Chapter 8
Sophie woke up the next morning wondering if feeling this uncomfortable in her own skin could be a result of a head injury.
She threw the covers back and hopped out of bed, a slow-motion kind of hop because she was leery of the light-headedness that’d plagued her for the past couple of days.
Her heart pounded for no reason, and again, she tried to blame her injuries. Tried to. Deep down, she knew the true cause.
Nate.
No, that wasn’t even it.
It was herself.
She’d practically thrown herself at him on the balcony last night, and then again before he’d left. What was more, she’d let down her guard the entire evening.
For the first time in her life, the guy had been the one to slow things down instead of her. Had Nate not pulled away, she wasn’t sure if she would’ve stopped short of taking him to her bedroom.
Her body responded even now as she thought about him, but of course, it was primed from a night of hot dreams starring none other than her rescuer. Naked. Inside of her.
Her laptop sat on her dresser, and the urge to open it and start working was so strong she went to it and ran her hand over it, as if the case alone could bring her comfort. But she’d made a promise to herself — and Iona — that she’d wait until Monday morning to jump back in.
It shouldn’t be this hard to not work.
As she climbed into the shower without letting the water heat up, she gritted her teeth against the cold and started questioning her sanity. She’d read about people who’d developed totally different personalities after a head injury and wondered if that was the case for her.
By the time the water was hot enough, she was rinsing shampoo out of her hair, racing through her routine just to get away from…
What?
As she stepped out onto the extra-thick bath mat and grabbed a towel, she swayed like a drunk. She grabbed her towel and sat down on the closed toilet to try to get control — physically and mentally.
Nate Rottinghaus had her turned inside out like no other man ever had, and she couldn’t even say why.
He was good-looking. Okay, more than. His body was cut like a Navy SEAL’s, and his beautiful eyes touched something deep inside of her whenever she looked at him.
He was hotter than the other guys she’d been with, sure, but it went deeper than that.
He was attentive and gentle and comforting and comfortable, and when she was with him, she dropped her guard without even realizing it.
That man had the power to hurt her like she couldn’t even imagine.
Sweat beaded on her forehead, and, wrapped in a bath sheet, she darted out of the steamy bathroom as if it were on fire. She whipped open the door to the balcony, hoping the cool air blowing through the living room would cool her down.
Not being a fan of public exposure, she was about to step back from the doorway when the sea air penetrated her brain via her nose.
She paused, holding on to the jamb, and breathed it in, letting it flow through her lungs and outward into every cell in her body.
After the third breath, the shaking inside of her dissipated, as if sea water had washed over her and taken the shakes with it.
She was drawn outside and stopped short when she felt the cold surface of the balcony under her feet.
Glancing in both directions, she assessed the privacy—concrete walls stretched up on both sides, blocking her space from the neighbors’.
The railing was thick, transparent plexiglass, but she was six floors up.
Screw it. If someone wanted to ogle her in her towel, they could have a free show. She’d been missing out for too long.
Sophie tightened the towel at her chest and stepped to the railing. The water was bluer today. More vivid. The November wind still whipped, but the sun reflected on the water, so bright she couldn’t look directly at it.
The courage the fresh air had inspired in her yesterday returned. The determination to do more than bury herself in her career pulsed in her. When she finally shivered from the cool air, she dragged herself away from the edge of the balcony, went inside, and grabbed her cell phone.
“To girl time,” Iona said, holding her champagne flute out to Sophie, who clinked glasses.
“To girl time. This isn’t what I expected when I called you.” She smiled and took a sip of the light, slightly sweet bubbly, working to let go of the idea that she should be getting a little work done today.
“It’s a sin against nature that you’ve never had a pedicure before,” Iona said.
“I didn’t know it included champagne or I might have.”
“All about priorities — and knowing which spa to hit.”
“Feet haven’t been at the top of my list, I guess.” Sophie leaned back into the massage chair, the champagne warming her insides as her feet soaked. She may have decided her priority list had been flawed, but that didn’t mean refocusing was easy.
Iona had been in her car when Sophie had called, and she’d told Sophie to get dressed because she was stopping by in five minutes.
After throwing her hair up and pulling on jeans, a sweater, and boots, she’d met Iona out front, deciding once she sat in the front seat of Iona’s Camry it was probably best she hadn’t had time to think.
Spontaneity wasn’t her strong point. Who had time for spontaneity when you worked or thought about work all your waking hours?
Though she and Iona shared a strong work ethic, Sophie was realizing they had a lot of differences outside the office.
She could stand for some of Iona’s habits to rub off on her.
“Your feet will thank you. Trust me,” Iona said.
Two spa employees came over to their chairs and went to work pampering them. Sophie felt weird about having anyone touch her feet, but within about two minutes, she was over it and succumbed completely.
“Okay, you could be right,” she told Iona, sipping more champagne.
Iona reclined against the luxurious cushion and let out a sigh of bliss as her nail tech began massaging her arches. “How are you feeling, Soph? You look pretty good considering the time I gave you to get ready.”
“Yeah, thanks for that.”
“Betsy’s a busy lady.” Iona waved a manicured hand at her tech. “Nobody keeps her waiting.”
“Ha,” Betsy said. “If only…”
“Is your head feeling better?” Iona asked quietly.
“Mostly. Just a little dizziness every once in a while. I’m feeling good. I…” She looked at the two techs, wondering how much they were listening to their conversation. “Nate cooked me dinner.”
Iona leaned forward, and her dark blond brows rose. “Ooh? Firefighter Nate?”
Sophie felt her cheeks heat as her tech, Suri, looked up from the pumice stone she was using on Sophie’s feet.
“Sophie was in a fire a few days ago,” Iona explained to the two women. “The office building on Garcia that burned?”
“I heard about that on the news,” Betsy said. “You were in it?”
“Firefighter Nate, who is allegedly one sexy specimen, had to carry her out,” Iona said.
“Oh, my God!” Suri gently squeezed Sophie’s feet. “You poor thing.”
“Poor thing?” Betsy said. “Carried out by a hot firefighter? Sign me up.”
“A hot firefighter who cooked her dinner last night,” Iona added, and Sophie reminded herself this was allegedly how girl time went. Not that she had any experience with it. Serving alcohol was an effective icebreaker.
“Bet dinner’s not all that was cooking,” Betsy said, and Sophie couldn’t help thinking about the kisses on the balcony, in spite of her reluctance to share with these women she didn’t know.
“He was … perfect,” Sophie said, finishing up her champagne. “A perfect gentleman.” All three women stared at her, waiting for more, and she grinned, feeling the beginning effects of the alcohol. “Even when I didn’t want him to be.”
Betsy howled, and Iona reached out for Sophie’s hand. “You so deserve a good man, Soph. Are you going to see him again?”
“I don’t know. I kind of left it in his court.”
Both of the nail girls glanced up at her, and Iona let out a quiet “oh.” She watched Sophie with a question in her eyes.
“What was I supposed to do?” Sophie asked, knowing full well she was out of her element by a couple hundred zip codes.
She couldn’t bring herself to admit that Nate had been the one to come to his senses and slow things down.
She’d thought he’d been into it, would’ve sworn to it at the time, but now her confidence faltered, and she wasn’t sure of anything.
Suri had finished pumicing her feet and walked behind a marble-looking wall for a moment. She returned with the champagne bottle. “You get seconds since it’s your first time.”
“Heck, give her thirds for being pulled out of a burning building,” Betsy said.
“I’ll take you up on seconds anyway,” Sophie said, holding her flute up. She wasn’t a big drinker, but it was going down smoothly, she wasn’t driving, and she needed the liquid courage, considering the topic.
“If you’re interested in this firefighter,” Betsy said as she trimmed Iona’s toenails, “it’s better to have the ball in your court.”
Though Sophie was a point guard all the way when it came to her business, she was more of a bench warmer in dating, never having taken much initiative in her love life.
If a guy made it easy for her and she was interested, she might give him a chance.
More often than not, she bypassed involvement altogether. She took three sips of champagne.
“Are you interested?” Iona asked.
Too much.
There wouldn’t be a better opportunity to get advice. “Yes.” Ddmitting that didn’t mean she had to follow their suggestions.
“Hmm.” Iona tapped her pursed lips. “Is he working today?” Besty was holding up a sheet of nail color samples, and Iona pointed at a sparkly berry-colored one.
Sophie nodded, and her stomach sank with foreboding that she wasn’t going to like what Iona came up with.
“This is going to work perfectly. I have to bake six dozen of my special salted caramel brownies this afternoon for my grandmother’s retirement home—”
“Six dozen?” Besty asked, the nail polish brush suspended a foot above Iona’s toes.
“I do it once a month. She loves them. Everybody loves them. Which is why they’re the perfect thing to take to the fire station as a token of your thanks.” Iona directed the last bit to Sophie.
“My thanks.”
“For saving your life,” Betsy said.
“Of course.”
“Then you run into Nate and ask him out.” Iona’s eyes shined brightly with enthusiasm.
“I’ve never asked a guy out,” Sophie said, veering more toward dread than enthusiasm.
“Never?” Iona asked.
“Hot firefighter,” Betsy said. “No time like the present.”
“Pretend it’s business. You could ask the president of France to lunch if it were business.”
Iona had a point. When it came to engineering and architecture, Sophie had the utmost confidence. She wondered if she could fool herself long enough to pull off asking Nate out. Maybe with another bottle of golden bubbly, or maybe two.
“I don’t know how to bake.”
“We bake together.”
“It’s a great plan,” Suri said as she held out the same sample-color selection.
Sophie normally wore pastels on her nails — both finger and toe, always self-applied — but she stopped herself before she could point to the shell pink on the second row. “Fire engine red,” she said, or rather, the champagne said.
“Theme!” Betsy hollered.
“Are you in?” Iona asked.
Sophie eyed her glass. She tipped it up and finished off the last swallow. She had to admit she didn’t like the thought of not knowing when or if she’d see Nate again. Iona’s plan was beyond Sophie’s comfort level, but she’d cross that bridge, well, in a couple of hours.
“I’m in.”
God help her.