More Than Crave You Page 3

“I know, but do you have to move near them? They’re all recently married and getting ready to have babies. Will being around a bunch of expectant newlyweds really make you feel less alone?” When I frown, she holds up her hands. “Sorry. I said too much. Of course, they’re your family, and it’s your call.”

  “I understand the move seems sudden to you. But my mind is set.”

  She nods, not exactly thrilled but accepting. “What I should say is, if you decide you’d work better with me in Hawaii, then when you move, I’ll go, too. I know you said I don’t have to relocate, but…”

  I didn’t ask because she has a life here. Because she was always involved with someone. Because it didn’t seem necessary. And maybe because Becca always insisted I’d benefit from a more experienced assistant. Whatever the reason, I’m now rethinking my decision to leave Nia behind.

  “Just putting it out there,” she says, staring into her wineglass. “I mean, since you’re taking Sebastian—”

  “I couldn’t have stopped him from coming if I tried. He hates the gray and the rain here.” And I suspect I’ll miss them. They suit me, especially these last six months.

  “Yeah, he’s been vocal about that.”

  “Thanks for volunteering to come along. I’ll give that some serious thought.”

  “Whatever works for you.” She shrugs. “I don’t have any family or specific reason to stay, so…why not?”

  We finish dinner, sharing the rest of the bottle and some comfortable business conversation. By the time we push away from the table, it’s shortly after nine. The moon hangs like a big silver orb over my insane view of the Space Needle and Elliott Bay. I’ll miss this scenery, but I’m confident that Maxon and Griff, my two half brothers who are successful Realtors in Maui, will find me something equally stunning.

  Nia begins to clear the table, and I follow suit, helping her stack everything in the sink. She puts the lid on the pot of gumbo and shoves it in the refrigerator. “There’s enough leftovers for you to eat another meal or two. I’m going to let you do the dishes so you can practice your new skills.”

  I know it’s good for me, but… “Am I supposed to appreciate that?”

  She laughs, and I’m struck by the glow of the moonlight on her dark, gleaming skin. By the flash of white teeth against her rosy lips, by the fall of her fat, loose curls cascading over her shoulders and toward the plump breasts I never really realized she had before this moment.

  Shit. I have to stop thinking about those. About her. I’m her boss; our interaction can’t be personal.

  “I know you won’t, but think of this as tough love,” she joked. “Now…do I even want to know the last time you changed your sheets?”

  Her question makes me freeze. I’m sure I look somewhere between lost and ashamed. The truth is, Becca changed them two days before she died, and I’ve never had the gumption to take them off. I thought about it, but every time I tried, I felt like I was ripping another reminder of her out of my life. Even months after her death, Becca can still inspire guilt in my technically geared heart.

  “Don’t ask,” I admit finally.

  “Do you know how?”

  Vaguely. “Yes.”

  Nia cocks her head as if she’s reading me. After three years as my “work wife,” I have a terrible feeling she actually can. “Do you want me to do it?”

  I swallow, then nod. Becca is gone and she isn’t coming back. Keeping her sheets on the bed won’t change that. “Please. I’ll find a clean set.”

  “All right.” She follows me down the hall. “I’ll stick the dirty ones in the washer before I go.”

  “Trash them.” I don’t want to see them again. And I won’t be taking them to Hawaii.

  Everything there will be new, never touched by Becca.

  “If you’re sure… What about the rest of your laundry?”

  I’m surprisingly embarrassed to admit that I’ve been ordering new pairs of underwear and socks every week. Most everything else goes to the dry cleaners. “If you’ll show me how to work the washer and dryer, I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll get you started,” she assures softly as we reach the bedroom I once shared with my wife and flip on the light. “Whoa.”

  Yeah, spread across the room is a jungle of shoes, neckties, socks, and T-shirts. “It’s a disaster. I know.”

  This used to be my haven, my favorite spot to read one last report before bed or watch TV on the weekends. Now, I hate to come in here. Every time I do, Becca haunts me. Tonight, the sensation is strong. I feel guilty for being so eager to leave this place behind.

  “Well, the good news is, it’s fixable.”

  “Thank you. Really,” I murmur, feeling an odd urge to…I don’t know. Hug her? No, something more, but physical contact is not an appropriate way to express my appreciation to my assistant. Besides, what’s rolling through my head now is muddier. My urge to be closer to her isn’t strictly professional, and I don’t understand. “I’ll leave you to it and do the dishes.”

  Nia nods as I go. After I rinse off tonight’s bowls, I tuck away the last of the pans we washed by hand earlier. Then I empty the dishwasher, only to fill it up again. I’m not really sure where any of the clean stuff belongs, so I shove everything somewhere and hope I can find it again.

  In that thirty minutes, she’s organized my room, remade my bed, and started my laundry. As I begin down the hall, I can hear her muttering to herself. It’s nice to have someone else in the house. She’s been good company. I’ll hate to see her leave. But soon she’ll have to head home. She’s already gone above and beyond. I can’t insist on her company until exhaustion finally takes me somewhere around two a.m. And as questionable as my thoughts about her tonight have been, I don’t know what would happen. It’s better if I let her go.

  Even as I tell myself that, I walk into the bedroom for more of her company. And I stop short when I get an eyeful of Nia.

  She’s on her elbows and knees, obviously searching for something. All I can see is her bent over. Her soft, round ass fills my vision. In that instant, I want to sink my hands—my teeth—into that.

  Holy shit.

  I stop breathing. I stop blinking. A lightning bolt of lust jolts me. I can hear my jagged heartbeat suddenly thudding in my ears.

  It’s been nearly two hundred days since I’ve had sex. I see beautiful women all the time. Seattle is full of them. Hell, Stratus Solutions is, too. Since Becca’s death, some of her lithe, lanky yoga friends have even hinted they’d be interested in comforting me with more than a homemade casserole and a hug. I haven’t truly been tempted.

  Until now.

  With a huff, Nia tosses her hair back and sits on her heels. Her thin gray sweatshirt rides up, the band at the bottom circling her tiny waist, accentuating her curves. Her hair, which she usually has pinned up in some complicated twist at the office, falls in ebony waves halfway down her back.

  Suddenly, she whirls around. I should look away…but I can’t. She’s flushed. Her eyes are bright. And a goddamn strip of her smooth, bare abdomen shows below the hem of her shirt, flirting with my overloaded senses. I gulp and hope she can’t see how hard my cock is. For her.

  I need to think of something to say—fast.

  Nia rescues me. “Do you know how many socks are under your bed?”

  I press my lips together and try to pry my thoughts off her body. When I attempt to focus on her question, the shock of my sudden attraction has my brain boomeranging away from the clutter and back to all the things I can suddenly picture doing with her. To her.

  Somehow, I manage to shake my head. “No idea.”

  That’s my honest answer. I have no idea what’s going on. Why this is happening. What I’m going to do next.

  She scoffs. “You must have tossed them under here at some point. I’ve managed to find what I can. Once the washing is done, you’ll probably fall a few pairs short. Oh, and did you know there’s some painting canvases under the bed?”

  “Yes.” I try
not to flush.

  “Were they Becca’s?”

  They’re mine. Diana taught me to paint as a teenager. I used to find it soothing. When I couldn’t sleep or when I couldn’t solve a business problem, something about turning off the analytical half of my brain and focusing purely on the creative when no one was watching and there were no rules to follow would free up my subconscious enough to untangle my dilemma.

  All that ended when Becca perished. A few brush strokes across the canvas weren’t going to change the fact that she was gone. My will to dig for what little creativity I possess dried up. I shoved everything under the bed and left it there for good.

  I don’t lie to Nia. Instead, I simply shrug. “I’ll move them later and see if I find any socks underneath.”

  “Okay.” She stands, a handful of mismatched socks in her grip. “I’ll toss these in the hamper. They can go in the next load.”

  We make our way to the laundry room, her talking about water temperature and me trying not to fixate on the sway of her pretty ass.

  A few minutes of torturous laundry talk later, she meanders back to the living room. I can’t take my eyes off her as I follow. When she stops, I do, too. And I realize I’m standing closer than I should. My breathing becomes harsh as I watch her turn in a slow circle and take in her handiwork.

  “This looks better.” She nods, seemingly pleased.

  “A lot. Thank you for everything.”

  “Happy to help. Can I do anything else for you tonight?”

  She can’t possibly mean that the way it sounds. I only hear suggestion because I suddenly have sex on the brain. Still, how do I answer?

  “I, um…” Want to fuck you so bad.

  Dear god, did I just think that?

  “You what?” She looks somewhere between concerned and confused.

  If I pushed her against the wall, laid my lips over her soft, pillowy ones, and kissed her hard until her frown melted away, what would she do?

  The question makes me sweat.

  “Nia, I—”

  Before I can figure out what I’m going to say, the doorbell rings. I let out a long breath. Damn it. Since it’s nearly ten o’clock, that can only be Sebastian. I don’t know whether I’m cursing the fact he’s interrupting whatever might be developing between Nia and me or thanking god he’s come to save me from making a catastrophic mistake.

  “Open up, loner.” Sebastian knocks on the solid wood between us. “I have a problem to discuss and a bottle with your name on it.”

  Nia grabs her purse from the nearby chair. “Sounds like he does this a lot.”

  “All the time.” I know he’s trying to make sure I don’t spend too much time alone. Usually, he’s a welcome distraction. Tonight, I wish he’d stayed home and watched the damn football game.

  “Well, I’ll go and leave you to your guy time. If you think of anything else you need help with, let me know. I’m not busy tomorrow night.”

  She doesn’t have a date on a Friday night? I’m both shocked and thrilled—and have no right to feel either. “I think I’ve got it now that you’ve helped me back on my feet.”

  I have to say that because if I invite her over again, I’m worried I’ll tell her that I need help with my cock and she can best assist me by stripping and spreading her legs.

  Yeah, that’s way past unprofessional, veering into lawsuit territory.

  “Okay, then. See you in the morning.”

  “Jesus,” Sebastian shouts. “Are you taking so long to come to the door because you’re shitting or masturbating?”

  A laugh slips from Nia’s lips before she covers it with her hand. “I thought he was only impatient in the office.”

  I shake my head and focus on replying now that Bas has totally killed the moment. “He’s far worse away from it.”

  She winces. “Have fun with that. I’ll spend the rest of the evening doing something more fun than appeasing Bas. Tearing out my toenails comes to mind.”

  “He’s not that bad.”

  Nia raises a skeptical brow. “Uh-huh.”

  “Oh, my god. Stop whacking your weenie and open the damn door.” Sebastian pounds on the wood.

  “Shut up,” I call back, a smile lurking at the corners of my lips. “I’ll open it when I’m ready to.”

  “Why don’t I save you the trouble?” She grasps the knob and turns, then yanks the door open. “Hi, Bas. Glad to see you’re behaving like your usual charming self.”

  “Nia…” One of my best friends for the last decade says her name like she’s a welcome surprise. “I didn’t know you were here, especially so late.”

  “I’m helping him.”

  “Yeah? I can think of a few ways you could do that,” Bas drawls suggestively.

  Despite the fact he’s not thinking anything different than I did a minute ago, he said it out loud. I find his suggestion disrespectful, out of line. Most likely, so does Nia. I won’t tolerate it.

  “Get your mind out of the gutter,” I snap and shove him against the wall, teeth bared. “And shut. Up.”

  Bas blinks and raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, I was teasing. I didn’t mean anything…”

  My scathing glare thankfully motivates him to close his mouth.

  I turn my attention back to Nia, who’s edged out the door. I can’t help myself. Before I think better of it, I reach out and cup her shoulder. Electric heat sizzles across my skin. My knees nearly buckle.

  Shit.

  “You all right? I can walk you to your car.”

  Nothing should happen to her in the parking garage. It’s secure and open only to residents of my upscale building, but I don’t like her walking in the dark alone. I don’t want our evening to end like this.

  I also don’t want to be apart from her.

  “I’m fine. Good night.”

  “Night, sweetheart,” Sebastian calls with a wave before he shuts the door behind her. The moment we’re alone, he leans against it with a raised brow. “So, how long have you been fucking Nia and how did I not know?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Saturday, November 4

  “Tell me again why we’re here. Wherever here is,” I say to Sebastian as I exit his sedan.

  “There’s something I think you need to see.”

  Since this place is a theater of some sort, I doubt it has anything to do with work. The giant sign out front in old-fashioned lettering simply reads BBB REVUE. I have zero idea what that means, but as Sebastian strolls inside and speaks in low tones with a hostess sporting a corset, fishnets, and not much else, I look around. The place is almost theatrical, like something out of a Victorian house of ill repute. Dim lighting and red velvet, lots of dark wood, flourishes, and detail. Booths line the walls. There’s a balcony above with cozy round tables hugging the railing, providing a view of the floor and stage below.

  “What is this place?” I murmur to Bas as the hostess leads us to a table almost front and center yet still somehow steeped in shadow.

  “Just…wait.” As we sit, he flashes me a smile. “You’ll find this interesting.”

  Bas’s idea of interesting worries me.

  We’ve barely managed to sit when a waitress, also wearing next to nothing, sidles up to our table. “Hey, boys. What are y’all drinking tonight?”

  “Scotch,” Bas answers.

  “Make it two,” I add.

  “Great.” The blonde with this southern accent gives us a saucy smile. “I’m supposed to tell you that the appetizer of the night is calamari, but that stuff smells so awful I swear it’s gonna re-grow legs and walk itself away. Want some?”

  With that glowing recommendation? “I think we’ll pass.”

  She leans in, giving me a perfect view of her spilling cleavage. “Smart man.”

  Sebastian clears his throat. “I’m the guy who insisted we come here tonight.”

  The waitress laughs, then ruffles a hand through his thick, golden waves. “Well, that makes you even smarter. Whatcha doing later?”
>
  Since she punctuates her question with a wink, she’s not serious. At least I don’t think so.

  What kind of place dresses their waitresses like turn-of-the-century hookers and allows such outrageous flirting? This isn’t a strip club. There are no poles, no loud music, no one named Destiny shaking her hips and losing her top to the strains of an overplayed 80s metal classic. But I don’t know what to think.

  “Well, now.” Bas grins. “That depends on you, darlin’.”

  He’s good at turning on the charm. He manipulates women the same way he manipulates numbers—smoothly, efficiently, and perfectly. Truth be told, I’ve always been a bit in awe of his pickup skills. Not because I want them, but they’re infallible. I’ve never had that knack with women. I’ve never needed it. I first kissed Rebecca Martin when I was sixteen. We were inseparable after that. Married two years later. I’ve never thought much about what I’d do with another woman.

  Which is why my sudden urge for Nia is blindsiding.

  I was hopeful when I sauntered into the office yesterday that the odd feelings would be behind me, that I wouldn’t look at her and immediately think about peeling away her clothes and bending her over my desk. Unfortunately, I was overly optimistic. She swayed in yesterday morning, wearing something she’s worn a dozen times: a crisp white blouse, a black skirt with a slit halfway up the back of her thighs, and stilettos with straps that wrap around her ankles. Suddenly, those shoes are screaming “fuck me!” In that moment, I really, really wanted to oblige…like I wanted to on Thursday night. And last night. Tonight isn’t looking much better.

  Not long after Becca’s death, my desire for sex resurfaced. I didn’t want another woman, per se. Just relief. My hand has been getting a hell of a workout, but I’ve never had a body or a face to put with my imaginary bed partner. Now, I can’t get Nia out of my head.

  This is a problem I didn’t foresee.

  Bas and the waitress laughing bring me out of my reverie. She looks ready to fall for his flashy good looks and smooth charm. But the blonde flits away moments later, and my buddy watches her go with a sigh.

  “You brought me here to be your wingman? You don’t need backup to get laid, and I have a mountain of work I could be doing.” I move to stand.