The Bridge to a Better Life (27 page)

He almost fell to his knees right then and there from the sheer lust that shot through him at those words.

“How about you do it?” he asked, brushing the sweat beading at his temple now.

She rubbed his back, and his hips twitched. God, he hoped she hadn’t noticed.

“No. You can do this. I like seeing you cook. It looks good on you.”

Sure it did. If looking like a sweat-streaked nervous wreck was considered sexy.

He managed to turn the ribs. Grace had suggested a simple dry rub of brown sugar and chili powder, and it had coated the meat just like she’d promised. He checked the internal temperature with the meat thermometer she’d suggested he purchase, and sure enough, they were finished. After arranging them onto the platter by the grill, he went inside to grab the spinach salad, knowing Natalie wouldn’t want too much food for their main course. No, she was a woman who liked to save room for dessert, and tonight he’d planned something special.

Moments later, they were sitting at the table, eating their dinner. “The ribs are excellent,” she said as she threw one of the bones into the bowl he’d set in the center of the table. “See. Aren’t you proud of yourself?”

He felt like he’d just thrown his first touchdown. “Sure. Glad you like them.”

She’d done most of the cooking in their marriage. He could make simple things like bacon and eggs and grill steaks and cook baked potatoes. He wanted to ask if she’d wished he’d cooked more. Had their division of labor seemed unfair to her? He’d always taken out the garbage, hadn’t he? Whenever she cooked, he’d do the cleanup. They’d agreed to let a cleaning lady do the major stuff. It was yet another conversation they couldn’t have yet.

“Salad’s good too,” she added like she was trying to string together a conversation out of torn shoelaces.

“You open a bag. Pour the dressing on. It’s not hard.”

Her cool blue eyes met his, pleading with him to keep up his part of this delicate conversation.

“Ah…I haven’t asked you. Have you met any poker players yet?” It was a dumb question, he realized. The Grand Mountain Hotel was a poker destination, and her boss was a poker player. So was her brother’s fiancée.

She brightened and threw another bone into the bowl. “Well, no one makes quite the impression Rhett does. Have you met him yet?”

Since he didn’t wander around Dare Valley much because people tended to either ask for an autograph or curse him for retiring, he hadn’t. “Not yet.”

“Well, I’ll have to introduce you.” Then she stopped short, and he knew she’d only then realized she was implying they would go out together—in public. Or to a family gathering. Something he knew she wasn’t ready for.

His stomach gurgled again. Touchdown even gave a short bark and cocked his head at him. He was now sitting in the chair next to Natalie’s so she could eat.

“Goodness, are you still hungry? How many miles did you run today?”

“Ten,” he answered, pressing his hand to the center of his stomach where the pain was most persistent.
Shut up,
he told it.

“Ten? Wow. I guess you go full out when I’m not holding you back.”

Because he needed to burn away all his sexual desire somehow. He desperately wanted to reach for her hand. “You’ve never held me back, Nat.”
How many times do I have to tell you that?

She looked away and continued to eat, no longer attempting to string together a conversation. He did the same, picking at his food. In truth, his body did need fuel after the punishing workouts he’d been putting himself through. When they finished the meal, the flickering torchlights were the only sound between them.

He reached for her plate. “I can clean up.”

“But you cooked.”

Memories of them kissing as they attempted to load the dishwasher filtered through his mind. Even cleaning up with her had always been filled with laughter and fun. And sometimes, they hadn’t finished the dishes. He’d simply pick her up and take her to bed.

He was starting to sweat again. Maybe he could duck in and change. Then he realized she’d notice. Great. He’d have to be more Machiavellian than that. He moved his plate a little to the left so it would knock his champagne over. It fell to the table, the liquid running toward him and soaking the lower part of his shirt and pants.

“Oops,” he said. “I’ll just take these in and change. You relax. Switch the music if you’d like. I’ll get dessert after I’m cleaned up.”

He tried to smile to deflect the puzzled expression on her face; then he picked up all the dishes he could carry and headed back inside. He had never been so happy to be soaked with champagne, not even after a championship victory celebration with the guys in the locker room.

He dumped the dishes into the sink as best he could without breaking them and then jogged to the bedroom. Changing and adding some deodorant should take no more than two minutes flat. He sniffed his armpit as he stripped off his shirt and winced. God, he was vile. As a man who expended sweat for a living, he knew there were different kinds. Usually his was a clean sweat from a hard workout, but this…this was the sour odor of fear and nerves.

He whipped off his pants next and dug into his dresser for a new pair. He eyed his favorite pair of well-worn jeans.

He sensed her presence before he heard her clear her throat. His back muscles tensed under the power of her scrutiny, and he was suddenly excruciatingly aware of the fact that he was wearing nothing but black briefs. What was she doing?

Because there was no way she’d gotten lost in his house looking for the bathroom.

Should he turn around? Could he bear it if she looked at him with wariness in her eyes—as he’d seen her do these last weeks—rather than the hunger and frank appreciation he remembered? He couldn’t bear to know.

“In case you’re looking for the bathroom, it’s down the hall.” She could take the out if she wanted it.

“I’m not lost,” she said, and he clutched the jeans to his stomach.

“What can I do for you then?” he asked, trying to decide if he should put on his jeans or simply wait for her to leave the room.

“You can turn around and tell me why you spilled your drink on purpose.”

There was fire in her voice. He turned around, still keeping the jeans against his body. It was almost funny. He’d never been modest before.

“Why are you angry?”

Her brow knit. “Did you do it because you wanted to escape from me? I know tonight has been…strained.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to decide how to answer. “If it’s been strained, it’s my fault. I was trying to be romantic, and it backfired. Frankly, I’ve been sweating like a hog all night. I stink, and I didn’t want you to end up gagging if we kiss later. The drink was a necessary casualty so I could change clothes without it being weird. But hey? Weird is here.”

“You changed because you stink?” she asked, her mouth twitching. “You’ve been sweating like a hog?” She started laughing.

“It’s not funny. I’m trying to be on my best behavior with you. To impress you, but apparently all it does is make me sweat. Are you happy now?” His temper was getting hotter the more she laughed, and he knew he needed to rein it in, but he was so damn tired of glossing over everything. So damn tired of constantly feeling like he was on the chopping block. “So, let me change in peace and put on more deodorant. Then I’ll get your dessert.”

She pressed her hand to her mouth. “So your whole monster-in-the-stomach sounds weren’t from hunger?”

The tips of his ears flushed hot. “Out.” He crossed the room toward her, prepared to lift her out of his room and close the door in her face if need be.

“Oh, Blake. What am I going to do with you?” she asked, still giggling. “Here, let me see how bad it is.”

He darted back a few steps in horror when she leaned forward to sniff him. “Hey! Cut it out. I’m trying to be nice here.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so nice.”

This was not a conversation to be had while he was wearing briefs. He shoved one leg in his jeans. “You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t. At the rate we’re going, I’m going to end up with IBS.”

She made a gurgling noise like his stomach had made, and he was lifting his other leg to pull on his jeans when she reached out a hand and shoved him. He toppled to the floor.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“For trying so hard. For twisting yourself up into knots. Why can’t you relax?”

Outrage turned his cheeks red. “Why can’t
you?”

“Because we’re trying to date when we’ve been married. Like Rhett would say, you can’t put that horse back into the barn.”

“Natalie, you’ve got to level with me here. I have one leg in my jeans, and I’m sprawled on the floor. I reek of sweat. So don’t talk in riddles…what in the hell do you suggest we do?”

She stopped laughing. Her eyes ran up the soles of his bare feet to his thighs, settling on the bulge in his briefs. After an arresting pause, which had his heart pounding, she continued her assessment up his torso. Finally she met his eyes.

“We can’t pretend to date, Blake, not when we both remember how it used to be between us.”

Then what the hell had they been doing these last weeks? A strangled sound escaped from his throat. He sat up and stared at her. “Tell me what you’re trying to say then,” he said hoarsely, his skin prickling as he awaited her response.

“Every time we’re together, it’s like the big elephant in the room, isn’t it? That’s why it’s so hard to find things to talk about when we’re together. We’re not being normal with each other.” She gestured to him. “This is the most normal we’ve been. This is the first time I’ve laughed easily with you other than over playing with Touchdown or watching TV.”

He snorted. “I do believe you laughed when I wore that Don Johnson 1980s outfit, not to mention when the guys hung all my underwear out in the tree.”

Her blue eyes softened. “Yes, I did.”

Shaking his head, he tugged his jeans the rest of the way on and lifted his hips to pull them up. “So, basically all I need to do is make a complete ass of myself, and we’re normal? Wait. Let me write that one down.”

As he pushed off the floor and stood, she took a step closer. Then another, until she could lay her hand against his hard, bare chest. Her touch felt burning hot.

“Not a complete ass. Just…not Super Friend or Pretend Boyfriend or whatever the hell it is you’ve been playing these last weeks.”

If her hand hadn’t been on his chest, he would have walked out of the room. “I’m doing the best I can here, Nat. What do you want from me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I want you to treat me like you used to. I want you to stop treating me like glass, and I need you to tell me when I’m being ridiculous.”

“Fine. You’re being ridiculous. Are you happy now?”

Her hand lifted and traced his jaw. “I want you to follow me.”

“Where?”

In response, she only spun around and left the room. “And don’t put on a shirt,” she called out over her shoulder.

He gulped, rock hard now as he strode after her. She left the house, then the patio, and headed for the bridge. When she reached it, she fingered the trails of lights as she passed through their soft glow, her sandals echoing on the wooden planks.

When she opened the back door of her house, she turned in the doorway and leaned against it. He could see the unmistakable desire in her eyes. His footsteps ate up the ground between them. When he met her in the doorway, he stared into her brilliant eyes, the blue so dark it was almost indigo now.

“You’re going to have to say it.”
Please, God, let her say it.

“I want you,” she said and laid her hand on his chest again, right in the center over his thudding heart.

He dipped his head until their mouths were inches apart. Her warm breath rushed over his face when he yanked her body to his rock-hard one.

“And I want you. Only you. Always you.”

After weeks of pseudo-dating, Natalie had grown needy and restless. She wanted to be normal with him again and could no longer deny that fact to herself. And so she’d followed him into his bedroom to confront him, worried that he may have simply given up on her, on them, after their awkward conversation had lapsed into silence.

Hearing how nervous and awkward he’d felt—that she’d made him sweat through his shirt… Well, her huge and scary love for him had burst its confines.

She wanted to be herself with him again and laugh, and she wanted to see him let down his guard and relax—and sweat in her presence from a purely different reason.

The only way to do that was for them to be intimate with each other.

If he’d shown her anything over these past weeks, it was that he loved her. He’d do anything for her. Now she needed to see how much she could do for him, with him, once again.

Though he was poised just inches away from her mouth, he still didn’t kiss her. She could almost hear him asking her if she was sure. Okay, she wasn’t, but the only way she’d know is if she plunged ahead. She rose on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, and the groan he released told her everything she needed to know about his state of arousal.