Calling It (7 page)

She cleaned the coffee off her sweater as well as possible and stood up. She couldn’t hide in her office all day. And besides, he’d probably left ages ago. He’d found his aunt and uncle and then gone off on his merry way.

She stopped short when she came around the corner to see him sitting on the stairs leading up to the second floor. Although the grin he gave her acknowledged her presence, the phone call he was on seemed to be taking up enough of his attention that he didn’t notice her shock. Or at least he didn’t let on.

“Yes, I know,” he was saying, patience obviously being tested. “Saturday morning. Where we met the wedding planner.” The irritation broke free entirely when after a brief pause he snapped, “Are we bringing dates?”

Dorie tried to get past him before he hung up but she didn’t quite manage.

“Fine,” he said sharply. Then he muttered a few choice swear words and stood up, effectively blocking Dorie’s way.

Since it was impossible to pretend she hadn’t heard his end of the conversation, she said, “Your ex?”

“Yep,” he answered. “That would be her.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she said, “So you’re seeing her this weekend?” To cover up the flash of jealousy that she had no right to feel, she quickly followed that up with, “Here in Inspiration?”

Falling into step with Dorie as she walked toward the reading room, he shook his head. “Chicago.”

She stopped short again. “You’re going back?”

Of course he was. He lived there. What, did she think he was going to stay around because he’d cooked for her? And yet she added, “So soon?”

And that right there was why this was a colossally bad idea. She’d never been desperate or whiny over
any
man.

Realizing she was no longer with him, Nate turned and looked down at her, a slow smile coming over his face. Then he softly asked, “Will you miss me?” He was close enough for his breath to sear her skin.

Chest tight, heart stuttering, she forced herself not to back away from him. “Why?” she asked, trying to inject a lightness she didn’t feel. “Because you’re...gorgeous?”

His hand went to her chin and he tipped her head up in order to meet his gaze. The smile turned to a full-out grin. “Is that all I am to you? Just another pretty face?”

She meant nothing more to him than a challenge, she reminded herself. It was all just a game and she had yet to be conquered. But that did nothing to stop her from wanting him; from wishing she had enough time to get him, foolish as that may be.

She stepped back. Pretending that his touch hadn’t affected her in the least, she said, “The face is fine, but what I really need is the brute strength.” She gave his arm the most sisterly punch she could manage—pausing only briefly to appreciate the rock-hard biceps—and then started walking again, not looking back to see if he’d follow. “There’s a lot more work to do. Is Wash still here?”

“Christ, woman,” he muttered, catching up to her with no problem thanks to his long stride. “You sure know how to wound a guy.”

As though he cared.

“Wash had to leave,” Nate continued, as unwounded as could be. “And anyway, it’s just for a couple of days. I’ll be back Sunday. Feel free to make a list.”

Relief washed over her even as she told herself that nothing was actually changing, she would just be that much more attached when he left. Then she almost laughed out loud. Several days ago, Nate Hawkins was just a guy on TV, and, um, maybe about twenty pictures that were plastered on the back of the door in her bedroom at her parents’ house. Now, here she was, shoulder to shoulder—okay, her shoulder to his chest—with him saying he’d be back and helping out again in a few days.

Despite her insisting that he didn’t need to stay, he spent the rest of the day with her in the library packing and moving the rest of the books; dismantling damaged shelves; cleaning, prepping and then helping her paint. By the middle of the afternoon, it was looking so beautiful that Dorie almost cried.

Her vision.
Her
library.

“You’re doing a great job here, you know,” Nate said from the other side of the room, where he was wrapping paintbrushes with plastic.

She smiled and ducked her head down, embarrassed that the compliment almost made her cry. More embarrassed that she’d let on how much it meant to her to make something of this little corner of the world. She’d told him all about growing up in the noisy, crowded house spilling over with sports gear and Hot Wheels and how hard it had been to get a word in edgewise, much less have someone actually pay attention to—or be able to afford—something she wanted. So when her brothers would go down to the local Y to play basketball, Dorie would go to the library instead. Every time she walked in the librarians had put aside a stack of books they thought she might like. Even now as a fully grown adult, the armchair in the corner of the teen room felt as much home to her as the house her parents still lived in.

“I’m going to have big, comfy chairs just like that one
everywhere
,” Dorie said, gathering the stray supplies from the corners of the room and bringing everything over to the pile Nate had made. “I’m going to make this a place where people can’t wait to be.”

“That’s what the basketball court was like for me,” Nate said, sitting back against one of the undamaged bookshelves and stretching his legs out.

Oh,
no
. It was one thing to work together all day; another entirely to settle in.

But as if he could sense her urge to bolt, he just reached up for her hand and tugged it so she had no choice but to sit down next to him as he went on, “Ella and Jules had me playing Fairy Tale with them as far back as I can remember. I was so psyched when I got promoted from Coachman to Prince. I think I was eight or nine before I realized that they wanted nothing to do with sports and I could make my escape.”

“Escape?” she echoed faintly as she stared down at his hand still holding hers. As she held herself still when he gently caressed the skin at the base of her thumb. It was either that, or shudder herself into a pile of goo.

Sharing childhood memories wasn’t doing anything to help remind her that he was not her friend—that she did not want an actual relationship. That even if she did, it couldn’t be with him. But she probably shouldn’t have snatched her hand away and snippily said, “Playing Prince Charming is a lot better than being thrown around, I’m guessing.”

Nate laughed. He thought she was kidding. Or playing hard to get.

She carefully put her hands in her lap so that they were out of his reach. “No joke. They called it Toss the Toddler. They gave each other extra points when I was really squirmy. I got really good at the tuck and roll.”

“I don’t know,” he said, a twinkle in his eye although he managed to refrain from laughing again. “I think I’d rather be tossed around than have to ferry my sisters and their friends around in the wheelbarrow every day. Or kiss them.”

Oh, God, no, they couldn’t start talking about kissing.

Yet she went ahead and answered, “You can’t seriously think that having to kiss your sisters’ friends comes anywhere close to being used as a ball.”

“Uh, no. Not when you put it like that.” He was no longer able to stifle his grin. “Although I do stipulate that kissing girls when you’re eight is not the same as kissing them when you’re eighteen.”

Dorie should have responded with something clever and cute. Should have changed the subject already. But instead her gaze drifted down, her lips already tingling. And then she looked up to see him watching her closely. The tip of her tongue darted out—she honestly didn’t know if it was intentional. She couldn’t think past the part about how he might taste.

She should stand up. Stand up and get as far away as was humanly possible. But instead she brought her eyes up to meet his. And when his hand cupped the back of her head, she let him guide her to him.

“Or now,” he said softly as her bones melted away. “I
really
like kissing now.”

Then his mouth was on hers and she nearly cried. Nothing had ever tasted so sweet—felt so right. His tongue found hers and her body took over, molding itself to him. Her hands went to his chest, fingers skimming over the surface of his T-shirt, her thumb seeking out his hard, flat nipple. When she flicked it, he went still—except for his head pulling back, breaking the kiss.

Rather than pull the rest of himself away, a rumble of laughter moved through him. And then his hands were on her hips and she was suddenly being lifted through the air before being brought down hard against him. Her legs fell apart all on their own. Straddling him as he ground her hips into his, she almost came right there. A sob racked her body at the feel of him anchored against her.

Oh, my freaking
God.
Her arms went around his neck.

It wasn’t as though she’d never had sex. She’d had far too much of it as far as Christopher was concerned and an acceptable amount as far as she was.

But...this. Oh, God,
this
.

When Nate held her against him, tremors ran through her. When his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts, the only thing keeping her from shooting straight up into the sky was his hands holding her down. And when he broke off the kiss and pulled away slightly, muttering, “Holy fucking shit,” and looking into her eyes in a way that made her think he’d been as taken by surprise as she was, well...

If her thundering heart wasn’t about to explode, she would have been muttering right along with him. She hoped to God she was just overdue for a serious vibrator upgrade. Because if that wasn’t the case?

Oh,
God
.

When he gently ran his thumb across her lower lip—when he again pulled her close and traced his tongue around the curve of her lips—tears came to her eyes from sheer bliss. And before she could even recover enough to part her mouth, he dipped his head down to the curve of her neck and pushed her shirt aside so that he could put his lips directly to her skin.

Even as her eyes fluttered closed, a part of her knew she was no different than anyone in the long line of women who had come before her, and, no doubt, every single one who would come after. And yet the only thing that saved her from stripping naked right there was the vague awareness of chimes ringing, the sound of footsteps in the hall.

She pulled away abruptly. It was bad enough that she was the cliché—the very least she could do was not be freaking making out with Nate Hawkins at work.

It seemed to amuse him. He was much less concerned about being caught with his pants down, possibly literally. Especially when it was Wash who appeared in the doorway less than a minute later, seeming neither fazed nor surprised to see them disentangling themselves from each other’s arms.

Or, rather, to see Dorie disentangling. Nate clearly had no concern about how things appeared.

Well, of course he didn’t. This probably happened to him all the time.

With this whole damn stupid charade, however, she couldn’t even be angry at him. Or, at least, she couldn’t tell him why she might be.

She resisted the urge to check whether all her clothes were still in place. “Wash. Hi. I, uh, thank you for all the help this morning.” She cringed at the babble coming out of her mouth. It was like a water fountain gurgling up in a rush and then spilling over. There was nothing she could do to stop it. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to say anything before you left. I can’t tell you how much your help has meant. It’s beyond anything I ever—”

Then Wash turned to her, his gaze finally leaving Nate’s, and the look in his eyes silenced her in a way that mere common sense couldn’t. Her face flushed.

As though she hadn’t spoken, Wash turned back to Nate. “So are we going to this game or not?”

Nate’s expression was an odd mix of anger and challenge. Without so much as glancing her way, he answered, “Going. I told Barb I would.”

Flushing even more deeply, Dorie wanted to disappear. She had no idea who Barb was—maybe one of the sisters’ friends who he’d spent so much time kissing? But it was clear from the unspoken part of the conversation that Wash was almost daring Nate to break whatever promise he’d made to whoever the woman-of-the-moment was. That neither one of them even tried to gloss it over with an invitation, halfhearted as it would have been, hurt more than it should have.

Wash gave a curt nod, then looked back at Dorie. Whatever camaraderie they’d built up this morning was entirely gone. “If there’s anything else you need this week just let me know. I’ll be happy to send someone by.”

“Thanks,” Dorie mumbled, an odd feeling settling into the pit of her stomach as he left the room. It was bad enough that she was just a number on Nate’s list no matter how much he’d seemed to like that kiss. With Wash she’d been feeling like they might actually become friends.

Then she realized what she was thinking and almost laughed. What a fool. The idea of being friends with Wash Fairfield, a legend in his own right, was as much of a joke as a relationship of any kind with Nate Hawkins. There must be something in the water; it was making her delusional.

She even thought there might be some actual regret in Nate’s eyes as he took her hand. “Sorry. I do have to go.” Then he gave her that grin that almost made her want to forgive him. “I think I hate that not-breaking-promises thing as much as I like the kissing.”

Hmph. She didn’t believe him one bit.

He moved in closer, his hand going to the small of her back. Cupping her chin, he seemed to be deliberately ignoring her stiffness and lack of answering smile. “Can I see you tonight?”

Now it was her turn to use the not-breaking-promises excuse. As much as it pained her to give up what could possibly be the best night of her life, she had more self-respect than that. Still, it took everything she had to lightly shrug him off and step back. “Sorry. Trivia night, remember? I promised Fitz.”

Except, if anything, he seemed to see that as the next step in the game. “Right,” he answered, smiling. And then he was gone.

A shiver ran down her back as the iceberg drew near. It was time. She had to tell him; she had no choice. She simply couldn’t take this anymore.