Chapter Fifteen #2
“You’re the last person I would call a failure.”
“I don’t know. I was feeling like a boss when I loaded up the first bag of clothes in my car, but I fell apart afterwards.
My hope is that when I hand over the clothes at the charity shop it doesn’t turn into a massive tug of war, with me trying to hold on to Arthur’s stuff. It could happen, you know.”
“Would you like some company? I could stop you if you initiate a brawl with the charity shop ladies.”
Claire laughed. “That would be helpful. I’d appreciate the company.”
“Great.” Nick smiled, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
Funny—the heaviness around her shoulders had disappeared as well.
“Only I just remembered I’m still wearing yesterday’s very dirty clothes. Listen, there’s a charity shop near my place. Why don’t you come back with me? You could hang out while I shower and change, we could drop off your things and then maybe we could grab lunch.”
Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea. She could handle sex with Nick. Sex, she understood. It was easy to compartmentalize.
What he was suggesting seemed a bit more fraught with emotion, and her emotions were already raw.
Then again, if she was forced to hang out while a naked Nick Zorn showered a mere room away, it would probably end in sex.
“Yeah, I could grab lunch with you. Lunch would be nice.”
It was official. She had no willpower around this man.
And as she made that realization, something flashed in Nick’s eyes.
The merest hint of flirtation.
Amber lust.
In that moment, Claire knew she was in over her head.
But right now, she just didn’t care.
* * * *
“Make yourself at home,” said Nick, as they entered his bungalow.
As Claire slipped off her sandals, she looked around.
He did some looking too. At her smooth legs, at the way her thighs met the edge of her shorts. At the curve of her waist.
Stop checking her out, he warned himself. This is just going to be a friendly lunch. Two friends keeping each other company, nothing more. Emphasis on the friends part, dude.
Unfortunately, his eyes had other plans. He couldn’t stop sneaking peeks at her, couldn’t stop remembering how good it felt to run his hands over her curves.
It didn’t matter. She’d packed up all her husband’s things today. She deserved some space and time to process it.
“You have a nice place,” she said. “It’s so open and airy.”
“Thanks. When I moved in, there were a couple of unnecessary walls. My brothers and I took them down. It’s much more open-concept now. Can I get you a drink or a snack?”
“I can wait until lunch, thanks.”
“Cool. Well, help yourself if you change your mind. The remote’s right there, if you want to watch TV.
I’ll just have that shower.” And brush his teeth.
And put on deodorant. And drag a comb through his mop.
All the things he hadn’t bothered to do when he’d showed up at Claire’s house, like a lost, dirty puppy trying to sniff out its home.
Had he found it?
Don’t be dumb. What must she think of him?
As she glanced at him, her gaze pensive and curious, she seemed to be thinking only one thing. And it was naughty. “Thanks. Take your time.”
He needed to get out of there, pronto. If he didn’t jump into a cold shower right now, he might run over and kiss her on the mouth. For starters.
Which ran contrary to the whole ‘space and time’ thing.
Nick hurried into his bedroom and pulled out some fresh clothes, tossing them onto his bed.
He stripped and walked into his en suite bathroom.
He turned on the tap, moving it to the coldest setting he could tolerate, and jumped in.
The cool water hit his back, but as tempted as he was to regulate the temperature, he stood there and took it.
Little by little, his body adjusted to the cold.
All but one persistent part.
It was as if his cock understood that Claire was under his roof. It stood at attention, completely at odds with what he was trying to achieve.
What am I trying to achieve here?
When he’d suggested she wait while he showered, he hadn’t exactly been thinking friendly thoughts. Only one thought had lanced through his brain, and it involved Claire taking off her clothes and joining him in the shower.
Which wouldn’t happen.
He couldn’t let it happen, even if she tried, which she wouldn’t. Not today, of all days.
Annoyed at himself for wasting so much mental energy on the topic, he quickly lathered up his hair and body and rinsed off. As he turned off the taps and reached for a towel, a familiar grinding sounded in the kitchen.
It was the broken ice maker on his fridge. He’d forgotten to tell her it was busted, and from the insistent grinding, she hadn’t figured that out yet. He’d better tell her.
“Claire,” he called.
No response. Just more grinding.
Wiping his body with the towel, Nick then held it around his hips. Without bothering to dress, he walked back into the kitchen.
Claire stood at the fridge, holding a glass, frowning at the ice maker button. When she saw him, she squeaked in surprise.
“Sorry.” He held out his free hand. “I’m not trying to be weird. I heard the noise and realized I forgot to tell you the ice maker’s on the fritz.”
She stared at him, mouth open. “I got…thirsty.”
Her gaze traveled down his chest, a slow caress. A single drop of water ran over his pecs toward the towel, and she seemed mighty interested in its journey.
He must not have toweled off properly.
Of course, his wetness didn’t seem to be bothering her.
He went hard again. There was no way she wouldn’t know, not with the way she gawked at his towel. Fuck.
Why couldn’t his goddamn cock give him a break?
She dragged her eyes back up his body and set her glass down on the counter. “Nick…”
She wanted him. God knew he wanted her.
All he had to do was drop the towel. It was all that stood in their way, aside from a few other pesky garments on her person.
Don’t. She’s vulnerable.
Gripping the towel edge so hard his knuckles must be white, he stepped back. “Anyway, the ice maker needs fixing. There’s some chilled water in the fridge, if you’d like. I’ll just get dressed.”
“Of course.” She turned away from him, shaking her head.
He escaped into his bedroom. What had he been thinking, going out there wearing only a scrap of terrycloth and a stiffie?
Cursing at himself, Nick threw his towel into the shower stall. He put on some clothes and stalked out front, determined to be the kind of friend Claire needed. Frankly, it was all he should be giving her right now anyway.
Maybe in a day or two, when they were both in a better headspace, they could go back to fucking like animals.
“So,” he said, grabbing his car keys, “how about that lunch? I know a nice Thai place.”
She stood at the door, and didn’t look him in the eye. “Thai’s good.”
Nick held open the door for her and forced a smile.
He would do the right thing. He would not offer Claire his body as her personal plaything.
Instead, he would give her what she really needed, which was space.
Even if it killed him.
What was a little death between friends anyway?