she’d taken a shower, too. There was hardly any choice after that marathon workout. But she hadn’t dressed up. Far from it. The black leggings and matching tunic might not be her best look, but on an icy-cold day at home, anything better would have been ridiculous and sad.
She put the biscuits in the oven and was removing the eggs from the refrigerator when Nickolai padded into the kitchen in his sock feet, all damp curls and shining eyes. He stretched his arms high over his head and yawned, with his mouth settling into a big smile.
“Still sleepy?” she asked.
He tossed his head back and forth. “I can sleep when I’m dead—or not with Noel.” He crossed the room with open arms and a mouth setting up for a kiss.
If she were smart, she’d head for the hills before she got in deeper. But on the other hand, why run? It wasn’t possible to be in deeper. There were things that were absolutes—like pregnancy and death. Likewise, longing for Nickolai wasn’t going to come in degrees. Once he was gone, it wouldn’t matter if she had kissed him again or not, because another kiss couldn’t make her want him more.
He gathered her to him with one arm, cupped her bottom with his other hand, and hugged her long and hard before settling his mouth against hers. He tasted like mint toothpaste and smelled like her apple vanilla soap and shampoo.
Her naughty bits sat up and begged for attention.
“
Haven’t you had enough?”
she scolded them.
“No!”
they screamed.
“There’s no such thing as enough!”
“Get used to it.”
“Boo, hiss! You’re no fun!”
She pulled out of his arms, went to the refrigerator, and retrieved the pitcher of sparkling orange juice she’d made earlier.
“I found the toothbrush you left for me. Do you always think of everything?”
Yes, Nickolai, I do. I am a master of thinking of everything, except I didn’t think of how to guard my heart against you.
She shrugged and filled a waiting Champagne flute and handed it to him. “For all that the other women in my family aren’t much good at the practicalities of life, they’re impeccable hostesses. I’ve picked up few things.”
He took the juice from her, sipped, and then laughed. “Bubbly!”
“It’s a fake mimosa made with ginger ale. I would have made real ones, but I don’t have any Champagne.”
“I like this.” He sipped again. “The pretty towels you left for me? With the ruffles and the letters of your name? I didn’t want to muss them, so I looked in the closet and found another towel.”
“If you aren’t good enough for my best things, then who?” Noel said almost as if by rote. Her grandmother always said that when someone remarked that she shouldn’t have gone to the trouble to bring out the silver tea service or the linen cocktail napkins. It was a phrase Noel had used many times, but, this time, she realized she really meant it.
And the words won her a sweet smile. He cocked his head to the side. “The towel I used—it had the symbol of the University of Tennessee, the college team of Gabe Beauford. Are you fond of Gabe Beauford? Is that why you have his towel?”
She burst out laughing. “That’s not Gabe’s towel. It’s a beach towel, and I have it because I’m a UT football fan. And no, I’m not fond of Gabe. That is, it’s not that I’m
not
fond of him. I barely know him.”
He nodded, it seemed, with satisfaction. “I’ve never been to the beach.”
“Never?”
“No.” He smiled and shook his head. “Maybe we will go to the beach this summer? You and me?”
“Sure.” Another flirty, empty promise, just a game they were playing—she as much as he. What else could she expect after sleeping with the man the second time she’d laid eyes on him?
“I wonder if there are Nashville Sound beach towels. I’ll ask Chris in the office. She knows everything. I probably can get some for free. She once gave me a little water bottle that keeps the water cold for a long time.
She put the biscuits in the oven and was removing the eggs from the refrigerator when Nickolai padded into the kitchen in his sock feet, all damp curls and shining eyes. He stretched his arms high over his head and yawned, with his mouth settling into a big smile.
“Still sleepy?” she asked.
He tossed his head back and forth. “I can sleep when I’m dead—or not with Noel.” He crossed the room with open arms and a mouth setting up for a kiss.
If she were smart, she’d head for the hills before she got in deeper. But on the other hand, why run? It wasn’t possible to be in deeper. There were things that were absolutes—like pregnancy and death. Likewise, longing for Nickolai wasn’t going to come in degrees. Once he was gone, it wouldn’t matter if she had kissed him again or not, because another kiss couldn’t make her want him more.
He gathered her to him with one arm, cupped her bottom with his other hand, and hugged her long and hard before settling his mouth against hers. He tasted like mint toothpaste and smelled like her apple vanilla soap and shampoo.
Her naughty bits sat up and begged for attention.
“
Haven’t you had enough?”
she scolded them.
“No!”
they screamed.
“There’s no such thing as enough!”
“Get used to it.”
“Boo, hiss! You’re no fun!”
She pulled out of his arms, went to the refrigerator, and retrieved the pitcher of sparkling orange juice she’d made earlier.
“I found the toothbrush you left for me. Do you always think of everything?”
Yes, Nickolai, I do. I am a master of thinking of everything, except I didn’t think of how to guard my heart against you.
She shrugged and filled a waiting Champagne flute and handed it to him. “For all that the other women in my family aren’t much good at the practicalities of life, they’re impeccable hostesses. I’ve picked up few things.”
He took the juice from her, sipped, and then laughed. “Bubbly!”
“It’s a fake mimosa made with ginger ale. I would have made real ones, but I don’t have any Champagne.”
“I like this.” He sipped again. “The pretty towels you left for me? With the ruffles and the letters of your name? I didn’t want to muss them, so I looked in the closet and found another towel.”
“If you aren’t good enough for my best things, then who?” Noel said almost as if by rote. Her grandmother always said that when someone remarked that she shouldn’t have gone to the trouble to bring out the silver tea service or the linen cocktail napkins. It was a phrase Noel had used many times, but, this time, she realized she really meant it.
And the words won her a sweet smile. He cocked his head to the side. “The towel I used—it had the symbol of the University of Tennessee, the college team of Gabe Beauford. Are you fond of Gabe Beauford? Is that why you have his towel?”
She burst out laughing. “That’s not Gabe’s towel. It’s a beach towel, and I have it because I’m a UT football fan. And no, I’m not fond of Gabe. That is, it’s not that I’m
not
fond of him. I barely know him.”
He nodded, it seemed, with satisfaction. “I’ve never been to the beach.”
“Never?”
“No.” He smiled and shook his head. “Maybe we will go to the beach this summer? You and me?”
“Sure.” Another flirty, empty promise, just a game they were playing—she as much as he. What else could she expect after sleeping with the man the second time she’d laid eyes on him?
“I wonder if there are Nashville Sound beach towels. I’ll ask Chris in the office. She knows everything. I probably can get some for free. She once gave me a little water bottle that keeps the water cold for a long time.
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