He walked over to the bookshelf. Shyla let herself enjoy the sight of his broad back and tight butt. He grabbed a volume without even looking. She wondered if all his choices were easy.
“What are you reading?” she asked, depositing the potatoes into boiling water.
“The Road by Cormac McCarthy. Have you read this one?”
“No.”
“It’s depressing but crazy good.”
“Will you read it to me?”
Traveling with slow, seductive, masculine grace, his deep voice filtered through the apartment.
“Can you read something else?” she asked after twenty minutes had passed. She decided, although McCarthy was an excellent author, she could not absorb anything sullen tonight.
“Any requests?”
“I was thinking Keegan Moon’s, Max Montero and the Three Wise Women.”
Nick laughed, holding the hardback cover of McCarthy’s book over his face. “In the mood for dime store drivel, are we?”
“It’s growing on me.”
“That’s book three. Wouldn’t you rather hear book two?”
“I’m on book three. I think I left off on chapter eighteen.”
Nick stared at her as if she’d announced McCarthy, himself, was joining them for supper. “You’re kidding.”
“I decided I’d give it another chance. I still have some issues, but I can see why people like them.”
“Shyla, it’s not a prerequisite you like my work to be my friend…or anything else. You can always be honest with me.”
“I am being honest with you. I don’t love it, but I do like it.”
Nick looked unconvinced, but he exchanged books and his voice took over again. To hear him read his own work, orally communicating the thoughts once trapped in his head was a privilege. The book was twenty chapters so Nick concluded the story.
“I would tell you I enjoyed it, but I don’t think you’ll believe me. I will say the heroine, or rather heroines, were a bit batty for my taste.”
“Batty? There’s a word you don’t hear every day. Anyway, I believe you.”
“How come?”
“You have a tell, remember?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Do you need my help yet?”
“Thank you for the offer, but I want to do this on my own.”
“Suits me. I’m going to watch the hockey game. I think the Devils are playing.”
To her amusement, Nick was quite vocal when he watched sports. As he watched the game, he fiddled with his phone. She came out of the kitchen, a dishtowel draped over her shoulder. She took a seat next to him on the couch. He put an arm around her and drew her close.
Her heart raced with his spontaneous gesture. She gazed at him wondering if they’d kiss now, but he kept his eyes on the screen, gently running his fingers down her arm, creating a flurry of goose bumps on her flesh. She laid her head against his chest. Despite his trained expression, his heart beat an audible, fast-paced rhythm of its own.
“It’s almost ready.”
He kissed the top of her head. The tenderness left her speechless for a moment. “It smells delicious. Thank you for doing this.”
“My pleasure.”
His other hand came around, and he placed a phone in her lap. “Here.”
She turned the device over in her hand. “Do you want me to call someone for you?”
He rubbed her shoulders. “It’s not my phone. It’s yours. I put you on my plan. You don’t have to worry about buying minutes anymore. And now, I won’t worry about you…as much.”
She pulled away, dropping the phone, but Nick’s quick reflexes caught it a few inches from the hardwood floor.
“Hey, watch it. I got you a strong protector case, but let’s not test it out.”
He had lined up the packages on the coffee table, each one adorned with a colorful bitten apple. “I can’t accept this.”
“Yes. You. Can.”
“It’s too extravagant,” she said, trying to give it back to him.
With one finger, he raised her chin until their eyes made contact. “It’s a necessity. And if you don’t accept it for yourself, at least do so for me.”
“Why?”
“Because someone cares where you are, Shyla. That person is me. Also, I want you to be able to call me if you need something…anything. Do you understand?”
She held the device in her hand, moved by his generosity. Not just the monetary investment, but the weight of his words, spoken with such determination. “Thank you. I don’t know what else to say.”
“There is nothing else to say. Promise me you’ll keep it with you at all times.”
“I will. Shall we exchange numbers?”
He took it from her. “I’ve already set it up. I put my number in there and downloaded some music for you.”
“You did?” She peered at the screen while he scrolled through the selections.
“Yeah, the stuff you like—Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Doors, and of course, Jimi Hendrix. I got you ear buds so you can listen to it whenever you want. We can always add more.”
It was all the artists he’d introduced her to—a whole world she didn’t know existed. “Will you show me how to access the music and how to call you?”
Nick’s loud chuckle rumbled through the space. “Are you sure you’re Indian? You seem to have some problems with simple technology.”
She laughed, playfully punching his chest. “I suppose I was absent the day they passed out that particular DNA strand to my people.”
Nick patiently demonstrated all the fancy features of her new phone, keeping on arm around her the whole time, making it near impossible for her to retain the information. “Dinner’s ready,” she announced when her breaths became audible.
She found some candles and placed them on the small dining table. Nick lit them and set the table as she brought out the dishes. He poured the wine.
“You can use the fork if you want. I won’t judge you,” she said when they were finally seated.
He picked up the thin bread. “I’ll go traditional.” Her stomach tied in knots as she watched him take a bite.
He chewed slowly, giving away no emotion. When he finally swallowed, he smiled. “My compliments to the chief. It’s delicious, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? A word she’d heard said to other women all the time. It had never phased her. But him saying it to her…now. A shiver traveled down her spine. Who knew a word could be so powerful?
“I’m happy you like it.”
“To our first date,” he said, holding up his wine glass. They clinked glasses, and Shyla tipped the liquid back, relishing the aromatic balance of grape and sugar.
“Wow, sailor, take it slow.”
“It’s very good.”
She slid her glass over so he could refill it.
“I’m happy you like it,” he replied, mimicking her words. “So, have you thought of a title for the book yet?”
She was quiet for a minute. “The Choice Less. What do you think?”
“It sounds interesting, but I’m not sure if it’s enough of an attention-grabber. Plus, I don’t see how it applies to what we’ve written.”
“It will. It’s still early. Let’s not talk about the book tonight. I think we need a break from it.”
“What would you like to talk about?”
“What are we going to do on our second date?”
His restrained smile widened. “Any suggestions?”
“You pick. I picked this.”
“Well, as much I love our intimate setting, I think we should go out. What are some things you like to do in the city?”
She was quiet for a moment, unsure of an appropriate answer. “I haven’t done much. I’ve been to Central Park, and I had tea at the Grand Hotel. I’ve been to Brooklyn a few times. Mostly, I’ve stuck to Greenwich.”
Nick tilted his head. “This is the greatest city in the world, and you’ve hardly seen any of it.”
Shyla’s fears floo
ded with newfound inadequacy. He was used to worldly women…not women who came from another world. Yet, at the same time, she dared not apologize for who she was. Her lack of experience supported her dedication to being a successful student, diligent employee, and all around responsible girl. Nick, always helpful, eased away her doubts with his next statement. “Perfect. There are so many places I want to take you, and I’m honored to be your guide.”
“I couldn’t think of a better person.”
* * * *
Nick walked Shyla out of the apartment. He kept a firm arm around her for two reasons. First, because he loved touching her. Second, and perhaps more important, the girl was wasted. Nick was having a hard time…literally. She was grabby and giggly and the most fucking adorable drunk he’d ever seen.
Although he’d normally never complain about assertiveness, he didn’t feel it was appropriate to take advantage of the situation. He wanted both of them to be active parties in their intimacy. He wondered where all this newfound stamina had come from. Not the stamina to have sex for hours, which had always been a strong suit of his, but the kind of Herculean strength required to hold off fulfilling his gratification. Willpower was a trait he sorely lacked.
The cab pulled up, and he held the door open for her. She stepped in and looked up at him, a pretty pout on her lips.
“Good-night, Nick.”
“Scoot over,” he said.
She slid to the other side of the cab, her eyes widening along with her smile. “You’re coming with me?”
“Don’t you remember how the date’s supposed to end?”
“Something about my doorstep and a kiss?”
“That’s right.”
“I can give you one right now,” she said, her hands threading through his hair.
He placed a finger against her mouth. “I’m traditional in some things. That’s not the way it’s going to happen.”
He craved her kiss so badly, he would have stolen it in any location, but he held off. It didn’t have a damn thing to do with tradition and everything to do with her safety. There was no way she was getting in a cab alone when her faculties weren’t operating at full force.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. He kissed her hair. She craned her face, looking into his eyes, her mouth parted invitingly. He grazed her cheek and played with the soft loose curls, which had escaped her bun. As curious as he was about the length of her hair, he liked how she always kept it up. She had a beautiful neck that required exploration. Luckily, Nick was just the kind of man in need of such adventure. He pressed his lips against the dimple at her cheek and traced his finger over her lips. He closed his eyes, his breath climbing slightly as she parted her mouth and sucked his finger. She stopped suddenly, her body tensing. Nick followed her gaze. The cabbie peered into the rearview mirror, slicing right through their moment.
Nick flexed his jaw in irritation as he moved his body so his face covered the full width of the mirror, blocking the cabbie’s view of Shyla. “A lot of traffic tonight, buddy?”
“No, the street’s empty,” the cabbie replied, straightening up.
“Are you going in reverse?” Nick demanded through gritted teeth.
“No,” the cabbie replied skeptically.
“Then there’s no reason for you to be looking in the rearview. Eyes straight ahead.”
The driver grumbled some expletives, but looked ahead. When he imagined her alone with this creep, he clenched his fist. He turned his attention back to Shyla, who had cupped a hand over her mouth, trying to hide her laughter.
Her dorm was a mere two miles from Nick’s house. He helped her out of the cab. Then he sent the cabbie on his way. He sure as hell didn’t want the man in audience any longer.
“My old stomping grounds,” he said, taking a deep breath, inhaling the scent of fresh pizza, stale beer, and young dreams.
“Did you live here?” she asked, stepping onto the staircase. She was still shorter than him, but she didn’t have to crane her neck as much this way.
“I couldn’t afford to live in the Village.” He jerked his head back. “I lived across the tunnel in good old Hoboken.”
“That’s in New Jersey?”
“Yeah, but we locals just call it Jersey.”
She swayed slightly. Nick placed his hands on her hips. Shyla wrapped her arms over his shoulders as the cool March wind blew around them.
“Sometimes I wonder if you really like me,” she said, the words smashing together with her slur.
Nick considered her statement, taking a moment to let his fingers twist a loose strand of hair. “You’re very drunk right now.”
“That doesn’t make my statement less valid.”
He inhaled her heavenly scent. “I’ll be honest with you, Shyla, because I need to say this aloud, but also I doubt you’ll remember this conversation. I like you very much. In fact, the large quantity of like I have for you frightens me. I don’t want to push you away by moving too fast. You’re very young, and I don’t want to risk the friendship we’ve built.”
“You’re only five years older than me.” For some odd reason, she held up her hands and counted down fingers for him. It took her three tries before he helped her, kissing each of her knuckles as she bent them.
“It’s more than a number. Experience isn’t measured by math.”
“We don’t have to fit perfectly. I don’t have to be right for you. I just want to be here for you.”
“Who said you’re not right for me?” he asked, surprised at how much her statement hurt him. He didn’t ponder on it long, though, because the sky, without any warning, suddenly fell open, dousing them.
“There’s that rain you’re always talking about,” he said, shaking his head.
“Shucks,” she murmured.
Nick chuckled, but his laugh died as soon as her lower lip trembled.
“Do...do you not want me?” she asked.
“Want? I don’t know what’s worse—being near you without holding you or being apart from you.” He ran his hands up her arms in a lame attempt to warm her. “We’ll talk later when you’re sober and…dry. Do you need help getting inside?”
“No, I live right there,” she said, pointing to a first floor window. She shivered slightly. Nick tightened his hold on her.
“Wave to me from the window once you’re inside.” He knew the allure of a drunk girl in a co-ed dorm, and there was no way he was leaving without seeing her safe behind the pane of glass.
“Maybe I’m not savvy enough to figure out what you’re saying. I’m not looking for you to take care of me.”
Ironically, that’s exactly what Nick wanted to do and one of the reasons for his chaotic thoughts. “What are you looking for, Shyla?”
“I want to hang out with you. I want us to keep laughing. I want to go on more dates and make more dinners. I want an experience. I want a memory. Something I can hold onto when I go home. But right now, I want your kiss.”
He pushed back the soaked strands of hair on her forehead. He brushed his lips against hers, and then forced himself to back up before he did anything else. Her eyes remained closed with her mouth pursed while sheets of rain fell upon them and pelted the sidewalk in some angry war cry. Nick’s heart mimicked a similar sound. “You should go inside before you get sick.”
She blinked her eyes, her mouth twisted in a frown before she turned. Dissatisfaction was bad enough, but Shyla’s disappointment he could not tolerate. He grabbed her by the waist and spun her toward him. She squeaked as he crushed his lips against hers. Her mouth felt warm and soft despite the cold sheets of rain surrounding them. Her body melted into his. He lifted her off the landing, holding her tight. Shyla moaned against his mouth, her arms wrapping around him. Nick’s advance was immediate. His tongue found hers. She tasted spicy and sweet and all things delicious. His hands threaded through her hair until it fell loose around them. He sucked on her lower lip, sliding his tongue across the area. Her breasts heaved against his chest.
He ignored the twitch of his cock and the silent plea it made to pick her up and run back to the loft. To make her moan all night. To taste every inch of her delicious flesh. To possess her body with his. When she shivered, he finally set her down. If not for that shiver, he would never have let her go.
“Better?” he asked, thankful for the sound of the pattering rain that drowned out his deep breaths. It didn’t matter, though. The cold made every breath visible as the air swirled between them. It looked as if a cloud of smoke encircled them—or rather connected them—each of her hot, heavy breaths colliding and mingling with his in the chilly night air.
“I don’t know. Do it again,” she said between pants.
He chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Go inside, my horny girl. Remember to wave.” She nodded, but stood there for a moment.
“Shyla—”
Before he could finish, she wrapped her arms around him once more, embracing him. Nick would have found her aggressiveness amusing if there wasn’t a war raging between his two heads. “You’re going to catch pneumonia,” he said as he nipped her ear.
“I’m going to take a hot shower.”
“Good idea.”
“I’ll be thinking of you.”
“I’m going to take a cold shower. I’ll be trying not to think of you and failing miserably. Inside. Now.”
She released him, giggling as she staggered toward the door. He waited under the minuscule covering of the small awning, watching for her.
To his aggravation, she opened the window and stuck her head out. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
She searched the empty street. “Shall I call you a cab?”
“You don’t even know how to use your phone.”
She laughed. “True.”
“I’m sure there’s one further down the street.”
“Take this,” she said, holding out an umbrella to him.
“I don’t need it.”
“Take it. It will make me feel better, and hurry up.”
He took the brightly colored umbrella from her, wincing at the sight of what he was sure would be a pattern of flowers once he opened it.
“Good night, Nick.”
“Good night, sweetheart. Be safe.”
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