She knelt, ostensibly to fiddle with her shoe, and glanced behind her. When she caught a glimpse of JT’s hulking form, she rolled her eyes. She slipped her free hand into her purse and texted JT: btfo. It was their code that she was fine, and he was being too obvious: back the fuck off. Nathan moved to the next booth. JT waited thirty seconds, then made a slow about-face and headed the other way. Nathan visibly relaxed.
“It’s okay, false alarm.”
“He’s probably tailing some mob boss.”
“Maybe. Sorry. This business makes you paranoid. I’ve seen a lot of kidnappings.”
Her knees buckled and Nathan caught her. He saw the unmasked look of distress on her face before she reined it in.
“Emma?”
“Shit, sorry. Low blood sugar I guess.” Why do I keep using that stupid excuse? She joked as she took a generous bite of lemon Italian ice and instantly gave herself a brain freeze. She smacked her palm to her forehead. It turned out to be the perfect distraction.
“Press your tongue to the roof of your mouth.” Nathan held the back of her neck and turned her by her shoulders to face him. She immediately obeyed and the pain subsided. He stroked her face, looking puzzled. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the display at the stall next to them. Tiny charms of all shapes. They weren’t expensive but one immediately caught her eye. As she reached for it, his big hand brushed hers. She knew he was reaching for the same one, and she knew why. She withdrew her hand, and he picked up the tiny lighthouse.
“My family... we had a place on Nantucket. My bedroom looks out on a lighthouse. Our neighbors had the same view and we used to play this game....” he trailed off, but she knew the story he was going to tell. It was her bedtime entertainment. It was a game he used to play with her. They would appear at a window as the light swept the harbor and then duck and move to a different one in the intermittent darkness. They would try to spot each other each time the beam began a new rotation.
“I love that lighthouse.” He looked at Emma.
“Me, too,” she said dreamily. “Um, I mean lighthouses in general.”
“I don’t imagine you see a lot of lighthouses in rural Georgia.”
The veiled suspicion in his voice put her off, but her lie was seamless. She was prepared for any scenario.
“Spent vacations in Sea Island growing up. There’s a lighthouse there that’s... special.” She hated that lie. It tasted awful in her mouth. She wanted to say Yes! That’s our lighthouse! We both love the same place. Instead, she just stared wistfully at the little charm. Nathan bought it and carefully attached it to her keychain.
They left the fair and walked through Tribeca, wandering toward SoHo. He reached for her hand, and she took his without a thought, twining their fingers. He sighed, calm and happy. When they got to her building, he stopped her short of the front door and backed her gently up against the wall. He buried his face in her neck and ran his hand up the side of her body, brushing the outer curve of her breast in the most intoxicating way. It was an odd mix of comfort and lust—seeking solace and barely leashing this need. She involuntarily arched into his body. Her breasts pressed against his unyielding chest, his erection massive and solid against her hip. Then he kissed her.
Such a strange thing, a kiss—the action so simple, the meaning so complex. Nathan’s lips moved over hers, the perfect blend of passion and finesse. It felt like home, but certainly no home Emma had ever known. At once familiar and foreign, cementing and shattering, tranquil and thunderous. She parted her lips, and Nathan responded, deepening the kiss, pulling her into him. When they pulled apart, Nathan ran his nose up and down the length of hers.
“I want to go upstairs and do unspeakable things to you.”
The reality of her inexperience crashed down on Emma. She stiffened but it felt so good to be near him. She just didn’t know what to say.
“I...”
She was spared from forcing herself to give him some go-to catty brush off by Ray, the doorman, who cleared his throat loudly behind Nathan.
“Ms. Porter, sorry to interrupt, but, um, your father is here.”
“My father?” Of course, he would show up. No doubt, he had received word that she was working a bit too closely with Nathan.
“Yes, miss. Mr....” he stopped himself, knowing, and being very well compensated for, her father’s insistence on anonymity. “He’s upstairs.”
Her father was careful to protect her identity. The doormen, and the few people in Emma’s life who knew him, knew him as Mr. Webster—a common enough thing to have a daughter with a different last name. His small circle had long ago moved on from her tragedy. Once, while they were having dinner, they had run into a colleague of her father’s. Without missing a beat, Jack Webster introduced her as the daughter of a friend. Beyond some salacious speculation about why he was dining with a woman half his age, not an eyebrow had been raised.
“Okay, thank you.”
Nathan smirked. “Well, that changes things. Should I meet the old man? Declare my intentions?”
Emma blanched. He already knew “the old man.” Nathan noticed, but her hand on his chest distracted him and she laughed.
“I guess this has to be a G-rated date. A kiss on the stoop before daddy comes out with the shotgun.” She let a hint of her ‘accent’ show.
“I’ll take what I can get.” And with that, he kissed her senseless. When they reluctantly broke apart, she ran her index finger over the scar on his lip. His hands slipped from her shoulders down her arms and he pulled back.
“In the spirit of full disclosure...”