Almost Like Love (15 page)

Her touch was soothing and exciting at the same time.

“You could have had these removed,” she said after a while, and he was glad she was letting the subject of his sister drop. “Why didn’t you?”

“I thought about it, but I didn’t want to erase my past. I don’t talk about it and I don’t display the evidence, but that doesn’t mean I’m ashamed of it.”

“Ashamed? You should be proud. I can’t believe what you accomplished, considering the odds stacked against you.”

He shrugged off the compliment and changed the subject. “What about you? Any secrets in your past you’d care to reveal?”

She shook her head. “I’d be embarrassed to tell you about my childhood after hearing about yours. It was so . . . ordinary.”

“I don’t think any childhood is ordinary. And it’s hard to believe yours was, considering you’re one of the least ordinary people I’ve ever met.”

In the light of the lamp they’d never bothered to turn off, he could see the blush that came into her cheeks.

“Well, thanks. Maybe
ordinary
isn’t the right word, but it was comfortable. Although I was
not
born with a silver spoon in my mouth,” she added. “My parents are both teachers, so we were never rich—but we had everything we needed.”

“Your grandparents must have been rich, though.”

“Eventually. But my grandfather came from a poor family, and my grandmother’s family came to this country after World War II with nothing at all.”

“Where was your grandmother during the war?”

“In a concentration camp.”

He stared at her. “Jesus. Now I really feel like a shit for that silver-spoon comment.”

She smiled. “It’s okay. She met my grandfather here, and they fell in love and had a wonderful life together. They bought this place with the money my grandfather made as a civil engineer, and my grandmother had a successful career as a photographer.”

“What was her name?”

“Rachel Goldman.”

His jaw dropped. “Are you kidding? Rachel Goldman was your grandmother?”

She looked pleased. “You’ve heard of her?”

“Of course I have. I saw her retrospective exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art.”

“And here I thought you were a philistine.”

“Nice.”

She grinned at him. “Anyway, that’s my family history in a nutshell.”

“Were you raised Jewish?”

“Not really. My father isn’t Jewish, and we were pretty nondenominational growing up. We celebrated both Hanukkah and Christmas, which of course my brothers and I thought was great.”

“More presents?”

“Exactly.”

“Where are your parents now? And your three brothers?”

“My parents still live in Boston, along with one of my brothers. My older brother lives in Michigan, and the youngest is in grad school out in California.”

“How come you were the one who ended up with this apartment?”

“I was the only one living in New York, and my grandparents knew I wanted to settle here. So they left the apartment to me, and their money and other assets went to the rest of the family.”

She paused and ran the tip of her finger down his nose, and the affectionate intimacy of the gesture made him smile.

“Is there anything else you want to know?” she asked.

“I think that covers your family. But what about you? There must be something embarrassing in your past. Do you have a hidden tattoo anywhere?” He let a wolfish gleam come into his eyes. “Maybe I should look for one.”

She shook her head. “No tattoos. When I turned eighteen I thought about getting my grandmother’s serial number tattooed on my arm, like hers had been, because I knew some relatives of Holocaust survivors had done that. But she asked me not to. She said that since I was a storyteller, I had other ways to honor the memory of what people had endured in the camps.”

He thought about that. “Did you ever write about the Holocaust?”

“I did. The first thing I ever published was a short story set in Auschwitz.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I haven’t written anything like it since. After my grandmother read it, she said it was heartbreaking and true—the highest compliment she could give—but she didn’t think I needed to write about the war anymore. She thought my natural inclination was to create more joyful stories.”

He remembered
Life with Max
. “I think she was right. You’re a natural optimist.”

“So was my grandmother, believe it or not. She was an amazing woman.”

“I believe it.”

Kate yawned suddenly, covering her mouth with her hand. “I think I could fall asleep again.”

“You should,” he said gently, reaching out to pull her against his chest. Feeling her naked body pressed against his made him feel anything but sleepy, but he managed to tamp down the flash of desire.

A few minutes later, her breathing had turned deep and even. Ian lay watching her in a silence that seemed charmed, almost magical. After a while his eyes closed and he fell asleep with Kate in his arms.

It was the sweetest feeling he’d ever known.

C
HAPTER
N
INE

B
ut when he woke up, everything was different.

Or maybe it would have been more accurate to say that nothing was different.

He felt the same urge to get away he always did the morning after. Even looking at Kate, beautiful as an angel in sleep, didn’t make him want to stay.

Her bedroom had felt perfect last night, but now the rose-colored walls and silk curtains seemed suffocatingly feminine.

Everything had become an irritant. His skin was clammy with dried sweat, and his mouth tasted sour. The sun coming through the windows was too bright. The bed was too soft. Kate’s comforter was too warm.

And he’d talked too damn much last night.

Remembering their late-night conversation made him feel raw and exposed. What the hell had he been thinking? Why had he told Kate the pathetic story of his misspent youth? If he knew anything about women, the knowledge would make her possessively maternal—as though she could make up for the pain in his past by nurturing him now.

Kate had rolled away during the night and was no longer lying on his arm or against his shoulder. He could easily slip out of bed without waking her.

And then—what? Sneak out of her apartment without a word?

Classy.

Not that he hadn’t done it before. But that was usually after a one-night stand with a woman he never expected—or wanted—to see again. Kate deserved a hell of a lot more than that.

But he couldn’t stay. His urge to be gone was growing stronger by the minute.

Maybe he could leave her a note or send her a text telling her he hadn’t wanted to wake her. Then he could mention that since she was picking Jacob up after school on Tuesday, he’d see her that night.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. He wouldn’t be blowing her off, but he wouldn’t be sending relationship signals, either.

Although, come to think of it, he had no reason to think Kate would want a relationship with
him
. In fact, it was pretty damn arrogant to assume it. She’d just broken up with her fiancé, after all. Maybe she’d feel the same way he did about last night: it was great rebound sex, but nothing more.

He’d just reached that point in his thoughts when Kate stirred, yawned, and opened her eyes.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling at him.

“Good morning.”

She rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. The movement made the comforter slip down her body, and the sight of her naked breasts and perfect pink nipples caused his body to harden and tighten.

No. No morning sex. That would just muddy the waters.

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing his jeans and boxers off the floor. Once he was decent, he turned to face Kate.

She was lying on her side and smiling at him, and she looked so warm and inviting and sexy, he was tempted to pull his clothes right off again.

Instead he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

“I had a great time last night,” he said, wincing at the inanity of the statement.

“Me, too,” Kate said. She sat up and stretched, and he had to look away.

Then she got out of bed, padding over to her closet and grabbing a sky-blue cotton robe.

By the time she turned around, he’d managed to recover from the sight of her perfect ass.

“What would you like for breakfast?” she asked. “It’s my favorite meal of the day, so I’m pretty well stocked. I can do an omelet, waffles, bacon, eggs—whatever you want.”

It sounded delicious. But staying for breakfast would definitely send the wrong message.

He cleared his throat. “That all sounds great—but I’ve actually got to go. I’m meeting a friend at the gym for some basketball.”

It was sort of the truth. He and Mick usually did play on Sunday mornings, although it wasn’t a formal commitment.

He braced himself for Kate’s disappointment, but she just nodded. “Sure, no problem. I’ll make you breakfast some other time.”

A reference to the future. That was bad, but now wasn’t the time to deal with it.

“Okay.” He hesitated for a moment and then left her room to find his shirt.

It was on the sofa in the living room. Seeing it there made him remember going down on Kate last night, and how incredible it had been to feel her coming apart beneath him.

He forced himself to focus on getting dressed. After he had his shirt and shoes on, Kate came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing the back of his neck.

“Can I make you some coffee before you go?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got to head out. I’m already running late,” he added, in spite of the fact that he had no idea what time it was.

He glanced down at the game on her coffee table.

“You can leave it here if you like,” Kate said.

He shook his head and started putting everything back in the box. Leaving something behind would also send the wrong message.

Gallifrey jumped up on the coffee table and looked at him reproachfully.

Of course that was just his imagination. Gallifrey was a cat, and he had no way of knowing that Ian was about to slink out of Kate’s apartment with no intention of returning.

Not that he didn’t want to see Kate again. He did want to see her again. He wanted her in Jacob’s life, and his life, too. As a friend.

He only hoped they could make the transition back to friendship after last night.

Of course, he should have thought of that before he’d slept with her. But his desire for Kate had been stronger than every other instinct. Even now, he couldn’t regret giving in to it.

It was the best sex he’d ever had. And unlike Kate, he had a lot to compare it with.

“All right, so . . . I guess I’ll see you Tuesday. You’re still picking Jacob up after school, right?”

“That’s the plan,” Kate said, her voice sounding happy and relaxed.

That was both good and bad—good because there wouldn’t be an ugly scene right now, bad because an ugly scene might still be looming in their future.

Well, he’d deal with that when—and if—it happened. Maybe once Kate’s afterglow faded, she’d realize she’d just been rebounding with him. Maybe she’d be relieved to find out he wasn’t expecting to repeat the experience.

She walked him to the door and tilted her head for a goodbye kiss.

He gave her one, planning to keep it short. But the minute their mouths touched he was lost.

She had to have the same morning breath he did, but maybe they cancelled each other out. Because all he could taste was Kate—hot, sweet, irresistible Kate.

He let the game box fall to the floor and put his hands on her hips, driving her back against the door as he kissed her hard and deep. She made a little, sweet sound in her throat, and just like that he was hard for her.

It seemed like a long, dizzying time before he came to his senses. But he did, finally, pulling back and trying to catch his breath.

Kate looked as dazed as he felt. Her face was flushed and her lips were swollen, and he had to tear his eyes from her to pick up the game he’d dropped.

“Well.” His voice came out gruff, and he cleared his throat. “Thanks again for . . . everything.”

“My pleasure,” Kate said with a sudden grin, and his stomach muscles tightened.

“I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“See you Tuesday.”

Once her door closed behind him, he practically ran for the elevator.

He went from her place straight to his gym, figuring he could use a workout even if Mick wasn’t there. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember when his friend was coming back from his honeymoon. Maybe he was still in Hawaii.

But when Ian pushed open the door to the locker room, Mick was there, getting changed.

“Hey, man. How was the honeymoon?”

Mick grinned. “Fantastic. Married life suits me.”

“You do look tan—and smug.”

“You’d look smug, too, if you were smart enough to marry a woman like Wendy.”

It was nice to see his friend so happy. “Maybe I would.”

Ian had a permanent locker so he could keep workout gear here. He didn’t waste any time getting out of his clothes—they still smelled like Kate, which made him feel tense and aroused at the same time—and into shorts and a tee shirt.

“Are you up for some basketball?” he asked Mick.

“Sounds good.”

It was a more-than-usually hard-fought game, and Ian relished the intense focus that sports always brought out in him. It helped to drive out thoughts of Kate, just as the sweat that soaked his tee shirt and stung his eyes helped drown out her scent and the memory of her hands on his skin.

After they called it quits, Ian took a hot shower that banished the last traces of her from his body. He felt almost back to normal as he toweled off and dressed in the spare khakis and polo shirt he kept in his locker.

“You looked good out there,” he told Mick as they walked out together.

“Yeah? Well, you looked like you had some kind of demon on your tail. What the hell is up with you?”

Ian stopped walking. “What do you mean? Why do you think something’s up?”

Mick stopped walking, too. “Are you kidding? I’ve known you since we were twelve years old. I know when something’s bothering you.”

It was true. Mick was his oldest friend. They’d met when they’d joined the Dungeons & Dragons club in junior high, and they’d gone on to play basketball together. They’d stayed friends when he moved to the Bronx and even during his asshole phase, in spite of the fact that he’d burned a lot of bridges during those years. And when they’d ended up at the same college, their friendship had been solidified for good.

“I haven’t had coffee yet,” he said gruffly. It was an oblique response, but Mick seemed to understand.

“The diner up the street?”

“Yeah.”

A few minutes later they were sitting at a Formica table with steaming mugs of coffee in front of them. Mick had ordered breakfast, but Ian didn’t feel like eating.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said as the waitress walked away. “I just slept with a woman last night.”

“Not an unusual occurrence for you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He hesitated, and after a moment Mick raised an eyebrow. “So what made this different?”

Deciding there was no point in pretending it wasn’t, Ian found himself telling Mick about Kate. How he’d worked with her for two years, how he’d cancelled her show, how he’d come to her rescue that night at the club . . . and everything that had happened afterwards.

“Huh,” Mick said when he finished. He took a bite of his scrambled eggs and chewed thoughtfully for a minute. “One thing comes to mind,” he said after he’d swallowed.

Ian took a gulp of coffee. “Just one?”

“Do you remember back in eighth grade, when we couldn’t find a single girl who was interested in playing Dungeons & Dragons? You said if you ever met one, you’d marry her.”

He almost spit out his coffee. “For God’s sake, Mick. I can’t hear something like that on an empty stomach.”

“So have a piece of my toast.”

Ian sat back and dragged a hand through his hair. “I’ve got to let her down easy, that’s all. I just . . . don’t want to lose her friendship. And Jacob likes her so much.” He looked at Mick. “I really screwed this up, didn’t I?”

His friend shrugged. “Not necessarily. Kate sounds like a reasonable woman. If it really matters to you, you’ll find a way to fix things.”

He felt a little better. “Maybe you’re right.” Suddenly hungry, he waved the waitress over.

He ordered pancakes and bacon and grabbed a piece of toast from Mick’s plate. “It’s good to have you back, man. Do you have pictures from the honeymoon?”

Mick grinned. “Of course. But I’m not going to make you look at them.”

“In that case, it’s really good to have you back.”

He didn’t call or text Kate until Tuesday morning, and, to his intense relief, she didn’t call or text him, either.

On Tuesday he sent this:
Are you still good to pick up Jacob today?

A few minutes later she replied,
Absolutely! See you tonight.

Casual and upbeat. So far, so good. Maybe this would be easier than he’d expected.

He felt good all day, and he was still feeling good as he rode the elevator to his apartment after work.

Then he opened his door.

A mouthwatering aroma wafted towards him from the kitchen. Even as his stomach rumbled in anticipation, worry drew his brows together in a frown. A woman cooking in his apartment could mean only one thing.

She was thinking about the future.

Don’t jump to conclusions
, he told himself as he headed for the kitchen. Maybe she’d just felt like cooking.

Kate stood with her back to him, humming to herself as she stirred something on the stove.

She looked so damn cute in her jeans and a short-sleeved blouse, her feet bare and a kitchen towel tossed over one shoulder. And she really did have the best ass he’d ever seen.

He cleared his throat. “Hey,” he said, and Kate turned around.

“Hey!” she said, sounding happy to see him. Then she crossed the space between them, slid an arm around his neck, and gave him a kiss on the lips. “How was work?”