Kiss the Girl (40 page)

Her eyes flew to meet his, green and startled, her lips open on a soft
oh
of surprise.  “My shampoo?”

He reached for
the
auburn curl
bobbing above her
ear in blatant defiance of gravity.  He pulled gently on it until she
took a tiny half step
forward
, leaving them separated by inches
.  He could almost feel the h
eat of her body
, but he didn’t touch her.  He just pressed the curl to his lips
.  “Lemons,” he said softly.  “Drives me nuts.
  And if you think I’m happy about it, think again.
”

She made a small noise.  He couldn’t tell whether it was a yes-noise or a no-
noise, but everything in him
said
kiss the girl
, and he wasn’t
one to ignore
his gut.  He kissed her. 

The colander clattered to the stone tiles as her arms twined around his neck and her lips parted under his.  Time strung out and his focus narrowed until nothing existed but Nixie’s mouth and the slow, pulsing beats of his heart.  Sensation lapped over him in a fractured wash of impressions.  The subtle curve of her hip under his hand, the fragile weight of her skull as it fit into his palm.  The sweetness of her breath against his cheek. 

He turned her into the counter, pressed himself into her.
  Every line of her body matched up with his, and s
he felt so damn good. 
His hands streaked over her
in
equal parts desperation and disbelief.  He wanted more at the same tim
e he couldn’t quite believe how much
he already had. 

The inner curve of her thigh slid up to cradle his hip, and he realized with a dizzying rush of desire that he’d boosted her onto the granite countertop.  He rocked himself into all that welcoming heat between her knees, and took her mouth with a
frantic
appetite.  She tasted dark and sweet and feminine, and he
wondered for one panicky moment if
he’d ever get enough
of her
.  Every mouthful he took just made the hunger sharper.

He left one hand on the curve of her behind
while the other walked up the
delicate ladder of her ribcage to her breast. 
She
arched
into his hand like a cat demanding attention, and he lost track of his thoughts. 

“Jesus, Nixie, you’re killing me.”

She smiled against his mouth.  “You deserve it.”

“I know.”  He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue and she opened for him.  He sank into her like the desperate man he was, and she scooted herself forward on the counter until all her glorious heat was pressed right up against the pulsing evidence of his desire.  She gave a satisfied little sigh and crossed her ankles behind his thighs.  A clawing need rose up in him, roughening the edges until desire became something altogether different.  Something consuming and primal and raw.  Something less controlled
and more
controlling. 

Erik broke away, jerked back from the silken cage of her hair, her arms, her scent.  This was wrong. 
She
was wrong.
 
God
, what was he doing?
 

Her eyes fluttered open, the gorgeous hazy green of still water.  Her lips were parted, a little swollen from his kiss, and so
g
od
damn inviting.  His palms itched to reach for her again, to take up exactly where he’d left off and drive
that churning engine straight home.

“
H
ow do you
do
that?”  He glared at her.  “One second we’re talking like civilized people, the next second we’re...”  He trailed off, unable to find words that quite described what they’d just been doing. 

“This is e
xactly what I was talking about,” she said
, remarkably composed for a women who’d just kissed him brainless
.
 
“
This
is that thing that happens when you touch me.”

He smiled at her grimly.  “
I
don’t know what it is
either
, but believe me, i
t’s genuine and it’s dangerous and it’s definitely not part of some dastardly plan to get you to stump for the clinic. 
As
God
is my witness, I do
not
want
to
prove it again.
  Don’t push me on this.
”

She glanced at the front of his pants, and Erik didn’t make any effort to hide the evidence of his sincerity.  “Right.
 
Okay
.
  I won’t.
”

“Good.”  He blew out a breath.  “Great.”

She slipped down from the counter and crossed her arms over her chest.  Another pang of regret.  Her t-shirt was old and soft and she wasn’t wearing a bra.  The memory of her pert little nipple pressing into his palm sent a giant crack snaking along the surface of his new resolve and he turned away from her.

“I’m going to kill my mother,” he said.

Nixie shook her head doubtfully. 
“
About the thing in the paper? 
Why would she make up a story about an heirloom ring and
an impending proposal?  Maybe she wants you to be president, but I assume she wants to be on speaking terms with you when you get there
.
”

“
Who else would plant
a story like that
?”

“Karl.”

“What?”
  He turned back to stare at her.

“Oh, yeah.  This has Karl’s fingerprints all over it.
  Unless I miss my guess, he doesn’t care for you.
”
  She gave him a crooked smile.  “He thinks you’re holding me back from my destiny, and figures painting you as a gold digger looking to pave your way to the White House with the Leighton-Brace fortune will deep-six any starry-eyed notions I had of eternal love.”
 

She bent
to retrieve the colander from the floor.  Her jeans stretched over the curve of her backside in a way that made his mouth go dry.
  “Did it work?”
he asked.

“You nailed that coffin shut yourself,
buster.”  She smiled at him.  Maybe
it was
still
a degree
or two left of
true Nixie
but
it was better than nothing.  “Though I’m sure you’ll rue the day.”

“I’m sure I will,” he said, and
feared he
actually meant it.  “Are you going to tear him up over it?”

“Oh, of course,” Nixie said.  “Now that I’ve had a taste of rejecting authority, I’m mad for it.  I’m actually looking forward.”

He tipped up her chin with one finger.  “Liar,” he said.  “Call me when it’s over.  I’ll buy you a cup of coffee and let you cry on my shoulder.”

“Friends, then?”

“Friends.”

“No more kissing?”

“
God
willing and the creek don’t rise.”

“What does that
even
mean?”

“It means I like you, Nixie.”  He forced himself to step back rather than forward.  “
I didn’t expect to like you this much
, and
frankly
I
didn’t really want to.  But I do, and
now I’m stuck.  Real friends are hard to come by when money, fame and politics are on the table, and I’m not in the habit of throwing them away on an inconvenient lust.
”

A brilliant smile bloomed on her face, and Erik had to take another step back or risk making a liar of himself
. 
“
That was almost sweet
,” she said.
 
“
In a
weird
sort of way. 
I’ll call you.” 

She walked him to the front door, and as he stepped into the hallway, she leaned out and said, “Hey,
didn’t
you want to tell me
something
?”

“What?”

“When you stopped by, you said you wanted to talk to me about something.  It clearly wasn’t the article, so what was it?”

Erik’s heart stopped for three endless seconds, then jerked to life again with a nauseating thud. 
How could he tell her about Mary Jane
now
?
 
Maybe they’d established a
just-friends
policy
, but that didn’t mean it was appropriate to kiss
Nixie
one minute then propose to somebody else the next. 
She’d
come to mean a lot to him, this sweet, half-cracked, absolutely true Nixie.
Maybe he couldn’t have all of her, but
he’d be damned if he’d give up her friendship
on a technicality of timing
.

“It was n
othing,” he heard himself say.  “I was in the neighborhood and felt like
getting smacked in the chest with
the Sunday Post.”

She rolled her eyes and shut the door on him.  He walked slowly to the elevator, his grandmother’s ring a lead weight in his pocket, the path he’d chosen a lead weight in his heart.
  He’d
tell her, he promised himself
.  Just not today. 

CHAPTER TWENTY
-ONE

Nixie didn’t bother to knock.  Karl had given her a key card weeks ago, so she let herself into his and Sloan’s adjoining suites at the Four Seasons silently.  Maybe she was going to hold this showdown on his turf, but at least she’d have the element of surprise on her side.

She stepped into the foyer
, onto
marble tile
posh enough to make
even her cheap sandals sound
expensive
. 

“Karl?”

“Not here,” her mother said
.  The room was so huge it took Nixie a moment to locate Sloan in
the depths of an overstuffed white leather arm chair
, a lavish view of the
DC
skyline behind her.
  She was curled in one corner of the chair in a pair of silky blue lounging pants and the kind of white t-shirt that cost ninety bucks and begged for an ink stain.