by Joy Nash
She blinked up at him, confused. “What?”
“Eight,” he counted. He thrust in, then out. “Nine. Get ready.” He released her hands, bracing his arms on either side of her head.
Oh. That book.
He plunged deep and hard on ten, lifting her hips right off the bed. A sweet burst of bliss exploded in her body. She clutched Nick’s shoulders as he left her again. But when she arched to welcome a second satisfying plunge, all she got was more teasing.
“One,” he said.
She glared up at him. “When did you ever find the time to read the chapter on tantra?”
He dropped to his elbows and pressed his forehead against hers. “Two. While you were bonding with the sign guy.” His hips flexed. “Three. Ninety Strokes to Ecstasy. This rhythm is supposed to make me last all night.”
Her hips twisted beneath him. “Nick. I can’t take this all night. Don’t do this to me.”
He only chuckled.
“Faster,” she said, panting. “It’s supposed to get faster with each cycle.”
“Four. Did I ever tell you how impatient you are? Impatient and demanding?”
He picked up the pace, but not by much.
“You like it,” she whispered, echoing his own words.
He grinned. “Six. You’re right. I do like it. I like you, Tori. A lot.”
He kissed her nose, her cheek, her chin. She arched beneath him, trying to get the most out of each thrust. It was like being adrift on the ocean, rising and falling on each small swell, waiting for the big one to hit. Nick was her raft, her anchor, the only solid refuge in a sea of pleasure.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He was trembling, his arms rigid against the mattress.
“Eight,” he said.
She nipped his lower lip and arched her hips. He groaned and thrust deeply, twice this time, harder than before, bringing the pattern full circle. It drove her close the edge, but not quite over.
He started the next cycle.
She moaned her frustration. “I’ll go crazy if this lasts much longer.”
“I want you crazy,” he murmured against her mouth. His shallow thrusts were quick and steady now. Only seven this time, followed by three gloriously deep thrusts. “I want to watch you go insane. Come for me, Tori.”
“Soon,” she gasped, clinging to him as the next cycle began. Six shallow, four deep. Faster than before. The sweet, wet sound of their bodies blended with the rhythm of Nick’s thrusts. Sensations scattered—she felt his body, slick with sweat. Heard his gasps. She shivered as the hair on his chest abraded her skin.
The rhythm quickened and she forgot to count. Almost all the thrusts were deep now, only two, then one, gentle moves separating the stronger ones. The peak rushed at her.
“I’m…Oh, Nick.”
She pulled him into her, hard, at the same moment he dove. She rose on a tsunami swell of pleasure. A million sparkling fragments shattered, tossing her high. Her anchor was Nick, his body, his scent, his feel. Him. His arms wrapped tight, clenching as his own orgasm hit.
“Tori…” Her name rasped in his throat. His mouth sought hers and he kissed her, deeply, as a shudder rippled through him.
And as the bliss receded, her heart’s last defenses washed away like a castle in the sand.
They ate midnight Chinese takeout in her kitchen.
“Have you ever thought about remarrying?” she asked as she spooned Szechuan tofu over her brown rice.
As soon as the words were out, she wanted to bite off her tongue. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew marriage wasn’t something a guy wanted to talk about right after having sex with a woman for the first time. But sex with Nick had left her feeling so lazy and comfortable, it had just slipped out.
Nick went very still. Tori wanted to crawl under the table and die.
“No,” he said quietly. “Not really.”
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “Forget I even mentioned it. It was a rude question.”
He studied her. “You have to understand, Tori. My first marriage was hell.”
“Weren’t there any…good parts at all?”
“The good parts happened before the wedding.” A cynical note had crept into his voice. “Afterward…well, let’s just say I think there’s something about marriage that makes people a little insane. It’s like all of a sudden, you can’t see the other person. All you see is what you need from them. All they see is what they need from you. And nine times out of ten, no one gets what they need.”
His words hit home, brutally. Wasn’t she already doing that? Thinking of Nick in terms of her needs, rather than wondering about his?
He stood and started clearing the table, stowing the leftovers in the refrigerator. “I gotta be honest with you. I like you a lot. But if you’re looking for marriage, I can’t promise I’ll be your best bet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for that level of commitment again.”
She backtracked wildly, in full damage-control mode. “I wasn’t trying to put you on the spot. I’m not looking for marriage. I just ended one long-term relationship. I’m not going to be ready for another one for a long time.”
He turned, one hand still on the open refrigerator door, studying her. “So you really don’t mind keeping things light? Taking things slow? ”
“I was going to suggest the same thing,” she lied.
“That’s great.” Nick’s relief was painfully evident. He shut the fridge. “So we’ll keep things cool. Just concentrate on having fun. Avoid all the messy emotional stuff.”
Way too late for that, she thought.
Chapter Seventeen
Beware. The middle of a family fight is a dangerous place for an outsider to be.
“Bad move,” said Chelsea, shaking her head. “I thought you were through putting a man’s needs first.”
“I was. I mean, I am,” Tori said, pushing Lily a little harder on the playground baby swing. She’d stopped at Chelsea’s to rehash her weekend with Nick. And to admit she was rethinking the whole sperm donor thing.
“Tori, be honest. This definitely qualifies as putting Nick’s needs before yours. Didn’t you learn anything from Colin?”
“Nick isn’t Colin. In fact, he’s nothing like Colin.”
“That’s right. Colin was your lover for five years. Nick is a guy you just met. One weekend of great sex does not make a relationship.”
“It’s a start.” Tori pushed the baby swing again. It was red plastic, shaped like an airplane, making Lily look like an infant Amelia Earhart. “He makes me laugh. We’re good together.” When she ignored their basic differences. She pushed that thought away. “We can build on that. He wants to take things further.”
Chelsea cleared her throat. “While he’s playing it cool and keeping it light?”
“He’s divorced,” she protested. “Gun-shy. You can’t expect him to jump right into this.”
Chelsea’s brow furrowed. “Does he have kids?”
“Yes. A daughter. She was the one who called him on his cell phone that night. She was upset, and he dropped everything to go to her.”
“Well, that’s a good sign, I suppose. He’s a responsible father. How old is the girl?”
“I don’t know. School age, I think. Nick’s only thirty-five himself.”
“You haven’t met her? What about the rest of his family? Parents? Brothers and sisters?”
“His father’s dead, but I don’t know about anybody else. He doesn’t talk about his family much.”
“You didn’t ask him? About his daughter? About his family?”
Tori studied the sandy dirt beneath the swing and sighed.
“I guess I haven’t. Maybe I’ve been…afraid to. I don’t tend to ask people about their families. It’s not like I have anything to tell in return.”
Chelsea touched her arm. “Oh, Tori, honey, I’m sorry.” She was silent for a moment, watching Lily swing up and back. Then, “Where does he live?”
Tori blinked when she realized
she didn’t know that, either. “His office is in Atlantic City,” she offered. When Chelsea frowned, she added, “What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”
“I’m just concerned about you. Did he ask you out for next weekend, at least?”
Tori had an answer for that, thank God. “Actually, he asked me out for tomorrow night. I’m getting my last city inspection in the morning. He said we’d celebrate my grand opening.”
Chelsea made a noncommittal sound.
Tori sighed. “You don’t like Nick, do you?”
“No, that’s not it. How should I know if I like him? I only met him once. He seemed nice enough. Polite. I didn’t get any bad vibes from him about me and Mags.”
Lily’s airplane swung toward Tori. She pushed it, sending Lily swooping into the air, giggling with baby laughter.
“I know I’m making some compromises,” Tori admitted. “And I know Nick and I are very different. But when I’m with him, I feel…I don’t know how to describe it.” She shrugged. “Safe, I guess.”
Chelsea studied her. “Safe enough to forget about having a baby? Maybe for good?”
Her gut clenched.
“You could think about having the surgery, I suppose. That would buy you more time to see if things develop with Nick. Have you considered that?”
The cramp in her belly cranked tighter, as if someone were tightening a tourniquet around her midsection. Surgery. Her head swam. Her vision filled with red blotches.
“I…don’t know,” she said, trying to breathe through the panic. “I’d…have to think about it.”
She was nowhere near ready for the building inspector.
It was midmorning, and she’d been up since five, stocking shelves. She was kneeling on the floor, unwinding a stone goddess from bubble wrap, when the Downbeach Wave landed on the carpet beside her.
“I picked it up with my coffee,” Nick said. “I didn’t know you took out an ad.”
“Oh!” She nearly lost hold of the statue. “What page is it on?”
Nick dropped into a crouch at her side, forearms resting on his thighs. “Seven.”
She’d spent the night thinking of Chelsea’s warnings, but now, confronted by Nick’s spicy aftershave, every cautious thought she’d had evaporated. She felt dizzy. A flash of memory—hot sex and easy laughter—had her gripping the newspaper so hard it crumpled.
She sneaked a look at Nick. He was wearing a white button-down shirt and neatly pressed beige chinos. He looked crisp and clean, every inch the professional. But she’d bet it wouldn’t take much to pull him down and give him a few wrinkles.
“Whoa,” Nick said, steadying her with a hand on her elbow. “I can see what you’re thinking. No time for that now.”
Her cheeks went blotchy.
He brushed her ear with his lips. “Later,” he whispered. “Later we’ll do whatever you want.”
“Hmmm.”
Chuckling, he liberated the Wave from her fingers and flipped the pages. Not too many hours before, Nick had been naked in her bed. Now long sleeves, neatly buttoned at the cuffs, covered his tanned forearms. But she knew her teasing, coaxing lover was right there, below the surface.
The other night, he’d taken her to an obscenely expensive restaurant—the kind with no prices on the menu. She’d worn a flowing gold Celtic-style dress with a lace-up bodice. He’d looked like sin on Earth in gray dress slacks, a black collarless shirt, and a leather jacket. She’d felt like a princess. But not the virginal kind.
“I wish I knew exactly what’s going on in that mysterious brain of yours,” Nick said, his lips just a breath away from her ear. “It looks like something I could get into.”
“Maybe,” she teased, hiding a smile.
He cupped the back of her head with one hand and kissed her hard. “That’s to tide me over until tonight.” Releasing her, he shook out the newspaper. “Right now, look at your ad.”
She took the paper and examined Leigh’s half-page spread. “This is great.”
“Yeah, it is. Did you do the artwork?”
“No. A local girl stopped by and suggested it. Do you think it’ll bring in customers?”
“Can’t hurt,” he said, rising. “Sorry I didn’t think of it myself.” He offered her his hand.
She took it, letting him pull her to her feet. His fingers and palm were rough with calluses. All she could think of was how his hands felt on her breasts.
Amusement registered in Nick’s dark eyes. “You’re getting that look again. Keep it up and it’ll go to my head.”
“I hope so.”
He laughed. “Come on. I couldn’t have been that good.”
“Which time?”
He swooped in for another kiss. “Doesn’t matter. The next time is always better. I’d like to drag you back to that god-awful futon and give you a preview, but”—he checked his watch—“Weinstein’ll be here in five minutes.”
“So soon?” She picked up the goddess she’d been unwrapping and set her on the shelf. She was a fertility goddess, enormously pregnant. Tori’s thumb stroked the statue’s round belly, and the thrill of Nick’s presence dimmed a bit. “I don’t have all my merchandise set out yet.”
“No worries. The man’s coming to look at fire protection, not statues of naked fat ladies.”
She sent him reproving look. “She not fat; she’s pregnant. She’s a goddess.”
He grinned. “I never said she wasn’t.”
She shook her head, but really, it was hard to stay mad at Nick, even when he insulted her merchandise. She looked around the shop. She couldn’t have gotten this far without him. Then again, there were a lot of full boxes that might’ve been emptied this morning if they hadn’t been spending so much time in bed.
“Something smells good in here,” he commented. His gaze fell on the orange candle she’d left on the counter after the flame had gone out. The scent of the cinnamon oil she’d rubbed on it was still strong.
He snorted, clearly amused. “Don’t tell me that’s more magic.”
She gave him a repressive look. “Orange is the color of success in business. I cast the spell this morning.”
“Well, hope it helps.” He glanced at the door and checked his watch again. “Nine thirty.”
“Oh, my God. The inspector will be here any second, and there’s still so much I have to do! It’s a good thing I have help coming later.”
“You do? Who?”
“The girl who did my ad. She asked for a summer job.”
“Can you afford it? Maybe you should wait a couple weeks and see how you do.”
“It should be okay. I’m only paying her minimum wage.”
Nick wrestled a couple of empty boxes into the spare bedroom while Tori gazed down at the fertility goddess. She was so round. So full of life. Serene and secure in her womanhood. She smoothed a hand over her own flat stomach. The fertile days of her cycle were less than two weeks away, and after that last conversation with Chelsea, she was wondering if giving up on the insemination was the right thing to do.
For a brief moment, she imagined carrying Nick’s child. Then Nick’s assessment of marriage entered her thoughts and she pushed the notion of his child away.
A car pulled up out front. “That’s the building inspector,” Nick said, returning from the back. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
Tori greeted Mr. Weinstein and shook his hand. Nick inquired after the inspector’s wife and made small talk about deep-sea fishing, which, apparently, was the building inspector’s passionate hobby.
Tori trailed after the men, trying not to wring her hands as the inspector prodded smoke detectors, peered at exit lights, and scrutinized the tag on the fire extinguisher. Finally, Nick escorted him down the back hall, heading for the attic access in Tori’s bedroom. Tori stayed out front and tried to decide which box to unpack next.
“Hey,” a girl’s voice said.
Tori looked up to find Leigh coming through the door. “You’re early,” she said with a
smile.
“I thought you might need extra help today.”
“Desperately,” Tori agreed.
Leigh was a teenaged summer breeze, her straight blonde hair loose, her cropped red baby-doll top revealing a flash of silver in her navel. She dropped the manila folder she was carrying on the sales counter.
“Wow. Everything looks fantastic. Totally cool.”
“The ad looks great, too,” Tori told her.
“Thanks.” Leigh tapped the folder. “My paperwork’s here. All the forms you need for Social Security and the IRS. I can take care of sending them in. All you need to do is sign.”
“I really appreciate it. I don’t know the first thing about that kind of stuff.”
“It’s no big deal. Just boring. Do you have a bookkeeping system yet? I can set it up for you.” She looked around. “Where’s your computer?”
“Um, I don’t have one.”
Leigh looked at Tori as if she’d crawled out of the primordial soup. “You’re kidding me. You can’t not have a computer. Even my great-grandmother has one. She only plays solitaire, but still.”
“I need one, I know. But it’s another thing I don’t know much about.” The only computer she’d ever used was Colin’s laptop, for e-mail and Web surfing. The thought of accounting software was more than daunting. “Plus it’ll be an expense. I’ll need to see what’s left of my bank account after I pay my contractor.”
Leigh turned to scrutinize the aromatherapy display. “Is that his pickup truck outside?”
“Yes. He’s in the attic with the building inspector.” Something in Leigh’s tone made Tori look at her more closely. “Why do you ask?”
She sniffed the patchouli tester. “No reason. You know, my boyfriend could get you a cheap computer. He rebuilds old ones.”
“He must be smart, then.”
“Oh, he is, but he’s not all obnoxious about it, like some guys.”
“He sounds wonderful.”
Leigh’s cheeks flushed. “He wants to meet you. He’ll probably stop over after work. He’s a lifeguard,” she added shyly.
Male voices drifted from the back. “When’s Ms. Morgan planning to open for business?” Tori heard the inspector ask.