“Yeah? Got a picture I can see?”
He carried the dry ingredients over to the island. “I do, actually. On my iPad, which is upstairs. I’ll get it.” He kept talking as he made his way over to the steps. “I think it’s a wedding picture.”
I clapped my hands and took off after him, too impatient to wait for him to come down. “I want to see!”
Nick climbed the staircase ahead of me, and despite the insubstantial look of them, I was happy to note that they did not sway or jiggle. I followed him up, which gave me a nice eye-level view of his ass. At the top of the stairs, he switched on the light and pulled his iPad from a black leather messenger bag on the floor next to his bed.
While he looked for the photo, I glanced around at the sleeping loft. The head of his platform bed, queen-sized from the looks of it, was pushed up against the brick wall and neatly made up with plain white sheets. He makes his bed now. That’s different.
It’s been seven years, Coco. He’s probably matured in a lot of ways, just like you have.
But I bet he’s still phenomenal in bed.
Heat rushed my face. Blood rushed my core. I crossed my arms and my legs, squeezing my thighs together against the ache that was building there.
“OK, come here and look. I found it.” He went over and sat on the bed, holding the iPad on his lap, and I walked over and lowered myself beside him, careful not to sit too close.
“Oh my God,” I breathed, putting a hand over my heart. “You do look like him. And what a gorgeous picture. When was that?” It was indeed a wedding photo, black and white and pretty old from the looks of it, although the digital copy appeared to have been restored. The groom, whose wide mouth, full lips, and dark eyes were eerily like Nick’s, wore a black suit, and his diminutive bride stood next to him. She wore a simple but lovely white lace dress with a high neck and short sleeves, and a sash around her small waist.
“I’m not sure. Nineteen twenty-something? My grandfather was born around nineteen twenty-five, I think, so they must have been married by then.”
“Look how little she is.” I pointed at the petite woman, whose skin was so fair it looked translucent. She had wide eyes and a lovely heart-shaped face. Her lips were dark, as if she wore deep red lipstick.
Immediately I felt she and I were kindred spirits. She was smiling—they both were, which seemed unusual for such an old photo. Most of the time, people in old photographs look pretty miserable, but this couple was truly happy, you could just tell. Something like grief squeezed my heart, which was ridiculous. What did I have to be sad about?
“Yeah, she was little. Her nickname was Tiny. I don’t even know what her real name was. She died when I was just a few years old.”
I looked at him. “You don’t know your great- grandmother’s real name? That’s not right. We have to find out, I want to know about her.”
He smiled, his eyes still on the picture. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Because she wears red lipstick. Because they look so happy. Because I think it’s interesting,” I said as he laughed at my reasoning. I thumped his leg. ”Have you forgotten I was a history major? I eat this kind of stuff up.”
His eyes, light and shining, met mine. “I haven’t forgotten anything about you, cupcake.”
My heart stopped.
I willed him to lean closer, to whisper my name, to touch my lips with his…but he didn’t.
“We’ll ask Noni about her this weekend,” he went on. “And speaking of Noni, we better go make that cake. It’s after ten already.”
I swallowed. “OK.”
But he didn’t move, and I didn’t either. I couldn’t. My stomach muscles were clenched so tight it almost hurt. He looked at my lips, so I licked them, let them fall open. Tipped my chin up, ever so slightly. Come on, Nick. Kiss me, already.
He smiled. “You totally want me to kiss you right now.”
Shrinking back, I slapped him on the shoulder. “I do not!”
“You did, you so did,” he said, laughing as he stood up. He tossed the iPad onto his bed. “You licked your lips.”
Steaming mad, I clenched my fists at my sides and trailed him down the steps and back into the kitchen. He was so fucking infuriating! “That doesn’t mean I wanted you to kiss me. Because I don’t.”
“Oh no?” He whirled around and grabbed me hard by the shoulders. His lips hovered over mine. “Then tell me not to kiss you,” he said, his breath warm and soft on my mouth. “Say it’s against the rules. Say you don’t want it.”
Oh God, oh God, oh God. Why did he have to play these kinds of games? I knew what he was doing—he wanted me as badly as I wanted him, but he wanted it to be my idea so he wouldn’t look like the asshole. So he could say that I was the one who broke the rules. That I was the one who wanted him more.
No way.
He was either going to take me the way I wanted to be taken or not at all. I wasn’t going to offer him a fucking invitation, not after what he’d done.
“I don’t want it.” The lie slid out through clenched teeth.
He paused before letting go of me. “Good.
Because I don’t want it either.”
Before I could stop myself, my hand shot out and grabbed his crotch. Beneath his jeans, his cock was thick and hard and totally erect.
I smiled wickedly. “Liar.”
Satisfied with his awestruck expression, I removed my hand and turned to the ingredients lined up on the island. “Well, don’t just stand there. We’ve got a cake to bake, remember?”