Friends Without Benefits (Knitting in the City) (32 page)

The last sentence, the earnestness with which he spoke, the unfathomable gentleness of his touch, splintered me in two. My body stiffened with the tremors of my r
elease, and I cried out nonsense, noise, moans, and screams, and indiscriminate words of love.

As I returned to earth I couldn’t help but brood over the fact that he could have just read me a restaurant menu
, and I would have been blissfully ignorant. He had a fatal weapon, and I was rendered stupid, seemingly powerless against it.

Italians who speak Italian should be illegal, or at least come with warning labels—
may make your panties explode.

I’d never made love with anyone but Nico.

This thought occurred to me as we were lying in my bed, touching each other.

Touching is the difference between making love and sex. 

The physical act of making love is wanting to touch and be touched. A is hunger present, a craving, a need—for your partner, for their skin, for their hands, for their mouth, to see their eyes. It’s insatiable and must be fed every second or else it builds into something unmanageably urgent and ferocious.

I couldn’t keep my hands off him
, and I couldn’t imagine his hands anywhere but on me. As we lay with each other, fitting our hands together and rearranging the furniture in our hearts, I felt fear.

I knew he loved me
, and I knew beyond a whisper of a doubt that I loved him.

And
I was afraid.

When things are fantastic it’s hard not to expect that the worst is waiting to pounce on you from a
dark corner.

One of
Nico’s arms was wrapped around me possessively as I lay half-sprawled over his chest. He played with my hand, tracing my knuckles and the lines of my palm. I allowed him to explore as he wished, preoccupied with thoughts about his security guards and the knife he carried in his pocket.

I wondered if he carried it for self-defense. I wondered if he needed to, if he’d ever used it. I s
hivered.

“Are you cold?” His voice was raspy, sleepy, satisfied.

“No.” I snugged closer.

“
What are you thinking about?”

“Do you think Quinn is doing a good job? With your security?”

I didn’t see, but I felt the nod of his head. “Yeah. They seem like good guys.”

“And they’ll keep you safe
 . . . Do you think?”

He shrugged. “I think so. They’re better than the other
ones.”

“Where were they? Tonight? Why weren’t they with you?”

Nico shifted so that he could see my face; he searched my eyes. “I don’t have them with me all the time.”

“Why not?”

“What’s going on?” He pressed my hand to his bare chest. “Why all the questions about my security team?”

I fought against a chin wobble by biting the inside of my cheek. When I felt like my voice would be steady I responded. “I just want you to be safe.”

His mouth hitched to the side. “I’ll be fine.”

“You have a stalker.”

His smile disappeared.

“And photographers chasing after you, after me. You need appropriate protection from the loony bins. Your security should be better, increased, they should live with you and—”

“Hey, whoa! Stop.” Nico kissed me and rolled me onto my back; his hand gripped my waist then traveled upward to caress my stomach, chest.

“Is that why you carry the knife?”

His movements stilled, and he lifted his head from where he’d been feasting on my skin. “What?”

“Do you carry the knife for protection?”

“No. I carry the knife because I’m a boy scout.”

I hit his arm. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. You know I was a boy scout. The pocket knife is an old habit that never died.”

I met his gaze and
I saw the truth to his words; a flutter of panic erupted in my chest. More fear.

“I think you should get a gun.”

“Elizabeth!” His head fell to my chest.

“No. Listen. I think you should—”

“No, you listen.” He held my face between his two giant palms and forced me to meet his gaze. “I love that you worry about me and want to fire my security guards when they’re incompetent, but I’m not getting a gun. Quinn’s guys are really good. Really. You have nothing to worry about.”

I swallowed unevenly. My voice was strained when I spoke. “I’m going to worry.
You should just think about it. If you don’t want a gun then at least think about martial arts or a larger knife.”

“
Smettila di fare la prepotente
[33]
.”

My body responded with urgent readiness. I
plugged my ears with my fingers and fought to stay in control of my lady parts. “No! Not allowed! You are not allowed to speak in Italian when we are having a discussion!”

H
e laughed, kissed my neck, and pulled my hands from my head. “I wish you wouldn’t worry so much.”

My eyes shifted to a spot over his shoulder to the smooth white ceiling. “Wish not granted.”

~*~

My
phone alarm sounded at 9:40 p.m., alerting us that it was time for Angelica’s infusion. We’d both been dozing, and my rest was fitful, hovered between awake worry and pseudo slumber.

As
I left Nico’s arms he groaned in protest. He reached for me, but I’d moved to the edge of the bed out of his reach. I immediately felt bereft of his warmth, his strength, his smell.

His smell
.

Something was different. I’d first noticed a change on Monday when he arrived home early; he was free of cigarette smoke.

“Did you stop smoking?” I turned just my head to look at him, found him lounging—naked— in my bed, his arms both extended in my direction. The large window overlooking Millennium Park shaded his body in the lights of the city. His skin was smooth. To my eye, his body was perfect. I self-consciously covered my breasts with my hands.

“I did. I stopped
six months ago.” Sleep lent a delicious sandpapery quality to his voice. 

“Wait, what about—when I saw you at the hospital, that first time, you left to have a cigarette.”

“Seeing you.”

I twisted further so I could see him over my shoulder. “Seeing me what?”

He stretched, the sexy beast. “I experienced a brief relapse after seeing you. It lasted about a week.”

“Hmm.”
I grabbed a mostly clean, large T-shirt from the floor and pulled it over my head before I stood.

“
Hmm
,
what? And what are you doing?”

“
Why did you stop smoking?”

“Angelica. She can’t be around the smoke.
Are you getting dressed?”

“Are you going to start smoking again? After her treatment is over?”

“No. I’m quitting for good. But, you may have noticed, I’ve been feeling pretty irritable lately, losing my temper faster than usual—you can’t wear that.”

“Yes.
I can wear this.” I tugged the hem of the T-shirt lower and walked to my dresser to extract a pair of underwear and yoga pants. At the last minute I decided to slip on the panty set I wore during my last dance party, starting with the panties.

He was out of the bed
, and his hands had whipped the T shirt off my shoulders before I could turn around.

“Nico!” I ineffectually covered my chest with
my arms. “Give me back my shirt.”

“
In my fragile state you should do whatever I want.”

“
What? What
fragile state
?”

“Quitting smoking.” He threw the
T-shirt over his shoulder then gripped my waist with his large hands, his thumbs dancing over the skin on either side of my belly button. “The pants are okay, I suppose, as long as they’re temporary. You should wear a different shirt though.”

“
You quit six months ago and what is wrong with that shirt?”

“Wear something that shows off your great body. Except for the reunion and that one time I walked in on you dancing around in your underwear, you’re always wearing
clothes that are too big.” He stepped into my space and dipped his lips to my neck, whispered just under my ear, “I want to see you.”

“You’re such a guy.” I wanted the words to sound annoyed
, but instead they sounded breathless.

“
I know, right?” I could feel his smug smile against my skin. He licked my ear causing me to bunch my shoulders reflexively. “Wear something tight, that’s easy for me to take off.”

“Ah, Nico
 . . . You need to stop.” His light touch trailed just under the band of my pants; I closed my eyes, and my arms slipped around his neck, pressed him closer, chest to chest. “I don’t want to be late.”

He whisper-cussed against my shoulder
; his hands grabbed the waist of my pants like he was going to tear them off, but then he bit me and stepped back. He held his hands out like he surrendered and walked backward to the bed.

“Ok
ay, yes. Let’s go. But then, after.” He pointed a finger in my direction, glared at me “You’re staying with me tonight.” I shrugged my assent, but he continued as though I’d argued. “It makes sense. You’ll be up there already for the 6:00 a.m. infusion; then you can just come back to bed after. I’ll even let you bring some baggy clothes to change into . . .”

I’
d already started packing my essentials for work the next day, pulled on the lace bra and a suitably tight tank top. He trailed after me, to my closet, to my bathroom, arguing with no one, stating his case. I was ready to go in less than five minutes.

I faced him which caused him to stop short.
“Okay. You talked me into it. I’m heading up with my stuff. I’ll see you in a minute.”

He blinked at me, delighted surprise drew his features in youthful, boyish
lines. “Oh . . .” He grinned. “Did I just win our first fight?”

I nodded and resisted
the urge to pat him on the head; but I couldn’t stop the impulse to kiss him on the cheek. “You certainly did. You really showed me, put me in my place and all that.”

I left him standing naked in my bedroom.

~*~

Nico wandered in just as I was finishing Angelica’s infusion
; Rose was in the kitchen brewing tea.

Our eyes met, tangled, twisted, entwined, knotted into something that felt unbreakable. He winked at me, mouthed the words
I love you
, and my cheeks—the traitors!—flushed with pleasure. This made him grin wickedly.

He was such a guy.

And I suddenly found myself reacting like such a girl.

I rolled my eyes
—at him, at myself—even as my stomach fluttered with giant butterflies. I turned my attention back to my almost slumbering patient, tried through force of will to banish the remainder of my blush.

I found him fifteen minutes later
, after Angelica was kissed and tucked safely back in bed. He was in his bedroom and had set out a banquet of fruit, cheese, and crackers on the bed. I noted that he was in a state of near undress, wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs. Apparently he was more comfortable nearly naked than he was clothed.

He looked
 . . . editable.

My stomach rumbled quite loudly. I pressed my hand to it.

Either the noise of my stomach rumbling or some sixth sense had him glancing over his shoulder to where I hovered in the doorway. He’d just taken a large bite of food and therefore motioned with his hand for me to enter. I dropped my bag at the entrance to his room and shut the door.

I was nervous.

Why am I nervous?

Nico wiped his mouth with a napkin
and crossed to where I hovered.

“Are you already finished?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to go tuck her in.”

“I already did. If you go in there you’ll just wake her up.”

Nico nodded somewhat reluctantly
; his eyes dropped to the floor. I studied his eyebrows and momentarily wrinkled forehead. A question meandered into my brain, and before I could examine it for merit I asked it.

“Are you planning on adopting Angelica?”

Nico’s gaze flickered to mine, his expression unreadable. He didn’t immediately answer. Instead he reached for my hand and held it in both of his, traced my finger tips with his.

Finally
he said, “I’ve thought about it. I want to.” His gaze moved from my hand to my eyes. “But she can’t live in a city like New York because of air quality. In Iowa she’s got the whole family, her cousins, and I visit whenever I can. Also, I can’t take her from my mom. She needs a mother.”

At his last sentence, my insides—specifically in area of my ovaries—fluttered a bit. The sensation took me completely by surprise; therefore, when his assessing gaze moved over my features I likely looked a little thunderstruck.

After a long moment he sighed. “Let’s go eat.”

I was tugged toward the bed buffet. He’d already made me a plate, set out silverware
, and poured a glass of red wine. I sat across from him, careful not to jostle the bed too much.

“This looks really good.” My stomach rumbled again
, and I gave in to the startling hunger by shoving grapes and cheese into my mouth.

I was only peripherally aware that he was watching me instead of eating. After a drawn out moment he said, “Do you want kids?”