Chapter 7
It was a lucky thing this wasn’t a date, Sophie thought hazily as she sprang out of bed from a sound sleep. Her head spun, so she leaned against the wall momentarily, eyes closed.
The knocking came again, and she was pretty sure the doorbell had rung a couple of times before her brain had engaged and she’d realized it must be Nate, the unrelenting hero.
“Be right there,” she hollered, keeping a hand on the hallway wall as she made her way to the main entry, wondering how long her concussion would keep her off-balance.
She looked through the peephole, then opened the door, focusing only on getting there before he gave up on her — not on how she looked.
That god-awful truth hit her as soon as she and Nate stood face-to-face and his gaze darted from hers down to her bare toes and back up, over her baggy, unflattering, old sleep shirt and boxers.
“Hello, sleepyhead,” he said.
Sophie groaned and rubbed a hand over her face before stepping back to let him in. It was all she could do not to dart back out of sight to her room to hide — not just because of her appearance but because the look on his face, the smile … it was too intimate.
She straightened instead, doing a mental inventory of where her shirt ended (just below the hem of her boxers) and how see-through it was (enough — way more than enough).
Crossing her arms over her chest, she shivered.
“I’m going to get dressed. Help yourself to the kitchen,” she added as the large paper grocery bag in his arms registered. “I’ll be five minutes.”
“Take your time. Relax.”
Easier said than done, thanks to the sparkle of interest in his eyes and the way his gaze kept sinking to her too-thin shirt and her bare legs. She attempted an unbothered smile. Likely failed.
“I’ve got dinner,” he said. “You’re not allowed to help.”
“I meant to wake up hours ago.” She said it to his back as he went into the kitchen and set the bag on the counter.
“You needed to sleep, Sophie. Operation Recovery.” He busied himself unloading the bag, and the unassuming smile he aimed her way sent that same warm sensation he’d given her in the hospital deep into her chest. It wasn’t rational.
He was still almost a stranger. But she clung to it anyway and admitted to herself she was a little bit glad he was here.
When she reemerged, dressed in leggings and an oversized zip-up hoodie, hair combed, mortification from the way it’d looked when she’d opened the door mostly gone, she found Nate outside on her sixth-floor balcony.
The sliding glass door was closed, giving her a moment to take in the delicious sight of him from the back, leaning against the railing, looking out at the gulf.
There was enough separation between them, or maybe her guard was just down enough, that she saw him more objectively, instead of as a threat to her equilibrium.
Just a beautiful, strong, sexy man with a killer ass.
Like an action-movie lead, all virile and dripping with testosterone.
In her condo.
If she were more adventurous — okay, more trusting and open — she’d probably lure him down the hall to her bed and have the night of her life. But that wasn’t the way she was or had ever been.
It occurred to her maybe she’d been living her life the wrong way.
Shaking her head against that uneasy thought, she snapped into action and opened the door. When she stepped outside, the wind gusted through her hair. It was chilly but refreshing. Fresh. Alive. The complete opposite of the sterile, still hospital air.
Sophie walked past the two mint-condition teak lounge chairs with their fluffy, never-used cushions to sidle up to the railing right next to Nate.
Her eyes were drawn to the drama of the waves crashing wildly on this windy, cloudy day.
Everything was varying shades of gray — the sky, the waves, the beach — and yet it was full of life and action and possibility somehow.
Something inside of her sparked to life.
Nate draped his arm across her back, his hand settling on her opposite hip and pulling her into his side. And she let him. Relished the comfort, the heat of his body.
“Great balcony,” he said. “Do you use it much?”
“I don’t really have time to. In fact, in the eighteen months I’ve lived here, I never have.” She frowned. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Even on a not-so-beautiful day.”
Sophie breathed in deeply — without coughing, even — probably more deeply than she had in a week, or maybe a year, and closed her eyes.
Allowed the briney, damp sea air to infiltrate her still-healing lungs, her senses.
She felt it on her skin, smelled it, tasted it like she hadn’t in ages.
Her head swam with a troubling realization as she opened her eyes again to the overwhelming, magnificent view.
“I could’ve died without ever appreciating this.
” She flung her arms out to both sides. “That’s sad. ”
“But now you can,” Nate said in a gentle voice that soothed her.
“I’ve been kind of tunnel-visioned. Blind to everything but work, but if I’d died, none of that would matter.
” She swallowed hard. Sure, she’d changed some buildings for the better here and there, and she liked to think what she did was important but if she didn’t do it, someone else would.
Eventually. That hard truth seeped in and shook her to the core.
“We’re all just doing the best we can, Soph. You believe in what you do. That’s something not everyone can say.”
“You believe in what you do too,” she said, looking up at him, feeling a jolt to her core when his eyes met hers.
“I do. If I didn’t, chances are we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”
“I wouldn’t be standing here right now.” She barely noticed her eyes had watered up as she turned back to watch the layers of waves roll in.
Other than her pursuit of a black belt in krav maga, which she also treated more like a job than a hobby, her entire life was Green Systems. That wasn’t really a life, was it?
It was missing out on … other stuff. Everything else.
It was possible to work one’s butt off and still have more. Wasn’t it? “What do you do when you’re not working?” she asked him.
“Me? All kinds of stuff. Play volleyball, basketball, softball, watch sports, go out with the guys, fish a little bit. I try to get hockey tickets a few times a season.” He shrugged. “Whatever comes up, I guess.”
“I can’t remember the last time I did ‘whatever comes up.’”
“You work all the time?” The fingers of his left hand made little circles at her waist, and his right arm stretched along the railing in front of his body, his hand resting near her, drawing her attention.
Coarse hairs dotted the back of it, his fingers relaxed, belying their strength, but she knew firsthand both the power those hands held and the gentleness they were capable of.
She had no trouble imagining what they could do to a woman’s body, and that’s when she dragged her gaze back to his face and jogged her brain to remember his question.
“Yes. I work, I eat, I go to my krav maga workouts, I work some more … sleep…”
“You need an intervention,” he said, his tone light, without judgment.
Something about the moment and the man and …
who knew what else, probably her brush with death …
she was able to see the truth in that. His eyes didn’t waver from hers, and she was drawn into their depths, the openness in them, the sparkle of life that came from doing more than just working all the time.
At this moment, she wanted more too.
The sound of the surf roared through her as she turned ninety degrees to face him. He followed suit, his hand slipping to her other hip.
She didn’t know how to change the way she was, but she recognized, in this second, she could change this moment. For now, she could take more. Give more.
Live better.
Not stopping to think about what she was doing, Sophie slowly lifted her shaking hand to his chest. Her fingers were met by solid, defined muscle, and she ran both her hands up and down, over the glorious ridges and valleys of his pecs, his upper abs, his shoulders.
The pupils of his eyes enlarged, and his hand eased beneath her sweatshirt hem, onto the bare skin of her waist, branding her flesh with his heat.
Her gaze dropped to his lips, to the faint sheen of moisture on them, the need to taste them pulsing through her with every accelerated beat of her heart.
She trailed her hands up to the back of his neck and rose to her toes.
He leaned down to meet her halfway, and their lips touched.
Unsteady breaths mingled. Mouths locked together.
Her tongue darted out to explore the soft heat of his lips, to taste him, and it tangled with his, a tentative courtship at first, rapidly becoming a duel of exploration.
His facial hair scraped against her skin.
Their bodies crushed together and mouths fused, tongues twisting and caressing.
Her insides turned to molten liquid as a low, sexy groan escaped from deep in his throat.
The incessant roar of the gulf faded to nothing as her entire existence narrowed to Nate’s kiss. His hand burrowed in her hair, holding her close, and his tongue was thorough and seeking and still somehow careful with her.
“Interventions are good,” she said, her way of trying to tell him she was fine, that he didn’t need to treat her with kid gloves just because she’d just gotten out of the hospital.