“That’s what you meant, though,” Jasmine insisted, throwing her bare legs over the arm of the corner sofa. “I could see it in your eyebrows!”
Nina choked down a laugh and snuck a sideways look at James. He was sitting next to her at the other end of the sofa, watching Jas and Rahul with a smile on his face. James was adorable when he smiled.
And wonderfully intimidating when he’s protecting you.
But Nina wasn’t supposed to think about the other night. Not the fear of that confrontation—or the dizzying, adrenaline-fuelled desire she’d grappled with afterwards.
She just couldn’t figure James out. And maybe that problem could be resolved with something as basic as, you know, talking… but for once in her life Nina couldn’t make her runaway mouth work. She didn’t dare to ask the difficult questions. She didn’t dare to ask James any questions, because if his response was something along the lines of “I can’t stop grabbing your arse because damn, girl, you eat your greens, but beyond that I feel nothing more than lust and friendship,” she would have to do something dramatic, like… cry.
So Nina had decided to ignore the entire issue. Even if that choice smacked of a cowardice she was unfamiliar with.
She curled her hands into lose fists and sat on them, just in case they took on a life of their own and decided to grab one of James’s delicious pecs. He was looking dangerously yummy in today’s mustard turtleneck and navy-blue braces. Plus, being around Jasmine and Rahul, with their mixture of easy affection and crackling intensity, was doing something terrible to Nina’s resolve.
“Jas and Rahul were friends for seven years,” she piped up suddenly, “before they got together. Did you know that?” Do you care? Does it make you think of us?
James stared at her for one heated, unreadable moment before turning a look of bland interest on the couple in question. “Bet that’s quite a story,” he said.
A story we could use as a blueprint, something reckless in Nina whispered. Maybe she should relocate her big girl knickers and say it out loud sometime.
Did she dare?
Maybe the more important question was: Could she bear not to?
“It is a story,” Jasmine grinned. “A filthy one.”
Jas was an oversharing kind of woman, though it never felt like oversharing because she was so charming. She had a golden ease about her that Nina had never mastered, one that came from being effortlessly adored. But that ease wasn’t how their friendship had developed; quite the opposite. When they first met, through the non-profit where Jas gave legal aid to the vulnerable, Nina had been drawn to what lay beneath the other woman’s sparkle.
Jasmine, despite all appearances to the contrary, hadn’t lived a life without struggle.
But she was happy as a pig in shit these days, and had been ever since shacking up with her bossy best friend.
Speaking of the devil, Rahul wandered over with another of those disapproving, but strangely attractive, frowns. “Jas,” he warned, before bending down to kiss her bare shoulder. “You’re going to traumatise our guests. Sorry,” he added to James, “she finds boundaries dull. It means she likes you.”
James, to his credit, simply blinked, then burst out laughing.
Nina had a decent number of friends, but her tendency to keep them at arm’s length meant they rarely met each other. She’d brought James along tonight because he refused to let her go anywhere alone—and because, truthfully, she hadn’t wanted to be without him. But watching him fit in so easily with Jas and Rahul was causing all sorts of gooey, melty feelings in her belly, like her stomach had turned into chocolate fudge cake.
Dinner was served, and the conversation continued to meander in lazy, comfortable waves. Nina let it wash over her, her mind occupied by other things. She knew she should be thinking about her current situation—about the legal questions she had, and the connections Jas had made over the years that they might be able to utilise. About the plan Nina had spent the last two days hatching, partly so she wouldn’t give in to her darkest urges and go back to that living room.
Instead, all she could think about was what she’d said to James: that Jasmine and Rahul had been friends for seven years before they’d gotten together.
And look at them. They were so obviously happy, so sickeningly meant for each other. It must have been nerve-wracking, risking a friendship as old and close as theirs. Must have been terrifying, wondering if a person you cared for so deeply on so many levels might not feel exactly the same. But they’d done it anyway. And their bravery had reaped rewards.
Nina’s gaze drifted across the table without permission, landing on James as he sipped a glass of water and twirled pasta onto his fork. She watched his strong hands move, watched his throat bob as he swallowed. Then her questing gaze reached his eyes, so dark and familiar and dear. She loved those eyes. She loved him.
Enough to risk it all.
And that settled things, didn’t it? As soon as this mess was over, as soon as she could breathe absolutely freely again… Nina was going to claim what she wanted.
She was going to claim James.
“Nina?” She saw his mouth moving before she fully processed that he’d spoken. Jolting back down to earth, she realised the whole table was staring at her, their plates empty and their expressions concerned.
Except for Jasmine, who was flashing what appeared to be a knowing smirk. The cow.
“Nina?” James repeated, his voice louder, his brow furrowed.
“I’m fine,” she said brightly. “Sorry. Fine. Just…” she turned to Jasmine. “Shall we talk now?”
“About your situation? Yes. I have some thoughts on the doxing and tips on how we typically handle threats or presumed stalking,” Jas said, rising from her seat. “Plus some ideas on executing the plan you texted me this morning. Shall we head to my office?”
Nina cleared her throat and nodded, bustling after a suddenly business-like Jas. But when she reached the doorway, she turned back to glance at James.
And found him watching her with the kind of intensity he usually saved for their secret moments in the dark.
When she caught him, he faltered for the barest second, but he didn’t look away. Instead, he lifted his chin and held her gaze steadily, almost as if he wanted to see her reaction.
Maybe she wasn’t the only one feeling a little inspired by Jas and Rahul.
James spent the next two days thinking hard about the bright, fragile note in Nina’s voice when she’d said, “Jas and Rahul were friends for seven years.” And the next two nights staring at the living room door, praying she’d come, praying she wouldn’t.
What did it mean that she stayed away?
He was starting to get sick of never-ending questions and assumptions. So sick he might just fucking ask her.
They were adults. Nina was the most sensible woman he knew, heroine complex aside. If he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life blue in the balls, or ashamed of the things he did with her in silence and in darkness, or fucking pining until he wasted away into a mix of air and hope, he should just fucking ask her. Fear be damned. James was in the middle of repeating that mantra to himself when she got the phone call.
He was with Nina when the phone rang; or rather, she was with him, sitting in the old Volvo he was working on, tapping away at her laptop. He was supposed to be concentrating, but he’d spent most of his morning watching her. Thinking about her. Wondering if it was possible to believe so wholly in your own negative assumptions that you could miss something perfect sitting right in front of you.
When the phone’s tinny ringtone sounded, Nina jumped as if she’d just been hit by lightning. He watched her squint at the screen—and then, unexpectedly, her anti-social glare melted into excitement.
Their eyes met through the windscreen, and he arched an eyebrow. Mouthed, “Police?”
She shook her head, set her laptop aside, and took the call. He could hear her half of the conversation loud and clear, but that wasn’t en
ough to tell him what was going on. “Yes, this is she. That’s correct. Oh, of course. Yes. Thank you.” There was a slight pause, and then she began again. “Hello! Antonina Chapman. Charmed.”
Charmed? Her phone voice was in full effect.
“Thank you so much for picking up my little story. No, absolutely. Oh, well, you’ve got to keep your chin up, haven’t you, in situations like these? Although…” She hesitated, then spoke again, her voice wavering. “Obviously, it’s been difficult at times. I—um—sorry, sorry.” She pressed her lips together and cleared her throat.
James dropped his torque wrench, the vulnerability in her voice calling him like a dog whistle. Nina’s upset. Fix it. But then she looked up, caught his eye, raised a hand palm-first in the universal sign for Stop.
And winked.
He hesitated, baffled.
She kept speaking in that wispy, stuttering voice. “Thank you. Yes, of course. It all started with my analysis of the recent Brexit scandal, when the Leave campaign was proven to have made false claims and promises. I truly believe in disseminating information, making it accessible to all—that’s why I so admire you and what you do. I feel that we have the same aims, sharing genuine facts with normal people. Yes. Yes, exactly. So, I shared the article, but…” She sobbed gently. The sound stabbed at James’s heart, even though he was beginning to suspect that this whole thing was an act. “I suppose it gained the wrong sort of attention. You know what Brexit does to people. And now…”
Nina launched into a stilted explanation of the last few weeks, her words dripping with more emotion than she typically displayed in a month. And she was, apparently, talking to a stranger. Knowing her the way he did, James was certain that she must be painfully uncomfortable. Mortified. Which also meant that whatever she was up to, she had a damned good reason for it.
When she finally put the phone down, after a series of inane and repetitive farewells, he stalked over to her side of the car and opened the door. “What the hell was that?”
“That was Jasmine getting me a slot on Good Morning Ladies with Heidi Carpenter.”
At the name of the famous breakfast chat show host, his jaw dropped. “What?”
“What?”
He scowled at her faux-innocent expression. “Heidi Carpenter? The Heidi Carpenter?”
“Yep.” Nina lifted her hips and slid her phone into her back pocket. For once, even the way her thighs flexed wasn’t enough to distract him. Much.
“You’re going to be a guest on Good Morning Ladies?”
“Yes.” She gave him a winning smile. It was the fakest expression he’d ever seen on her face, but if you didn’t know her, it would look pretty.
Very pretty.
“I’m going to disclose my harrowing ordeal and win middle Britain’s hearts and minds,” she said cheerfully.
After a pause in which he grappled with his pure astonishment, James choked out, “When?”
“Three days.”
“How?”
She smirked as if she’d been waiting for him to ask. “Persuasion. It’s all righteous, faux-woke bullshit, but that’s okay. They exploit me and my story, I get public support and short-term hyper-visibility, AKA relative safety, in return. Who needs police when you’ve got paps?”
“So the… the crying was part of the persuasion?”
“The almost-crying,” she corrected. “But not quite, because I’m so very brave and composed.” At his baffled expression, she sighed and broke things down. “I know what these people value in a woman. Fragility is currency, but I’m not pale enough to be permitted too much delicacy.”
He grimaced. “How the hell do you know this stuff?”
“Life. Also, you think I twiddled my thumbs throughout my journalism degree or something?” God, she looked so smug. He loved it.
“Lots of people have journalism degrees, Cupcake. I don’t see them popping up on morning television whenever they like.”
She rolled her eyes. “Maybe because those people don’t also have years of social media expertise, a solid platform, and a story that’ll make the average Joe feel better about himself for doing the bare minimum in the fight for equality. And Jasmine, of course. Most people don’t have Jasmine. She knows a horrific amount of people and they all love her terribly.”
James nodded, feeling slightly dazed. Why did he enjoy it so much when Nina went into professional, capable mode? Well, he knew why—because capable women turned him on, and Nina was the queen of capable. But understanding his weaknesses didn’t make them any less inappropriate. He was supposed to be supporting her here, like a friend, not drooling over her.
Maybe she wouldn’t mind both.
Maybe not. But this probably wasn’t the time to find out. Even if something in his chest tugged at its chains and demanded to know when would be the time.
Later.
“You think it’ll help?” James asked.
“I know it will. Visibility can be dangerous, but the right kind of visibility is like a shield.”
“Alright then,” he murmured, nodding slowly as he absorbed everything. “In that case… I guess we should celebrate tonight.”
Her tongue snaked out to wet her lower lip, a smooth glide over lush skin. For a moment, he wondered if she was reading something into his suggestion—something more interesting than a takeaway.
She smiled and said, “Dinner’s on you.”
Chapter Nine
Funny how quickly things could turn on their head. For the first time in a long time, Nina felt exactly like herself—powerful, invincible, ready for anything. Or maybe a new and improved version of herself, since she now realised it was okay to reclaim those feelings with a little help.
James was adding to her current high by acting as if she was the smartest, most successful person in the world. He beamed at her all day until they locked up the garage and went home. He ordered Thai food because gang jay was her favourite, even though she knew he’d prefer curry goat. He even got two lots of chips so she didn’t have to share—and then, to top it all off, he pulled up Buffy on Netflix.
“Seriously?” she asked, her grin unstoppable. “Even though you think Angel’s a creep?”
“Even though I think Angel’s a creep,” he agreed. “And even though someone needs to call Social Services on Buffy’s mother. This is your night, Cupcake.”
And she was so thoroughly content, she couldn’t even scowl at him for calling her that.
Although, as the evening rolled on and night fell outside their window, Nina did notice a little chip in her newfound contentment—the same one that had been there before.
Everything was perfect, except for the fact that James wasn’t hers.
Yet, whispered that little streak of invincibility inside her.
The growing darkness was thrusting her back in time, back into her memories of seeing James, touching James, right here on this sofa. She shifted on the cushions, giddy nerves and remembered arousal making her restless. Crossed her legs, uncrossed them, flicked a look at him, then stared rigidly back at the screen. She knew what she was going to do. Couldn’t stop herself, not even a little bit. Now was the time. Double or nothing.
The only problem was, she couldn’t quite figure out a smooth way to do it. Romantic relationships were not Nina’s area of expertise. How exactly did one start the Hey, I’ve been thinking, and you might be it for me conversation? She couldn’t think, not while her nerves continued to insist in Eeyore-like tones that she was about to be rejected once and for all.
Because at the end of the day, this was real life. And in real life, happy endings weren’t guaranteed. Friendship plus sexual chemistry plus the indescribable energy that whirled between them did not necessarily equal romance. People, she reminded herself, could be platonic soulmates.
But platonic soulmates didn’t accidentally make each other come. Did they? Maybe they did. She didn’t know much about the whole thing. She’d Google it.
Or you could ask him, Chapm
an.
Well, yes. There was that.
Nina cleared her throat. But when she spoke, her voice still sounded hoarse, cracked, on edge. “James?”
He gave her a questioning look that… changed, after a moment. As if he’d seen something in her face. That something made him wordlessly pause the TV, made him turn toward her on the sofa, their knees brushing. Which was inconvenient, since even the slightest physical contact with him made her stomach flutter and her train of thought list slightly to the left.
“Nina?” he asked softly, his gaze burning. His hand found hers on the sofa cushion, and slowly, cautiously, he tangled their fingers together. The action, and the feel of his warm, calloused palm, loosened the last of the nerves in her chest. James made it easy to be brave. He made her drunk on the urge to match him, to give him what he deserved. Because this man’s natural restraint didn’t stop him from reaching out to her again and again when she truly needed it.
And now she knew she was strong enough to offer him that same vulnerability.
“Do you know,” she asked slowly, “what you mean to me?”
Something flared in his gaze. He shifted forward almost infinitesimally, then back again, as if barely containing himself. His throat moved as he swallowed, hard.
“I think,” he rasped after a moment, “that you could tell me.”
“I adore you,” she croaked, the words foreign and stiff, squeezed awkwardly from her throat as if she’d forced squares through circular holes.
He smiled, slow and—though he probably didn’t realise it—sexy as hell. “Do you, now?”
“Oh, fuck off.” She rolled her eyes and turned away.
“No, no, keep going.”
“I have nothing else to say,” she sniffed—but that wasn’t true. She had so much to say that she was overflowing with it, but the heat and the happiness in his eyes were making her think that James might actually want what she was about to offer. And that possibility, which had seemed so impossible for all this time, was somehow making her even more nervous than she had been before.
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