Waiting For Nick
Page 33

Pride wobbled. "How?"
He finally shot her a look. "Let's just say it was obvious."
"I see." Perhaps, after such stunning pleasure, there could be humiliation. "Was I inadequate?"
"In—" He let out a breath, then a curse. The woman had turned him inside out, now she wanted to know if she was inadequate. "No, you weren't inadequate. You were amazing."
"I was?" Her lips began to curve. "Amazing?"
He recognized that smug tone and wondered how, at such a time, it could amuse him. "That's not the point."
"I think it's a good one, though." Understanding, and sorry for the torment she heard in his voice, she shifted until she could look down at his face. "I always knew you'd be my first, Nicholas. I always wanted you to be."
He wondered why the thrill that sent through him didn't shame him. "I took advantage—"
She cut him off with a delighted laugh. "No way.
Maybe you want to delude yourself that you ravished the virgin, Nicholas, but I seduced you, and I worked damned hard at it."
"I'm trying to take responsibility here," he said patiently. "You're making it tough."
"You made me happy," she murmured, and lowered her mouth lightly to his. "I hope we made each other happy. Why should knowing that make you sad?"
It didn't seem to make much sense, but he found himself smiling at her. "You're supposed to be weepy and trembling and shocked."
"Oh." She pursed her lips. "Well, maybe if we take it from the top—so to speak—I'll get it right the next time."
Later, he left her in his bed and went down to the bar for his shift. For the first time in years, he caught himself watching the clock. Though he drew drafts and mixed drinks with the ease of experience, he nearly snarled at the few customers who lingered through last call.
The minute the last one was out the door, he locked up. He gave the bar no more than a cursory cleanup before rushing back upstairs.
She was sleeping, her head nestled in his pillow, her arm thrown out over the space where he would soon be. He found himself grinning, delighted just to watch her, to listen to the slow, even sound of her breathing, the little catch in it when she shifted in sleep and rustled the sheet.
Then an idea began to form in his brain that had him grinning and unbuttoning his shirt.
He left his clothes in a heap on the floor, then eased down at the edge of the bed. He tugged the sheet aside and picked up her foot.
Freddie drifted awake on a tingle of pleasure. It seemed to creep along her skin, seep into her blood. She heard herself sigh with it, a lovely dream. Then she shot fully awake and into a sitting position when Nick scraped his teeth along her instep.
"Nick?" Disoriented, pulse pumping, she pushed the hair out of her eyes and blinked at the shadow at the bottom of the bed. "What are you doing?"
"Waking you up."
His eyes, well adjusted to the dark, gleamed like a cat's. A wolfs. He found it endearing, arousing, that when she discovered she had no sheet to cover herself, she crossed an arm over her br**sts and looked flustered.
"Too late," he murmured. "I've already seen you naked."
Feeling foolish, she lowered her arm. A little.
"I had this interesting fantasy, about nibbling on your toes and working my way up. I'm indulging myself."
"Oh." The idea had heat rushing through her. "Come to bed."
"Eventually."
"I want to…" She trailed off, sliding bonelessly back down as his tongue did amazing and wicked things to her ankle.
"I figured since you seduced me—" he progressed, inch by devastating inch, up her calf "—it was only right that I return the favor."
Who would have thought, she wondered, that the back of a knee could be so wonderfully sensitive? "Well…" Her voice was weak. "Fair's fair."
When Freddie let herself into her apartment the next morning, she was singing. Not only was she in love, she thought, but Nick LeBeck was her lover. And she was his.
She did three quick pirouettes across her living room, buried her face in the tiny white blooms of the violet he'd given her, then spun away again.
Everything in her life was suddenly and absolutely perfect.
She would have deserted her beautiful new apartment and moved into the pigsty he lived in in an instant, bag and baggage. But she could easily imagine Nick's face if she brought up the idea.
Total shock, she acknowledged. And a good dose of fear.
Well, there was no need to rush, she reminded herself. Not now.
But if he didn't make a move before too much longer, she would have to take the initiative herself. And propose.
Still, at the moment, she was more than content. All she wanted was a shower—the one she'd taken with Nick that morning didn't count—and a change of clothes. She was due back at Nick's in an hour.
They still had a score to finish.
She was just stepping, dripping, out of the shower when her buzzer sounded.
"Coming, coming, coming." Tugging on a robe as she ran, she rushed to the intercom. "Yes?"
"Fred, open up."
The sound of his voice still had the power to thrill her. "Nick, you've got to stop following me."
"Ha-ha. Now open up. I wouldn't have had to run all the way over here if you'd answered your phone."
"I was in the shower." She pressed the buzzer to admit him, then undid her locks before dashing back to the bathroom. She managed to tuck her hair into a towel, and slather on some moisturizer before he walked in.
"Don't ever leave your door unlocked like that."
Always the sweet-talker, she thought. "You were on your way up."
"Ever," he repeated, then eyed her. "Didn't you just take a shower an hour ago?"
She tilted her head, then shoved the towel back into place as it tipped. "I put that more in the class of water games than grooming. What are you, the water police?"
Distracted, he reached out to toy with her lapel. "What do you call this thing?"
She glanced down at her short plum-colored silk robe. "A robe. What do you call it?"
"An invitation, but we haven't got time. Get packed."
Her brows shot up. "I'm leaving?"