by Wendy Stone
Terry could tell her friend was happy. She seemed to glow, especially when Lukah’s name was mentioned.
“Lucky girl,” Terry muttered, staring up at the ceiling as she leaned her head back on the couch. To be with someone who loved her that way must be absolutely amazing.
A knock sounded on her apartment door and Terry groaned. She glanced over at the crutches and then down to her foot, wrapped in an ACE bandage. “Screw it.” She ignored the crutches and hobbled to her door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Spence, Terry. Let me in,” came the impatient reply.
Spencer Daniels was a good friend who lived down the hall from her. She’d met him a couple of days after first moving in and since then he’d been a pizza and football buddy, someone who’d fix her sink for her, and help out with the heavy stuff. Of course, she watered his plants when he went away, listened to his sob stories when a girlfriend dumped him and had sewn more shirt buttons than she could remember.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asked when he walked inside. “Did you get the license plate?”
“Ha ha, you’re so funny,” Terry smirked. “What’d you need, Spence?”
“Well I was going to ask if you wanted to go grab something to eat. I’ve got this craving for some of Mama Tillie’s homemade chili. But the way you look, maybe I should get take out and bring it back here.” He reached out, stroking a strand of her hair back from her face.
Terry was used to his touches. Spence loved to touch; it meant nothing romantic between the two of them. More than once, she’d used him as a pillow while watching some movie or television program, getting comfortable on his couch or hers. They were friends, happily so.
“I guess I could. I was just going to make a sandwich or something.”
“Man can’t live by sandwich alone. Woman, either.”
Terry rolled her eyes. “Okay, you run down and pick up dinner. I’ve got a bottle of wine around here somewhere. While you’re gone I’ll make myself more comfortable,” she said, using a sexy tone of voice.
“Blue sweats or gray?” Spence cocked his eyebrow at her as if the question consumed his soul.
“Gray. Blue is in the wash. Now get, I’m suddenly hungry.”
He saluted her, making her laugh and then headed towards the elevator.
Spencer was a good looking man, but he was nothing like Nashe. He didn’t send her pulse racing with a single glance or her passions rising with the scent of his skin. His touch didn’t make her panties wet or have her wanting to rip off his clothes…using her teeth. She closed the door slowly, heading into her bedroom.
Careful of the bandages, she undressed. Unearthing the gray sweats from the bottom of her closet, she found an old tee shirt of her brother’s; thin and comfortable with the neckband ripped out and the sleeves torn away. She pulled it on over a black tank top and sat on the bed to slide the sweats up her long legs.
“Before you scream, the door was open.”
A shriek tumbled from her lips and she jumped up, forgetting her ankle. She ended up sprawled across the floor in front of him, sweats still around her knees. Her tee shirt was short enough to show off her backside, the rounded globes separated by a thin strip of black lace.
“God damn it, Nashe!” she shouted, her face burning with embarrassment. “Turn your back!”
“And miss this fine display of womanly assets? I don’t think so.” He chuckled as she bit back a scream, then reached down to lift her from the floor and set her on her feet. She bent awkwardly, pulling the sweats up and tying them securely before glaring at him.
“What are you doing here? Besides wrecking what’s left of my night, that is.”
“I was concerned. Marissa said you were supposed to be on crutches for the rest of the week.” He looked around. “Where are they?”
“Holding court in my living room, if it’s any of your business. I hate crutches. Now, while I appreciate the thought, do you mind…”
“I brought you dinner,” Nashe said, turning away from her. He walked out the door and was back in seconds, the crutches in his hands. “Here, use these.”
“Nashe…” She took a deep breath and counted to ten, then for good measure, counted again. “It’s really kind of you to care, but I’m fine. This is my own stupidity. You don’t need to take care of me.”
“The least I can do is to make sure you get fed. Come on, you know you want to try my food.” He held the door open, waiting for her.
“You don’t understand. I have dinner coming, take out.”
“You can’t be serious. You’d rather eat take out from some common restaurant than be fed by the head chef at Abstracts?” He reached out, twining a piece of her hair around his fingers and tugging on it gently.
Terry slapped his hand away, leaning carefully on her crutches. “From what I’ve heard, the food at Abstracts isn’t that great.”
Nashe blinked. She watched as his face tightened in anger. She was ready for the explosion, the temper tantrum she was sure would follow. Instead, he relaxed and then the bastard had the gall to laugh.
“Nice try, Terry. Obvious, but nice. You thought I’d throw some kind of fit and stomp out the door.” He chuckled. “If I didn’t know you so well, I think it might have worked.” He bent down and picked up the bags he’d left there when he walked in. “I just need to finish a couple of things. Mind if I use your stove?”
Terry watched in disbelief as he walked by, going into her tiny kitchen. She hurried to catch up, the crutches making her clumsy. “Damn,” she swore as she smacked her hand into the door frame. She shook it, trying to make it feel better, only to have Nashe grab her hand.
“Are you always so…accident prone?”
“Are you always such a jerk?”
“Yeah, most of the time,” he said, grinning at her. He bent down and kissed the small red welt. “There now, all better. Why don’t you come in here and sit on a stool. You can keep me company while I cook.”
“Nashe,” she began, but he interrupted.
“You actually do know my name,” he said, playfully grabbing his chest as if he were having some kind of attack. “Be still my heart.”
“Oh, shut up,” she growled. “You going to let me talk or what?”
“Okay, talk.” He lifted one of the bags onto the counter and started to empty it. Strange but tempting aromas came from the covered dishes and she watched as he turned on her oven.
“I-I’m not alone tonight. I have a friend…”
“A friend?” He looked up from the small bag he was opening. “Anyone I know?”
“No, you don’t know him,” she said quietly.
Nashe sat down the bag. “Him?”
Terry nodded her head. “Yeah, him.”
“Who is he?”
“What’s it matter to you? I don’t have to tell you who I date or who I’m with.” She yanked down on her tee shirt, praying that Spence wouldn’t get back until Nashe left. “So…” she said, gesturing towards the door.
“I want to meet him.” Nashe growled the words, slamming down the container he held in his hand and reaching into the other bag to grab his small roll of knives. He put it down, rolling it open and pulling out a knife.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Terry said, anxious since he seemed as if he was going to stay. She watched as he pulled out two stalks of celery, rinsing them in her sink before setting them on the cutting board. He ran the knife through them quickly; amazingly quickly. “No, it would be a terrible idea.”
“Are you afraid I might hurt him?” Nashe asked, sliding the celery to one side of the board before he pulled out a green pepper.
“In a nutshell? Yes.”
Nashe smiled, setting down his knife and turning toward her. “That’s the first smart thing I’ve heard you say in a while. I don’t know what this thing is that’s between us, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I think we need to fuck and get it out of our systems.”
“You think we need to…to…” She was so floored, she couldn’t finish the sentence.
“To fuck,” he finished for her, wiping his hands on the towel he’d tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “Make love, bump uglies, do the nasty, whatever you want to call it. I think we need to get it out of our systems and then we can go on and get past this attraction between us.”
“You’re crazy,” Terry said, shaking her head and backing away clumsily on her crutches. “I think you need to get out of here now.” She pointed toward the door.
He followed her, ignoring her pleas. She stumbled into her living room and backed herself into a corner. “Don’t do this. Just go, okay?”
“Don’t do what, Terry? Don’t touch you?” he asked, his hand sliding up her arm where it was bare, leaving behind a long trail of goose flesh. He pulled her closer, taking that last step that would have her in his arms. “Don’t kiss you?”
She wanted to look away, wanted to deny the attraction and the need, but the touch of his hands, the heat of his body were overwhelming. She heard a soft moan and felt her cheeks heat, knowing it came from her.
“That doesn’t sound like you don’t want me, Terry,” he teased. He ran the back of his fingers down the side of her face, pushing them into the thick length of her hair and pulling gently, just enough to tilt her head back. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want my kiss as much as I want to kiss you.”
She opened her mouth, looking up to tell him just that. He didn’t wait, his head dipping, his mouth finding hers in a kiss so fraught with want and heat she thought she’d melt where she stood. She moaned into his mouth. “No,” she whimpered as he lifted his head to stare into her eyes.
Nashe must have liked what he saw. He smiled, dipping his head again and finding her mouth. His lips were soft but undeniable, his tongue pressing between her lips, licking at her teeth until she opened for him. Then he groaned, tasting her passion, pulling her closer to mold her to his hard body.
He teased and tempted, challenged and demanded, all in his kiss until her hands slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck, the crutches falling to the ground. His hands traveled down her back, cupping her ass, lifting until she wrapped her legs around his waist. He held her easily, rubbing against him, the hard ridge of his cock pushing against her cotton-covered sex.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he buried his face against her throat, nipping the fragile skin with sharp teeth. “I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you,” he whispered.
Terry’s head fell back against the wall, giving him more room to touch and taste. She couldn’t stop him, not now; not when it felt this fantastically good.
“Take this off,” he whispered, his teeth pulling on the tee shirt that covered her tank. She did, her shaking hands getting tangled in the material. Finally, she ripped it, pulling it over her head and letting it drop to the floor.
Before she could touch him again, he’d pulled the flimsy tank top she was wearing, yanking it down to expose her soft breasts. His mouth found one pale pink tip, sucking it into the heat of his mouth. “Oh, God,” she moaned, using her thighs to lift higher so that he could suckle easier. “Don’t stop,” she whimpered.
“Never,” Nashe growled, attacking her breast with even more fervor. “You taste so good.” He pressed her against the wall, using his body to keep her pinned there. His hands rose, skimming the softness of her skin until he filled them with her breasts, cupping each mound of flesh.
“Hey Ter!” Spence called, walking into the living room. “Oops, sorry,” he said, seeing the two of them entwined. “My bad.”
Terry pushed Nashe away even as he covered up her exposed breast with her tank. “Let me go,” she hissed at him.
“For now,” Nashe muttered. He bent down and picked up her crutches, handing them to her as she tried to hobble away from him. “Doctor’s orders.”
“I know what the doctor said,” she grumbled. “I’m supposed to rest. But that’s impossible now, isn’t it?” She huffed out a sigh of disgust.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Nashe asked, staring with unconcealed hostility at Spencer.
“No,” Terry said emphatically. “I don’t think so.”
“Fine.” Nashe stepped forward, his hand out. “I’m Nashe Wolfe, a friend of Terry’s.” He heard Terry’s barely concealed “not” and ignored it.
“Spencer Daniels, next door neighbor,” Spence said, taking the proffered hand after shifting some packages around. “I brought dinner. I didn’t think Terry would want to cook today.”
“Oh, well that was nice of you, but I’ve got dinner covered. You’d best hurry home and eat before it gets cold.” Nashe began to herd Spence out the door only to hear the clomp-clomp of Terry’s crutches behind them.
“Nashe, knock it off. Spence and I were going to have dinner before you showed up.”
“Yeah, but now that I’m here…”
“You can take your bags and go. I didn’t invite you here, Nashe. You barged in just like every time I see you,” Terry took a deep breath, calming the shrill rise of her voice. “Thank you for helping me this afternoon but Spence and I…well, we wanted a quiet dinner, just the two of us.” She looked at Spence, hoping he’d get the hint and back her up.
She saw the look of dawning understanding appear on Spence’s face a second before he ducked under Nashe’s arm and went to her side. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Yes. It was nice meeting you, Nashe.”
The look on Nashe’s face was priceless. Terry would have bet that he’d never had a woman kick him out of anywhere before. She almost felt bad for doing it, but considering that her injuries were entirely his fault because he couldn’t stay out of her dreams, she figured he deserved it.
“Fine,” he said, turning and heading out the door. He veered into the kitchen, emerging almost immediately with his roll of knives. “Good night.” The door slammed shut behind him, like an exclamation point.
“Who was that?” Spence asked, dropping his arm from around her shoulder and setting down the food on her coffee table.
“Nashe Wolfe, head chef at Abstracts. I think he owns the place now.” She collapsed on the couch, her ankle throbbing with pain.
“You two seemed pretty cozy when I walked in.” Spence sat out the different containers, going into the kitchen to grab utensils and plates. “Damn, he left enough food in there to feed an army. So what’s with the boyfriend charade?”
“He thinks he’s God’s gift to women,” Terry muttered. She took the bottle of water that Spence offered her. “I didn’t want him here, that’s all.”
“Then why is your face so red?” Spence teased.
Neither of them heard the soft thump outside the window. A silvery animal padded up the last steps of the fire escape, going to the window Terry had left open a bit for fresh air. He crouched, out of sight but well within hearing distance.
“Okay, so he tempts me. That doesn’t mean I have to like him.” She reached over and opened one of the round containers, feeling the heat through the cardboard. The smell of chili filled the air and made her stomach growl.
“I think it’s more than him tempting you. Do you know how many men I have seen in your apartment, Terry? Zero, zip zilch, not a single one. Why is that?”
“Because I can control my libido, unlike some people we could be talking about.” She looked pointedly at him. “You don’t hear me complaining about the revolving door you have installed in your bedroom, do you?”
“Aww, honey, you’re just jealous that I get more men than you do.” Spence sat down next to her on the couch, carefully patting her unhurt knee.
“Spence, you are about as gay as I am, so leave off with that attitude. I just don’t like him, okay?”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Spence said, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Terry.”
“I know,” she sighed, madder at herself than at him. How could Nashe keep doing this to her? How cou
ld he make her feel so much so easily and a nice guy like Spencer just left her feeling unfulfilled? She wished she knew. “It’s all right. Can we just drop the subject?”
“Sure, I stopped at the video store on my way and picked up a movie.” He waved the case. “You up for some fast paced action?”
Terry tried to smile, but the encounter with Nashe had left her exhausted. Still, she handed him the remote. “Go for it.”
They watched the car crashes and the guys throwing punches while they ate. Terry forced food into her mouth that she didn’t want, just to keep Spence from worrying. She laughed at the movie and then curled up into her corner of the couch. The combination of the hard day plus the pain medication subscribed by the doctor was too much for her. She fell asleep.
* * * *
Nashe lay curled up outside the window, his eyes on the blonde sleeping on the couch. He could smell her with every breath, her scent mixed with that of the man who sat close to her. It made the hair rise on his back and his tail thump unhappily on the metal grate. He wanted the man out of her apartment.
As if he’d heard Nashe’s thoughts, the man rose, picking up the mess on the coffee table and throwing it away. He sat the remote down after turning off the movie then he moved closer to Terry, staring down at her for a moment before sitting on the edge of the couch.
His hand touched her arm, his palm slowly and carefully moving up her soft skin. He stilled when Terry murmured in her sleep only continuing when she calmed back down. Spence’s hand cupped her shoulder, and Nashe rose to his feet, waiting to see what would happen.
Spence leaned over and Nashe tensed. The man stared at her, as if waiting to see if she would stir. He shook his head slowly and Nashe wondered at the internal conversation the man must be having. He didn’t trust him. He made ready to nudge the window open enough to allow his entry.
But Spence straightened and walked to the bedroom, returning with a blanket and pillow. He gently tucked the pillow beneath her head, checked the position of her injured foot and covered her with the blanket.