One Taste
Page 73
The last thing she wanted was to get too close to him—or for her carefully constructed world to break apart.
Now she’s not just fighting to keep the pieces of her life together, but to convince Nate she’s worth the risk.
All the risks, especially falling in love.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
UNCROSS YOUR HEART
© 2012 Taryn Elliott
Cover by LateNite Designs
All Rights Are Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First electronic edition: March 2012 Ellora’s Cave
Second electronic edition: March 2017 Rainbow Rage Publishing
To my mom, who showed me that belief is stronger than doubt. I miss you every single day.
And to Cari Quinn who picked up where she left off. Friend. Confidante. Ass-kicker. Nugget Queen. You are my rock. I wouldn’t want to do any of this without you.
Chapter One
“No, no!”
Nathan Cross hurried around the corner to see his gypsy wrestling with gravity and technology. Well, he liked to think of her as his gypsy. Too bad she was so oblivious to his charms.
With a laptop bag hooked around one wrist and a printer box half opened thanks to a fistful of ripping tape in the other, she was already off balance. To add insult to injury, an oversized purse swung forward, about to finish the job. He hustled down the hallway and rescued her computer while jamming his boot under the box to give it a soft landing. “You all right, Ms. Woods?”
“What?” She steadied herself against the wall with a jangle of bracelets and buckles. Flyaway red hair fell into her face as dark-rimmed glasses slid down the tip of her elegant little nose, giving him a rare glimpse into the gold-green eyes that starred in a few too many of his fantasies. She quickly jammed them into place.
Damn, too bad.
“Oh yes,” her gaze darted down to the tag on his chest, “Nat. Thank you.”
“Nate,” he corrected, but wasn’t sure why he bothered. She wasn’t listening. As usual she was hurrying into her office. He handed her the printer box and her laptop case. She gave him a distracted smile, ineffectively blowing the hair out of her eyes before shutting the door in his face.
He sighed. Being offended that she discounted him as a male wasn’t worth the effort. He was a delivery guy for FedEx. He had two roles when it came to customers—they were either excited as all get out to see him, or he held no more importance than a plant.
He wished Miranda Woods fit into the former category. Fixing a smile on his face, he knocked. She swung it open in a cloud of cocoa butter and peered up at him. “Did I forget something?” She leaned out the door and looked down at the floor.
Nate took a step back, biting back a groan. Now, instead of just the librarian fantasies, he had to add in his favorite scent to complete the torture. Freakin’ great. “No, just a delivery. I didn’t get to tell you before you shut the door.”
“Oh.” She pushed up her sleeves, revealing freckle-spattered arms, then reached for her package, not meeting his eyes. “Thanks, Nat.” A small horse of a dog hip-checked her into the door, a huge wet nose zeroing in on his crotch. “No, Stella! C’mon,” she huffed.
Nate crouched down, saving his manhood and gaining an armful of dog. “Hey, girl.” He ruffled the silky ears of Miranda’s unidentifiable breed of mutt, pushing a hank of gray hair out of her eyes. Leaning back on the balls of his feet, he patted his pockets for a treat. Impatient, Stella slobbered her way up his chin and cheek. He pushed her back with a laugh. “You only love me for my treats.” He dug out a dog biscuit, holding it palm out.
At least Stella is always happy to see me.
He held up the electronic clipboard to Miranda. One eyebrow rose, as always, while he played with her dog. The fact that she looked surprised each time only reinforced his ficus status when it came to this woman.
“I’m sorry. She usually just lies like a lump under my desk.” She sounded honestly puzzled. “She must really like you.” She snapped her fingers and Stella gave him one last lick before one hundred odd pounds of rump thudded down next to her master. Of its own volition, his gaze tracked up the wicked heel of her boot that disappeared under her flowy skirt. How far did the boots go?
Stella gave him a happy bark, her tail swishing on the hardwood floor entryway. I feel you, Stella. She makes my tail twitch too. Nate stood and accepted the clipboard back. “It’s nice to have a dog be happy to see me.” At her blank stare, he covered a sigh with a smile. “Have a nice day, Ms. Woods.”
“Right.” She looked at his tag again and flashed that polite, I’m-smiling-because-I’m-supposed-to smile she always gave him. “Thanks, Nat.” And she closed the door.
“Nate.” His shoulders slumped. Why did he punish himself? He’d been delivering packages to her for three years now and she’d yet to get his name right without checking his tag. And ninety percent of the time she called him the dreaded Nat anyway.
There was absolutely no reason why he should look forward to this stop. The fact that he eagerly checked his ledger to see if she was on his run each day was pathetic enough, but making sure she was his last delivery was intervention-worthy. As if she was going to ask him in and perform lewd sex acts on him or something.
Okay, so the lewd sex acts were a stretch. He’d settle for her actually seeing him for once. He punched the elevator button, waiting for the car to climb to the third floor where Miracle Designs was housed. It was one of the many Victorian remodels that made Grant Avenue so interesting.
He had no idea what she actually did, but she must be doing something right based on the sheer volume of deliveries she got in a month. Most of them needed to be signed for, and few of them fell under the Miracle Designs purview. They were either under Miranda’s name or the mysterious RbyR that made him wonder just what her spending habits were.
“And you need to find a girlfriend,” he told himself, putting Miranda Woods out of his head. He stepped off the elevator and waved at Jade, the proprietress of Sunny Days Flower Shop on the lower level. Her doors were wide open, letting the abundant greens and cut flowers sprout out of baskets and barrels to pretty up the freshly scrubbed street. This corner was especially busy thanks to Jade’s unique and welcoming designs. The woman knew her way around flowers. And the best part was she offered up some of her practice designs, helping him keep an extra check in the plus column when it came to his mother.
They were situated on the lower west side of Telegraph Hill. The entire area was a mix of the new and old both in architecture and attitude. Beyond the Miranda factor, it was his favorite part of his route. The whole area overlapped into North Beach, where he called home.
His cell buzzed in his pocket. Grinning at the display, he answered before the second bar of Godsmack’s Whatever screamed from his phone. “Tony, you out on parole or something?”
“Screw you, Cross.”
“C’mon, Jenn would kick my ass if I showed you what you were missing.” Nate climbed into his truck and headed back to home base. His best friend since second grade had recently added child number two to his roster, so getting a phone call was a rarity. “How’s AJ?”
“Doin’ what babies do, but, man…seriously, he’s got the shoulders of a linebacker. I can’t wait to get him into Pop Warner.”
Nate chuckled. It still amazed him that his best friend had settled down, let alone became Mr. Family Man. “To what do I owe this honor?”
Resisting the urge to hang up the phone, he downshifted. “I can find my own girls, asshat.” Nate slowed to a stop as Union and Columbus bottlenecked with afternoon traffic. “Besides, you’ve been married so long you probably forgot how to buy a beer for a pretty girl anyway.”
“Hey! I’ll have you know I can pick up a girl in any bar in the area.” Tony’s voice grew cocky. “In fact, meet me at Rina’s.”
“And what would Jenn say?” Rina’s was the go-to club of the moment, catering to the college set as much as the young professionals, and out of Tony’s league by at least five years of trolling.
“Hell, I’m not going to really pick one up. I’m simply showing you how it’s done. You obviously need lessons.” Tony’s smug smile came through the phone. “Besides, it was her idea to hit the bar.”
“What? Shit, Matt needs to keep his freakin’ mouth shut.”
“Can I help it that he called while we were both in the car? You were the one that outfitted my car with that cool speaker thing for my phone.” Tony paused, a serious tone flavoring his usual easy demeanor. “He’s just worried about you.”
Foiled by his love of gadgets and family. “Just because I’ve been a little—”
“Six months dry,” Tony chimed in.
“I’ve been busy,” he growled.
“Time to get you out of that apartment and your damn workshop, and back into the game. How am I supposed to live vicariously through you if you don’t live?”
Nate accelerated into traffic. He wasn’t in the mood to stare at his own four walls tonight anyway. And it would be a very good idea to get a certain redhead out of his brain. “What the hell? Sounds like a plan, old man. I’ll meet you there at eight, or is that past your bedtime?”
“Suck my right nut.”
He laughed. “I’ll take that as a no.”
“I’ll see you then, son.”
He threw his phone on the dash. Hell, he could go for a beer and hang out with his buddy at the very least. Rina’s was a little more slick than he preferred, but maybe that was just what he needed. A little mindless noise and a woman who would notice he existed.
Miranda dumped her laptop bag and purse into one of the club chairs that made up the social area of Miracle Designs. God, she hated to go out to meetings. She preferred the clients to come to her or to use the internet. She’d even Skype over fighting traffic. If everyone used the computer she’d be a happy bunny.
“You beautiful woman!”
Miranda smirked at her favorite researcher, Ryleigh Koda. “You are only saying that because I got you your very own printer today.”
“Some people can’t do everything onscreen. We do have a few dinosaurs out there that want things on paper.”
“I know, I know.” Miranda held up her hand. It was an old argument, but a valid one. She was the one who killed the fax machine using it as a printer for just those clients. “I could’ve made you wait until I ordered one online, you know.”
Ry grabbed the box, her dark eyes already reading the contents and the specs. “Right, uh…thanks.” She smiled, her diamond-studded dimple glinting.
She waved at Leo, who had his Bluetooth firmly jammed in his ear as he paced.
“Was that the delicious FedEx guy?”
Distracted, she blinked up at Max. “Who?”
He shook his head. “You’re a disgrace to the population, both male and female, love.”
She shrugged. She couldn’t even remember what the guy at the door looked like. All she remembered was tall. And he made her feel tiny whenever he came to the door, but other than that he was barely a blip on her radar. Multitasking wasn’t just a necessity for her, it was a way of life. The schedule gods hated her. It was the only explanation she could come up with for the delivery guy’s insanely bad timing.
“Kudos on the outfit though.” Max looked down at her tunic with an appreciative eye. “You’ve been wearing the same yoga pants for a week.”
“Shut up, Max,” she said absently. So, she had four pairs of black yoga pants. What was the big deal? She clicked her mouse, booting her system out of hibernation. Three screens blipped on in a U-shaped curve, one with email and IMs, one with Machismo Inc.’s website and the third was full of code. She’d been lusting over the Dante Alvarez account for weeks now. She wanted to show him a site that was sleek and classy with a side of over-the-top male. Everything he embodied. She was cross-eyed from working on the mock-up.
She wanted this account. No, she needed this account.
“Did Leo get a hold of Dante about—”
“The bid was emailed over thirty minutes ago,” Ryleigh answered before she could ask the question. God, she loved her staff.
Machismo Inc. was an international sports clothing company that focused on a lot of soccer advertising. Dante was a former soccer champion from Argentina and was very particular about his image. He had the potential to be one of her largest clients, and in a pool as overcrowded as the web design market, she needed more than floaties to survive.
“It was a compliment. You look hot today.”
Miranda shot Max a look over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Are we going to talk about my Daphne Parish tunic or are you going to tell me how the Telegraph Telecom Conference went this morning?”
“Can’t we do both?” He leaned on the edge of her desk and fingered the fine linen weave. “Does she make men’s shirts too?”
“You know she does, you were the one who photographed her spring line.”
“Ah, I knew that name sounded familiar. Will and I are heading out to Brisbane this weekend. He’d look hot in a white linen shirt.”
“The last time you tried to buy Will a shirt, I had to bribe him into letting you back in the house with dinner at Franco’s.”
“All right, all right.” Max shot the cuffs of his pristine white dress shirt. The man wore a suit nearly every day of his life. The love of his life, one William Turner, was a landscape artist who lived for khaki and flannel. “I get it, he’s butch.”
She tapped his cheek playfully. “That’s why you love him, Max.”
“His shoulders are dreamy.”
She couldn’t help a laugh. Max Tasso was her best friend, her nag, and just happened to be the best photographer in San Francisco. “Tell me about the conference.”
“Only if you let me burn this.” He lifted the hoodie that hung on the back of her chair with two fingers.
She snatched it, hooking it to the back of her chair where she’d be looking for it later. When the sun moved to the other side of her building she got cold, dammit. “Are you trying to tell me I’ve been scumbagging it too much?”
“Not so much trying as saying, love.”
She snorted. “Just who do I have to impress? Ryleigh? She’s not my type. Sorry, Ry!”
“Thank God!” Ry shouted back.
She waved to Leo. “He works just as much as I do.”
“Harder,” Leo said, covering his earpiece and resuming his conversation.
“You need to dress for yourself and you know that.”
Miranda took a deep breath. She knew he meant well, but dressing for success when you worked in the same building as your apartment didn’t include anything other than comfy clothes in her world. Once upon a time clothes were the only thing she thought about.
She absently patted Stella’s head as the dog situated herself under Miranda’s desk. Dropping into her chair, she swung around to face Max. “I sit in a chair an average of twelve hours a day. The only thing I have time for is Pilates, and that’s just because I refuse to have a flat ass.” She turned back to her screens and scrolled through her email.
“That sounds a lot like lazy covered in a layer of denial.”
Frowning, she spun her chair around once more. Max and his perfectly coiffed hair—that at least four billion women would ki
ll for—now sat behind his workstation. Instead of a panel of monitors, he worked with one giant screen and a light table to his left. There were half a dozen slides lining the top. Max preferred regular film to digital.
She stood. “Are these for Dante? I thought we had all the pages settled.”
He nodded. “From the charity soccer game he played last weekend. I figured it would be a nice touch for his website. You know, to show the charitable side of him.”
“Nice.” She flipped the loupe to peruse his shots. “Three, five and one,” she said, looking up. “Really great stuff, Max. You know it would be less work if you used digital…”
Max quickly scribbled a note for himself. “I prefer real film when I’m working with outdoor shots and you know it.” He flicked a hank of dark-chocolate-colored curls over his ear then drew her to the edge of his desk and trapped her hands. “Now, with work out of the way, let’s talk more about you.”
“Max,” she warned.
He simply stared at her in that way he had. The one that made her feel as if she were bellybutton fuzz. Max came in every single day looking like a model at six in the morning.
“All right, so I’m lazy.” She flipped her glasses on top of her head. “Happy now?”
“I’d be happier if you’d go out, get laid, or even looked at a man.”
“I’d rather talk about the conference.” He slumped back in his chair with a sigh. They’d had this conversation far too often in the last few months. It was all she could do to keep her company afloat. Finding a man was definitely not on her schedule.
“If not for yourself, then for the good of the company.”
She hung her head. Evidently Max just wasn’t going to let it go today. “The status of my libido has nothing to do with keeping our numbers in the black.”