Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
JJ
G oing to the gym was a mistake. There were too many people in there who recognized me from the online media circus and were either staring or were ballsy enough to outright interrupt my workout to ask about my new marriage and if Nico would be joining me and would be willing to give an autograph. I eventually had to give up and duck out to try a jog around the periphery of the resort. After dodging a few people near the pool area, it was all clear.
I settled into a comfortable rhythm, letting the cool mountain air rush over me as my mind quieted, though it did keep circling back to Nico. I couldn’t believe he was my husband, though in name only. He hadn’t balked at sleeping on the couch, although I knew how close we’d come to something more over cake last night, and I wasn’t sure what to make of that. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was attracted to him, though he was one hundred and eighty degrees different than my usual type. Still, I could not control my body’s reaction to him, and it was so much more than his long, lean muscles, covered in smooth caramel skin, and those tattoos and piercings that shouted danger and delicious all at the same time. I think it was the raw pain I saw hidden underneath the self-deprecation and relentless need for self-harm. Like he didn’t think he was worthy of the most basic of things like love and care.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew I couldn’t fix him. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t help nudge him in the right direction to fix himself.
When I got back to the room, Nico was still gone, but I could see he’d eaten the breakfast I’d left and got my note. Hopefully, he’d accepted my peace offering and we were all good.
I grabbed a quick shower to wash off the sweat, then took my laptop to the corner table where the sunlight was brightest to get some work done. I returned a few emails and started work on a project for a fledgling sportswear company we’d just taken on. I was knee-deep into that when my phone buzzed with a text.
Stassia: WTF girl?! I know my eyes mislead me because my BFF did NOT get married without telling me…
Me: Yeah, so about that...
Stassia: Jemma Jane Johnson! What did you do?
Me: I married him.
I stared at the words on my phone screen before I hit send, wondering why they made me feel anything inside at all. This was a business arrangement, plain and simple, and I’d be foolish to entertain anything more, so I hurried to add to my message.
Me: It’s business. Nothing more. I’m sorry I didn’t call you, but it was an impromptu thing.
Stassia: Are you sure he’s not a killer, holding you hostage? Is this a cry for help? Do you need me to come rescue you?
I laughed and reassured her I was totally fine, glancing up when the door opened and Nico strolled in, his dark eyes finding mine across the room.
His gaze fell to my left hand, as if to make sure I was still wearing my wedding ring, before sliding back up to my face. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I set my phone aside. “How was your morning?”
“Good.” He walked over, flipped a chair around backward, and straddled it as he faced me, his hands laced on top of the table. “Prissy thinks I need to do something I love every day.”
“Do something you love?”
“Well, she wants me to journal too, but I told her I’m not a twelve-year-old girl.”
I bit my lip against a grin. “Right.”
“But I told her I’d try the thing I love. She said it would help me find myself again or some shit like that.”
This time the grin broke free. “So, what are you planning to do? What does Nico Santorini love?”
His dark eyes flared hot, making me want to squirm. “Music, obviously.” His gaze dropped to his threaded hands. “I also used to love playing outside as a kid, so maybe nature.” He shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I can help you if you want.”
“You don’t have to. You’ve done enough by giving me another shot and not kicking my ass to the unemployment line.” His voice was soft, sincere. “I need to thank you for that, JJ. I’ll try not to screw this up, okay? I will. But if I do...” Dark, tortured eyes lifted back to mine like the weight of the world was on him. “It’s not on you.”
Overcome with the need to touch him, I reached over and covered his hands with mine. “You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I won’t let you.” I squeezed. “We’re in this together, right, husband?”
His expression filled with a painful kind of hope, breaking me just a little bit. “For now anyway.”
It hit me then. He was waiting for me to leave him, and I knew I couldn’t promise him I wouldn’t. That was the deal we’d made, after all. Was he hoping for something different? Surely not. We barely knew each other, and a guy like Nico could have any woman he wanted. I was misreading things, probably projecting my own emotions onto the situation.
I took a breath and offered him a smile. “For a while.”
He smiled back, though it looked a little bit forced. “So, I promised Miss Priss I would do something musical at least an hour a day.”
I nodded. “Good plan. But how?” I couldn’t imagine how he might play drums around there.
He rose and walked over to his bags in the corner, unzipping the long skinny one he had propped against the wall and pulling out a portable keyboard. “This goes with me pretty much everywhere.”
“You can play that?”
He smirked at my shock. “I’m not a one-trick pony, sweetheart.”
I watched as he set up the keyboard on the coffee table across the room, turned it on, then plugged in some headphones so he wouldn’t disturb me.
I gave him his space to play and tried to get back to work, but my attention was continually drawn to him like a magnet. The dip of concentration in his dark brows. How his shoulders began to relax, as if some of the weight he carried was slipping away with the notes he played. The way his long fingers moved over the keys, not with elegance necessarily, but with a masculine grace all his own—somehow even more so with that black wedding band circling his left ring finger that I had put there just last night.
His movements slowed as if he sensed me watching and he pulled off his headphones.
“Can I hear you?” I asked.
“It’s a hobby,” he warned. “I’m no Cohen Creed.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Putting yourself down like that.”
“It’s not putting myself down to know my limits.”
“Well, you sure put a lot of limits on yourself,” I shot back, suddenly irritated with him for reasons I couldn’t fully understand.
“JJ—”
“Are you going to let me hear you play or not?” I challenged.
He tipped his head as if conceding the match, then reached over and unplugged his headphones. With a breath, he put his fingers back on the keys and started to play again, letting his eyes slide shut, blocking out the world.
It was a beautiful melody. Slow and haunting, the emotion layered so deep it filled the room. His playing wasn’t perfect, like he said, but he more than made up for that with the way he bled his truth onto the keys, and I was mesmerized.
As the last note rang through the room, his eyes slid open, his fingers still on the keyboard.
“What song is that?” I asked in a whisper.
“It’s one of mine.”
“You wrote that?”
He nodded and stood, moving to the window, his gaze on the mountain landscape where it looked like a storm was blowing in, instead of on me. “It’s still a work in progress.”
“It’s...”
He spun to meet my gaze, his hands in his pockets, his expression carefully neutral as if it didn’t matter what I thought, but I knew, without a doubt, that he absolutely cared.
“It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard.”
“Thanks, even though I know you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
I wasn’t used to a Nico Santorini at a loss for words, but he turned from me to watch as the winter storm outside began to beat the window with heavy sheets of icy rain, and loud gusts of wind buffeted the tall treetops, making them dance and sway.
“It’s getting bad out there fast.”
He hummed his agreement.
I saved my work and shut down my laptop, then stood to join him as hail began to pelt the ground below us.
He glanced over at me. “Wanna go to the restaurant downstairs and grab lunch before the power goes out?”
“That’s not funny.”
“Who’s laughing?”
I swatted his arm but agreed to food and talked him into a trip to the resort library since we were likely going to be stuck in for the rest of the day.
Nico was a good sport when our lunch was interrupted by a fan, and he signed an autograph and smiled for a photo.
“Thank you so much,” the pretty brunette said, clearly batting her eyes at him.
“No worries. You want a pic with me and my wife?” He reached for my hand, nearly making me choke on the French fry I’d stolen from his plate.
She barely acknowledged me. “No, thanks.”
I shot him a look as she sauntered off. “What the hell was that?”
He picked up his sandwich. “Just playing my part, wife .”
I glanced over at another patron, who was not doing a very good job at pretending not to take our photos. “Really?”
He chewed and swallowed, then took a drink of his Coke. “Absolutely.”
“Well, in that case...” I took his hand on the table and threaded our fingers, earning myself a confused frown, but two could play this game and I was just as competitive as him. Maybe more. “Don’t look now but we have a photographer at your eight o’clock and—” I tugged his hand, getting his attention when he tried to glance over. “I said don’t look.” I smiled as I leaned over the table, getting into his space, inhaling his soapy, cedar scent.
“What are you doing?” he murmured, his gaze locked on my mouth as I inched forward.
Our breath mixed, my lips brushing his in a tease as I spoke. “Just playing my part, husband .”
With a low growl, he threaded his fingers through my hair, holding me captive. “You keep playing with fire, Jemma, you’re gonna get burned.”
He was right. Absolutely right.
So, I kissed him.
For one beautifully free moment, I quit fighting it, and I sank into the truth. That I wanted him. Desperately and absolutely. Recklessly.
I traced the stubble of his jaw with my hand as I got lost in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as he...
He did not hesitate. Did not think. Just rolled with it, kissing me back like I was all the sustenance and air he needed to survive forever. He devoured my lips and tongue with a single-mindedness that had my panties wet in two seconds flat and a heady moan trapped in my throat.
Maybe a minute or an hour later, someone cleared their throat, and Nico pulled back, but not away. Just enough so we could breathe.
“Just dropping off your check,” the waitress said, clearly embarrassed. “Take your time.”
Nico’s dark eyes stayed locked on mine like lasers, assessing, then he kissed me one more time, soft and slow, before sitting back with a satisfied smile on his full lips. “You keep kissing me like that, Jemma Jane, and I might go getting the impression my wife has the hots for me.”
We made it back to our room just as the storm picked back up again, a driving rain lashing against the windows like Mother Nature had some sort of vendetta against the building.
I shivered and turned the heat up a couple of degrees while Nico shrugged out of his leather jacket and grabbed himself a water.
I changed into yoga pants and a hoodie, trying to get my emotions back in check. I’d been thoughtless, throwing caution to the wind and kissing him like that. Who did I think I was, putting on a show like that just because someone might’ve been taking our photo?
I took a deep breath and rubbed my hands down my thighs. I was getting myself together, starting now.
I rejoined him in the living area, where he was sprawled out on the couch, reading the magazine he’d gotten from the library. He’d said he wasn’t much of a reader, but he perused the assortment of magazines, surprising me when he chose National Geographic .
Nothing much had piqued my interest, so I downloaded the newest audiobook release from my favorite mystery author on my phone instead. I sat and pulled out my EarPods.
Nico glanced up from his magazine. “You don’t have to use those. I don’t care if you play it out loud.”
“You want to listen?”
He shrugged and went back to reading. “It just won’t bother me.”
I frowned. Was that his way of asking to listen after pretending he didn’t like books? Was he seriously going to be that guy?
Whatever.
I hit play and watched as he flipped a page in his magazine, pretending to ignore me as the narrator started reading.
Within an hour, he’d given up faking it, had put his National Geographic down, gotten us both a snack from the mini bar, and was listening intently.
“No fucking way.” He smacked his hand on the arm of the couch. “The husband did it.” He shook his head and stared at me like he was waiting for me to agree. “Tell me it isn’t obvious.”
I paused the book. “It’s a mystery. The author wouldn’t make it that obvious.”
He rolled his eyes. “Wait. You’ll see.” He popped a pretzel into his mouth and chewed. “It’ll be him. He’s shady as fuck.”
I reached over and snagged a pretzel. “Maybe.”
He tilted his head and eyeballed me hard.
“What?”
“You do realize that’s like the third time you’ve helped yourself to my stuff?”
I froze mid-chew. “What?”
“My water...” He lifted a finger. “My fries...” A second finger. “And now my pretzels.” A third finger with an arched brow. “You always been a petty thief where food and beverages are concerned?”
My face began to heat. He was absolutely right. I didn’t even think about it. It was what me and Stassia did. How I’d been with my ex before... “I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassment strangling my voice. “I didn’t mean—”
“Hey...” He tipped my chin up and smiled into my eyes. “I was joking. I like that you’re comfortable enough to steal from me.” His smile grew. “I’ve never shared with a woman before.”
“Really?”
“Really.” His thumb brushed my jaw. “We’ll call it wife privileges.”
I bit my lip as it settled deep into my gut that it didn’t matter if I’d known him only a handful of days. Nico Santorini was going to break my heart before this was over and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.