Spice (21 page)

“N
adia?”

She looked up, then quickly scrambled to her feet. Kane stood in the hallway, a wheeled suitcase behind him, his clothes rumpled and his hair in disarray as if he'd repeatedly run his hands through it. Fatigue weighed down his shoulders, his features, but she'd never been so glad to see him. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

The blunt question stopped her forward motion, her opened arms falling limply to her sides. He didn't look happy to see her. He looked annoyed, which meant she was wrong after all. He didn't want to see her tonight. Maybe he didn't want to see her tomorrow, either.

“I'm sorry.” She hugged her arms about herself, fighting a swell of embarrassment as she mentally bailed on her earlier plan. “I wanted to see for myself that you were all right,” she said, trying for a breezy tone and failing miserably. “Now that I have, I'll get out of your hair so you can get some rest.”

Clutching the strap of her bag, she lowered her head and moved past him. His hand shot out, clamped around her wrist, spun her. Her back made contact with the corridor wall, hard. She gasped as he caged her in, his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head, his big body trapping hers. She stood frozen as he leaned in, feeling a little apprehensive and a little turned on.

“I'm really angry with you right now,” he said against her cheek.

Flares of hurt and anger ignited deep inside her. “Angry with me? Why? Did I ruin your Friday night plans? Were you blowing me off so you could be with someone else?”

God damn it, that last part sounded pathetic. She shoved at his chest, but he easily caught her by the wrists, pulling her hands above her head. The only way she could free herself was by kneeing him in the nuts. As angry as she was, she wasn't that angry. “Let me go, Kane. I'll let you get back to whatever you'd rather do than be with me tonight.”

“No.” He shoved a knee between hers, her short skirt a flimsy barrier. His breath sawed in and out as if he'd just completed a marathon, his eyes burning with an intensity she hadn't seen from him before.

“I wanted to see you,” he said as if she hadn't spoken, his voice scraped raw. He pressed closer. “I needed to see you. That's why I went by your house.”

“You did?”

She felt him nod, felt the tension in his muscles as he held himself in check. “I went by, but you weren't there. At first I thought you were avoiding me because you didn't answer my last text. I realized that I'd more than likely pissed away my chances with you.”

He shuddered. “You have no idea what that did to me. I was angry that I felt that loss on top of everything else I've dealt with today, and I'm angry that I had to feel it longer than necessary. I'm angry that I thought I was going to have to call all your friends and try to track you down tonight just for the hope of hearing you say my name. Then I come home and find you here. Why are you here, Nadia?”

“Because I want to be,” she answered, recognizing the truth of it deep in her bones. “Because you need me to be.”

With a pained groan, he crashed his mouth against hers in an action much too brutal to be called a kiss. Maybe he meant it as a punishment, but she could feel his anger, the edge of desperation in it, his need for her. Instead of pushing back she surrendered, softening against the hard lines of his body, offering whatever he needed from her.

The kiss softened as his anger seeped away. His grip on her wrists lessened, then he slid his hands up to thread his fingers into hers. There was only one thing he wanted. “Say my name.”

“Kaname,” she whispered against his lips, too overwhelmed to speak louder. “I'm here, Kaname. I'm with you, and I'm not going anywhere.”

He drew another shuddering breath then released her. Without another word, he unlocked his door, disabled the alarm, then gestured her inside before retrieving their bags.

“Will you talk to me?” she asked when the silence began to weigh on her. “Tell me what happened so I can help.”

He made his way across the condo to the master bedroom. She followed him. “I'm not having my best day,” he finally said, his voice tight as he undressed. “It's nowhere near close to a good day. I couldn't get out of Los Angeles fast enough, but sometimes stuff sticks with you. Having you here is helping.”

“Then allow me to help you. Do you want a shower or a soak in the tub?” Though Kane's kitchen was almost as nice as hers, his master bath made her go green-eyed with envy, thanks to the oversized tiled shower with multidirectional shower heads and a soaker tub sized for two.

“Shower. As much as I'd like to relax in the tub with you, I want to wash the grime off.”

Needing to help him in some small way, she moved into the master bath and started the shower. Kane wasn't grimy, not that she could see, but she understood the need to get clean. She'd taken to using showers as a form of therapy, washing away her old life, old sins, old ways of thinking. Maybe Kane needed something like that too.

He strode into the room, his mood hanging over him like a thundercloud, entering the shower without a word. He stood beneath the overhead spray, head down, eyes closed, hands hanging limply at his sides. He looked . . . defeated.

No way in hell was she going to leave him like that. He'd let her in, an unspoken request for help. She could do no less than deliver on that request. It was about soothing him, offering him comfort. She wasn't sure if she could, but she knew she had to try. Kane needed her; she felt that in her bones. He didn't need her to help with his cases, or transcribing notes, or offering a woman's perspective. No, he needed her to pull him back from whatever dark place he had to go to in order to do his consultation work.

She quickly undressed then joined him in the shower, adjusting the multidirectional panels to cover them both. Then she reached into one of the tiled alcoves and retrieved his shampoo, pouring some into her palm. Stepping behind him, she began to lather up his hair, sinking her fingers into the thick strands so that she could massage his scalp. He groaned, his head dropping back, shoulders slumping as some of the weight of his mental burden slid away.

She took her time, enjoying touching him, knowing the luxurious sensation of having someone shampoo her hair and wanting to prolong it for him. After rinsing his hair, she grabbed his soap, a spicy scent that she'd forever connect to him. She ran her lathered hands over his skin, injecting as much care and comfort into each touch that she could.

She started at the nape of his neck and his shoulders, massaging at the tightened muscles, humming a nonsensical tune as she went. Taking care of him like this, serving him like this, sent sparks of pleasure through her. Making others happy made her happy. It was why she'd chosen baking, because desserts made everyone happy. If shampooing Kane's hair and massaging his tension away could give him a respite and ease his mood, she'd do it happily.

Down his left arm then up his right, she loosened his muscles from shoulders to hands, even massaging his palms and fingers. Next, she directed her attention to his back, using the heels of her hands to work at the tight muscles there. Down each bump of his spine, along his ribs, back down to his tailbone, she continued the soapy massage.

He did move then, leaning forward, bracing his hands against the opposite wall as he widened his stance. She re-lathered her hands before sinking to her to knees, massaging her soapy hands over his buttocks and thighs, the crease between his cheeks. She took her time, giving attention to every inch of his skin down to his toes.

The silence stretched but the tone of it changed, becoming lighter as more tension left his body. Moving around to face him, she soaped her way up his calves to his thighs. He'd told her that he swam every other day, taking advantage of the condo's communal facilities, and it showed. He had a swimmer's body, powerful shoulders, tapered waist, strong legs and she knew just how fine a machine it was.

Next she cupped and soaped his balls, keeping her touch light and gentle. He straightened as she tended his resting cock next, and though he hissed as soon as she took him in hand, that was his only reaction.

“I'm sorry, Nadia,” he said into the damp silence. “I just don't have it in me tonight.”

“Good thing I don't need it in me tonight,” she told him, pushing her wet hair out of her face and sitting back on her heels so that she could look up at him. “That's not what this is about.”

The haunted look had receded from his eyes, and the deep lines around his mouth were faded. He wasn't all the way back yet, but he was getting there. “What is this all about?”

“You,” she said simply. “It's about you and what you need.”

“Nadia,” he whispered, his eyes sliding closed. “Thank you.”

Moved, she continued her upward trajectory, spreading lather over his groin, his abdomen, his chest. Rising to her feet, she ran her hands over his heart, his collarbone, and his throat. Then she stepped back, letting him scrub his face while she quickly lathered and rinsed off.

He shut off the water, and they stepped out of the shower. Using towels from the heated rack, they toweled themselves dry. Kane blew out a breath then smiled at her, his first true smile that reached his eyes and chased the last of the shadows away.

“There he is,” she said softly, ridiculously overjoyed at seeing his good mood return. “Or is it because my mascara is making me look like a half-drowned raccoon?”

“You're beautiful,” he said simply. “Inside and out.”

“Kane.” She stepped up to him, wrapping her arms about his waist, molding her body to his, hugging him with her arms, body, and heart. He returned her embrace, his arms encircling her shoulders. They stood like that for a long time, reconnecting, reaffirming.

Finally they went to bed, Nadia tucked under his shoulder with her head resting on his chest. As the night settled around them, Kane cupped her cheek. “I'm sorry I said I wasn't coming over to get you tonight.”

“It hurt,” she was able to admit. “It felt like you'd rejected me.”

“That's something I never want to do, even unintentionally.” His thumb lightly brushed her cheek. “It was hard to let go of the case I'm consulting on. Sometimes you see things. You see things you can't stop seeing no matter what you do. You get filled with rage or despair, or if you're lucky, determination. It was hard today. A girl, not even a teen. It's bad enough that I have to see it, study it, get into the mind of the person who did that. I don't . . . I need you to not be exposed to it. It's hard to unsee it. It's hard to accept.”

A sudden flash of insight had her asking, “So, other women you've been with, they couldn't handle that part of what you do?”

“No.” He dropped his hands away from her. “They didn't understand it, since consulting actually isn't my job. I can say no, refuse the request for help. I don't need to do that, and others didn't understand why I would continue to do something that can leave its mark on me like it does. They couldn't deal, so they left. Can't say that I blamed them. Or you, for that matter, if you decide it's too much to deal with.”

Her heart broke for him, for this man who had come to mean so much to her in so short a time. “Oh no, Professor, you don't get to push me away.” She turned fully onto her side, her arm draped across his waist. “I haven't asked you to stop doing something that's obviously very important to you, and I won't. I wouldn't. Did you forget? I'm not like most women?”

He blew out a breath. “You're not like any woman I've met before. Thank God.”

He turned onto his side, wrapped his arms around her, and just held her. It felt like he was holding on, the grip of someone in search of comfort. She hugged him, lifting her upper leg so that it rested high on his outer thigh, cradling him against her breasts, pressing soft kisses to his forehead, his nose, his lips. He shuddered, his grip tightening, but remained silent. She let him have it, knowing he knew she was there, would be there, when he was ready.

He took over the kissing as he usually did, just the way she loved. The kisses changed, intensifying, his grip on her softening, becoming the opening forays to pleasure. Sandwiched together as they were, with her mound poised and ready, she knew the instant he hardened with need.

“Looks like someone's got it in them after all,” she joked.

He laughed, and it was wonderful to hear. “Not yet,” he said, “but she will. If you can forgo the drawing of a card, I think this is a good time for one of the sheik's side-by-side positions, the twenty-first manner.”

She mentally ran through the sundry positions mentioned in
The Perfumed Garden
. That's the one called
love's fusion
, right?”

“A poetic name, but it's a very intimate position. Basically what we're doing right now without the fireworks.”