Fuck. That’s what I want.
I could tell her the truth now, about why I sought her out, with the hope that together we can solve the mystery of our parents’ deaths. But not only is this night her night to celebrate her art, and I would never strip that well-deserved joy from her, but she’d push me away before I solve this mystery and save her winery. Before I am certain that she is not in danger, and more exposed without me than with me. And the moment I opened us up to possibilities, I knew, even if she did not, that I wanted her in my life, not just my bed. And the minute I decided she wasn’t a killer, I became a liar who needs her to trust me, when her reaction to me tonight says she does not. Not fully, not yet. And somehow, while she exposes herself, while she gives me that trust, and before I reveal the truth, as I must, I have to convince her that just as we are not the sum of how many times or ways we fuck, neither are we the sum of my lies.
CHAPTER TWO
Faith
I wake to the soft glow of a new day, a barely realized sunbeam splaying through the bedroom windows, and the woodsy, wonderful scent of Nick surrounding me, his hard body wrapped around mine, and I don’t want to wake up. I shut my eyes again, reliving this weekend in random little pieces, starting with our arrival at his house. His expensive cars in the garage. Me calling him a “rich guy,” which he claimed with pride and a declaration of hard work. Boldly himself, and it had stirred both envy and arousal in me.
“Let’s go inside, Faith,” he says.
“Yes,” I reply. “Let’s go see what a man like you calls home.”
“A man like me,” he repeats. “You can explain that later. Naked.”
I hurry into the house, and once there, I take in the stunningly gorgeous house, the pale wooden floors, the high ceilings, layers of beautiful décor and fixtures as complex as the man and all he makes me feel. I turn to face him.“It’s a beautiful house, Nick. It smells like you.”
“And how do I smell, Faith?”
“Like control. Like sex. Woodsy and sexy.”
“And you, sweetheart, smell like—”
“Amber and vanilla,” I say, before he can say roses. Or flowers. Because the last thing I want to be reminded of right now is the garden at the winery, my mother’s garden.
“Yes,” he confirms, “you do. And I’m obsessed with your scent. I’m obsessed with you.”
“Obsessed,” I say. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It is dangerous.”
Dangerous.
I blink with that word, and in contrast to the reaction you’d think that word would evoke, I snuggle a little closer to Nick, my hand on his where it rests on my belly. And yet as I shut my eyes again, that word echoes in my mind, and I don’t know why.
Dangerous.
Dangerous.
Dangerous.
Sex is safe. It’s just sex. It’s just fucking. Or it was with Macom. It was supposed to be with Nick. But now there is a new hard rule: possibilities, and possibilities are dangerous. They expose me in ways I don’t know if I want to be exposed. And yet I crave every one I might have with Nick. In other words:Nick is dangerous.
Letting him get too close isdangerous.Maybe that’s what I’ve been trying to capture in my paintings of him. Nick Rogers is dangerous. He has secrets. He’ll discovermy secrets. He once told me that he wanted to see the woman behind the wall. The real me, stripped bare and not just exposed.Willinglyexposed. Will I ever be willingly exposed?
Do I dare?
My lashes open, and this time there is a beam of bright sunlight in my eyes, and I no longer feel Nick behind me. Rolling over, I find the space next to me empty. I glance at the clock that reads ten o’clock and suck in air. Oh no. I fell back to sleep and stayed asleep a long time. I sit up, frustrated with myself. I’m supposed to fly home today and I’ve wasted the little time I have with Nick in bed without him. Tossing aside the covers, I assume he’s up, dressed, and busy by now.
I start to get up, and my gaze lands on that card from my father, a knot forming in my chest. What does it say that I want to open itwith Nickand have him spank me, to deal with the emotional explosion to follow? I wouldn’t even tell Macom about that card. Never. Ever. In a million years. And I would not invite him to spank me to deal with it. Sex with Macom was the wall Nick talked about me putting up, a big, thick emotional wall I didn’t even recognize until near the end of our relationship. Macom never knew it existed. And yet Nick knew from the moment he met me. And sex with Nick is raw and real. So damn raw and real that it is terrifyingly addictive.
I throw away the blankets and stand, feeling naked and exposed beyond the physical with Nick, and in some ways, I’m not sure I have ever felt naked and exposed with anyone. And I’ve been in some pretty intense, naked positions with Macom, that’s for sure. I’m halfway across the room when footfalls sound on the steps, and I react to that emotion, darting forward and into the bathroom, where I grab my robe and pull it on, swiping at the wild mess on my head. And oh God. Why do I look like thatRinghorror chick again, with mascara under my eyes? I need new makeup.
It’s in that moment that Nick steps into the doorway, his broad shoulders consuming its width, his fierce masculinity consuming me. And while last night he was the picture of corporate power in a blue suit, refined with that hard, alpha edge of his, today, in black jeans, a black t-shirt, and biker boots, a light stubble on his jaw, his longish hair barely contained in a tie at his nape, he personifies that raw, real feeling of every touch and kiss that we share. Most definitely the ones we shared last night. I swear even the coffee cup in his hand somehow makes him sexier. I really, really think I need to lick him all over after watching him undress.
“Hi,” I say, not even sure why that’s what comes out of my mouth.
“Hi,” he says, his eyes lighting. “You’re looking bright-eyed this morning.”