Only You Page 8

  I finished the potato chip and looked longingly at the box. “I want you to take those things away from me and keep them away. I can’t even believe you were eating those.”

  “Me either. They were a gift from a client and I stuck them in the pantry and forgot about them. But this afternoon I was dying for sugar for some reason.”

  “Welcome to being human.” I handed him the baby, who was still howling. “Why don’t you put her in the swing or something while you clean out the sink? I’ll be right back.”

  I took the shirt into the first floor bathroom and changed into it, wishing I had some jeans—or even better, some sweatpants—to put on, but my work skirt would have to do. After tossing my blouse on the chair next to my jacket, I retrieved Paisley from the swing and went into the kitchen with her. When Nate was finished cleaning out the sink, I instructed him to grab a couple towels, a washcloth, a cup, and the baby wash while I filled the sink with some warm water. Together, we undressed her, got her in the water, and managed to soap, shampoo, and rinse her with a minimum of water in her eyes and on our clothing. Actually, she seemed to like the bath and splashed around a bit, making gurgling noises. I showed Nate how to carefully wash her, and how to rinse her hair. He paid close attention, took over for me when I asked if he wanted to, and when she was clean, he wrapped her up in a towel and took her into the other room to dry her off.

  It was kind of crazy. Was this really the same guy who’d fainted at the thought of having a baby daughter?

  I drained the sink, wiped up what water we’d spilled, and made a bottle. I happened to glance at the clock when it was 1:11 AM, so I quickly made a wish that Paisley would fall asleep fast instead of keeping us up until three in the morning again. When I came out into the living room, she was dry and dressed, and he was holding her against his chest, resting his lips on her head. My stomach flipped. Seeing him with her was definitely messing with me.

  “She smells good,” he said. “And she seems calmer.”

  “Good. Here’s the bottle.” I handed it to him, careful not to let our fingers touch.

  He fed her as he walked slowly around the room, humming something that sounded like “White Christmas.” I settled on the couch, my legs tucked beneath me, my cheek propped on my hand along the back of the couch. Watching him, I was disturbed by the way I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off his butt in those jeans.

  Stop it. This baby doesn’t change things. This is still a man who doesn’t believe in happy ever after.

  “Oh my God,” Nate whispered. “I think it worked. She’s asleep.”

  “Great job, Bing Crosby. Where is she going to sleep tonight?”

  “I put that bedside sleeper thing upstairs in my room. Should I try to put her in there?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  He nodded. “Come with me. She’s better when you’re there. I’m better when you’re there.”

  “It’s not me,” I told him, getting off the couch, although secretly I was pleased he’d said it. “I made a wish at 1:11 that she would fall asleep fast tonight.”

  He glanced at me over his shoulder as we went up the stairs. “You mean it wasn’t my awesome Christmas song?”

  I stifled a giggle. “Maybe it was both.”

  At the top of the stairs, I scooted ahead of him to turn off the lamp in his bedroom. With the same slow, careful movement he had used carrying the car seat upstairs last night, he leaned over the sleeper and gently laid the sleeping baby inside it. For ten seconds, neither of us moved.

  She stayed asleep.

  Ten more seconds went by.

  She stayed asleep.

  Nate grabbed my hand in the dark, setting off a pounding inside my chest I thought might wake the baby. We exchanged a look of triumph in the silent dark, and Nate kept my hand in his as he led me down the stairs. He let it go at the bottom.

  “Oh my God, the silence is like a fucking miracle,” he said quietly, going over to the monitor on the coffee table and switching it on. “No wonder I never wanted kids. It’s exhausting, my apartment is a mess, and I’m not any good at it.”

  “Stop it,” I told him, starting to gather up all the bottles strewn around the living room. “You are good at it, and you’re getting better. She’s very lucky to have you as her dad.”

  “Well, we make a good team.”

  “We do.” I bent down to pick up a burp cloth from the floor. “Although we had our first fight last night.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Did we? Yeah, I guess we did.”

  “It’s bound to happen when two people feel like they can be really honest with each other. I think that’s the sign of a solid friendship.”

  He didn’t say anything else as he grabbed his coffee mug and the box of chips and followed me into the kitchen. It was dark in there, so I switched on the light above the sink and started scrubbing bottles. “You don’t have to do that,” he told me. “You worked all day, you were up half the night. You must be tired. Go home and sleep.”

  I was tired. And given my growing attraction to him, and the late hour, and the low light in the kitchen, I thought maybe it would be better if I left. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. You’ve done more than enough.” He came over to put his mug in the sink, turned around and leaned back against it. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

  “Why would I think that?” I turned off the water and dried my hands.

  He shrugged. “Saying I’d keep her for a month was kind of a dumbass move.”

  “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “Fuck yes, I am.”

  I looked up at him.

  “But I’m not a guy who doesn’t keep promises. When I say something, I mean it.”

  I spoke before I could think. “So did you mean what you said last night? About me?”

  He grimaced, his eyes closing briefly. “I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  “But you think it, right? That I’m a little girl living in a fantasy world?”

  “No.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “I think you’re an optimist. I think you see good in people they don’t even see themselves. You build people up—especially me.”

  “You?” I laughed a little. “You don’t need me to build you up.”

  “Hell yes, I do. You think I’d have been able to handle this whole fatherhood bombshell if you hadn’t been here? If you’d said, ‘That’s what you get for fucking around, asshole. Good luck.’”

  I shook my head, a strand of hair coming loose from my bun. “I’d never have done that.”

  “I know.” He tucked the strand behind my ear and moved his hand to the back of my neck. His eyes dropped to my lips. “But I would have deserved it.”

  I held my breath. Things seemed to be happening in slow motion. His forehead came to rest on mine. And then our noses touched. Our eyes closed. An eternity passed, his lips a whisper from mine. Either one of us could have initiated a kiss. A slight lift of my chin. A little drop of his head. The question—will we or won’t we?—hung there between us, even as his closed lips brushed mine, eyelash soft.

  I wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around his neck and fit my body flush against his, but my wrists lay inert on the edge of the sink. Suddenly he spoke, his breath warm against my mouth.

  “You know that dream you have, the one where you really want to do something, you’re desperate to do something, but you’re paralyzed?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “I think I’m having that dream right now.”

  “Me too.” And then I felt it, the gentle pressure at the back of my neck, pulling my head toward him.

  It was all I needed. Our mouths came together firmly this time, our lips opening, and I angled my body toward his, throwing my arms around his neck. His hands explored my back while his tongue explored my mouth, and he backed me into the corner, his hips pinning mine against the hard stone counter. He kissed with a fervor and intensity that surprised me, his mo
uth traveling down my neck, his fingers threading through my hair, pulling the pins loose, his body giving off heat that mine hungrily absorbed. I wanted to get closer to him, wished I could feel his skin against mine. I rose up on tiptoe to press against him, my back arching to fit the question mark curve of his body.

  He felt big and strong and reassuring, exactly how I wanted him to feel. I wasn’t even sure what it was I wanted reassurance about… My desirability? Our chemistry? Something new and different happening between us? He swept his lips to the other side of my throat, a necklace of soft, insistent kisses that warmed my blood. When his mouth returned to mine, the kiss grew hot and frantic. He reached down and hiked the hem of my skirt to my waist, and I immediately jumped up, wrapping my legs around him. His hands moved under my ass and he carried me like that into the living room, never lifting his mouth off mine. When he reached the couch, he knelt on it and tipped me backward, stripping off his shirt and stretching out above me.

  My hands moved lightning fast over hot skin, solid muscle. Chest and arms and back—I couldn’t get enough. His hand stole beneath the T-shirt I wore and I arched my back so he could reach underneath me and unclasp my bra, then moaned softly at the feel of his palm over my breasts. Moving down, he shoved the shirt and bra up to my neck and put his mouth on me, his lips, his tongue, his teeth, my nipples hardening into tight little peaks that begged to be licked, sucked, teased, tortured.

  What are we doing? What are we doing? What are we doing? screamed a voice in my head.

  I ignored it, hooking my arms beneath his and pulling him up so I could kiss him again. I didn’t care what we were doing.

  It felt way too good to stop.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Six

  Nate

  My conscience had tried. It had talked to me as we stood there by the sink.

  Don’t touch her, it said.

  Don’t kiss her, it warned.

  Don’t let her get too close.

  And I tried, I swear to God I tried to listen. I fought the urge. I told myself no for lots of good reasons.

  She was my friend. She was my neighbor. She was someone whose well-being I genuinely cared about. She was a good, generous person helping me out. Beyond that, she trusted me. Trust was something I didn’t take lightly, didn’t offer easily, and didn’t want to accept if I hadn’t earned it.

  But I couldn’t resist her.

  One kiss, I’d told myself as my lips hovered tantalizingly close to hers. One kiss to see what it was like. One kiss to satisfy the craving for her. One kiss to show her what it meant to me that she was here, that she cared, that she believed in me. I wasn’t good with words, not those kinds of words anyway, but I could communicate my gratitude with a kiss, couldn’t I? And she wanted me to kiss her. I knew she did. I could tell by the way she was holding her breath and standing so still. It would be okay this one time, right? We’d probably laugh about this later.

  One kiss. And then we would stop.

  Needless to say, that’s not how it went down.

  Five minutes after I put my lips on hers for the first time, we were horizontal on the couch and I was trying to reenact my dream from this morning and give it a better ending. Clearly I had way, way overestimated my willpower and underestimated her effect on me, from the scent of her hair to the taste of her skin to the feel of her chest against mine. Her breasts, small but perfectly plump, with sweet little raspberry nipples, drove me wild. Her perfume smelled like summer.

  I bet she tastes like summer too. Like those strawberries right off the vine we used to pick when we were kids. The sweetest, juiciest, most luscious strawberries in the world.

  I wanted that flavor on my tongue right the fuck now.

  In three seconds flat, I’d slid down her body, hiked up her skirt and moved her underwear aside. At the first stroke she moaned aloud, then clapped both hands over her mouth. The more she struggled to stay silent, the more difficult I made the task. I clamped my hands on the outsides of her thighs, pinning her legs in place so she couldn’t get away from my mouth. I got to my knees, hauling her lower body up with me so I could watch her while I worked her into a frenzy, her eyes wild and pleading above the hands that muffled her cries. I used every trick I had—long, lazy strokes up the middle with the flat of my tongue; quick, light flutters across her clit with the tip; swirling circles that made her eyes roll back in her head; fast, hard flicks as I sucked her into my mouth; long, low moans with my mouth sealed to her pussy. In no time at all, she was bucking beneath me, her legs locked around my neck, her head twisting from side to side.

  And she was not silent.

  She wasn’t even quiet.

  Her cries filled the room, bounced off the walls, shook the floor. I loved every fucking second of it. I felt like a million bucks. I might not know how to be a dad, but goddamn, I knew how to make a woman come.

  And I was just getting started.

  I let her wilted legs drop and reached for my belt.

  “Oh my God.” Emme’s eyes opened halfway. She was breathing hard. “That was—”

  A shrill, piercing wail cut her off.

  No.

  Emme looked at the monitor. I looked toward the stairs.

  The keening seemed to surround us.

  Oh, no.

  We looked at each other in disbelief. Blinked.

  “Maybe she’ll go back to sleep,” I said, my hands paused on my zipper.

  “Maybe.”

  But the crying continued, and the spell was broken.

  What the hell were we doing, anyway?

  As we stared at each other, it dawned on us what we’d been about to do. What we’d done.

  “Um,” Emme started.

  “Oops,” I finished.

  “Yeah. We should maybe—”

  “Right.”

  Quickly and silently, we put ourselves back together. Emme pulled down her skirt as I put on my shirt. She scooped up her bra from the floor while I zipped and buttoned my pants. Paisley continued to howl.

  “I’ll get her,” I said, heading for the stairs.

  “Okay.”

  My heart was still pounding as I went up. Holy shit. Holy shit. I’d kissed Emme. I’d given her an orgasm with my tongue. I’d nearly fucked her.

  How had that even happened? One second I’d been standing there watching her do the dishes, thinking about how pretty she looked, what a good friend she was, how much I appreciated her, and the next my mouth was closing over hers.

  That was the last thing I remembered.

  Inside my bedroom, I carefully took Paisley from the sleeper and cradled her in my arms. She was restless and fidgety, her arms moving all over the place, but her eyes were closed, leading me to believe I could get her back to sleep. It had only been an hour or so since her last feeding anyway. If I was going to get her on some kind of regular schedule, which all the books suggested, I had to be a little more disciplined about it. There was a pacifier in the sleeper, and I grabbed it, figuring I would give it another try. Holding her stomach against my chest so I could keep one of her arms in place, I fit the pacifier in her mouth and gently held it there, praying she would get the hang of it and like it. She tried to spit it out at first, but then began to suck on it. I thought for sure she would get mad there was no food in it, but she didn’t. She kept it in her mouth and stayed quiet, and gradually I felt her little body relax.

  I, however, was pretty fucking wound up. My erection had mostly gone away, thankfully, but it was crazy how badly I wanted to go back downstairs and finish what we’d started.

  No, I told myself. Out of the question. You shouldn’t have even done what you did. Do you not have a big enough life crisis right now? Do you want to add another one? You don’t do relationships, and that’s ALL she does. It’s what she wants and deserves. So keep your tongue in your mouth and your pants zipped before you add a whole new set of expectations to your plate and become the latest name on a very long li
st of assholes who let her down.

  I took a few more minutes to let that sink in and catch my breath. Then, moving slowly and carefully, I placed my daughter back in bed, waited a moment to make sure she remained asleep, and went back downstairs.

  Emme was in the kitchen, finishing the dishes. She’d put her hair in a ponytail, and I recalled the way it had felt like spun silk in my hands. I wanted to touch it again. I wanted to touch her again. So I crossed my arms and leaned back against the counter, five feet away from her, the island between us. “You know, if that whole event planning thing doesn’t work out, you’d be a kickass housekeeper. I’d hire you.”

  She smiled at me over one shoulder, eyes narrowed. “You couldn’t afford me.”

  “Ha.”

  “You get her back to sleep?”

  “I did. Got her to take the pacifier.”

  “Good job.” She turned off the water and dried her hands. Then she turned around. “So.”

  Fuck, she was cute in my shirt. “So.”

  She twisted her hands together and glanced over at the couch. “Guess I was a little loud,” she said sheepishly.

  “I didn’t mind.”

  “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever been that loud.”

  Oh, Jesus, Emme. Don’t tell me that. “Good.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get to—you didn’t—” She made a little bursting motion with her fingers.

  I had to laugh. “What is that? An orgasm?”

  “Yes,” she said, giggling too, although her cheeks went a little pink.

  “Well, don’t be sorry. I quite enjoyed myself. And actually, it’s probably better that we were interrupted before we took it too far.”

  “Definitely. I mean, what were we thinking?” Her eyes were wide.

  “I’m not sure there was a whole lot of thinking going on.”

  She laughed. “Probably none at all.”

  “Let’s call it a momentary lapse in sanity. Forget it happened.”

  Her smile was relieved. “Let’s.”