Burning Down the Spouse

by Dakota Cassidy

  Nikos carried Frankie out the back door of the diner and about two hundred feet away to a small cottagelike barn house lit with white twinkling Christmas lights around the windows. A fir wreath hung on the door; red ribbons and silver and gold ornaments swayed against it when he popped the door open with one hand while still holding her against him with the other.

  The icy air and reality had begun to sink their sharp talons of anxiety into her gut. When Nikos closed the door behind them, her shock at her surroundings was matched only by her “sex with someone other than Mitch” fear. “This is yours? How did I not know you lived behind the diner?”

  Had she ever given thought to Nikos as anything other than a secret fantasy and a real life playa? Had she ever once considered he ate, slept, showered like everyone else?

  His hand was tender when he trailed the back of it along her cheek, letting her slide down his body to rest her heeled feet on the floor. The dark green cable-knit sweater he wore made his black eyes darker, if that was possible. “Believe it or not, this was the house my parents lived in when they first came to America, long before Riverbend was more than a blip on the map. I renovated it to suit my needs when I moved out of the city. They actually had the diner built in front of it. They’ve long since moved to the house right back there.”

  He pointed out the front window and to the left to the top of a steep hill where an enormous white house with tall white columns spanning the length of it was nestled against the deep purple of the sky.

  Turning away from the window, Frankie scanned the rustic interior of the cottage, where braided carpets were scattered across an old barn wood floor and red and taupe plump-cushioned furniture braced by finished logs surrounded a stone fireplace.

  The warmth of the fire crackling in it took the chill off, heating her back. “It’s incredible,” she breathed, taking in the pictures hanging on the wall in chunky wooden frames. A collection of single and group photos, solely in black and white, of Cosmos, Adara, Voula, and Barnabas, all smiling, were artfully arranged in clusters.

  “Not nearly as incredible as you, Frankie,” Nikos said, tugging her to him once more, the rustle of his black trousers making what she was embarking on a reality.

  Her sigh was of completion, and she had no way to hide that, despite the jitters her nerves were expressing. Nikos holding her, fitting her body to his, was like some kind of revelation. A realization that life had color, texture, and dimension.

  It frightened and excited her in one simultaneous act like nothing else.

  Without letting her go, he walked her backward to an end table also made of finished logs, reaching down to grab hold of a remote. With the press of a button, he clicked on the stereo. Christmas music filtered to her ears in muted surround sound, Bing Crosby’s crooning, mellow and sweet.

  Nikos settled her against him, swaying their molded hips while resting his chin on the top of her head. “You’re afraid.”

  “Afraid might be a little exaggeration.”

  “Okay, you have hesitations.”

  Yeah. Of all the retarded things to have after all her mental buildup. “At this moment, yes. Back at the diner? Not so much.”

  “That’s because I didn’t give you a chance to have anything. So you wanna talk about them?”

  No. She just wanted to leave her head smothered in his hard chest and never talk again. Frankie inhaled, allowing his musky male scent to infiltrate her nostrils. “You’re my boss.” There. She’d said it. It was the one word that always popped up to rudely intrude upon all her midnight musings over Nikos. Things could get sticky if they did this and it didn’t work out—or as unbelievable as the thought was, if it wasn’t all she’d cracked it up to be.

  Oh, Christ and a sidecar. What if it sucked? What if he was just hot to look at but not so hot in bed? What if she thought it sucked and he didn’t? What if he thought it sucked and she didn’t? What if they wonked each other’s eyeballs crossed and it went terribly wrong and she had to look at him over a ten-pound bag of onions indefinitely until she could find another job?

  “Say again?” Nikos prompted.

  “I said, you’re my boss . . .”

  “Correction. Your slave driver.”

  She giggled softly at the laughter in his voice. “Yeah. If this—I mean—if we’re . . . I’ve never done this before. I kind of don’t know the rules for . . . for . . .”

  “Engaging in carnal hijinks with your employer,” he finished for her. “So are you asking me if this is a one-night stand?”

  No. She wasn’t asking that at all. She didn’t know what she was asking, but now that the subject was all out there . . . “I don’t know what I’m asking. I’m . . . I don’t know.”

  “I’m glad you brought it up.”

  She pressed a knuckle to his pec and grinned when it flexed against her cheek. “I didn’t bring it up. You did.”

  “Right. Well, now that it’s been said, let me be clear.”

  Frankie’s eyes scrunched shut, bracing herself for the inevitable “this has to be our little secret” speech. Or maybe it would be the “I’m only in this to get laid” line. She watched MTV. She got it, and she was still willing. In fact, she’d never thought past the point of Nikos’s lips all over her girly parts.

  None of this had come into her fantasies. There was never any talk of happily ever afters or commitments or even anything more than drive-by casual sex. There’d only been . . . well, the rutting. The fornication. Jesus, the shallow, emptiness of that thought made her just as bad as Mitch. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

  Nikos forced her chin upward with a gentle hand. “I’m not about casual sex. I’ve thought about this for the past month, Frankie. In fact, I’m not at all embarrassed to tell you, I’ve thought about it probably every twenty minutes or so since I first laid eyes on you.”

  “Are you sure Simon’s the blind one here?” she teased, hoping to look away from his intense black gaze.

  “Don’t do that anymore, Frankie. Stop beating yourself down. It insults my taste in women. So to be clear, I am not, nor will I ever be, the kind of man who only wants to score and move on to the next game. Hear this and hear it loud and clear. It’s long, so settle in.” Nikos tucked her to him, spreading his thick thighs to encompass hers then pulling her arms around his waist.

  “I want you. You and all your postdivorce trauma. You and your mussed-up hair in a ponytail with the yellow and blue scrunchie. You and your baggy clothes—which I might add, hid a body I wanted before, but now want all up in mine. I want you and the tossed-aside mess you think you are. I want to get to know you beyond the external things everyone else sees. I really want to know what you find so great about the Go-Go’s, because you put Gail’s iPod on every day at your lunch break and listen to ‘We Got the Beat.’ I find myself astounded at your poor taste in music when there’s so much good Slayer out there to be had. I want to know if you like mustard or ketchup on your hot dog. I want to know if you even like hot dogs. I want to know what brand of toothpaste you use, what kind of soap. I want to know if you’re ever going to decide on a hobby because it seems so important to you. And I won’t deny, I really want to know what else you have on underneath that skirt that’s so tight, you brought me to my knees in it.”

  Whoa. Her silence was outweighed only by his while he appeared to wait for her answer. The sharp planes of his face, tight and expectant, made Frankie bite her lip.

  The words, when she found them, were slow, though offered in complete honesty with no hidden agendas attached. “Okay, first. Mustard and sometimes relish. Second, whatever’s on sale at CVS that whitens and moisturizes. Third, I can’t choose between raising ant farms as a second income or making furniture out of Hefty bags and beer cans. Lastly, and I’m going to be really truthful when I tell you, I never thought past the actual . . . well, you know. It never occurred to me there’d be anything to talk about but the—”

  “So you saw me as just a plaything?”

  Well, “
plaything” was kinda harsh. Maybe partner in all things sweaty and grunting was more appropriate. “No . . . but . . . it never occurred to me you’d be down with anything else because you can have your pick of women with far less issues than I have. So I never let my imagination go any further . . .” Oh, sweet mother. She could really use a roll of duct tape and an extra pair of hands to wrap around her mouth.

  Nikos didn’t stop swaying, his hands never stopped swirling in enticing circles over her back muscles. “Whatever you thought, if it wasn’t along the lines of what I was thinking, like exclusivity and getting to know one another, then all you have to do is say it.”

  And so then what? It was over. No gettin’ jiggy wid’ it? Jesus. How had she managed, after the train wreck that was Mitch, to find herself a man, the first one out of the gate after her divorce, who actually had boundaries and morals when all she thought she’d been looking for was a little some-some?

  What did this say about her as a human being? What did it say that a man as divine as this one wanted to pursue a potential relationship with someone as mediocre as her, and she’d never once considered he was capable of it?

  Wait, strike that. She’d never even given him enough credit to consider he’d know how to do anything other than run a diner and boink. She’d never allowed the love he clearly shared with his family, the hard work he put into running his father’s business, to connect with the sex god she’d turned him into in her mind.

  She’d never considered it because her way of thinking was what she knew. Mitch’s way. Superficial, shallow Mitch, whom she’d let lead her to believe she could never be enough. Because he had chosen the young, nubile, undoubtedly prettier-than-Frankie-would-ever-be Bamby, she figured, by default, all men made their choices in the same way her ex-husband did.

  Oh, low didn’t get any lower than what she was feeling right now.

  “Frankie? Did I freak you out? It’s not my intention, but I’m determined to begin as honestly as I can. Or not begin at all. All or nothing. That’s up to you.”

  From the look on Nikos’s face, she definitely saw some sort of resolution she didn’t understand, but it was there.

  Huh. Right here, right now, she had the most delicious man she’d ever laid eyes on in the palm of her hand, and she didn’t know what to do with him unless it involved ravishing his luscious body, and even then, she was riding the fence about her ability to please all this hunk. “I think . . .”

  What did she think? “I think I wasn’t at all prepared for you to say something as sweet and profound as you just did, and I’m a little shocked, but if you give me a good, solid twenty minutes, and maybe some shots of tequila, I might be able to wrap my brain around it,” she joked.

  “You thought I’d just want to screw, didn’t you? What is it about women and that line of thinking with me?” He gave her a mocking, tragically crushed look, but his question was genuine.

  Oh. Priceless. He was just golden. He was gorgeous and he didn’t have a clue. “Oh, I dunno, Nikos. I’m going to take a stab here and guess it might have to do with the fact that finding women who’ll drape themselves at your feet while the masses line up to hand feed you Twinkies would be the least of your problems. Maybe that has a little something to do with it. In the interest of honesty, and along with the humiliation of showing my cards, you’re in a different league than the average man.”

  “Translation?”

  Her smile was watery. “Oh, now you’re just fishing, Antonakas.”

  “I’m wounded.”

  Frankie rolled her eyes. “Fine. If you need to hear it out loud. You’re pretty hot. No, you’re unbelievably hot, and for someone like me to hear you talk about anything other than tossing my ovaries around, casually, and without a single shred of misgiving, is like having Scott Baio show up at your door and propose to you.”

  His chuckle was low, husky, and sweet to her ears. “I am not a casual tosser. When I toss, I do the whole enchilada.”

  “So I’ve come to discover,” she whispered with a shaky timbre to her voice.

  “Is that more than you can handle at this point?”

  “If I say yes, does that mean there’ll be no tossing?”

  His smile was tender but firm. “I’m afraid it does. But I’d totally understand if that’s how you feel. I’m not suggesting we buy wedding rings and book a flight to Vegas, but I am suggesting you consider having all of me.”

  Or none of him. Disappointment for that notion seeped into her brain. Yet, what he offered was such a big leap after having been dumped so callously by Mitch. Her heart clamored with fear, but it was her gut that reacted with a toe in the shallow end of the pool. “I come with more baggage than an overbooked flight to Boise.”

  “Yeah, but I’d be so disappointed if you flew luggage-free. You’d never value arriving on time because you would have never experienced the hell that’s losing your bags in Tijuana when your destination’s Hoboken.”

  Frankie didn’t want to lose again. Not ever again. And she was never going to allow a man to own so much of her that she retreated back to the dark confines of her cave to mourn him. But she was afraid to fall for more sweet talk. She’d done it once. Twice was unacceptable—especially at her age, when she was supposed to be more mature and semi-capable of differentiating between sincerity and bullshit.

  She’d only just begun to gather not only her wits but also a paycheck free and clear of Mitch’s influence. She was so afraid to screw that up by getting involved with someone and ending up hurt. “Losing your bags sucks.”

  “But it can make you appreciate having to buy those Louis Vuittons to replace your old Walmart brand.”

  “You do not know who Louis V. is.”

  “Not only do I know of him, I did some account management for someone on his staff. That’s not the point. The point is, if you’re not ready for the physical part of this relationship, or the beginnings of something more substantial than a sheet wrinkler, then we’ll wait until you are. And if you never are, I’d appreciate your honesty. And you don’t have to make any rash decisions tonight. We can go as slow as you’d like.”

  Tell that to her hormones, who, as obnoxious, uncontrolled crowds go, were voicing their desires in the way of raw, exposed nerves and a desperate need for the show to go on. There was nothing in this choice Nikos posed that held anything unappealing. It was only her fear that she’d end up humiliated by picking the same man in a different body that kept her from jumping at the chance to get to know Nikos better.

  However, there was beauty in the thought that nothing could ever be worse than flipping your lid on national television. “I think I’m in.”

  Tilting her head back, he gazed down at her. “I think I like the sound of that. You do realize what that means, don’t you?” Nikos arched her back as he hauled her hard against him.

  It meant her nether regions better sing their chorus of hallelujahs in their indoor voices so she wouldn’t embarrass herself. Relief, excitement, along with a hot dose of anxiety over unfamiliar territory made her voice hoarse. “What does that mean?” Frankie asked with a coy smile, suddenly unsure.

  “First, it means you can’t go on a date with Marco. Then it means we get to see each other naked,” he said against her mouth, whispering over her lips with a lick of his silken tongue.

  Frankie had to fight another swell of panic mingling with the heat Nikos was stirring deep in her belly. Naked. Sex meant she had to be naked. Oh. Dear. Lord. “That means I have to take my clothes off?”

  “Nope,” he muttered against her neck, making her tremble. “It means I get to take them off for you.”

  Wait, where in her fantasy had she been naked? She’d always had something flowy and shimmery on, and her hair was fabulous and lush. But no naked. Her heart began a race against her lungs to screech out of her chest in a game of who was more panicked.

  But then, her head fell back on her shoulders as Nikos trailed a hot path along her sensitive flesh, nipping and kissing
his way back to her mouth, making her forget her fear. When her head lifted, she remembered. Panic about the naked reared its ugly head thanks to the Christmas tree and its soft lights twinkling in the corner of the room. “It’s bright in here, don’t you think?”

  He chuckled, deep and vibrating against her neck. “It’s the getting naked thing, right?”

  Oh, Death. Where are you when I need you? “No . . . yes. Well, I guess I just didn’t think . . . my entire fantasy out.”

  Nikos’s head bobbed upward, leaving the flesh of her neck mournful. “Fantasy?” His question was deep and hoarse.

  Okay, Death, if you’re off for the night, could I get a little help from Mr. Destruction? Maybe an earthquake that shifts the floor and swallows me whole? “I—it’s—I don’t know what you’re talking about, Antonakas. I said nothing about fantasies.” She gave him an indignant glance before looking over his shoulder at the brightly colored wall.

  Taking her by the hand, Nikos smiled over his shoulder. “I know what I heard, Bennett, but I’ll let you slide until a later date. We have a room with no windows or lights to find.”

  They ended up in his bedroom. “You do, too, have windows in here,” she accused.

  “Hang on to your skirt there.” Tugging her fully into the room, her feet sinking into the plush carpet with each step, he stopped at the bedside table and picked up a remote. With a click, shades slid from the tops of the windows to the sill, blanketing the room in total darkness.

  In fact, it was so dark Frankie could no longer see two feet in front of her. As Nikos pulled her near, she stumbled, falling into his hard chest with a grunt.

  Her body tensed, but Nikos molded her to him, soothing her with the strength of his arms, letting the warmth of his length seep into hers. Frankie relaxed in increments, sighing while shivers of anxious anticipation slithered along her spine. Her arms wound around Nikos’s neck like they were meant to rest there.