Long Slow Burn (17 page)

He nodded as if she'd given him the answer to a question he hadn't asked. “Right. Sleep well.”

“You, too!” She hated the chirpiness in her voice.

For an agonizing few seconds longer he hesitated, seemed about to say something, then changed his mind and left the room, unaware that he'd taken a sizable chunk of her heart along with him.

N
ATHAN WOKE UP WITH
that horrible heavy sensation in his chest that meant something bad had happened. A few seconds later, he remembered what it was: Kim. The most amazing sex of his life, during which he'd been thinking weddings, house shopping and babies, and she'd been thinking hey, great lay, thanks.

How many women had he done this to? A few. He recognized the signs retroactively: facial expression plummeting from smile of pure happiness to stoic awareness of impending rejection. He'd felt it happen to his own face the previous night, and until that moment, he had no idea of the pain that went with it. He, Steve and Kent used to laugh,
Haha, women think sex means more than it does, ha-ha.
Kim couldn't have taught him a better lesson or struck a more powerful blow for womankind if she'd sawed off his balls with a dull bread knife.

Oof.
He cringed.
Forget that image.

Well, guess what. He'd read the last page of the
Man's Guide
now and was on his own. Any doubts he'd had about being in love with Kim were put to rest when he'd made love to her. The actions were familiar, the orgasms spectacular, but they didn't even scratch the surface of what he'd felt, how entirely different the act had been from anything that had come before.

But if Kim could go through lovemaking that intense and act as if it was just another roll in the sheets, then he was nothing more than an erect dick to her. Maybe a good friend with an erect dick.

Nathan pushed himself out of bed, aware that at the moment he was a crabby, confused, unshowered guy with an erect dick. He wanted to go into Kim's room, gather her sleepy, beautiful body into his arms and feel her there with him, make love to her again.

Like that was going to happen.

What were his options? Move out? Stay here? Keep away from her? Try again?

He didn't know. He was entirely inexperienced in matters of love. So inexperienced that though he'd undoubtedly fallen for Kim the first time he saw her back in tenth grade, it had taken him over a decade to figure it out. Nice going.

His computer was still on; after leaving Kim, he'd worked late into the night on his thesis. Making up the dollhouse plans had been a revelation. He'd wanted to have them for her birthday, so he—or someone—could build her a replica if she ever decided she wanted one.

In the process, though, something remarkable had happened. The little house's elegant simplicity had been a joy after the pressures and expectations inherent in his master's work. When he'd finished and turned back to his thesis, in a lightning bolt of recognition he'd realized his project was a Frankenstein mishmash of green certified products, from mandatory environmental window shades to geothermal heat beds, one “green” element after another stuffed into the design until it was sinking under its own weight. He'd lost sight of the beauty that was necessary, lost sight of design integrity, of the people that would inhabit the place. He'd been thinking only of budget and the LEED platinum rating he'd promised his advisor and his ego.

To hell with it. He wanted to be an architect, not an engineer, build houses people would want to live in. Inexpensive
and environmentally sound, yes, but they also had to be homes.

Compromise was in order, downgrading the LEED level to gold, silver, whatever it took to sacrifice the least and satisfy the most.

Finally, his path moving forward was clear. He would finish this project, get a job and learn as much as he could. Someday he'd be in a position to put everything he had into finding materials that could be recycled, begged, borrowed—no, not stolen—so that all his buildings would be LEED platinum and inexpensive
and
attractive.

One step at a time. He promised himself to live slower and think more often of the consequences of his actions before he got into another no-way-out bind. Like the one he hoped to God he hadn't gotten himself into with Kim.

He took a shower, thinking admittedly less noble thoughts about her, her breasts, the smooth, muscular curve of her ass, the way she gave those sexy gasps when she was getting close to coming. The way her skin tasted, the way her wetness tasted, the way her body squirmed under his tongue's touch, the look on her face when she went over the top.

Somehow he managed to keep from coming under the spray, in case a miracle happened and she woke up wanting him again. Ever the optimist, he even stuffed a condom into the back pocket of his jeans.

He was doomed. He should have himself shredded and woven into a doormat to be delivered here anonymously so she could wipe her feet all over him.

Toweled off and dressed, he strolled—very nonchalantly, in case Kim had gotten up while he was in the bathroom—into the kitchen. No, she wasn't up yet. He made coffee for both of them, thinking it was too bad his supply of Alterra beans would dry up now that he was officially unemployed, and settled down with the previous day's newspaper.

Kim's door opened. Her steps shuffled sleepily to the bathroom, then back. Silence for a while, then he heard them again, coming toward the kitchen. He tensed, rattled the
paper so she'd know he was in there and pretended to be absorbed reading.

“Morning.”

“Oh, hi.” He didn't sound convincingly surprised even to himself. “Sleep well?”

“Not really.” She passed him on her way to the refrigerator; he wanted to reach out and hug her close. “I couldn't sleep after you left so I put in the new material for the proposal. I'll get it in the mail today and it will arrive Monday, deadline day.”

Even in his off mood he couldn't help being happy for her. He looked up from an article he wasn't reading to give her a congratulatory smile and thumbs-up, noticing she'd changed out of the sexy gown and into her usual sweats and sweater. She still looked incredibly hot to him. Would she ever not? He doubted it. “Carter will give it to you. You're the best.”

“If I do get it, it will be because of your idea.” She took out a carton of orange juice.

“Kim, it was your idea. You deserve all the credit.”

“I wouldn't have thought of it if you hadn't made me talk it through.”

“Okay, you owe me.”

She laughed, pouring her juice, completely comfortable around him, as if nothing had gone on between them.

Damn it.

He went back to not reading his paper. Live slow. Play it cool.

A phone rang; Kim grabbed her cell, which she must have left lying on the counter the previous night.

“Hello?” She look startled, then laughed incredulously. “You're calling me from Japan?”

D
was for disembowelment, dismemberment, death and Dale.

Nathan wanted to shove back his chair and stalk out of the kitchen, but that wouldn't fit in too well with his decision to play it cool.

“What? Oh, no.” She glanced at Nathan, biting her lip, looking anxious. “No, nothing like that.”

He stared as she turned away, head bowed to one side. She seemed to want to fold over, retreat into herself. What was this guy saying to her? A rush of protectiveness made Nathan want to grab the phone away and tell Dale what he could do to himself.

“No, it was great, really. I know. I'm sorry.”

Nathan wanted to growl. She sounded like a guilty teenager talking to her angry father.

“I have some good news. I got exactly the idea I need to make the Carter proposal work.” She sounded timid, as if she wasn't sure she should be telling him. What the hell was that? “Yes, it's pretty great. I'm excited. All I have to do now is—”

A long pause. Nathan forced himself to unclench his teeth. The guy interrupted in the middle of Kim telling him about one of the most important parts of her life?

“Really? You did? That's terrific.”

He stopped pretending to read. Stopped pretending he wasn't listening. Glared at her back. The asshole had manipulated the conversation so that now she had to congratulate
him?
How much time had he given her achievement? Three seconds?

“No, it's really not like that.” She moved into the living room, her steps heavy, head down. “No. Yes, I, um, I do, too.”

Nathan froze, black hatred boiling in his chest. Yes, he had admitted he needed practice living slow and being cool. But did Dale just tell Kim he loved her? Was that what she was answering?
I do, too?

No. No way. Kim couldn't fall for that creep. Not when he beat her down like that. And she wouldn't have let Nathan into her bed if she was in love with someone else.

Steady.

“Okay, well, I'm glad you did. Right. Have a great rest
of the trip. I'll see you when you get back. What? Oh, no, of course you can. Yes. Bye!”

Nathan put down the paper, took a sip of coffee. One look at her perplexed face and he knew there was no way he could sit here and pretend that her happiness wasn't more important than his. “Dale?”

“Yeah.” She went to the counter, drank the glass of orange juice she'd poured earlier. “He's in Japan.”

“Ah.” Sip of coffee. Trying to keep this casual. “And how is Mr. Dale?”

“Busy.”

“You disappear when he talks to you.”

She looked annoyed. “Yeah, well, I didn't think it would be that comfy for either of us if I talked to him in here.”

“That's not what I meant. You disappear. You wilt. You shut down. Your voice drops. You lose your spark.” Nathan was angry, and sounded it.

She put her glass down on the counter with a sharp thud. “That's ridiculous.”

“Like a girl in the principal's office.”

Her eyes flashed fire. “You are absolutely out of line—”

“There.” He got up from his chair, pointing triumphantly. “Right there. It's all back now. With him, you're not Kim, you're anemia personified.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “
Excuse
me?”

“You're not the hot woman I saw on the dance floor and you're sure as hell not the woman I was in bed with last night. What the hell do you see in this guy? Why do you want someone who beats you down like that?”

“He does not beat me down. He's a sweet man who—”

“Isn't even happy for you about one of the most important things in your life right now.” Her angry expression faltered, all the encouragement Nathan needed. “He didn't even react.”

“You couldn't hear what he said.”

“I could hear you turn into a pale imitation of yourself for a guy who wants you only for his ego trip.”

“And what do
you
want women for? An orgasm or two, and then thanks and buh-bye?”

How could she still think that after last night? “I listen to you. I want to get to know you as you. I really care about your successes and your—”

“Oh, right, the perfect man.” She lifted her arms, let them slap down on her thighs. “And I should go out with someone like you who—”

“Yes.” He stood up. “Yes, you should.”

For an incredulous second she froze, blinking up at him.

Maybe he'd made a mistake, but it was too late to turn back, and then, suddenly, he didn't want to. No more bullshit. No more games. “Have you kissed him yet?”

“That's none of your business.” She took a step back, nearly to the wall.

“I take it that's a yes.” Nathan moved opposite her. “How was that?”

“None of your business.”

“Was it anything like when you kissed me last night?”

She tried to back away farther; the wall stopped her. She started looking panicked. “Last night was fun, Nathan, but we need to forget—”

“Was it like this?” He pulled her close and found her mouth, held nothing back, indulging the wild heat and chemistry that sprang to life between them in an instant.

She pushed weakly at his shoulders, but he knew her real strength and persisted, seducing her with his lips over and over until she relaxed her arms and clutched at him. Almost beyond reason, he leaned her back against the wall, shoved his thigh between her legs, kissing her until she made a whimper of arousal and surrender that hardened his cock as if it was programmed to respond to that sound.

“When he kissed you was it like that?”

“No,” she whispered.

Vicious joy.
No.
Then a flood of masculine triumph, a primitive need to restake his claim. Nathan pulled her away
from the wall, twisted her around, put a hand to the back of her neck and bent her over the table, loosening his hold for a second to make sure she wasn't struggling. No. She lay there, cheek to the smooth wood, breathing heavily.

If he thought he was hard before, he'd just redefined the word. Two seconds to put his hands to the waistband of her sweats and yank them down. Two more for the panties. Her ass taunted him, firm and golden, fuzzed with tiny blond hairs like a ripe peach.

He groaned and dropped to his knees, buried his face between her legs, tasting and tonguing, hands on his fly, unsnapping, unzipping, shoving his jeans off, rolling the condom on.

Back on his feet, he took hold of that gorgeous ass, one hand on either cheek squeezing the firm muscle, spreading them wide, taking his fill of the view between before he guided his cock home and watched himself disappearing inside her an inch at a time, pushing deeper, pulling out, pushing deeper yet, nearly coming just from the sight.

She was tight, not quite ready, and the friction was unbelievable. If he was hurting her, she gave no sign.

“Yes-s-s-s,” she breathed.

Oh, man.
He had to stop his movement, regain control.

Five-four-three-two-one.

He thrust again, slow and hard, letting her know who was boss.

“Oh, yes-s-s-s.”

Again he stopped, panting with the effort not to come. Who was he kidding? She was the boss. He was the junior apprentice, about to shoot inside her prematurely like an inexperienced teenager.