Page 16 of I Dream of Danger
Her father was dead, and wherever he was, he was truly in a better place. That was the past, this was now. A better now than she’d even dared to dream of just this morning. A magnificent now that held threads of hope for the future. A future with Nick in it, of watching Nick, listening to him, just being with him.
He hadn’t bothered to close the bathroom door and she could see him, all rough male in her ridiculously prissy bathroom, like a foreign species. He’d taken a washcloth from the pile by the sink and was washing himself. Washing his penis briskly, drying off, wetting another washcloth and walking back to her.
It was impossible to decide which was the better view. Maybe from the front with that rock-hard penis lying against his rock-hard belly.
Yes, definitely.
He stood by the bed for a moment, looking down at her. “Lie back down, honey,” he said softly, and she did, immediately, that ‘honey’ ringing in her ears. When he looked at her like that, called her ‘honey,’ she’d have obeyed him if he’d said, ‘put your hand in the thresher, honey.”
He sat on the side of the bed, making it dip and just looked at her, perusing her carefully, from her face, over her breasts, belly, down her legs to her feet, then back up again.
He sighed and she stiffened.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, and smiled at her. “Now open your legs.”
She smiled back and slid her legs apart.
He applied the washcloth between her legs and she winced to see it turn red and then pink. His eyes followed his hands as he cleaned her. His movements were impersonal, prosaic, and she was immensely turned on.
“I never even thought you might be a virgin,” he said, and stopped for a moment, almost indignant. “I mean, look at you! You’re a beautiful young woman. What’s the matter with the guys in this town? Are they blind? How the f—how the hell was I supposed to guess that you hadn’t done this before?”
Elle rolled her eyes. “First of all, Nick, you can say fuck. If we’re going to fuck you can say fuck.”
He stopped and his eyes widened in shock. His mouth fell open. She laughed. It took a lot to shock Nick. Or maybe not, if hearing her say ‘fuck’ made his jaw drop.
“Fuck,” he breathed, and she laughed again.
He shook his head. “Okay, my vocabulary aside, please tell me how someone who looks like you has never…” He stopped instinctively. “Has never—” He couldn’t complete the sentence.
“Fucked,” she offered.
“Okay.” He sighed. “So how can someone who looks like you never have fucked.”
Never kissed, either. She was really glad he hadn’t figured that one out.
She gave him the easy version. “Daddy started getting really sick in my sophomore year. It had been sort of funny before. Losing the keys, forgetting where he put his glasses even though they were on top of his head. Then he said he took early retirement. I only found out later that he was forced into it. There was no way he could sit on a bench. But then it got worse, very fast. One night the police knocked on the door at three in the morning, holding Daddy between them. He’d wandered off. They found him in his bathrobe on State Street, and brought him home. They were really nice. They were a little less nice the tenth time that happened. And downright angry the thirtieth. It—it’s a terrible disease, devastating. I had my hands full. I was young, but it was as if I had four small kids. There isn’t a boy on earth who’d put up with that, and no one did.”
The hard version—she was never even remotely tempted by anyone but Nick. He filled her head and her heart and no one came even close. Certainly not the callow, shallow boys in high school. And then they all left for college and she didn’t even have a chance to turn dates down.
“Assholes,” Nick said prosaically, and startled a laugh out of her.
“Yeah.” Yes, they were assholes. It was liberating to think of it that way.
“So.” He’d finished cleaning her up and was simply looking at her, washcloth in hand. “Here we are.”
His voice, his face were neutral.
Well, she wasn’t neutral. Not a bit. “Yes, here we are. I’m naked and you’re naked and we’ve already done it—sort of—so what are you waiting for?”
He shook his head, smiling. “Pixie,” he said, his deep voice low, “What am I going to do with you?”
“If I have to tell you, Nick Ross, then there’s no hope for you at all. I would think you’d know exactly what to do, since clearly I don’t. You do know what to do. Don’t you?”
The smile deepened, and his famous dimple, the one she’d teased him so much about, appeared. “Yeah, I guess I do. Except?—”
Her eyes widened. “Except?” Oh God, what now?
“Except I’ve never done it with a virgin before.”
