Page 39 of One Night Stand After Another
She toweled off quickly and ran a comb through her astonishingly cooperative curls. Then she slipped into the plush robe hanging on a hook and opened the door.
Zane stood outside, naked and erect.
She grinned and moved so that he could enter the bathroom. “Sorry about the cold water, babe. Would it help if I promised you a happy ending after your massage?”
He gave her a black look. “No—that’s not going to help. Not at all. In fact, you’d better get dressed and get me some ice from the machine down the hall. Damn, you smell good.” He shook his head and nudged her out of the way.
“You’ve got seven minutes,” she said, just before he shut the door.
“I’m going to use them to think of ways to torment you later,” he promised.
She grinned. If he made good on his threat, she’d get another sweater idea.
…
“I’m so sorry, Clara.” Zane pulled the blankets up around them and curled his big body around hers. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’ll be okay once my migraine pill kicks in.” Her head pounded in time with her heartbeat, and she was pretty sure someone had driven a railroad spike into the right side of her neck. Nausea pitched from the bottom of her stomach into her throat. She swallowed, taking long, shallow breaths until it eased.
“I guess I went overboard, huh?”
“Part of your charm.” She started to chuckle, but it hurt, so she stopped. “But it’s not your fault. Normally, I’d love a two-hour massage, but I didn’t realize how stiff I’d gotten in the car.” The massage therapist had said something about trigger points and muscle stripping. It had felt amazing at the time, but now she had a killer migraine. “I feel bad about ruining our day in Chicago.”
“Don’t give it another thought. The best part of the plan was staying in bed, anyway. We can have a pizza delivered. Are you sure I can’t do anything for you?”
He’d already darkened the room, gotten her water, and placed the most heavenly cool towel on her forehead. “You can.”
“Name it.”
“Don’t mention food until I say it’s okay. Otherwise, I’m gonna throw up.”
He patted her hip gently. “Sorry—again. I asked the spa for the works, but I didn’t think that was going to mean scorching rocks and fifteen tons of pressure. I just wanted you to have the best.”
There was an odd note in his voice that got her attention even in her impaired state. Slowly, moving carefully so she didn’t jar her head or her stomach, she turned to face him. “I’ll be fine in a couple hours, truly. The massage was amazing. Everything has been amazing. I’m having a great time with you. I love the way you pamper me, but let’s make a mental note for next time: no massages should last longer than an hour.”
The room was dim, but it was impossible to miss the way his face lit up at her words. “Noted. For next time.” He peeled the washcloth from her forehead and flipped it to the cool side. “I don’t think anything else I have planned will knock you out quite like this. Maybe in other ways, though.”
“I have no doubt. You’re racking up an impressive record of blowing my mind, migraine included. I’m trying to remember if you were this competitive in high school.”
His lips twisted. “Pretty much—especially when it came to Jack.”
The drugs were kicking in, easing the pain. She lifted a finger to trace the creases in his brow. “I guess I never noticed. I mean, I knew you and Jack didn’t get along, but I never knew why.” Slowly, she followed the line of his nose down over his chin, his neck, and his chest, smoothing her hand over his hard, flat abs and snuggling closer.
His voice rumbled under her ear. “You know Jack and I were in school together for a long time, right? The best schools in New York. And you know I was a foster kid?”
She nodded, closing her eyes.
“I don’t have a sob story or anything. My foster mom was great. There was no money, but she helped me get scholarships to school. When I showed an interest in cooking, she got me into the trade program. Mom knew Mrs. Calabrese through volunteering, so she got me the job at Breeze. But I always had to work for it. At first, Jack and I became friends, sort of, but I was always aware that everything I had to bust my ass for was given to him. And pretty much everyone else in our class, too. I felt like an imposter, like I didn’t deserve to be there, so I worked harder. And I wanted more. But everyone, especially Jack, was always a step ahead.”
“So you wanted what Jack had.” She lifted her head and opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. “Are you sure that isn’t why you kissed me at the party?”
He shook his head. “No—I always wanted you. It wasn’t just that night at the grad party. I didn’t kiss you to piss Jack off or show him up. I kissed you because we connected. It was effortless. I didn’t have to work for it. It was just there.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I’d always felt that connection, too, which is why I ended up spilling my hopes and dreams to you in that supply closet.”
“Same—you looked at me like you saw me. Like I was the real thing. You knew my story. You knew who I was. And you still looked at me like that, even after I told you I wanted to own my own restaurant. I didn’t feel second-best when I was with you, and I’m pretty sure those moments with you before all hell broke loose inspired me to dream bigger ever since.” He tucked a curl behind her ear, his clear, gray gaze glowing. “I’m so glad you’re finally following through with your dream, too.”
She blinked. But was she? The dream she’d shared with him had been to be a beach-combing fiber artist, and she wasn’t doing that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. She’d changed her mind, learned her lesson. Grown up? His words almost made her want to tell him about what had happened to her father, her mother, their family, and why she had run so fast and so far, but what was the point? It was ten years too late. His words may have ripped away the misunderstanding between them, but they weren’t going to start over.
