More Than Crave You Read online

  Instead of railing, I need to be rational and show her all the unmistakable, cogent reasons she should marry me, starting with family. She wants one? I have one. They’ll love her. And she will absolutely adore them.

  “I get it. And I appreciate the honesty,” I say finally. “But I intend to marry you.”

  “Evan—”

  “Before you protest, tell me what you’re doing for Thanksgiving.”

  She frowns at the change of subject. “Well, I’m thinking about doing a 5K. I’ll DVR the parade so I have something to do besides miss my mom. I’ll probably eat Chinese takeout from down the street. You?”

  I smile and go in for the kill. “I’m going to Maui. Come with me. If there’s any chance we’re going to spend our lives together, then I want to introduce you to my siblings and their spouses. Plus, you can get a feel for the island and make sure it’s someplace you could actually see yourself living.”

  Nia hesitates, likely weighing the pros and cons. “Actually, that’s a decent idea. It makes sense to see the island before I decide whether to move. And I’d like to meet your siblings.”

  I’ve got her. “I’m leaving Monday morning. I was planning to stay for twelve days.”

  “I don’t have that much vacation time saved.”

  “I know the boss.” I wink. “I’m pretty sure I can fix that for you.”

  “All right, then. That sounds really nice.” She squeezes my hand. “I’m glad you’re not spending your first holiday without Becca alone in your apartment.”

  “Me, too.” I already knew I couldn’t, but having Nia with me will give me so much more to be thankful for.

  “I’ll need to find a hotel and a flight. My credit card is going to hate me, but—”

  “No, it’s not. I’m flying charter. I think I can find you an extra seat on the plane, maybe the one next to me. And don’t worry about hotel. We’ll be staying with my sister and her husband.”

  Her eyes pop out. “You mean the Noah Weston?”

  “Yes. You know football?”

  “Um, yeah. Growing up in the south, you live and breathe it. Lots of the guys in high school idolized him. Are you sure he and Harlow won’t mind?”

  “They’ll enjoy it. And we won’t be in the way. They have a huge place with eight bedrooms. Right on the ocean. With a great pool. The weather will be fantastic.” I grin her way. “Are you convinced yet?”

  “Yes.” She gives me a self-deprecating laugh. “Geez, I sound easy.”

  “Easy?” I shake my head. “No, I just said all the right things.”

  “Okay, we’ll go with that conclusion.”

  Guilia boxes up the leftover pizza and waves off my credit card. They say goodbye to Nia with a big hug and a promise to get together soon.

  When we reach the car, I unlock it and hold her door open. “Where am I going?”

  Nia takes the box from my hand, tosses it in the front seat, then swings her hip into the door. It shuts with a click. “Right there.”

  She points across the parking lot at the side unit. The front is a huge floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window. Above is a tired sign lit in flashing red that reads DANCING DELIGHTS STUDIO. It’s not a bar. It’s not a club. It’s… I don’t know what it is.

  “Explain,” I demand.

  “What?” She leads me across the asphalt. “I said we were going dancing.”

  “I assumed that meant someplace crowded and loud, where I could blend in and no one would care how I looked or that I’ve never danced. This…”

  “Is a place where they teach people to ballroom dance.”

  “Fuck me.” I close my eyes.

  She giggles. “You’ll be fine.”

  “Well, if I die of embarrassment, I know who to blame.”

  That makes her laugh harder. “You won’t. I promise. Besides, we’re both beginners. I’ve never done this, either.”

  “So…are we learning to waltz or foxtrot?” When Nia presses her lips together and shakes her head, I know immediately she’s withholding something. “What? Tell me.”

  She sighs. “We’re going to rumba.”

  I frown. “I know what a rhomboid is. I know what a rhombus is. I even know how to define a rumpus. But rumba doesn’t compute.”

  “That’s why we’re here. To learn. And no, it’s not a muscle, a shape you used in geometry, or a commotion.”

  “I’m going to suck at this. No telling Bas—or anyone. I’m swearing you to silence.”

  “Don’t you want to know what the rumba is?”

  “Only because I have to face it.”

  Nia takes my hand and leads me toward the studio’s red door. “The dance of love.”

  No holding back a groan as we make our way inside. Four other couples are waiting, all of various ages and backgrounds with two things in common: the women look excited…while the men are looking for the exit.

  We pause a few feet inside the door. The guys are sizing one another up, probably wondering who will be the worst at this. The answer is surely me, and the fact I’m still willing to do this for Nia says something, probably that I’m either brave or stupid.

  “Good evening, everyone,” says a man with brown hair, arms bulging out of his black tank. He’s got tight pants and a Russian accent. “I am Pasha. And tonight, Lacie is my partner. We will teach you basics of my favorite Latin dance, rumba. It is dance of love. Before we begin, we will demonstrate so you feel movement’s mood and pace. Watch.”

  The willowy blonde at his side presses a remote, and Latin music fills the air. It’s slow and sultry and makes me think of humid breezes, warm evenings, and sex. Okay, this isn’t bad…so far.

  Then the pair starts moving, hips swinging in synch, as they move closer, circling one another. The footwork is intricate. Her arms create fluid lines and flourishes all around her body as she sways and shifts, seeming to lure him in. He stands tall, shoulders squared, seducing her with the flow of his movements and his eyes. He shifts his weight, undulating, posturing, and preening.

  “Men’s hips don’t move like that.” I whisper against Nia’s ear.

  She represses a laugh and gestures to Pasha. “Obviously, they do. Now, hush and pay attention.”

  By the end of their demonstration, I’m convinced I will never learn to do this dance half so well, especially in the three hours we’ll be here. What I do think, however, is I’ll get to watch Nia’s lush, lithe body move in the sexiest ways. That, I can appreciate.

  We spend some time learning basic movements—a box step, a slow-quick-quick-slow rhythm to our footwork, and something called a crossover. And let’s be honest, I suck every bit as much as I thought. I’m a shit show with two left feet. But Nia is incredible. Watching her sway and flow while I rub up against her in the name of dance is a damn good time.

  At the end of the three hours, we put everything we’ve learned together into a forty-second demonstration, and I’m more mesmerized by the way she lures me closer with a come-hither sweep of her fingers and her supple, seductive moves than counting my own steps.

  God, everything about her draws me in. I don’t know how or why I’ve overlooked her for months now. I only know I’m determined to have her tonight.

  And for the rest of our lives.

  At the end of the class, we’re given a pat on the back and encouraged to come back for a six-week course of lessons beginning in January. I smile blandly. And I’m the first guy to pull his girl out the door and into the car.

  When I toss the pizza box into the back and slide into the driver’s seat beside her, she’s frowning. “Evan, you practically ran a ten-yard dash out of that place. What’s wrong—”

  “I have to kiss you,” I say in a rush before I fill my fingers with the loose curls at her crown, lower my head, and capture her lips.

  As she gasps in surprise, I thrust deep. Our suddenly rough breaths fill the car. I’m cursing the console between us as our kiss turns endless. I devour her with a hunger I can’t fight, and I’m vague
ly aware of the momentary bright flash of headlights, signaling that the other couples have left the lot. Somewhere in my head, I know I need to release Nia, drive back to my place, then pray like hell I can persuade her to let me peel off her second-skin of a dress and take her to bed.

  In the back of my mind, I’m still aware that I haven’t nailed a few hundred women, like my brothers did before they married. I’m worried that puts me at a disadvantage when it comes to pleasing Nia, but I want her too badly to let that stop me from trying.

  Suddenly, her hand drops to my thigh. I counter, gliding my palm up from her waist until I’m cupping her breast through the thin white fabric. I brush the hard tip with my thumb, enjoying her throaty little moans and wishing like hell I had her naked.

  When I reach inside the dress and lift her flesh from the confines of her bodice, she grips my forearm to stay me. “Evan, this is a parking lot.”

  She means it’s a public place where people might be able to see us. I understand…but her panting little voice is subverting my brain.

  “My windows are tinted.”

  “But—” she protests…until I glide my lips up her neck and my fingers tease her bare nipple. “Oh…”

  I moan in return. She has the most gorgeous scent behind her ear, thick and swirling, like amber. She’s musky, earthy…but with a hint of something sweet. It drives me wild. She drives me wild. For almost two weeks, I’ve questioned what happened in her dressing room. I’ve never been impulsive or felt so compelled to touch a woman. I never believed in an unstoppable need for sex, certainly never thought it could overtake my logic and overwhelm my better sense. Something about Nia has me questioning my preconceived notions. I’m revved up every moment I’m with her. And when I get close…

  “You’re like honey on my tongue.” I lick my way up her throat, loving her whimpers as her nails curl into my thigh and she arches her breast into my hand. “So sweet. So addictive.”

  “Evan.” Her head falls back, and she bares her neck in surrender. “Why do you make me feel this way?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.” I nip at her ear, then dip lower to nibble at her neck.

  “You know we can’t do this here.”

  No, I don’t know that. As previously stated, my windows are tinted. But a glance around the interior of my car tells me I need to rethink this spatially. If we go much further, my six-foot-three frame won’t fit anywhere that allows me to get inside her.

  Unacceptable.

  Gritting my teeth, I pull away, tug my phone from my pocket, and ask it, “What’s the fastest way home?”

  “Getting directions.”

  By the time the device pulls up a map, I’ve already revved the car out of the lot and zoomed toward the highway.

  Traffic is light just before midnight. I’m racing down the road, my zipper crushed against my aching cock as I remember the way Nia dances and smells and kisses.

  “What are you thinking?” she asks, her voice low in the charged silence.

  “That you get to me in a way I’ve never felt.” I swallow. “That when I touch you, I lose my head and my ability to see reason.”

  “Lust will do that.” She sounds even quieter.

  My first thought is to protest. I know simple lust. When I was married to Becca, I met beautiful women. Sometimes they even propositioned me, especially after I got rich. I never acted on the feeling. But the urgency flaring through my veins now isn’t like that. It’s…more. It’s something I don’t have a name for.

  I don’t speak for the rest of the drive. When we reach my place, I park in the garage and cut the engine. Nia reaches for the handle of the passenger door.

  “Wait.”

  “Evan, it’s late. And I have a late night tomorrow, too.”

  Because she’ll be performing. With her ex. I grit my teeth. I know I should let her go; she’s asked me to. I need to think about everything she said tonight. About everything I’ve realized.

  It’s the last thing I want.

  “All right,” I manage to say. “I had a good time tonight. Thanks for taking me to meet Lorenzo and Guilia, and for introducing me to the people you consider family.”

  “Since we’re going to Hawaii, you’ll be doing the same for me.”

  I am. And on some level, I realize that introducing her to my new family is more than a tactic to win her over. I want them to approve of her. And I want her to like them. I want to blend her into this new family of mine because what I feel for Nia is more than friendship. It’s definitely more than lust, too. It doesn’t have a name, but whatever it is, no matter how unsettling, I want more.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Plane over the Pacific Ocean

  Monday, November 20

  I’m so relieved when Monday evening rolls around and I finally have Nia all to myself—at least for the duration of this flight. I’m normally not a fan of being thirty-something thousand feet in the air for hours at a time. My logical mind understands how avionics function, but I still have trouble rationalizing the safety of something inherently dangerous like flying.

  Beside me, Nia sips a glass of water and taps away on her laptop. She’s been quiet since we took off. Maybe it has something to do with the way our last date ended. And my behavior Saturday night at the BBB Revue. I might have stayed less than two feet from Nia every moment I could. I might also have snarled whenever Kyle tried to talk to her. And I might have told him to back the fuck off when he walked into her dressing room uninvited after their performance.

  Not my finest moment.

  Why do I turn caveman every time a man looks at her? I can’t understand it. I’ve never behaved this way in my life.

  Guys often looked at Becca. She was a beautiful willow of a woman with long dark hair and bright eyes who always appeared as if she needed saving. Beings with Y chromosomes everywhere responded to that, and it never bothered me. But men don’t look at Nia as if they want to save her. She’s too obviously capable to need their help. They look at her as if they’re desperate to fuck her. I’m not okay with that. Not at all.

  “You’re supposed to be on vacation,” I remind her.

  She slants a scowl my way. “Says the guy who spent the last hour reading the October financials.”

  “I told Bas I’d do it over the weekend. I didn’t get to it.” When she questions me with a raised brow, my gut clenches. “Because, I admit, I was wound up about Kyle.”

  “Clearly.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “I’m not thrilled,” she admits. “Look, if I wanted to be with Kyle, I would be. The fact I haven’t let him touch me in nearly two years, despite the fact I see him at least twice a week, should tell you something about my non-feelings for him.”

  I understand her point, but it has no effect on my perspective. “He has feelings for you.”

  Which are too much like my own.

  Nia shrugs. “That’s his issue, and we’ve talked about it. He’s hung up because I broke things off, and he’s not used to hearing no. I already know that if I took him back, he’d lose interest in a month or less. We played that game once before, and I’m not doing it again. I did the rebound thing with him after I broke up with Mateo. I was sad about my mom’s passing and the breakup…and I wanted comfort. But it was a disaster. There’s nothing Kyle could say or do to win me back again, and you need to let it go. Besides, if you’re determined to marry me for purely practical reasons, why does any of this matter to you?”

  I have no answer and no basis to refute her. I sit back, blink, process as she resumes tapping out her email. Why does it bother me?

  “I don’t know. I just… I’ve never been through this.”

  She pauses. “No one ever hit on Becca?”

  “That’s not what I mean. Men hit on her all the time. It just never bothered me.” Probably because I knew Becca had never had sex with any of those men who pursued her. But Nia has already assured me that she’s not thinking about her exes when we’re together; I�
��m the one who keeps bringing them up. She’s right; I need to let it go.

  “There’s no reason for it to bother you now. I’ve been cheated on enough to know that it sucks. In my mind, going behind your lover’s back to get some on the side before breaking it off is shitty. If we actually get married someday, I’ll be with you, totally committed to you. That’s the way I function. If there ever comes a day I decide I want someone else, I’ll tell you to your face before anything happens. I expect the same of you.”

  I’ve never had a problem with commitment. “Of course. You have my word. And I’ll try to keep my”—jealousy?—“issues with other men to a minimum.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nia doesn’t say much for the rest of the flight, and I’m pensive. I try to lose myself in the listings of beautiful island properties Maxon and Griff have sent in advance. I’d like to get a living situation nailed down while I’m here. It’s practical to be prepared to hit the ground running in January. And it gives me something to focus on now besides all the ways Nia unsettles me.

  But price per square footage and number of bedrooms don’t hold my interest for long. I pick one that seems more than livable and would probably be my best investment. Then my gaze strays to Nia.

  Finally, she closes the lid on her laptop with a sigh. “What’s wrong now?”

  The fact that she realizes I’m struggling with disquiet, despite the fact I didn’t say a word, says how well she knows me. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, you’re not bored. I know your bored face. This isn’t it.”

  “No.” I’m never bored around her. But there’s something going on inside me that I don’t comprehend. Maybe she knows me better than I know myself. “What do you think is bothering me?”

  With a sudden shrug, she looks away. “You’ll have to figure it out for yourself.”

  I’ve tried. Bas offered to help, but it didn’t seem necessary at the time. All I know is the longer I’m with Nia—but not with her—the deeper I get into this funk.