Chapter 7 Nick
SEVEN
NICK
To know a man who had Melanie Hamilton and lost her is like being handed a cheat book on what not to do.
But to access the information inside that cheat book is like walking through a jungle of horrors.
I don’t want to spend time with the snakes that live in the forest. I don’t want to eat the poisons or sleep with the nasty bugs crawling on my skin.
I don’t want to associate with the filth that is Drew Taggart.
But since I must, studying the vermin could only be a smart move.
So I move through Mel’s home on Thursday morning, just thirty minutes before my scheduled visit with a tailor a fifty-minute drive away—oops—with a smile on my face and an apple clasped in my hand.
I take a satisfying bite and follow the sounds of Christina Aguilera belting out a song only she knows how, and coming to a stop outside Mel’s office, I take a moment to watch.
To observe her in her comfort zone, overalls—the shorts, kind—covering her torso, but where most would wear a shirt under the denim, she wears a sports bra to combat today’s unseasonal heat.
She leaves one of the overall straps loose, so the metal end dangles by her hip, and the lack of coverage means her delicate ribcage is on show, and surprisingly, a small birdcage tattoo on it.
The door is open, and the bird has escaped.
Telling, really.
She bops to the music and hums an almost matching pitch as Christina, and when I extend my neck and peek closer at her work, I’m pleased to notice the overhanging awning she initially had is no longer present. Good girl.
She wears her hair in a messy bun at the top of her head, but where most women use clips, she works with a pencil. Fuck knows how she makes it stay. It’s one of those mysteries women possess and refuse to divulge to the menfolk.
“I’m heading out to the—”
She startles and spins like last time, but now she does it with a feral growl and a letter opener clasped in her fist. She’s learning, at least, and not at all inclined to play-nice this time. “Dammit, Nick! Why do you insist on scaring me?! Announce you’re walking. Stomp your feet. Do something!”
“I’m sorry.” I take another bite of my apple and spy the lump on her forehead. It’s not so bad, I suppose. “I’m not accustomed to having to yodel as I approach.”
“And I’m not accustomed to sharing my home with another person. Perhaps I should buy you a bell,” she snarls. “That’s how birds stay safe from prowling cats.”
“And you’re the bird, evidently.” I drop my gaze to her ribs and smirk when she realizes what I see. “Cute ink, Princess. I had no clue you were the type.”
She makes a pithy face, wrinkling her lips and mocking me with her eyes before reaching back and snatching up the forgotten strap.
Dragging it over her shoulder and fastening the clip where it belongs, she looks down with an air of righteousness, but it transfers quickly to frustration when she realizes her actions do absolutely nothing to hide her secret, anyway.
Indignant, then pissy, she tosses her letter opener back to her table and slams her hands to her hips.
“You’re late for the suit fitting.” She casts her eyes above my head until I glance back and realize she’s put a clock up there.
Then back to me, she grumbles. “Even if you leave right this second, you’ll still be twenty minutes late. That’s a breach of contract.”
“Yeah, but turning up early, or even on time, is for nuns and losers.” I scrunch my nose and beam when her eyes narrow.
“I’ll get there when I get there, and they’ll wait because he’s bugging out of his skin, wondering who I am and what I’ll be like.
The tailor will wait because… money. And Drew will still thank me for coming at the end because he’s already the submissive cock in this henhouse. ”
“Henhouse?” Her brows shoot high on her forehead. “Wait, you’re both roosters? And I’m the hen?”
“Yeah. But the fact his ex and her date are coming to his wedding already tells me everything I need to know. He lacks any semblance of manhood, and him waiting for me to arrive today—late, even—will prove it.”
“Wouldn’t one argue that him allowing you to come makes him the alpha male?” She’s taunting me. Teasing. Challenging. “He’s so secure in who he is, he’s not threatened by your presence at all. That makes him king-rooster, no?”
“No. That he’s invited you, despite all that shit you told me about overbearing families, says he’s dying to see you again. That he allowed you a plus one says he wants to see who I am and hopes he can measure up. He’s a pussy.”
“You wouldn’t allow your bride’s ex to come to your wedding?”
I bark out a loud laugh that only makes her scowl more severe. “Only if he’s serving our dinner, Princess. But I came in here to tell you I’m heading out, anyway. Guess I’ll be a couple of hours. I’ll text you when I’m done.”
“And then you have your family thing after.” It strikes me as curious that her bottom lip moves into a pout. That her eyes soften from intolerance to something akin to sadness. “Will you stay at your grandma’s home tonight?”
“Why would I?” I take another bite and contemplatively chew on my apple.
“I have a contract that states I’m sleeping here and a girlfriend I’m hopelessly devoted to who couldn’t possibly sleep alone for the night.
” I chuckle and step back when her eyes harden once more.
“I’ll be here, Princess. Sleeping in the room beside yours and protecting you like the big, bad, strong boyfriend you’ve paid good money for.
But I’ll come back here between the suit fitting and dinner, anyway.
I wanna talk to you about something before then. ”
“Oh, yeah?” She’s impatient and incapable of delaying gratification, stepping away from her table and eagerly following me into the hall. “What thing?”
“Something. Nothing important.” I’m the Pied Piper, and she’s my adorable little rat, begging for attention. “I just wanted to run something by you, but I don’t have time for it now since,” we pass through the kitchen and I catch the time on the oven, “I’m late.”
“You’re late because your ego made it so. Five minutes more hardly matters.”
“Twenty-minutes late is a boss move.” I stride through her living room and onto the porch out front.
“Twenty-five minutes is rude. Don’t you know that?
” I skip down the rickety steps and through the garden, knowing she’ll follow.
She doesn’t know how not to. Then, passing through the non-squeaky gate, I swing my truck door open and climb in before she can catch up.
But I turn the engine over and crank the window down so she can rest her arms on the frame and stare in at me that way she does.
It sets my soul on fire and my heart to a dangerous pitter-patter I haven’t experienced since high school. It hurt back then and probably won’t end much better this time. But fuck, I’m a man hardened within the flames. What’s a little more hurt at the end of the day?
“What’s the thing you want to talk about?” Her lips are supple swells perched atop a strong chin and below a button nose. Good genes. “Anticipation isn’t something I enjoy, Nick. Knowing is far superior.”
“And being uncomfortable for a few hours will make the knowing all the sweeter when it arrives.” And since I’m already in the fire, I grab her jaw and lift her until she’s forced to the tips of her toes, stunning her into submission and surprising her when I lean in and kiss her.
I take her lip between my teeth and do to it what her teeth have been doing all week.
What my soul has begged for for five days straight.
I slide my tongue past her defenses and groan when she’s too shocked to say no or too submissive to not give me what I want, or perhaps, and what I hope most of all, is that she simply wants me too.
I’ve wanted to taste her since the moment I first laid eyes on her.
Unlike her, I can be an extremely patient man.
When I think I’ve pushed my luck as far as it’ll go and her hands ball into dangerous fists, I pull back and savor her on my tongue. “Mmm.” I study her swollen lips and the frantic sprint of her pulse in her throat. “Delicious.”
“Wha…” She sucks air into her lungs, expanding her chest and releasing it again, while wrinkles create tracks along her forehead, centered by a deep ridge between her scowling brows. “What the hell was that?”
“Practice.” I wink and, pressing my foot to the clutch and slipping the stick into first, I look her up and down and wish for more.
So much fucking more. “We’re in love, remember?
You can’t be surly and frowning and stammering on Saturday just because I’m near you.
Get used to being touched, or your ruse will be nothing more than two-thousand dollars spent and an elaborate lie failed. ”
“But… You…” Stutter, Princess. It turns me on. “You could’ve warned me!”
“Not everything needs to be planned out. I know schedules are your thing, but impulsivity has its perks, too.” Slowly releasing the clutch, I reach out the window and gently set my palm on her chest to nudge her back.
“Watch your feet. Go back to work and draw something pretty while you have a few hours of quiet. I’ll see you soon. ”
“Nick!”
“Instead of the row of windows in your atrium, consider a full wall of glass. It’s sexier.”
Her face screws tight, and her lips crinkle into unhappy lines. “Don’t tell me how to do my job!”
“Fine.” I turn my radio up and release the clutch until the truck is rolling forward. “Love you, Princess. You really should get used to saying it back. Your family will think it’s weird if you don’t.”