CHAPTER 7
SHE SIMPLY COULD NOT BELIEVE IT. March Ulrich, supposedly the harbinger of all that was civilized, facetious, and snobbish, had really done it. He’d banged her like a feral animal. He'd held her with his glittering eyes as his tight body had hammered into hers. With the talent of a mythological god. One of the lesser known petty-ass bureaucrat type of Greek gods for sure, but, still, divine.
And when he came...he lost it. It was a beautiful sight, watching this controlled man in the agony of release. After he finished, his chest jerking with short, choppy breaths, he’d opened his squinting eyes, winced...and collapsed on her in this absolutely adorable way before rolling over, grabbing her hand on the way.
"Shit...shit...wiped." His gasps floated above the muted sounds of their breathing. She’d been lying there on her back, smelling the sexy sex smells of sex, feeling the cool air of the room wash over her damp skin.
"What?" she slurred.
He squeezed her hand and panted, "I'm wiped. That wiped me. Damn. You?"
She nodded, then shrieked to find herself tugged and tumbling against him.
Kissing a clammy-now, unaroused, musky but still beautiful March Ulrich was...very, very nice. She didn’t get why she'd even want to press herself against his hard, sweaty flesh; she could take or leave post-coital cuddling usually—mostly leave. But this...this felt right. His fingers in her hair, his slack muscles, the thick air around them both...
Maybe later she'd question it. For now, she was loving it.
Eventually the hand stroking her hair stilled and he pulled away. "Here, I have something I want to show you." With a surge of energy that surprised her, he heaved himself across her, reaching down to the floor for his leather bag. In her blissful state, Lia appreciated the feel of his leg and his guy parts, not to mention the view. Pale it might be, but March Ulrich had a fantastically nice, tight, rounded ass. A good, hard-working ass. The gluteal muscles in it had served her well.
"Uh, you're kind of crushing me here…"
A phone was shoved in her hands and he crowded up next to her. He kept hold of the device along with her while he navigated on the screen. And then he was pushing it toward her with an enigmatic look. She stared down at the website displayed there.
And it hit her like a bucket of dirty water. Ginger-striped cat cheeks with big green eyes and old-man-mustache whiskers.
Without a thought, she scrolled down...to see another image, this one of lopsided ears.
The next photo showed the cat in mid-leap up a flight of steps, claws extended. Two hands were outstretched to catch the creature in mid-bound. She knew, because those were her own hands, with calluses on the fingertips.
"Did you take this picture?" she demanded.
"Mm."
"When? When did you take it?"
He didn’t respond. She glanced away from the screen to catch him watching her closely.
"Did you take all of these pictures?" Why the idea unnerved her so she couldn’t say, but she gathered up the sheet and tucked it around herself carefully, suddenly wanting the protection of modesty.
"Sure."
"I don’t...you really did? You took pictures of Max?"
"Max and you."
"But…"
"You really never saw me with my phone?" he chided.
"Only when you were texting your friends…you were being rude...I mean…oh, wait."
He chuckled.
March Ulrich, it turned out, had taken, and loaded, seventeen photos and put in captions.
Lia Battles Maddening Max
The Berserker Strikes Again
Beclawed Monster Uses New Wool Trousers as Scratching Post
Beauty and the Bully
Max Solo and Lia
There was even a video embedded at the bottom:
Epic battle: shag cat vs shag carpet
He must have sensed her bewilderment, because he said softly, "Well? What do you think?"
"I don’t...I don’t know...why did you..."
He pointed to the URL.
MaxHalpernInMemorium.org.
A huge, hard fist seemed to plant itself inside her chest. She swallowed a painful lump.
"You...when did you…"
"After you told me what happened." He paused. "It’s just a quick mockup. I still have to move it to a permanent host somewhere. You can add to it, make it yours, even change the domain name if you want. Let it be a memorial to your little guy for as long as you want."
"This—is it—you made it for—"
"You. I made it for you." He removed his hand. It wasn't like him not to meet her gaze. She had the sudden impression he wasn’t as casual as he seemed.
"You made it." She stared at him.
March Ulrich had made her a website.
To honor Max.
Her cat.
Who did that?
"I don’t know what to say." That wouldn’t embarrass me. "Do you do this a lot? Make random websites for people?"
He reached out and tapped the screen to scroll down. "No, you’re my first. I was planning to show the finished site to you sometime next week, but...here, check this out, you remember, this is the day…" He went on to explain each photo, taking her through different pages, offering context, describing the structure of the site...and she heard nothing. All she could think was, March Ulrich did this for me.
For an employee, a tenant.
No. No, he clearly remembered each photo. He even remembered details about Max she’d never noticed herself.
He’d done it for her.
Lia Halpern.
It was a gift.
She grabbed the phone in mid-sentence and tossed it down, took his hand and held it between hers.
"Mister...I mean...March. March." She cleared her throat. "This, what you did...it might be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me." She frowned. "It is. It is the nicest thing. Thank you. Really...I mean it. Thanks."
He looked into her eyes, and she saw an intense message there. "You’re welcome."
"Why did you? Do it I mean?" she whispered.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Oh."
"You like it, then." He was trying to probe her, she realized. The same cautious way she was trying to probe him.
"Yeah." She licked her lips. "I guess you know it’s my birthday."
He blinked with surprise. Slowly he shook his head.
So. Apparently he'd done it for no other reason than...doing it. O-kay.
"It’s your birthday," he repeated. "How old—never mind, I remember now, you’re twenty-five."
"Wait, how do you know that?"
"Ever heard of the Internet?"
His sarcasm didn't even rub her the wrong way, that's how touched she was. She chewed on her lip and gestured at the phone. "None of the people who knew what day it was did anything like this. My mother didn't even remember what had happened to Max. Just...the fact that you’d take the time to do it. That means a lot."
"Maybe I did it to get into your good graces."
"Did you?"
"Well, of course."
"Huh." She studied him, trying to read his mind.
He sighed. "You loved the little devil. It was the least I could do."
"Well...thank you." The wine had worn off, she'd had the sex, and her inhibitions were back to their normal levels. But somehow she had an almost drunken urge to smile. "You know what? This was a good day. I had a good time with you. The dinner and the…"
"Banging?" he said helpfully. "Hey, it was your word, woman!"
She let the hand she'd used to punch his chest smooth over the pectoral curves, tickling the curling hairs. "Yeah, the banging was pretty great when you finally stopped being a teasing jerk. But I meant talking with you. Getting to know you. About your turtle and your attitude and...oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say."
"I do. You like me. You like your bastard of a boss, don’t you?"
"I guess," she admitted. "Let’s just say you don’t have to sell the building, not on my account."
"I don’t?"
"Yeah. I mean maybe we could, uh, hang out sometimes."
"Hang out..."
"You know what I’m saying."
Idiot! How can he know if you don’t even know what the hell you’re saying?
"I take it," he said dryly, "you’re not agreeing to be mine, then. You’re just keeping your options open. Establishing friendly relations with your boss slash landlord, with possible sex as a bonus."
Agreeing?
To be mine?
Her confusion must have shown on her face, for he flipped himself over her and cupped her face, stared into her eyes with his rueful green ones.
"Woman, you still have no clue, do you...you know, I have never met anyone quite so stubborn...quite so eager to drive me away. Maybe it's true, the sense I always get that you'd rather spend time laying wallpaper than talking to me."
"That's ridiculous. Laying wallpaper is the worst."
"Then tell me if you will why I've spent the last year trying to get your attention while being jealous of an ugly maverick tomcat. A cat." Before she could do more than open her mouth, he ground out, "You are so damn lovely, Lia, you make me weak, you take my breath away...and you fight me constantly. You won't pander to me even a little bit."
"I’m a novelty to you," she huffed.
"If you mean new and different from anyone I've met, then you're right. But that’s not all you are. Yes, I like that you don’t play the usual games, in fact I'm pretty sure that from this point forward you're going to stop holding back and really start giving me hell. But you’re also gorgeous and sexy and talented—what? I mean it. You're an amazing woman. There’s only one thing I’m not sure about. Question: would you go behind my back and cheat on me?"
"What? Of course not. Geez, I hate it when people cheat. Are you a cheater?" In her experience, if a guy suspected cheating, he was the one who was doing it.
"Hell, no, I’ve been burned myself. So now we’ve established you’re basically the perfect woman, and I can give you screaming orgasms and be an entertaining dinner companion and wouldn’t ever dream of looking at another woman...you’ll be mine. Won’t you?"
She burst out laughing. It was slightly hysterical. "Uh, it’s tempting. Even if you do sound like an Archie comic right now." And crazy… "Listen, why don’t we just hang out first and see how it goes?"
"Hang out."
"Yeah. Like, bosses and employees hang out sometimes."
He snorted. "You really need to let go of that huge chip you’re carrying on your shoulder." He dropped a kiss on her lips. "Wouldn’t you like to see close up how the other half lives?"
She shot him a suspicious look. "You mean…"
"I mean me. Woman, I want to be with you, not just here and there but really be with you. Whatever you're doing. Cheer you on as you ram your middle digit up the assholes of the world...if you’ll let me. Hey, you like kids? I like kids."
"Ah…" Why were tears pricking at her cheeks? That she would even consider him seriously was messed up. "Yeah. I like them."
"Good. You see what I mean? You like Jackie Chan and Pad See Ew at Russ’s House of Thai and the starting pitcher of the New Highland Positrons...seriously here, I think we're all set."
"Hmph. FYI I always ask them to take half the eggs out at Russ's. But...how did you know all that?"
"I’m brilliant."
"You guess lucky you mean."
"Get to know me, darling, and you’ll see luck is not involved. I’m convinced this is fate."
She wiped her eyes. "Dammit, are you sure about this? I mean it was a good day, but...I can’t afford to be with someone who’s gonna screw me over. This is my life."
"Hm, I’ll definitely screw with you...and hand you screws...screw up...but I won’t screw you up. Never you." He kissed her eyelid. "So we’re on the same page now?"
She nodded.
"Good," he said softly, mouth dipping to the hollow of her throat. "We’re good, then. You’ll be in love with me too before you know it."
Too?
Somehow her heart forgot what it was supposed to be doing. "You say it like a threat."
"Not a threat. A vow."
LIA HAD TO ACCEPT that March Ulrich wasn't putting one over on her. He never did sell Susanna's building. No, the rat sneakily made sure her name ended up on the title. And somehow she found herself in charge of supervising the new building manager. And not one, not two, but three kittens. And one jerk.
Between her work at the rehab center and home, she was run ragged. But by then she didn’t mind so much, this go-all-in-with-love thing and all it entailed. She conceded that she could happily keep this jerk around...pretty much for the rest of existence.
To Mary. My friend, you were an island of calm in a turbulent sea.
Hello!
Thank you very, very much for reading my stories. Get notified when my next book comes out and receive a free story by . And have you read my friends-to-lovers romance ?
Some personal notes about this book...
Do you ever wonder where authors get their ideas? 'Twas a wintry week in hell that inspired this little New Highland romance.
Here's what went down. A December blizzard across the city had taken down all the power lines along our Seattle street, leaving us without heat or electricity for days in sub-freezing temperatures.
The bizarre thing was, across the street they still had power. The houses shone with festive Christmas lights and emanated all the seasonal joy.
It was positively freaky. Thanks to a twist of fate, here we were on our side of the block living in cold darkness and scary survival conditions, while the other side was celebrating merrily, warm, cozy, and well-fed. Somehow our neighborhood had become a metaphor for the human condition.
One day, one of the neighbors with power decided to run an extension cord across the street to help out. It was such a small thing, but that thin orange cord helped bridge the harsh divide that had opened up between us.
I thought about that time, about the haves and have nots. I thought about how little it takes to help but how life-altering it can be. I thought about neighbors. I thought about Christmas and fate and how people living on opposite sides of the tracks are essentially the same. Then I wrote this story.
Love,
Deana