He carried her to his bedroom, recklessly did all the things he’d dreamed of since first laying eyes on her.
“Eduardo.” she lay back, flushed and shiny and smiling. The picture of a sated, sensual woman. “You really know how to dance.”
In the early hours of the morning, he led her to the kitchen for replenishment. She found his supply of flavored milk in the fridge and poured herself a glass. She sipped slowly and then put it on the bench. “Tell me more about Caspar.”
His heart twisted. Instinctively, he shook his head.
“Tell me,” she repeated quietly.
He pulled out a stool and sat on it. “Why do you want to know?”
She licked her lips. “Because it’s hurting you and you shouldn’t have to bear it alone.”
“I’m okay about it,” he lied. “It’s just… he was very young. I don’t usually work in pediatrics. But he had a very rare form of leukemia.”
She didn’t comment. Just stood near, listening.
“He was a cute kid.” He sighed, not wanting to go there. Not now. “What do you want to know?” He asked again, anger building. “Yes, it hurts. I’m sorry he’s gone. I’m angry there was nothing I could do. I hate that I failed. That I worry about those poor people and there was nothing I could do to help them. I hate that.”
Her eyes glistened and he felt like a prick.
“I just want to help you somehow,” she said softly.
“You have. You are.” He sighed. “Yes, I hurt. But you… this… helps.” He drew a breath. “Please.”
He just needed to be around her—in her. She helped him remember the good. She helped him forget the bad. And maybe he was an asshole for using her like this, but he knew in some way he was helping her, too. So that made it okay, didn’t it?
She put her glass down and came to him, lifting her face for him to kiss. “Okay.”
He didn’t know how they did it, but they both made it to work on time the next morning—having agreed to meet back at his apartment that night.
“You don’t have much stuff, do you?” she commented as they lay on the floor of his living room that night, recovering from another shattering reunion.
“You should see the house I grew up in.” He groaned as he rolled onto his stomach. “My parents were always redecorating.” It was their displacement activity. They’d wanted more children—desperately—but gotten only him. He wouldn’t turn out the way they wanted, so they redecorated the house instead. That they could control to their satisfaction. That they poured all their love into.
“Really?”
“They changed it all the time. Every time a new load of furniture arrived for the stores. Some people follow fashion in their clothing, my parents do their whole house.”
“Must have been exhausting.”
She had no idea. “It was.” He laughed. “But it was also their work.” A business he had no intention of following them into.
“So were you allowed to jump on the sofas?”
“Never.” He mock gasped. “I’d have been skinned alive. And I didn’t want to—home furnishings don’t appeal.”
“That’s why you didn’t go into the family business?”
There were many reasons why he didn’t go into the business. “I’m very different from my parents. It would never have worked, and I wanted to do my own thing. And sure, I wasn’t interested in fabric and design. Not of sofas and chairs.”
“Fair enough.” She picked up one of his science magazines. “But you like this kind of thing?”
“I’ll show you what I like.”
Sex. Glorious, physical sex. That left him exhausted and relieved and indulged and insanely hungry for more—in the shower, in his bed. Every damned position he could think of. Until it came to this—the simplest sex of all, with her beneath him, looking up at him so welcoming, her luscious long legs locked around his hips. He plunged as deep as he could into paradise. And stayed there.
Eleven
Nina was in trouble and there was no getting out of it until she got on that plane.
“Are you okay?” she asked as he buttoned his jacket.
“I’m fine. I’ll see you back here later.”
He was the most formally dressed she’d seen him—in a dark suit tailored so neatly and a crisp white shirt. He was taking the afternoon off from duty at the hospital to go to Caspar’s funeral. Part of her wanted to offer to go with him—just to stand alongside him in silent support. But this was a family’s private grief and she didn’t have that role in Eduardo’s life. He didn’t want that from her. She was the light relief and the physical release. When she’d asked him to talk to her about Caspar, he’d resisted. She should be fine about that. She’d walked into this knowing what they were to each other—all they were. Only now, she wanted him to open up so much more to her. And she wanted to give him so much more.
But that wasn’t what he wanted.
Leaving at the end of the week was going to hurt. The mere thought of it hurt already. Maybe she ought to walk now. But she couldn’t give him up. It was only a couple more days. All she could do was make the most of every minute she had.
She wondered about him during the day—how the funeral had gone. She hurried to close up so she could get to him. But as she stepped out of the store, he appeared from the café a couple doors down.
A wry smile curved his lips as he walked toward her. “It was a lovely service,” he offered before she could ask. As if he knew she was about to. “And it was very sad.”
Nina nodded—glad he’d shared that much, at least. But then to her surprise, he pulled a sheet from his pocket—the order of service
