Chapter 12
It’s just after daybreak when I open my eyes and realize Nick is gone.
Disappointment jolts me, sharper than I care to admit. I push myself up to a sitting position on the cool sheets, my chest gone suddenly hollow.
That is, until I see Nick’s shirt draped with his dark suit pants over my reading chair in the corner. His polished black leather shoes are still here, too, parked neatly beside my dresser.
So, where is he?
A quick glance toward the adjacent bathroom tells me he’s also taken the time to shower. Jesus, how hard had I slept? Granted, Nick and I spent much of the night making love. I lost count of the times one of us woke the other with the insatiable urge to begin all over again. All I know is that my body is sore in several places, each tender ache a sensual reminder of everything I’d been missing since Nick and I had been apart.
I slip out of bed and pad into the bathroom to check my hair and brush my teeth. Water still beads on the glass enclosure of the shower. The humid air carries the faint vanilla fragrance of my soap and the fruity scent of my shampoo. There’s something gratifying and familiar, even erotic, about the idea of Nick using my toiletries as if he lives here. I smile in the mirror, taking probably a bit too much satisfaction in my bedraggled, well-pleasured reflection.
After I freshen up at the sink and twist my hair into a hasty knot on top of my head, I snag Nick’s shirt from the chair and slip it on. The crisp cotton is dry now, but there’s no fixing the lack of buttons down the front of it. I smile with the memory, feeling playful and sexy as I roll the overlong sleeves up on my forearms and head out of the bedroom to look for Nick.
The low timbre of his voice carries out from the kitchen.
“I thought I made myself clear on this the last time we spoke.” Although he’s speaking quietly, there’s no mistaking the irritation in his tone. No, he’s pissed as hell. “Yes, I understand the situation and I don’t give a damn. Then tell the son of a bitch I said as much. No. There’s nothing more to say on the matter. You have my answer and it’s final.”
My steps halt just outside the room. I stand there silent, feeling awkward and uncertain if I should interrupt. He pivots at that same moment, perhaps sensing that he’s no longer alone. His call is ended without a goodbye, then he sets his phone on the counter.
I feel my brow furrow. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were on the phone. Everything all right?”
“Just some business I needed to handle.” His mouth curves in a sinfully hot smile. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No. I slept like a rock until a minute ago.”
He’s practically naked, dressed in just his black boxer briefs. Now that I’m seeing him in the daylight, he’s leaner than I recall. But still fit and strong, every inch of him roped in honed muscle sheathed in flawless golden skin. Desire pulses in me just to look at him.
I drift toward him, drawn as ever by the magnetism of this man but also by the memory of another morning after—our first—following my unplanned sleepover in his penthouse. We’d ended up in the kitchen that day, too, with Nick clad only in boxer briefs and me feeling awkward and twitchy, eager to make my escape before I was tempted to fall any deeper under his spell. There had been no hope of avoiding that, even then.
He leans casually against the counter, allowing me to drink in my fill of him. “You’re wearing my shirt.”
“Yes. It was a very nice shirt too.” I glance down at the open front that exposes as much of me as it covers. “Shame it’s ruined.”
“Ruined? Not from where I’m standing. It’s never looked better.” His blue eyes darken as he takes a handful of the finely loomed cotton in each hand and pulls me against him. His arousal is unmistakable, pressing shamelessly into my belly. “You look good enough to eat in my shirt. Or out of it.”
He lowers his head to mine and kisses me, his lips warm and intent and unhurried. His hands slip down my sides and around to the loose hemline that skims the backs of my thighs. I moan into his mouth as he palms my ass, his fingers firm and possessive. His bare skin feels hot everywhere we touch, his hard erection grinding against me in a slow rhythm that only makes me crave more.
“Hungry?” He murmurs against my parted lips.
“God, yes.”
“Good. So am I.” He chuckles darkly. It’s not until I open my eyes that I realize he’s talking about food. With a smirk on his lips and an amused arch of his brows, he lifts his head from our kiss. “I thought I’d round up some breakfast for us. If you don’t mind.”
“You mean take over my kitchen?” I feign an affronted look. “That’s rather bold of you, Mr. Baine.”
“I seem to recall you like my cooking. Do I need to remind you I make a mean eggs Benedict?”
“I remember. But my pantry is a bit more pedestrian than yours. In this kitchen the breakfast specialty is scrambled eggs and toast.”
He grins. “That would be great. Do you trust me enough for coffee duty?”
“Only if you know how to use a French press.”
“Do I know how,” he mutters. With a light smack on my backside, he releases me so I can go fetch what he’ll need from the cabinets. He takes the glass carafe and coiled plunger from my hands with a smirk. “Ms. Ross, you’re about to have the best cup of coffee of your life.”
I laugh, finding it so natural to slip back into a state of normalcy with him. It’s unnerving how effortless it is to banter and tease with him. Surreal to glance over and find him working beside me in my kitchen after spending most of the night in my bed upstairs making love.
I put the bread in the toaster, then busy myself at the stove with the pan of eggs while Nick comes over to retrieve the steaming teapot. After pouring hot water into the press on the counter, he comes back to replace the kettle on the extinguished back burner.
He lingers beside me, watching me grind salt and pepper on the eggs. “What are your plans for the day?”
“I want to look in on Kathryn this morning. If she’s feeling well enough for company, I’d like to visit with her for a while.” I nod in the direction of the cupboard next him. “Will you grab a couple of plates and mugs?”
He places the dishes on the counter. “Will you see Jared there today?”
“I don’t know. Possibly.” He grunts unhappily, but says nothing. I can’t imagine how he could be worried about Jared or any other man after last night. But Nick is a possessive man, and I’d be lying to myself if I try to pretend I don’t remember what it’s like to be the recipient of all that primal male attention and focus. I glance at over at him, more amused than I should be. “How’s the coffee situation?”
“Totally under control,” he says without even checking. “What are your plans after you check on Kathryn?”
“I thought I’d go into the studio. I’m making good progress on a piece I hope to finish this week, but I’m also hoping to see Lita. She said something to me at the event last night that’s been bothering me.”
“Lita, your friend who’d caught the eye of Derek Kingston.”
“That’s right,” I say, struck by the fact that he remembers a conversation he and I had more than a year ago about my friend and the former rockstar. “But it was her art that caught his eye.”
Nick smiles. “I’m sure it was. What did the asshole do to her?”
“I don’t know. Whatever it was, it was bad enough to make her walk off the project yesterday.” I turn the flame off the pan of cooked eggs, then butter the toast that popped while we were talking. “Lita’s been living and breathing that project for months. I’ve never seen her so consumed by anything else she’s worked on before, yet suddenly she just decides to quit?”
“The guy’s got a reputation for being difficult,” Nick says. “I’m sorry if your friend got the brunt of it.”
“Me too. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
He nods, considering. “And after you do that, what’s next on your list for the day?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then come out with me.”
“Out with you,” I say, tilting my head at him. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“I’m trying to.” The edge of his mouth quirks. “A bit out of sequence, considering last night, but, yes, Avery, I’d like to take you out. On a proper date.”
“What time?”
“You decide. You can call me later today and let me know when you’ll be free.”
“What if I decide to stay late at the studio?”
“I’ll wait.”
Then, as if the matter has been decided, he walks over to work the coffee press and fill our mugs. Without having to ask me, he adds both cream and sugar to mine—just the way I like it—and hands the mug to me.
I take a sip and damn if he wasn’t right. It’s as if I’ve never tasted good coffee before. “Oh, my God. This really is the best coffee I’ve ever had.”
With a told-you-so shrug, he clinks his mug against mine. “Trust, Ms. Ross.”
It’s a teasing remark, but we both feel its significance too. How many times did Nick say those very words to me after we first met? How often did he press me for honesty and trust, even though he knew all along that he wasn’t giving me the same thing?
Reckless.
That’s what I was with him the first time. There’s a part of me that fears I’m stepping into the same snare now, getting too comfortable too quickly. Justifying the pain we’ve both caused each other because of the pleasure we take in being together.
There is something dangerously comfortable about the way it feels to slip back into our old habits as if the past year hadn’t happened. As if last night has erased it all and we’re back together again.
It’s unsettling how much I want to believe that we can simply pick up and resume what we had. Terrifying how quickly my heart is ready to let him back in.
I set my mug down, then pivot away from him to serve our far-from-gourmet breakfast. Nick moves in behind me, brushing his knuckles tenderly along my cheek.
“You’ve gotten quiet. You okay?” When I only nod, he puts his mug on the counter next to mine, then turns me around to face him. He’s scowling, but it’s not anger I see in his eyes. “If this is going too fast for you . . . If it’s uncomfortable having me here, tell me. I’ll go.”
“No. It’s not that. And I don’t want you to go.”
“Then what?” He sounds truly worried, as if I’m the one with the power to wound him. “Avery, if you think last night was a mistake—”
“It wasn’t.” I sigh, shaking my head. “Last night felt too good to be a mistake. All of this, being with you again like this . . . it feels too good to be a mistake.”
“Because it isn’t.” His tone is as resolute as his touch is gentle. He cradles my face in his palms, searching my gaze. “I won’t let this be a mistake. Not this time. Not if you can forgive me for what I’ve done.”
“I did some awful things too. I lied to you about a lot of things and you forgave me.”
“Yes. Because I understood you kept all those things from me in order to protect yourself. From your past. From the people who could still hurt you. And, yes, even from me.” His thumb traces my lips. “I forgave you because I loved you, Avery. I still do. Christ, I would do anything for you.”
I close my eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in.
“Tell me you believe me,” he says quietly.
“I believe you, Nick.” I brush my fingers through his inky black hair, helpless to keep from touching him. “And I love you too.”
He breathes out, a sound of relief. Of hope. “Can you forgive me?”
“I already have.”
“But you don’t trust me.”
“I want to, Nick.” My mind crowds with all of the reasons I have to be careful, to be wary around him now. We both came to each other via deception, no matter how either of us needs to rationalize our actions or justify our motivations. We both have our excuses. We have our demons to be slayed. But if this is going to work—if we stand any chance of lasting—then we have to rebuild on a foundation of truth.
“Avery, tell me what I need to do.”
“No more secrets. No more games or power plays.” I shake my head, realizing my ultimatum could end this even before it begins again. But it’s the only way. Anything less would already be a lie. “I need honesty from you this time, Nick. You need to let me in. You need to trust me. If you can’t give me that—”
“I can,” he says, his voice intense with emotion. “Anything, Avery. I’m not going to lose you again.”
“You’d better mean that.”
He nods solemnly. “Every word.”
Then he kisses me, gathering me close and holding me there for the longest time. When we separate I look up into ocean blue eyes that have gone stormy with desire. The same desire that’s smoldering inside me.
Nick kisses me again, slow and deep.
He pushes his shirt off my shoulders and it drops onto the checked tile of my kitchen floor.
Our breakfast will be cold, but I don’t care. I can’t even mourn the phenomenal cup of coffee I won’t be drinking after all.
Not when I have Nick’s promise to hold on to and his arms wrapped around me.
Right now there is nothing more I need.