Chapter 8

Despite her continued probing during their conversations, Striker gave up nothing about his surprise. All she’d gotten out of him was a promise that she’d love it and he’d be over around ten o’clock on Saturday. Even though he’d insisted she’d never guess, she’d spent a fair amount of time last night staring at the ceiling as she ran through possibilities. She loved visiting the beach. Being Labor Day weekend, though, the state beaches would be packed as people enjoyed what many considered the last official weekend of summer. And she got the impression he had something more special than a day at a crowded beach planned for them. So, she’d dismissed the beach idea and moved on. They both loved hiking. They’d gone on several hikes together the previous fall, but last night she’d tossed it out, too. Since they’d done it so much, hiking didn’t seem special. When it came to sports, she could take them or leave them. Striker knew that so those got ruled out, too.

What is your plan? She thumbed through one of the recital costume catalogues she’d brought home with her. Maryann liked the teachers to settle on costumes as early as possible so she could order them long before the recital. Then they still had time to send them back if necessary. So far, she’d narrowed down her choices for one class, but still hadn’t found anything she liked for the others. She also hadn’t decided whether or not she wanted to take over when Maryann left. The fact that Maryann asked her first meant a lot to her, but she didn’t want to rush into anything. She loved the studio, but needed to be sure taking over as a director was the best thing for her. Once she did it, she couldn’t back out.

Despite the catalogue and the colorful outfits inside, her thoughts went back to Striker’s plans rather than the pictures and what would look best on her students. What did people do on Labor Day weekend in New England? Apple picking had started last month, but it wasn’t an all-day thing. Depending on what orchard you visited, you could pick an entire bushel in less than half an hour. Skiing wouldn’t start for several more weeks. Even if it had started, Striker only tolerated skiing. He’d much rather be back at the lodge overlooking the slopes, drinking an Irish coffee and watching a football game or some other sporting event on television.

“Give it up. Striker was right. I’m not going to figure it out.” Tossing aside one catalogue, she picked up another. She didn’t have much longer to wait anyway. He’d be here in less than half an hour. So why drive herself crazy trying to figure it out? “Buckle down and find at least one possibility for your level-two hip-hop class.” Considering the size of the catalogue, she shouldn’t have a problem doing that while she waited, if she focused.

By the time Striker arrived, she’d picked the perfect costume for her Thursday night hip-hop students, so at least her time sitting around wasn’t a total waste.

Striker brushed his lips across hers when he walked in, leaving her wanting more. Rather than do something she’d regret afterward, she put some extra space between them and studied his clothes. Like Sunday he wore jeans, only these appeared much newer. Instead of a T-shirt and sneakers, though, he had on a dark green polo shirt and boat shoes. An outfit one could wear almost anywhere on a Saturday afternoon.

“Missed you this week,” he said instead of telling her anything about what he had planned.

She’d missed him, too. Of course, she’d missed him ever since he called it quits in the spring. “You could’ve come over after football practice. I was home every night this week. Dance classes haven’t started yet.”

Striker’s eyebrows inched upward. “I was waiting for you to invite me. You wanted to control the pace. I assumed I couldn’t come over without an invitation.”

She’d had other activities in mind when she mentioned controlling the pace. “Just call and ask.” Ella figured she’d waited long enough to find out his surprise. “Okay, out with it. What’s the plan today?”

He rubbed his hands together and grinned. “You’re gonna love it.”

Ella advanced on him and poked him in the chest. “You already told me I’ll love it. Now I want details, buddy. Come on, let’s hear the details.”

“Buddy?” he said, sounding insulted.

“Pretty please with sugar on top? Is that better?”

“A little.”

Mon dieu! He was pushing her buttons this morning. “It’s killing me. Please tell me.”

He pulled an envelope from his back jeans pocket. “Thought we’d visit the Museum of Fine Arts first. Later we’ll check in to the Hilltop Hotel.”

She opened her mouth, prepared to protest, but he held up his hands before she said anything. “Don’t worry, I got a room with two queen beds. Dinner reservations are at five.”

Ella thought about pinching herself. He’d booked a room with two beds? Maybe something in his head had changed while she’d been gone.

“Then we’ve got tickets to see Sleeping Beauty performed at the Boston Opera House. I have no idea if our seats are any good or not. The woman at the ticket office said they were.”

“The ballet?” Yep, it was official. Aliens had abducted him and left behind a replica. “Striker, you hate the ballet. Like hate with a capital H. You refused to see The Nutcracker with me last year. I went with my sister instead, remember?”

He handed her the envelope and then gripped her shoulders. “But you don’t. This weekend is all about you. Next time we’ll do something we both like.”

Wow, he was trying hard. He’d asked for a chance to prove he loved her, and so far he was doing his damnedest. “Guess I should pack something for tonight, then.”

“Hey, if you want to go to the ballet wearing what you’ve got on and sleep naked, I’m good with that. Especially the sleeping naked part.” He winked at her and smiled.

That sounded more like Striker. Maybe aliens had just played with his brain a little rather than leave a replacement in his place. “Dream away about that, buddy, while I grab some stuff.”

***

Founded in 1870 and opened in 1876, the Museum of Fine Arts, better known as the MFA by most New Englanders, had grown significantly over the years. Today, the popular museum on Huntington Avenue was the largest museum in New England, and the fourth-largest museum in the United States.

Ella’s first visit occurred in high school as part of a field trip to the city. Since then she’d made numerous visits, and doubted she’d even remotely come close to seeing everything housed inside. According to the last informational brochure she’d read, the museum collection contained around 450,000 different items. The number didn’t include the visiting exhibits featured for limited periods during the year. And while she’d visited many museums in and around Boston, she loved the MFA more than any other. Unlike some museums, the MFA featured everything from Egyptian artifacts to French Impressionist paintings. There weren’t too many places that could say the same.

“The first and last time I came here, I was in high school,” Striker said as they entered the building via the Huntington Avenue entrance.

“Eleventh grade field trip, right?” Junior year of high school had been all about US history and US literature. A trip to Boston, the heart of the American Revolution, had fit right in. “Went on the same field trip my junior year. That was the first time I came, too.”

After purchasing tickets for admission, Striker grabbed a museum map, which also contained a listing of the visiting exhibits, from a stand and handed it to her. “They still bring the eleventh grade into Boston. I’ve heard the players talk about it. Don’t know if they come here anymore.”

Unlike at the block party, he took her hand right away as they passed by the stairs and kept walking toward the rotunda. Sunday, she would’ve considered tugging her hand away. Now she gave his hand a squeeze, the feel of his palm against hers natural and reassuring.

“I know you’ve come a lot, so I’ll follow your lead. Where to first?” He stopped in the center of the rotunda.

She looked at the various categories of art listed on the map, even though she had them memorized. “How ’bout we start with some ancient art? Most of it’s on this level. There’s some upstairs, too.” She hadn’t visited the ancient art section in a while.

“Ancient as in Egyptian stuff? Sure, why not.”

Ella stuffed the map into her shoulder bag and turned left. “There are many Egyptian pieces, but also several other collections. Ten altogether, I think. My favorite is the Greek Mythology collection.”

Striker didn’t say much as they viewed the various sculptures and other artifacts on display. Some dated back thousands of years, and each piece gave visitors a tiny glimpse into the past.

“Saturn. Even I’ve heard of him.” Striker stopped in front of a small statue depicting the Roman god. “Looks like he had a rough day.” At some point before coming to reside in the museum the statue had lost both its arms, and there was damage to the face.

Ella pointed toward the plaque listing details about the piece. “It was made around the year 190 AD. That’s almost two thousand years of wear and tear. Let’s see how good you look in a few thousand years.” She took his hand this time and started walking. She’d like to see at least one more section of the museum before they left. “Let’s head over and see the Art of the Americas. It’s spread out on all the floors, so we can start on this level and either go up or down stairs.”

No longer satisfied with only holding her hand, he threw his arm across her shoulders and pulled her tightly against his side. “You’re in charge in here.” He kissed her temple. The feel of his lips and warm breath against her skin excited her more than a simple kiss should. If her body kept responding like this to each kiss or brief touch, she’d find herself joining Striker in bed tonight. Naked. And they wouldn’t be sleeping.

They checked out part of the Americas collection on the second level, and headed downstairs to where other pieces of the exhibit were on display.

“This stuff is much different than the ancient pieces,” Striker said. He’d kept his arm around her shoulders the entire time they walked around. She didn’t plan on telling him to move it.

“That’s one of the reasons I love this museum. There’s a ton of variety. Some museums contain nothing but paintings or contemporary pieces. Here, we can see everything.” She stopped near the glass-enclosed courtyard housing the New American Café. “We can even grab a drink, and I think a caramel latte is calling my name right now. A slice of apple crisp with vanilla ice cream, too.”

“Hey, if you want dessert before lunch I’m not going to stop you.” He stepped forward, his arm slipping off her shoulders. Her body instantly missed the weight and warmth of his arm around her. “And I promise not to tell Claire.” He opened the door and waited for her to enter.

“Between taking care of my niece and being pregnant, my sister has more important things to worry about than whether I’m eating healthily or not.”

***

Although not the most expensive hotel in Boston, the Hilltop was nice. He’d picked it partially for that reason. He’d also settled on it because when she’d surprised him with tickets to see his favorite band, she’d booked them a room there. Back then they’d had a room with a king-size bed, not the two queens before him now. When he’d called the hotel, he’d considered getting them two separate rooms, but he’d already spent a lot on the ballet tickets, and his budget prevented him from getting more than one room if he also hoped to take her to Legal Crossing tonight for dinner.

He’d learned that, depending on her plans, Ella took a long time getting ready. Today he’d planned accordingly. “We’ve got more than an hour before dinner. I thought I’d go for a quick swim while you get ready.” She wouldn’t want him in the room while she changed. And it probably wasn’t the safest place for him to be anyway. Seeing her in various states of undress would only make his burning need worse. Even having a bed and her in the same room was killing him. He prayed the hotel kept their indoor pool very cool, because he needed it.

“Perfect. I can take a quick shower.”

If anyone needed a shower, he did. An ice-cold shower in a well air-conditioned bathroom with lots of fans going. Either that, or a nice long soak in an ice bath.

Striker got his bathing suit from his overnight bag. “Let me change and I’ll go.”

The bathroom contained all the usual hotel amenities as well as extra-large towels for the pool. After changing, he grabbed one and carried his clothes back into the room.

“Have a nice swim,” Ella said. She sat on the bed, looking through the hotel magazine that had been left on the nightstand.

Alone with Ella and a bed. Yeah, he hadn’t thought this one through. Too bad the hotel didn’t have an outdoor pool, as those were always cooler than their indoor counterparts.

Striker wrapped the towel around his waist. He’d rather not announce to the entire hotel that he had an erection that wouldn’t quit.

The pool, along with the hotel’s excuse for a gym and a hot tub, were all located on the ground floor… meaning he could avoid the lobby. Although not huge, the pool was big enough to swim some laps and, best of all, the area remained empty. After a quick and thankfully chilly rinse, he got into the pool. Then all hell broke loose.

A mom armed with colorful balloons and a bakery box came in. Ten or so loud giggling girls followed right behind her, each one dressed in a swimsuit. A man, perhaps the woman’s husband, as well as a hotel employee brought up the rear. One carried a stack of wrapped presents while the other had several pizza boxes.

“Like you were told on the phone, we can’t close the pool for the party. However, few guests use it at this time of day.” The hotel employee set down the pizzas on a table.

“Any guests will take one look at this crew and run,” the man said, earning him a nod of agreement from the woman.

Great timing. No way was he sticking around here surrounded by all these giggling preteens.

Before he got both feet on the ladder, a girl cannonballed into the pool. Others followed her lead.

He knocked on their room door rather than risk walking in on a naked Ella, an event his body couldn’t handle. When she didn’t respond, he used his room key. The bathroom door remained closed. Striker knocked on it, too, so she’d know he was in the room and not walk out in nothing but a towel. Or, worse, completely naked. The sound of the shower running was the only response, and Striker groaned as various images of Ella naked and wet formed. They’d showered together more than once, so he knew just what she looked like with water streaming down her breasts and taut stomach. She liked to wash her arms first. Or have him wash them first. His palms itched at the memories. After her arms, she’d lather up her legs. Rather than bend down to get her calves, she propped her foot on the side of the tub, except for when he’d been with her. Then he’d knelt before her and rested her foot on his thigh. He’d always started at her ankle and worked up, usually giving the spot between her thighs some extra-special attention.

Thanks to walking around in a wet bathing suit, his erection had diminished. Now it pulsed painfully again.

The bathroom door opened and steam billowed out. Ella followed, dressed in only a light tan strapless bra and lacy blue hip-hugging panties. A single drop of water streamed down her chest, disappearing under the bra, but Striker could picture the water running down her breasts to her nipple. A few droplets of water clung to her stomach and thighs. Her bright purple toenails stood out against the dark gray rug.

“Striker!” Her eyes got wide and she stepped forward. “You said you were going swimming. What are you doing back already?”

“Got kicked out by a birthday party. I knocked on the door… guess you didn’t hear me.”

“I didn’t hear anything.” She picked up her brush and started combing her towel-dried hair. “That stinks about the pool. Who’d have a birthday party here?”

He’d seen women wear bathing suits that covered less than her bra and panties. Still, the sight of her was driving him mad. And as much as he enjoyed looking at her, it’d be better for them both if she pulled her dress on and covered up some of her body. Either that or he got the hell out of Dodge. “You done in the bathroom? I need a shower.”

“Yeah, I need to comb my hair. I can do that out here. When you’re done, I’ll put on my makeup,” she said, standing there as if she were in shorts and a T-shirt instead of her underwear.

Damn, is she trying to kill me? Was it possible she didn’t know how turned on he was already? Striker grabbed his underwear and suit pants, and then made his retreat.

Ella bit on her lip until she heard the bathroom door close behind her. When she heard the click of the lock, she smiled. She’d been surprised when she came out and found Striker sitting on his bed. The idea of running back and grabbing a dry towel skipped into her head and right out. She’d worn a bikini that covered less around him. But that wasn’t the only reason she kept right on talking without trying to cover up. No, she stood there because of Striker. He’d taken his time raking his eyes across her body, his discomfort and frustration written on his face. He wanted her.

She knew it was mean and something she shouldn’t have done, but she’d wanted to see how he’d react. Would he try to convince her having sex was a good idea? If he did, would he get angry if she refused? Or would he respect her desire to be in control?

He’d reacted by removing himself as quickly as possible without even a kiss. Another part of the barrier she’d built around her heart slipped. Maybe their relationship did have a chance. Cat and Kelsey both seemed to think so. Perhaps they were wiser than she.

The water in the bathroom turned off, kicking Ella into gear. Before Striker came out, she should slip on her dress.

She’d bought the teal keyhole-neck sleeveless sheath dress in February. With Striker away for work, she’d called Cat and they’d hit the Natick Collection. They’d spent most of the day there shopping, and they’d both bought way more than they needed. If she hadn’t found the gown she’d worn to Jessie’s wedding in Paris, she would’ve worn this one to her friend’s wedding. Maybe she’d wear it to Sean’s wedding next weekend. Cutting off the tags, she stepped into the dress and zipped it up.

Striker entered the room, a plume of steam behind him. “Good, you’re dressed.”

She heard the relief in his voice, and both guilt and humor washed over her. I really shouldn’t have done that to him. “I need maybe another fifteen minutes for my hair and makeup.”

“You look fantastic to me.”

He stopped inches away from her, the heat from his naked torso crossing through her dress and scorching her breasts. Her nipples hardened and pressed against her bra. As if controlled by a puppeteer, she reached out and touched his chest. The hard muscles tensed under her hand. “Thank you.” She leaned closer, her attention locked on his lips.

Perhaps sensing her intent, he slipped both hands under her hair and cradled her head. “For what?”

“This weekend. You were right. I love it.” Before he responded, she set her lips against his. Gently she coaxed his lips apart before slipping her tongue inside.

She kissed him for as long as she dared. Not because she feared what he might do, but what she might do. Already her nipples begged for his tongue, and she ached between her legs. If she kissed him any longer, she’d undo the button on his pants and slide down the zipper. They were both more than ready. His erection pressed against her and she was wet.

“I really need to get my hair up. And you need to finish getting dressed.” Seeing him only partially dressed, she now had a decent idea of what she’d put him through a few minutes ago. “Be right back.”