Five #2
His mind came up short every time he tried to imagine the reward of connecting on an intimate level with Nadia. There were just too many obstacles to navigate and he was exhausted by the idea before making a single move.
Of course, his mother assumed he was an average bachelor with thirty years of life experiences under his belt, but in truth, dating was and would always be an unsolvable conundrum to him. It was the epitome of tedious socializing and therefore best avoided.
Realizing his mother was still talking, as she would continue to do until satisfied she’d pulled him out of whatever slump he was in, Elliot slipped in some false reassurance.
“You’re right, Mom.” He wasn’t sure what he was supporting but offered his agreement all the same.
“Good. And when it works out you bring this friend over so I can meet her. I’ll admit, I’m intrigued. She must be pretty special for you to tell me about her. You’re so private about your lady friends.”
He didn’t have lady friends. She was getting ahead of herself. Way. Ahead.
“Well, I don’t think she’s interested, so I wouldn’t assume too much. We’re better as friends.” It was more realistic to call himself Nadia’s temporary landlord than her friend.
“Well, I have faith in you. What else are mothers for?”
The door pressed open and he winced as Nadia stepped in. Shit. Had she been listening to his conversation—with his mother? “I have to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, sweetie. Love you.”
“You too.” He ended the call.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He should lie and say it was work. “The tea’s gone. I feel better already.”
She stepped closer and brushed her fingers over his brow. “Your skin’s still warm to the touch, but that’s okay. It’s likely working. Was that your girlfriend on the phone? Your voice was different with her.”
Dear God—his girlfriend? He inwardly cringed. “Who said it was a female?”
She tapped her ear. “I heard her call you sweetie.”
Shit. He gave up and grimaced. “It was my mother.”
Her mouth curved into an approving smile. “You’re close with your mother?”
Awkward. This was so damn awkward. “She’s an important person in my life.
” He needed to make it clear he wasn’t a momma’s boy.
He adored his mother, of course, but his need for closeness stemmed from a deeper concern.
“My dad passed away last year. I try to touch base with her for a few minutes each day to make sure she’s okay. ”
“I’m sorry about your father. Were you close?”
His mouth opened but he hesitated. “He was one of my closest friends and my hero.” He glanced away. “I … don’t like talking about it.”
She patted his leg through the covers. “You’re a good son. Not many men talk to their mothers every day.”
She bent to lift the tray, distracting him with her body as she leaned in front of him. The sight of her full breasts only slightly retained by her top had his mouth watering and he swallowed, unable to blink. “Are you close to your parents?”
“My mother is not a citizen and she’s going back to Hungary. I should probably call her.”
That wasn’t necessarily a yes. “Is your father in Hungary?”
“No. He’s gone.” There was little emotion to her answer.
“Are you … a citizen?”
Her smile beamed with pride. “Yes. I have been for some time. My aunts raised me when they lived here in the States. My mother only comes to visit every few years. She stays for a few months. This time was the longest so far.”
“Are your aunts still in America?” Why hadn’t she stayed with them—not that he was complaining.
“My Aunt Petra passed when I was twenty and my Aunt Mira went home a few years ago to be with family. She’s not doing well, which is why my mother is leaving.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Will you go back?”
The thought of her returning to her homeland actually disturbed him, though he had no claim to her time here.
“It’s expensive.” She rubbed her fingertips together. “I can barely afford a taxi ride at the moment. The studio doesn’t do well during the warmer months, but I have new classes opening this week.”
He frowned, wondering what dance instructors made as far as income and irritated he didn’t know.
“I’ll leave you to rest.”
As she lifted the tray, he blurted, “You don’t have to go.”
She smiled and glanced at the tray. “I’ll come back. I want to wash these dishes and check on the soup.”
He didn’t know if he should be excited or scared about lunch. The slight scent of something unfamiliar was drifting up the stairs, but it wasn’t strong enough to sway him either way.
“Maybe we can watch a movie—since I’m apparently bedridden today.”
She laughed. “Rest will do you well. Sure. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
When she left he used the remote to trigger the television behind the wall. Searching through his collection, he tried to find something she might enjoy but didn’t have a clue about her taste in cinema. By the time she returned he still hadn’t selected anything.
“You have a television in here too? I’ve never seen a house with so much… What is the word for electric stuff? It’s like a space house.”
“Technology?”
“Yes. You have lots of technology. I like it.”
She’d changed, replacing her distracting boy shorts with a tight pair of black pants that did nothing to disguise her figure. The straps of a teal bra showed underneath her black tank top, making it a thousand times harder to breathe.
“What kind of movies do you like?” he asked, voice strained as she invited herself to sit on the other side of the bed.
“I like drama, but I mostly watch foreign films. What do you like?”
He hesitated, pretty sure his preference would seem juvenile in comparison to foreign films. “I like science fiction and fantasy.”
“Make believe?”
He grimaced. “Yes.”
“Then we’ll watch that. Pick a good one, Elliot, or else I might fall asleep on you. Someone woke me up extremely early this morning.”
His chest tightened as she scooted close to his side, her bare arm brushing his. Though his thumb directed the remote, his eyes made no sense of what was on the screen. Her hair tickled his arm and he had to remind himself to breathe.
“Have you ever watched Star Wars?”
“No.”
“Well…” He swallowed again, his voice seeming to dry up under the scent of her body so close to his. “There’re two ways to watch them. We can go in order of production or in order of the series. The first one didn’t come out until 1999, but the fourth one aired in 1977.”
She frowned. “Why did they do it that way?”
Finally, something he could discuss without feeling like an utter moron. This was his arena.
“George Lucas started by writing what he called a Space Opera, but it was so long he chopped it into nine parts, breaking it into three trilogies. Not knowing if the movies would succeed, he started with the only part that could be viewed as having a beginning and an end. It was a huge success, of course.”
“Then I say we start at the very beginning. If there are nine, we have a long journey ahead.”
“Well, the third part of the trilogies is being produced by Disney. You can see the difference. I saw the last one eight times in the theater.” Too much information! He stopped talking as his enthusiasm made him sound like a zit-faced, no-life teen.
Her eyes creased as she smirked. Was she laughing at him?
“We don’t have to watch it,” he said quickly, directing his attention back to the television.
“Oh, no! Not after you talked it up so much.” She scooted lower, her hair now touching his pillows. “I want to see why you love it.”
He studied her, trying to weigh her sincerity, but distracted by her presence in his bed. Holy hell. She was in his bed. Don’t get hard!
She seemed genuinely curious. Star Wars wasn’t just a saga about outer space.
It was political symbolism, epic battles, breathtaking scores, and timeless trials of good versus evil.
He didn’t know if he could handle how much hotter it would be if she actually enjoyed the series as much as he did. That was just unrealistic.
We’ll see if she falls asleep…
He cued up The Phantom Menace and placed the remote between them. As the Twentieth Century Fox lights showed and trumpets played, she stretched her body over his chest, and he froze as she shut off the lamp.
Glancing over her extended arm, she whispered, “I like movies in the dark.”
In perfect timing, the symphony instruments burst into a climactic eruption as her breast brushed his arm. And he died for a split second as she slid off of him. Shutting his eyes, he willed his body to behave.
“Who is that?”
He hardly had to look at the screen, knowing the movie by heart. “That’s Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon-Jinn. They’re important.”
Her eyes followed the characters across the screen. Along her temple were baby fine hairs, dark, but delicate. He’d give half his mint collection of priceless collectibles to trace his fingers there.
She turned, catching him staring again. “You’re not watching the movie, Elliot.” Her dark lashes fanned low while his eyes could barely blink.
Everything seemed heavy, even the breath filling his lungs doubled in mass. What was this woman doing to him?
“Sorry.” He looked at the television, promising himself he’d be more careful.
She shifted, sitting up a bit, her attention back on the movie. “Why do you look at me like that, Elliot?”
“I’m sorry?” He turned back to her because it was easier than looking away.
She gave him a pointed stare and he understood how unnerving it could be. “Why do you do it?”
“I…” What the hell was he supposed to say? You’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever met and it makes no sense that you’re sitting in my bed watching Star Wars with me? Come to think of it, this had to be a dream. He pinched his arm. Shit! That hurt.
Her body twisted so she sat on her knees and fully faced him. “Is it because I bother you or because you think I’m nice-looking? Or is it something else?”
Mouth dry, he moistened his lips. Pressing back his glasses, he glanced away. “You’re very pretty, Nadia.” His breath literally shook as it left him.