Long Slow Burn (18 page)

“Give it to me, Nathan.”

Her whisper undid him. He gritted his teeth, braced his legs and gave it to her for as long as he could stand it, thrusting hard, his balls slapping on her thighs; she cried out in pleasure-pain, urging him on, goading him, her beautiful face pink with pleasure.

Finally she propped herself up on her forearms and took control, pushing her ass at him, breasts swinging, arm muscles contracting, hair a wild sexy mess.

There was no way he could hold back. He came in a long burst of pleasure that seemed to come from deeper inside him than anything ever had.

Then she was touching herself and the sight was so hot he stayed hard, keeping his in-and-out rhythm until she came, watching her back muscles contract as she arched, feeling her vaginal muscles pulsing around his penis.

Oh, man.
He wiped perspiration from his forehead. So much for playing it cool; she was too hot and he wanted her too badly, loved her too deeply to stand by while she wasted herself on a jerk who didn't deserve her. Nathan had been that kind of jerk, so he could recognize them. But he had a hell of a lot more to offer her than Tokyo Dale.

He pulled gently out of her, hating to break the contact, and helped her straighten. “You okay?”

“I'm fine.” She didn't sound fine.

“Want more juice? Water? Coffee?”

She shook her head, biting her lip, and he had the sudden shocking realization that she was about to cry.

“Kim.” He took her into his arms, horrified at what he'd done. “God, I'm so sorry.”

“No, no.” She burrowed against him, thank God. “It's not your fault. I wanted you. I'm just…”

“Confused? Overwhelmed?” He stroked her hair gently. “Sore?”

She gave the hint of a giggle against his chest. “All of the above. Nathan…I think we should stay away from each other.”

“Why?”

Her face creased into a sad smile that nearly broke his heart. “I'm not really sure.”

He kissed her soft mouth—gentle, nonthreatening kisses. The kind of kisses a man gives to a woman he loves.

“I have an idea.”

“Mmm?” Her arms crept around him. He'd never felt anything so sweet. If this was how she planned to stay away from him, he could handle it.

“Let's not stay away from each other. And not try to define this.”

“Oh, Nathan.” She sighed. “You mean do whatever we feel like regardless of the consequences?”

He cringed. “Do you have to put it like that?”

“I'm sorry. I have to figure some stuff out. And it's really hard to do when you're…”

“Jumping you every chance I get?”

She shrugged. “Yeah.”

He nodded. Another lesson in patience for Nathan. If staying away from her was what it would take to win her, then even though it might kill him, he'd do it.

He let go of her, feeling as if she'd be pulled away from him by invisible hands the second she was no longer secured against him. But he also understood that though he wanted her in his arms more than anything else, he wanted her there only by her own choice.

 

D
REAM
D
ANCE
S
TEAK WAS
one of the most expensive restaurants in Milwaukee. Kim sat numbly opposite Dale while he paid the waiter what must be an appallingly high amount, and thought about how she'd rather be on Lake Michigan's shore eating food without plates or forks, drinking wine without glasses and having nothing to wipe her mouth with. How she'd rather be anywhere but here. How she'd told Dale she didn't want to eat out, that they needed to talk, and he'd argued back that they had a reservation and there was nothing they couldn't talk about over a good dinner.

Except the fact that she didn't want to see him again.

Not hard to see why she'd resisted her feelings for Nathan for so long. He wasn't exactly Mr. Constancy when it came to women. And yet…she believed they'd shared something in the kitchen that went beyond wild sex. She sensed that he'd been struggling to let her know he cared. As soon as she'd
had time to be alone and examine her own feelings, those feelings had felt safer coming out of hiding. She was in love with him. Against her better judgment, against everything she'd experienced with guys like him in the past. Whether this was a good thing or yet another colossal mistake that would end with her heart crushed like a bug, she had no idea.

One thing was for sure, though. It hadn't just been Nathan's competitive ego talking when he said Dale was domineering. What she'd thought was her nerves on other dates revealed itself clearly as some weird submissive pall he cast over her. Worse, Nathan had caught on in twenty seconds, listening to one side of the call from Tokyo, that Dale wanted her around only to reflect his own magnificence, that he wasn't really interested in getting to know her at all, while Kim was only just figuring it out.

“This was such a lovely time, Kimmy.”

She gritted her teeth. “Thanks for dinner, Dale. It was delicious. And sorry, but I'd rather be called Kim.”

“Not Kimmy? I like it. It suits you.” He smiled as if her objection was not only wrong, but on its way to being overruled.

“Not Kimmy. Just Kim.” She wasn't smiling in any way whatsoever. Tonight her fantasy man of the past seemed only pudgy and overbearing.

“Is everything okay?” He pocketed the signed receipt their waiter brought back. “You're not yourself tonight.”

She wanted to say,
No, Dale, the problem is that I am myself.

Of course she didn't. Because that wouldn't have been like the herself he wanted her to be. However, if she was sitting across from Nathan, she'd be able to say it in a heartbeat. And he'd take it in stride and answer seriously.

“I'm okay. Shall we?” Finally. The dinner had taken approximately a month to finish. A different woman would have insisted they skip it. She could be that different woman with Nathan.

“A stroll in the moonlight is exactly what you need.” He patted her hand. “Fresh air will do you good.”

He was right. Fresh air was exactly what she needed. And the biggest, most wonderful breath of fresh air, as far as she was concerned, was Nathan.

Outside, they started walking to the car, which wasn't much of a stroll, but she'd take it.

“Dale, I need to say something.”

“Of course, Kimmy.”

She resisted punching his soft gut. Just barely. “I don't think this is going to work out between us.”

“What?” He stopped walking, clearly aghast. The streetlight glinted off his glasses. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I've really enjoyed getting to know you, but I don't think I want us to move forward as a couple.”

His brows dropped like anvils. “It's that roommate.”

Bingo. “That's only part of it.”

His face darkened further. “You're sleeping with him, aren't you?”

“No.” Splitting hairs to spare his feelings. She had, but she wasn't. All week long, Nathan had honored her request to stay away from her, though there had been several times she'd nearly weakened and gone into his bedroom. Begging. On her knees.

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“Bullshit you're not sleeping with him. You've been sleeping with him all along. What kind of idiot do you think I am?”

She didn't think it would be a good idea to treat that as anything but a rhetorical question. “No, I haven't been, Dale.”

“I know his type.”

That stopped her. “You've never met him.”

“I had him looked into.”

“Looked
into?
” Her mouth dropped open. “You had Nathan investigated?”

“I had my suspicions, Kim. I'm not going to be played for a fool again.”

Any sympathy she might have had over the “again” part of that line was washed away by a flood of outrage that he'd hired someone to pry into Nathan's life and hers. And yes, also some guilt. She had slept with Nathan while Dale trusted that he and Kim were building toward a committed relationship.

Except if he'd really trusted, he wouldn't have hired a detective.

“The guy has a track record a mile long. Women all over the place. He'll get tired of you in about a week and it's on to the next one. It's been his pattern. And not many of the women had very nice things to say about his methods. There one minute, gone the next.” Dale stuck his face close to hers. “You think you'll be any different?”

Boom. There it was. Every fear, every piece of baggage, every ghost that still haunted her, and every bit of her difficulty trusting.

“I don't know.” She could barely hold back tears. “But it doesn't change the fact that I don't think you and I are—”

“Yeah, yeah, so you said. Come on, I'll drive you home.”

The ride back to her apartment was the most horrible, silent, miserable time she'd ever spent in a car. She practically leaped out of the vehicle when they reached her building, and Dale certainly made no move to get out and walk her to the door. When she attempted to apologize through the passenger window, he rolled it up and drove away.

Oh, for—

Fine. Go. Good riddance.

Inside, she took the elevator up, nervously twisting her keys. She'd need to tell Nathan what she'd done tonight. He would be happy. He'd been down on Dale from the beginning, down on the whole idea of her dating. And instinct—which, thanks to Marie, she'd been trying hard to listen
to—told her it wasn't only out of concern for her welfare. Maybe he really did care for her?

He'd been keeping up with his efforts to stay what she'd dubbed Nathan the Man. His thesis was moving forward again; he hadn't missed any appointments; he'd been drinking substantially less, keeping his room and their common areas tidy, helping with the cleaning—an amazing transformation.

She'd changed, too. Around him she was able to be the kind of bold, sexy woman she'd never thought she could be. Maybe—she was really dreaming now—maybe they could establish a wonderful and healthy relationship, the kind she'd always dreamed of but had never been able to manage. Maybe if she got the Carter bid or, if worse came to worst, she took the Soka job, and he got a good position with an architectural firm, they could find a nicer place to live. Together. If he really cared about her…

She was giddy with optimism by the time she got to their apartment door. It wasn't that late. Not ten yet. Maybe he'd want to go out dancing again. Maybe he'd want to stay in and dance horizontally, nyuck, nyuck. She pushed the door open quietly, hoping he was on the couch and she could jump him.

No. In his room, then?

No.

Kitchen?

No.

A note was on the table. “Out partying with Steve and Kent, back late, possibly not until tomorrow.”

The hand holding the note started shaking. Kim sank into a nearby chair and read it again, her heart in free fall.

She knew what happened when he was out with Kent and Steve. The beers would pour in. The inhibitions would leak out. The women would be there, young, wild and willing. Steve would encourage him. So would Kent. Nathan wouldn't want to look like a wimp in front of his friends.
Plus, he thought Kim was out with Dale tonight; why should he behave himself?

Possibly not until tomorrow.

Immediately, an image of her mother came to her, sitting up late at night all alone, pretending nothing was wrong, that it was fine her husband wasn't there again, that she knew where he was and with whom, and it was all on the up-and-up.

Kim folded her arms on the kitchen table and buried her head in them. What had she been thinking? How had she allowed something as stupid as a fantasy to creep into the reality of who Nathan had always been?

She couldn't even think about having a relationship with a man she couldn't trust.

M
ARIE STEPPED BACK
from the wall of Kim and nodded in satisfaction. “I think it's perfect.”

“Yes!” Candy stood next to her, wiping a smudge of glue from her nose. “It is perfect. I'm so glad we did it ourselves.”

Marie stepped back to get the full effect. With the guys' help, they'd taken pictures and hangings down from one wall in Candy's living room, moved chairs and a table down to the basement and hung up poster-board panels. But when Kent and Justin had started randomly throwing on the memorabilia that Kent and Nathan had collected—from Kim's apartment, a jumbled mess in a box Kent retrieved from his place, and a frighteningly organized assortment from Kim and Kent's mother—Candy and Marie put their feminine feet down.

After sending the boys away with assurances they couldn't have done it without manly assistance, Candy and Marie had gone to work constructing a timeline. Pictures of Kim as a baby, as a little girl next to a fantastic dollhouse, as a young girl and teenager; letters she'd written from camp, from college; dried flowers from her high school graduation, prom, the opening day of Charlotte's Web; funny emails Kent had saved and printed out; her first baby shoes, her first toe
shoes, a high-heeled black sandal they'd badgered her into buying on their recent outing.

Marie stopped by the last item, sent over by Nathan and prominently displayed: architectural plans for Kim's lost childhood dollhouse. The guy had to be in love with her to do something that sweet. Marie understood Kim's fears over falling for a player, boy did she ever, but she hoped Kim would give him a chance.

A long sigh preceded her millionth time check of the afternoon. Marie was a nervous mess over her regular Roots Cellar date with Quinn that night. She was going not as a friend, but as a woman.

After her lightbulb moment on the banks of the Milwaukee River, she'd gone home and done some listening to her instinct, which told her loud and clear that Quinn was what she wanted. Romantically. Sexually. The whole enchilada.

She couldn't in good conscience encourage Kim to go for it with Nathan and not take that risk herself. She'd chosen tonight for no particular reason except she'd decided there was no point waiting. Tonight she'd start showing Quinn she could be more than a friend. Tonight she'd start trying to interpret various signs that he could be interested as encouragement, instead of trying to find every possible reason she might have misunderstood his signals.

And if the effort was a complete disaster, so be it. Life would go on. The very next night, she'd be back here, surrounded by friends celebrating Kim's thirtieth birthday. Maybe she'd even try dating. Maybe she was more ready than she thought.

“Okay. Let's see.” Candy fished a worn piece of paper out of her apron pocket and consulted it. “Computer cake's baked. I'll frost it tomorrow. Custard in the freezer, sandwich fillings ready, her favorites, egg salad and salami with cream cheese. We'll put those together tomorrow, too. Chips, soda, beer, wine, all those are coming with guests. So on, so on, yadda yadda, I think we're good!”

“You've done great as usual, Candy. Thanks for your hard
work.” Marie glanced at her watch yet again, though she knew exactly what time it was. She had one hour to go home, change into a brand-new outfit bought for the occasion, and show up slightly late to be sure he'd already be there. Maybe she could manage five minutes of deep breathing so she didn't hyperventilate. “I should get home.”

“Going out tonight?”

“To a neighborhood bar. A regular Friday night…gathering.”

“Sounds great.” Candy put the list in her pocket, then dug it out again. “Oh, I need to wrap Kim's underwear. Leopard print for our wild jungle beast. She is going to die.”

Especially with Nathan right there imagining her wearing it.

“She'll love it. Have fun.” Marie hugged Candy and grabbed her bag, saw herself out into the chilly afternoon and drove home, seriously risking a speeding ticket.

One hour. Less now.

In her room, she shed her jeans, sweater and comfortable walking shoes and marched determinedly to her closet where the dress of seduction awaited. Not that she'd ever look like the kind of woman Quinn regularly, er, associated with, but compared to her usual, Marie would be hot tonight. The outfit had taken two exhausting days to find. Marie was adamant the dress be sexy without looking as if it were trying to be, and sophisticated without being fancy.

Finally, in a small downtown boutique she almost passed by, she'd struck gold. No, not on the clearance rack, but some things were worth paying for, and this was one of them. The dress had a white cotton knit bodice that crisscrossed over her chest, exposing more cleavage than she was used to, but not more than plenty of woman out there showed on a regular basis. A band of solid blue hugged under her breasts; from there a blue-green floral skirt flowed to just below her knees, camouflaging and concealing in all the right ways. She'd even found a pair of blue high heels, which added important
inches to her height, and which she could actually walk in instead of teetering.

Maybe she was being silly putting so much emphasis on one night and one dress, but too bad. This was how she wanted to try. If Quinn had decided to pursue a girlfriend, it was time she let him know she considered herself in the running. And if he rejected her, okay, she'd show him in word and action that she accepted his decision, and wouldn't let it ruin their friendship.

After she died a little.

The dress wouldn't be wasted. There would be other men to wear it for, other occasions. She'd rebuilt so much of her life after the divorce, making all her own decisions. This time she'd be making her own relationship decisions, too.

The dress went on smoothly; she zipped it up and smiled happily at her reflection. She hadn't imagined how flattering the style was for her coloring and her figure. This was a dress she could wear confidently, and which might even turn a few heads. Including Quinn's.

Makeup went on lightly; no need for overkill. Panty hose, shoes, very simple jewelry so as not to look overdressed, including the ring she'd finally called Grant to tell him he wasn't getting back. Another victory. More porgress. She wanted to wear the ring and enjoy it without being haunted by pain or memories.

A critical last once-over, and she tugged up the neckline, worried about overexposure. In the next second, she let it go back down. What the hell? Might as well give him an eyeful. She'd never met a man who objected.

There. She was ready.

She was beautiful.

She was sexy.

She was terrified.

No, none of that.
Marie picked up her new purse—yes, a blue one—and strode to the front door. She called goodbye to Jezebel, who meowed to wish her luck, grabbed up a light jacket—blue!—and headed outside, wondering if this was
how Cinderella felt before going to the ball. And how Marie Antoinette felt on the way to her beheading.

Marie marched out into the evening, thinking confidence, thinking success, visualizing Quinn's face lighting up at the sight of her, visualizing his eyes darkening, visualizing him taking every opportunity to touch her while they chatted, visualizing herself receptive, not overeager and not at all nervous.

Oh, God. Could she do this?

Of course she could! She'd been doing nearly the exact same thing every Friday for weeks now, without the cleavage and flirting. Cleavage did its own work. Flirting wasn't hard, especially with someone as charming as Quinn.

She reached the restaurant, took a moment to steady her breathing, to stand straighter, hold herself taller. She'd go inside the main restaurant, down the stairs to the Cellar Bar, greet Quinn, casually take off her jacket and perch gracefully next to him as if this were the same as any other Friday night they'd spent together.

Or wait, maybe she should take her jacket off sooner, and float downstairs with it draped over her arm, in case he was watching for her. A movie-star entrance.

Okay. Here goes.

She opened the front door and sauntered in, head held high. At the top of the stairs, she took off the jacket, slung it over her arm and poised her hand elegantly on the railing.

The first step. Second. She wasn't tripping, wasn't shaking too badly. This was fine. Another step. Another. Now the hem of her dress could be seen. Step. Step. Now the waist…the cleavage, step, step, and the full picture.

Marie kept an unconcerned look on her face, staring straight ahead, when she was dying to turn and peek. Was he watching? He'd certainly be there by now. She'd been careful to calculate that much.

At the bottom of the stairs she turned to face the bar.

Yes.

He was there.

With a woman.

His arms were around her, and he was whispering into her ear. She was dark, slender, beautiful.

Quinn finished whatever he'd said and she laughed, gazing up at him with clear adoration while he gazed back with equal tenderness.

Marie froze. She couldn't move. Not forward. Not back. He took the woman's hand in both of his and leaned forward, speaking earnestly.

Slowly, Marie backed up. Slowly, she turned. Moved back up the stairs slowly, not wanting to call any attention to herself, though it didn't look as if Quinn was aware of anything but the woman with him.

As soon as her head was out of sight, Marie sprinted up the rest of the flight, executed a few moves worthy of a running back to avoid waitstaff and patrons in the restaurant, and burst out into the cold, damp, unpleasant April evening. Alone.

She reached home and kicked off the damn shoes, in which she'd twisted her ankle twice hurrying on the uneven pavement. Up the stairs, into her room, purse tossed onto her bed. The jacket came off, the dress came off, Grant's ring came off. She washed off the makeup, came up from the bowl of the sink with her face streaming water, got an eyeful of her sorry, sodden state, and burst into tears.

Half an hour later, her sobs had quieted and she'd already started working on her self pep talk. Disappointment was natural. But she'd built this fantasy all by herself out of nothing, and someday it would go back to being nothing. Quinn wasn't the last man in the world, he was the first. The first to get her out of her lethargy, out of her relationship coma, to awaken in her the desire to share herself and her life with someone again. That was important, that was a good thing. She was grateful to him for that.

The rest of her plan would go forward. Tomorrow she'd be at Kim's party. Sunday she was visiting a college friend in Madison. Monday she'd think about signing up for a dating
site—sadly not Milwaukeedates.com, that would be unethical, but one of the big ones. There were men out there who would appreciate her smarts and independence, who didn't have Quinn's relentless need for perfect faces and bodies. Who'd have fewer commitment issues, less baggage and plenty of other good traits.

Feeling a swelling of strength, she splashed water on her face again and dried it, picked up Grant's ring—no, her ring—from her dresser and shoved it back on her finger, admiring its glitter. This wasn't the end. This was the beginning. The beginning of the second phase of Marie's love life. And she was ready.

From her phone in the next room, she heard the beep of an incoming text message. Candy, most likely, with more party needs.

She went into her bedroom, dug her iPhone out of her purse, peered at the screen and held it, staring. From Quinn.

N
ATHAN RAISED A BEER
he didn't need to his lips. His sixth? Seventh? He didn't know. Too many, though he'd been at it since… He peered at his watch. Whenever. Was it really that late? He wanted to know if Kim was back from her date. He wanted to know that she'd had a terrible time. But she might not be back. She and Dale might have had a fabulous, romantic evening, and she might have decided to end it naked and sweaty in his bedroom.

Pain stabbed Nathan so hard he nearly moaned.

There was no way he could have sat home tonight in their living room alone, waiting for her to come home. Or not come home.

So he was sitting on the floor in Troy's living room in his ritzy house in a ritzy neighborhood, watching some
stupid made-for-TV movie with Steve, Kent and Justin, Troy's friend and coauthor and fiancé of Kim's friend Candy. Nice guy. Oh, and Dylan. Dylan was lying by Nathan's side. Dylan was a dog. A very cool dog.

“Nathan.”

“Huh?” He blinked blearily around the room. Someone talking to him?

“Nathan, man, you have been a complete lame-ass all night.” Steve stuffed a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “What is
up?
”

Nathan turned to Steve, who'd had two beers to every one of his. Maybe that's why he looked sort of blurry. “Not much. I'm in love.”

The words spilled out of his mouth. He had definitely not been planning to say them. But there they were. A relief, actually.

“Man, you are pathetic!” Steve jiggled more popcorn in his palm. “The same one from that day at Wolski's?
Angelina?
”

“Not
Angelina.
” Nathan imitated his derisive tone. “She's a fantasy. I'm in love with a woman. I want to marry her.”

Those words had definitely not been planned. What the hell was this beer made of? He'd barely slept the night before; that had to be compounding his, uh, condition.

But marry her? He wanted to marry Kim?

Yeah. He did.

The room had gone quiet. Kent turned off the TV.

“What did you just say?” Steve's hand was frozen halfway to the popcorn bowl.

“I'm in love.” He got unsteadily to his feet. Dylan did the same, but he got to wag his awesome tail. “Crazy effing in love with her.”

“Aw,
man.
” Steve threw his hands up to his forehead in despair, as if something truly nightmarish had happened, like the Packers' quarterback had been sacked. “You idiot. I told you, keep the balls to yourself.”