Melt Into You

by Lisa Plumley

  When Damon woke up four days after the first incredible night he’d spent with Natasha, he became aware of several things simultaneously. First of all, that something furry was in his face. Second of all, that someone was breathing heavily at the edge of the bed. And third, that his heart felt exactly as full now as it had on the first morning when he’d awakened beside Natasha—when he’d watched her open her sky-blue eyes to blink at him and been blessed by her wide, beautiful, too-generous smile.

  “I don’t know how I got so lucky,” Damon had told her then.

  “Because you’re you,” Natasha had answered in an adorably disgruntled tone, snuggling up to him with one long leg over his hip and one arm flung across his chest. “You are always lucky.”

  “Not like this,” he’d disagreed promptly, and it had been as true the other morning as it was right now. Damon was lucky to be with Natasha. Next to her, everything else fell away.

  Except, just then, the mysterious source of the furry heavy breathing Damon was experiencing. That didn’t fall away. In fact, the furriness whacked him in the face again. And the heavy breathing became a guffaw. Never a morning person, Damon was slow when it came to opening his eyes, gathering his wits, and solving the mystery that had awakened him. But he did it.

  “Look! It’s sunrise! Again!” Milo announced in a gleeful tone. “I’ve been up awhile. Time for another piggyback ride!”

  With a groan, Damon turned his head. He glimpsed Natasha’s son standing there, eager and alert. At the same time, Finn—who was parked in a furry canine lump on the pillows behind Damon’s head—started wagging his tail again. Thump. Thump. Aha.

  Groggily, Damon blinked. Milo zoomed into slightly improved focus, making it possible to discern his blond, sticking-up hair, impatient, scrubbed-clean face, and colorful pajamas.

  If I see you before sunrise, there won’t be any more piggyback rides, Damon remembered warning the boy as he’d tucked him in a few nights ago. Who knew kids could be so literal?

  “Milo, we need a new system,” Damon announced.

  Beside him, Natasha rolled over. She saw Milo. Just the way she’d done for the past few days, she sat up and then clutched the covers, staring warily at her son. “Good morning, Milo.”

  A grin. “Good morning, Mom!”

  With perfect timing, Finn thumped his tail again. The puppy liked this now-usual routine, where Damon and Milo had a ritual pre-breakfast piggyback ride, then walked to school with Natasha.

  To be fair, Damon liked it, too. What he didn’t like was the memory that skated over his mind as Natasha ran her hands through her long blond hair, trying to make herself more momlike and less sex-kittenish. As far as Damon was concerned, that was a losing battle. She was both to him: a mom and a sex kitten.

  She was also the woman who’d said, with heartbreaking earnestness and completely unconvincing casualness: Soon I’ll be ordering a “sorry I broke your heart” bouquet for myself.

  Natasha had tried to pass off her remark as a joke. At the time, given their general state of nudity and the imminent possibility of round two, Damon hadn’t argued the point. But it had wrecked him to know that Natasha still thought of him that way. It had stirred a soul-deep, fervent desire in Damon to prove to Natasha that there wouldn’t be any goddamn breakup flowers coming her way. Not from him. Not like that. Not ever.

  Because he was going to be a different man. For her. “Since you didn’t sleep in your bed on the sofa again,” Milo piped up cheerfully, “I turned it into a fort. It’s so cool! You’ve got to see it, Damon.” He looked at Natasha. “Mom, can I sleep there tonight, if Damon’s not going to use it?”

  Natasha’s guarded gaze slipped to Damon. She bit her lip, giving a fairly convincing appearance of indecision, but he could read her mind like a book. Until now, they’d been pretending to Milo that Damon might go back to sleeping on the sofa. But this morning, Natasha seemed to be mulling over the possibility of making their new sleeping arrangements official.

  Probably, she was considering it because Damon had been awesome at showing her how reliable he could be. He’d washed her car with the garden house outside, then bonded with her next-door neighbor, Kurt, over changing the oil. He’d made a million more sandwiches on gluten-free bread. He’d walked to the grade school with Natasha to pick up Milo, taken all three of them (four, if you counted the ever-present Finn) to the park, and spent a lot of time playing Pokémon with Milo while Natasha ran around town “on errands” that Damon assumed pertained to her artwork. He was proud that he’d become so dependable—and he was especially proud that, unlike Paul, he’d supported her art.

  He wished Natasha would show him some of the jewelry she’d created. But so far she remained resistant to sharing with him.

  Damon guessed that was her right as a sexy, inventive, blow-his-socks-off artistic type with a navel ring and a creative bent … and a pronounced tendency to overthink decisions.

  “Mo-om!” Milo flopped his arms and small lanky body in exaggerated exasperation, having waited long enough.

  “Can I?”

  “Um, you bet!” Natasha beamed at Milo from across the bed. “I’m pretty sure Damon is going to be sleeping in here with me for a while anyway, so the sofa fort is yours to keep using.”

  Carefully, she watched her son. But Milo only beamed back.

  “Thanks, Mom! Hey, last one to the kitchen table is giving out free piggyback rides to the first one who gets there! Ha!”

  Then Milo giggled at Damon and raced away, hair flying and pajamas fluttering, with Finn scampering puppylike at his heels.

  “Hm. I guess you’re on the hook for a piggyback ride.”

  Natasha sounded amused. Trying to rouse himself, Damon glanced at her. That roused him, all right, but it didn’t exactly fill him with enthusiasm for piggyback rides. Lazily, he stroked her knee, which was all he could reach while she sat there so alertly. “You look really pretty this morning.”

  “You say that every morning,” Natasha informed him.

  “It’s true every morning. You do look pretty.” Sleepily, Damon pulled her back under the covers. Natasha landed with a laugh, in a perfect position for him to slide his hand along her thigh, her hip, her breast … . “Mmm. You feel really nice, too.” He could have lost himself in the soft, nice-smelling, extra-sexy way her skin felt. “What do you say we get Milo shipped off to school and then meet back here for a little together time?”

  Devilishly, Damon waggled his eyebrows.

  Natasha smiled at him. “You say that every morning, too.”

  “So? I’ve heard dependability is a desirable character trait.” In fact, Damon was counting on it.

  “So is a limitless sexual appetite.” Natasha imitated his eyebrow waggle. “That means we both win. It’s a date.”

  Damon kissed her. “Now who’s repeating themselves?”

  It was, to a word, the same thing Natasha said every morning. But as they completed their ritual with a cuddle and a tease and a lingering yearning to stay in bed—only to be yanked out, as usual, by Milo’s exasperated hollering from the kitchen—Damon didn’t care about repetition. In fact, he liked it.

  Anything that brought him Natasha was good. Like helping and shopping and babysitting. Anything that took him away from Natasha was bad. Like working and traveling and trying to be a creative force at Torrance Chocolates (something he obviously was terrible at anyway). And in the middle? Well, Damon had never been much for middles. He’d always been a man of extremes.

  Right now, for instance, he was extremely interested in making Natasha his. He was interested in erasing her doubts and proving he’d changed. So, although Damon wanted to stay in bed, he heeded Milo’s holler instead, got up, and got responsible.

  Because it was what Natasha would have wanted. More and more these days, it was what Damon wanted, too.

  Waking up with Damon was a highlight of Natasha’s days.

  Each morning, when she opened her eyes and saw her former boss sprawle
d there in bed beside her, all big and brawny and vulnerable in his slumbering state, she could hardly believe he was really there.

  The first morning, she’d given him an experimental poke, just to make sure. Damon had muttered in his sleep, rolled over toward her, then pulled her snugly into his arms. Even asleep, he’d wanted to protect and hold her. Even asleep, he’d tried to please her. Right then, Natasha had simply … melted.

  She was as helpless to resist Damon as she was to stop eating chocolate. Both gave her far too much pleasure to quit. In excess, of course, each of those things could be dangerous. She knew that. But now that a few days had passed, Natasha figured she’d gotten the whole thing pretty much under control.

  She’d also hit upon a plan to make up for the unforgivable way she’d deserted Damon in Las Vegas, leaving him alone to cope with the aftereffects of his chocolate-workshop meltdown. To that end, Natasha had been working and planning and organizing. She hadn’t accomplished much in the way of artwork, of course, but she figured her creative work could wait a little longer.

  Damon’s problems were happening right now—and they were partly her fault. She had to do something about them.

  But before she took up that task again, there was still time to savor another morning with Damon—still time to relish the sight of him tossing back the covers and standing to stretch, wearing only his tight black boxer briefs. There was still time to watch him stroll across her bedroom, look out the window, stand there in all his glory with the sunlight washing over his corded muscles and his dark, pillow-tossed hair… .

  An instant later, a beeping cell phone cut off Natasha’s reverie. It was Damon’s. As he answered it, she padded to the bathroom. When she came back, Damon was staring at his iPhone.

  He heard her. He held up his phone, showing her the screen.

  “That was my bank,” Damon said in an undecipherable tone. “They straightened out my identity theft. All my accounts have been fully restored. Credit cards, lines of credit … the works.”

  It was still happening, Natasha realized. Damon’s usual life was still coming back to him, piece by piece. Soon he wouldn’t need her at all. She’d miss her chance to make amends.

  “Great!” With a smile, Natasha went to him. Casually, she kissed him. “Try not to spend it all in one place.”

  For once, Damon did not smile back. He merely frowned at his phone. “This means I could leave, if you wanted me to.”

  She blinked, surprised. “Do you want to?”

  “I’m not here for the free lodging,” Damon told her. This time, he did smile. “I’m after something a lot better.”

  “Oh?” Natasha tried not to sound too hopeful. “What’s that?”

  Damon opened his mouth. But before he could speak, Milo gave another impatient yell from the kitchen. “Damon! Come on!”

  “Later.” Natasha smiled. “Your public awaits.”

  “I guess so.” Damon kissed her. Then, distractedly, he yanked on a pair of jeans and a shirt and went to tend to Milo.

  Whatever he’d been about to say remained a mystery. But Natasha thought she knew what it would be.

  You. I want to stay because I want you.

  If she played her cards right, that’s what Damon would say to her—and not only while they were in bed together.

  With that thought in mind, Natasha got dressed and got started with her day’s activities. There was still a lot to be done—and (apparently) not much time left to do it in.

  When Natasha came home from another day of errand running and then disappeared into her garden-shed workspace, Damon was ready for her eventual return. He met Natasha at the back door, gave her a kiss hello, then brandished a makeshift blindfold.

  “Hi! You can’t come in unless you wear this.”

  She frowned in confusion. “Is that my scarf?”

  “No, it’s mine,” he deadpanned. “See? It matches my eyes.”

  Natasha laughed. “Whatever you say, guy from Aerosmith.”

  “You mean Steven Tyler,” Damon told her. “We met once. Nice guy. Good dad. And the scarf is yours. You left it on the bed.” Grinning, he gestured for her to spin around. “Close your eyes. I’ll put it on you. Then I’ll show you the surprise.”

  “Aha. I get it. This is a game.” Natasha’s eyes lit up. Her gaze traveled over him. “Do you want me to get naked first?”

  I wish. “Not right now, sexbot. Milo is home.”

  “Oh.” Looking intrigued all the same, Natasha turned her back to him. Deftly, he tied on the scarf. “Did you have any trouble picking up Milo from school? Usually Carol fills in for me, but she’s been strangely ‘too busy’ for that lately.”

  “Yeah, there’s a lot of ‘busyness’ going around,” Damon said with deliberate blitheness. He knew damn well that her former mother-in-law had been “too busy” on Damon’s request—all the better to allow him to demonstrate his newfound sense of maturity. “Also, yes, I picked up Milo without a hitch.”

  Natasha patted her blindfold. Below it, her mouth curved in a smile. “Thanks for doing that, by the way. It’s really nice of you to take care of Milo while I’m … working.”

  “I like doing it.” Wondering at the hesitation in her voice just before she said “working,” Damon took Natasha’s hand. He hoped she knew that (unlike Paul) he considered her artwork valuable. He touched her shoulder, too, then began steering her toward the kitchen, where his surprise awaited. “There was a party at school today, and poor Milo didn’t get to have any of the goodies. The little guy was pretty bummed about it, but I—”

  “What?” Natasha stopped cold. She grabbed for her blindfold, trying to untie it. “I didn’t hear about any parties today. Usually I prep Milo for them ahead of time. Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine.” Damon squeezed her hand. He gave her his most comforting smile, even though she couldn’t see it. “In fact, he’s the impetus for my surprise tonight. So don’t wreck it.”

  “Wreck it?” She gave up on untying her blindfold and pulled it down instead. Yank. “I’m not thinking about your surprise right now. I’m thinking about my son! My son who has multiple food sensitivities to deal with. You just told me—”

  “That Milo wasn’t thrilled about missing out on all the goodies. That’s it.” Patiently, Damon reversed the downward pull Natasha had given her blindfold. “It’s not an emergency or anything. It’s just that until today, I hadn’t realized how much Milo’s food issues affect him. It’s not all silly songs and apps and websites and food lists. It’s feelings, too.”

  Skeptically, Natasha frowned. “It’s also anaphylactic reactions and epinephrine and responsibility,” she pointed out. “But none of that is your problem, Damon. You aren’t exactly stellar at dealing with real-life issues, you know, so—”

  “So I might be, if you gave me a chance.” Hurt, Damon frowned right back at her. “I called a friend of mine who works at the Allergy, Asthma and Immunology Division of Scripps Clinic today, and I got more information about this. I told Milo that I’m giving up peanuts and dairy and eggs and gluten, too! They’re not worth it.”

  “Right. I can guess how long that will last.”

  Her skepticism stung. “You don’t think I have what it takes to make a sacrifice? Even for Milo’s sake? You don’t think I can do it?”

  “I think you can do anything you set your mind to.” Again Natasha lowered her blindfold. From above its folds, she gazed patiently at him. “For a while, at least. And I know you mean well, too, but—”

  “But you don’t think you can count on me.”

  “Come on, Damon. Don’t be like that.” A sigh. “I know you, remember? You’re not exactly Mr. Dependable. You never have been.” Natasha touched his arm to reassure him. “And that’s okay! You have plenty of other fine qualities.” She winked, then tugged on her blindfold once more. “Like planning surprises. So let’s go.”

  Decisively and sightlessly, Natasha turned. She assumed an arms-up position, ostensibly ready for Damo
n to guide her again.

  He couldn’t help feeling the moment had passed.

  “I mean it, Damon,” Natasha coaxed. “If I wanted you to be a different person than you already are, you wouldn’t be here. I like you the way you are. So show me your surprise.”

  Mulishly, Damon hesitated. He still felt hurt that she didn’t trust him—even after all the efforts he’d made.

  “If I like it, I’ll let you blindfold me again later tonight,” Natasha promised in a sultry tone. “Or maybe I’ll put this on you, instead. Maybe I’ll tease you and touch you and—”

  “Fine.” Giving in to the moment the way he always did—or at least the way he always had—Damon offered up a grin. “But keep the sexy talk down. Milo is waiting for us in the kitchen.”

  Then he took her hand and led her in.

  The first thing Natasha noticed was the aroma of toasted bread. Then the tang of citrus fruit and apples. Then, underlying it all, the sweet, complex fragrance of … chocolate?

  Behind her, Damon made a show of untying her blindfold. His hands worked dexterously. His knuckles brushed her hair. So did his breath. Then, with a flourish she could sense (if not see) Damon pulled off her scarf so she could see his surprise.

  “Ta-da!” he announced. “I made dinner!”

  Blinking at the array of dishes arranged on the table, Natasha frowned in confusion. She zeroed in on one item. “You made chocolate for dinner?” She glanced at Damon’s grinning face, thinking that she’d probably been correct in doubting his judgment earlier. “Damon, we can’t have chocolate for dinner.”

  “Yes, we can!” Milo disagreed. At the other side of the table, he surveyed the spread with big-eyed enthusiasm. “I’m going to! Damon already said I could. And it’s all safe for me.”

  “It is. The chocolate is dairy free,” Damon said. “Do you know how unusual that is? It turns out that most chocolate is made into milk chocolate—or dark chocolate with milk solids added, which aren’t technically necessary. But this chocolate is bittersweet Venezuelan Carenero Superior with just a little sugar and no milk added. It’s delicious. You’ll see.”