each other, thanks to your mushroom strategy. Don’t think it’s gone unnoticed that there are no mushroom stands here today.”
She snaps her fingers in an “aw shucks” gesture. “You figured me out.” Her eyes drift to my hand on her shoulder, as if to say she’s caught me.
I hold out that hand, admitting my guilt. “I’m trying, woman. I’m trying to be a good guy.”
And I am. I’m trying so fucking hard not to hike her over my shoulder, carry her through the crowds, and kiss the hell out of her on top of the crates of berries, boxes of asparagus, or behind the bunches of bananas.
Because really, getting it on with her at a banana stand would absolutely be our style.
“Check out that banana stand,” I say with a tip of my forehead and a wiggle of my eyebrows.
She swats me. “You’re bad. We’re trying to be friends.”
I straighten and adopt a serious tone. “I meant as friends, of course. I want to be friendly with you behind the banana stand.”
She rolls her eyes. “Speaking of being friends, I’ll send you those videos later. I’m ready to show them to you.”
When I click on the email that evening, I vow to focus on helping her, not nailing her.
Because she needs the help.
These videos suck.
26
When Natalie dropkicks the wiry dude in the black sweats, he falls to the floor in a graceful heap.
As if he’s practiced the move before.
“See?” I say, pointing at the video playing on her phone on Monday night at the dojo, McKeon Karate. “It’s like he’s done it before. It reads like an ad rather than a real-life situation.”
We sit cross-legged on the blue mats. She finished her classes for the night and asked me to meet her here to review the videos, since I worked late at Violet’s on the kitchen remodel. This is the only chance we’ve had all day to connect.
She tightens her ponytail, tugging on the strands. Wearing her karate uniform, she looks tough and no-nonsense in the white pants and matching shirt, as well as the black belt. Her feet, though, are adorably cute. They’re bare, and her toenails are painted in alternating shades of mint green and bright purple. Just like she told me in Vegas she liked to do.
“It’s too slick, you mean?” she asks.
I tap my nose. “Bingo.”
“You think it needs to feel more authentic?”
“You’re trying to reach a broader audience with these videos. Inspire women to learn self-defense. You want the videos to feel more natural, in my opinion. Like this could happen and you’d be able to whip around and knock some fucking bastard to his knees.”
She stretches forward and flops her face down on the mat. “Thank God,” she says in a long exhale. “I thought you were going to say they were dull.”
“Ha. No,” I say, brandishing the phone. “This guy is just so Karate Kid. I watch this and I don’t think self-defense. I think two karate experts doing something I can never do. It’s very . . . choreographed.”
She sits up straight, turns to face me, and grabs my arm. “I can do this, Wyatt. I can fix them. I’ve shown them to people here, and they all say they’re great, but I knew deep down they weren’t.” She pokes my shoulder. “Thank you for being honest with me. I needed someone outside of the world of martial arts.”
I officially decide Natalie is one of the coolest people I know. I’ve never seen someone take criticism as well as she does. She’s not defensive; she’s not annoyed. She truly wants to make her videos the best they can be.
Also, look at us rocking it in the friendship department.
Note to self: Focusing on helping your employee pursue her passion is a much more noble use of your time than planning how to screw her senseless again.
Yup. This is how I can be a good guy. This is Wyatt post-greasy salad.
She stands and paces around the studio. It’s only us now. She’s locked up for the night. “Okay, so we want this to feel real. Like some guy just came up to me on the street.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m walking along, he tries to grab me . . .” She reaches for my arm and tugs me up from the floor. “Do it.”
I blink. “What?”
“Attack me.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No.” Her blue eyes are wild. “I have an idea.” She runs over to her phone, sets it up on a wooden chair at the edge of the mat, and taps the screen. “Let’s do this.”
“Wait,” I say, when it fully hits me what her plan is. I point at my chest. “I’m doing this with you?”
“The videos were too slick. You’ve never done karate before, right?”
“Right.”
“And you want to help me?”
“I do.”
“Let’s make it authentic,” she says, then moves in closer to me and parks her hands on my shoulders. “Be my guinea pig.”
And there’s no way I can say no to her. No way at all, and my yes has nothing to do with wanting her underneath me and everything to do with wanting to help her chase her dreams. “Okay, ninja girl. Make me your crash-test dummy.”
She takes my arm, turns away from me, and wraps it around her throat. “You’re about to choke me.”
“Nat, I’m not into that kind of play,” I chide.
Over her shoulder, she narrows her eyes, and they are a steely blue now. “Just do it,
Hammer.”
I tighten my grip, and then in a split second, the breath is knocked out of me as she jabs an elbow in my stomach and throws me to the ground.
“Oomph.”
Splayed on the floor of the karate studio, I stare up at Natalie like a dazed cartoon character. Her bare foot is parked on my belly triumphantly, a military leader conquering the enemy.
“Well, yeah. Like that,” I say dryly.
“Should we see how that looked?”
She grabs the phone, kneels next to me, and plays the video. And hot damn. The woman is a beast. “You are fucking impressive.”
“We’re a good team,” she says, nudging me playfully. “You don’t know these moves, which makes it feel more natural. Like this is what could really happen if I were defending myself. I won’t full-on attack you, but I’ll do the moves and just hold back a little. Will you do more with me?”
“Do they all have to be surprise attacks?”
She pouts. “Did it hurt?”
I try to be tough. “Not really.”
“Then I have faith you can handle it.” She pops up, and I follow her, unsure what the next move is. But that’s the point. “Let’s do it. Let’s make it as real as it can be.”
I shrug happily. “Promise me one thing.”
She flinches momentarily when I say promise me, but then simply nods. “What is it?”
I cup my dick. “Don’t kick me in the balls.”
With a quick move, she reaches for the jewels but doesn’t quite touch—just darts her hand near enough to tempt me. An inch away, maybe. She brings her face close to mine and whispers sexily, “I promise I won’t hurt your beautiful balls.”
A bolt of lust charges through me. And while I’m glad she won’t hurt ’em, I can’t deny I’d really like her to play with them . . . right about now. Dip her hand into my jeans, down inside my boxer briefs, and right the fuck over the goods. I nearly groan as my imagination cuts loose on such a simple but smoking-hot image. She’s fired up for karate, though, so I call cut on the porn reel the movie camera in my mind wants to shoot.
Bouncing on her toes, Natalie tells me how to go after her next. She walks across the mat, her back to me, and I sneak up from behind and try to drag her away.
She’s fast and furious, moving in a blur as she kicks me and sends me crumpling to the ground. I’m down on my hands and knees. I’m not wounded; I’m just winded because I’m surprised. She came at me so fast, like a sandstorm.
“Wouldn’t want to meet you in a parking garage.” I catch my breath.
When I raise my face, she beams at me. “Ready for more?”
“Hit me with your best shot, Frisky Mittens.”
And so she does. She gives me a simple direction then takes me down. Then she does it again in a whole new way. After twenty minutes of abuse, I’m lying on the blue mat, spent from that hell of a workout. She could take me in any battle. “You win,” I say, breathing hard.
“That was amazing.” After she switches off the camera, she flops down next to me and turns on her side. “But seriously. Are you okay?” She runs her hand along my arm.
I shudder from her touch, but do my best to hide the reaction. “Now the woman asks if I’m okay,” I say to the ceiling.
“But you are, right?”
I laugh and turn to look at her. “I swear, I’m fine.”
She grabs my arm in excitement. “You’re the best. You helped me so much. It means so much to me that you did this. You didn’t have to, but you did it anyway.”
Mission accomplished. I give myself a mental pat on the back for my laser focus on building her up, not screwing her sideways. “I’m glad I could do it. I might also be a glutton for punishment.”
“Be my glutton,” she says. Her face glows, and she looks healthy, radiant, energized. She’s totally in her element. It’s also incredibly hot, which is exceedingly dangerous.
So I say nothing.
Silence descends on us, the kind of quiet that’s rich with possibilities. Somehow, saying nothing seems to suggest something else—the other things we could do right about now. Her smile fades, but it’s not replaced with sadness. Instead, she studies me intently, and I do the same with her. Taking in the way her hair falls from the ponytail holder. Registering how her chest rises with each breath. Noticing how her blue eyes are darker when she looks at me this way.
It’s a look I recognize. One I want desperately. It’s how she looks before she kisses me. She nibbles on the corner of her lips and tiptoes her fingers up my shoulder, then snatches them away. “Sorry. I’m trying to be good.”
“Me, too,” I say, my voice dry.
Hers is a soft whisper. “It’s hard.”
I sigh. “So hard sometimes.”
“Is it working? Being good?”
“I want to be a good guy, Natalie.”
“You are a good guy, Wyatt. You’re here.”
I park my hands under my head, as if I’m cuffing them. “And that proves I’m succeeding?
She nods. “I think so.”
“You give me more credit than I deserve,” I say, and let my gaze drift to the ceiling. If I look at her, I’ll try to touch her. If I stare into those eyes another second, I’ll be lost in all this desire.
“You deserve more credit than you give yourself.” Her tone is earnest and firm, and it hooks into me.
“I wouldn’t be so sure I deserve any credit. You have no idea . . .”
She pushes up higher on her elbow. I can see her face now as she speaks. “No idea what? What it’s like to work beside someone you want? What it’s like to be inches away from him or her? What it’s like to have that person and then fight like hell to resist that person?”
27
Dragging a hand through my hair, I try to draw a breath full of sanity, but the only thing I’m inhaling right now is the scent of her. Of how much I want her.
“I have all those ideas, too,” I say harshly. “Because I’m so fucking turned on being near you. Then you say all that, and what am I supposed to do but want you even more?”
A tiny grin appears on her face. “So we’re even, then.”
I laugh lightly. “Even Steven.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Look on the bright side. I told you I wouldn’t hurt your beautiful balls.”
“The balls and I thank you.”
She licks her lips, and her next words come out like a sultry song. “How can I thank you for tonight?” Her eyes drift down my face, then she’s eying my chest, my waist, and finally the bulge in my jeans that she caused.
I’m losing this battle—losing it hard. All my plans to be a good guy are shot to hell when her hand follows her eyes. “They’re definitely okay?” she asks, all innocent and concerned, her palm hovering millimeters away from the package.
I shrug lightly and throw in the towel. “Can’t hurt to check.”
She cups me through my jeans, her palm wrapping around my cock then sliding between my legs, over the fabric of my jeans.
I hiss.
In a flurry, she straddles me, grabs my wrists, and pins them behind my head as she rocks up and down on my hard cock.
“Nat,” I groan, like a warning. “What are we doing?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. But when I get near you like this, my body takes over. I just want to touch you everywhere.” She runs her nails down my chest. “Grind against your dick,” she says, and demonstrates how she likes that, too.
I groan loudly. “You kill me when you say that stuff. Your dirty mouth is my guilty pleasure.”
“Never feel guilty about pleasure.” She lowers her face, the soft hair in her ponytail swishing against my neck and her mouth near my ear. “There’s something I haven’t done with you.”
My muscles tighten with anticipation. “What is it?”
“I want to know what you taste like. Do you want that?”
In a second, I break free from her grip on my wrists to grab her hips, making her ride
me. “So fucking much.”
“You sure?”
I’m not above begging. “Please suck my dick.”
Her eyes widen with desire as she rubs against me. Teasing. Deliberately toying with me.
I grasp her face and start to push her head down. “I need your mouth on me, sweetheart.”
“It turns me on to hear you beg for it,” she says in a sexy purr. “Can you say please again?”
I rock up into her, letting her feel the steel in my jeans. “Nat,” I growl. “I’m begging you. Please suck me off.”
She closes her eyes, the expression on her face as if she’s dirty dreaming. “I want to taste you coming in my throat.”
A tremor of lust rattles through my body. I’ve got to have her now. I push her off my crotch and point to my hard-on. “Unzip my pants and get those sexy lips wrapped around my dick. Stop talking and start sucking.”
She arches an eyebrow and works open my zipper. I help her along, lifting my ass, and pushing down my jeans and briefs to my thighs. In a second, her head is between my legs, and the tease continues. It’s the most fantastic kind of torture from her tongue as she flicks it over the head, leaving me wanting so much more.
“C’mon, Nat.”
“C’mon what?” She lifts her face and wiggles an eyebrow. “I want to play.”
“Then kiss the tip,” I command and grasp the back of her head, tugging her down.
She moans as she draws the head of my cock between her warm lips. I want to sing from the pleasure. From the sheer, sweet heat of her wet tongue on my dick.
“So good,” I say roughly, rubbing my dick against her lips. She moves with me, circling her tongue over the tip as I glide it across her lips. Desire rushes in my veins as I feel her hot breath on my cock.
“Lick the shaft now,” I tell her, and her eyes dance naughtily as she runs her tongue from the head all the way down to the base.
I moan louder when she looks up at me as she dips her hand between my legs. Cupping my balls, she plays, dragging her nails over them. With her eyes on me, she whispers, “Want me to lick them?”
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