Fix It Up - Mary Calmes Page 0,70
to––”
“First time—we’d been fighting all day, and I was sitting on the deck, and you came up from the pool, hair wet, towel over your shoulder and those damn shorts barely riding your hips, and all I could think was, for fuck’s sake, Nick, why are you fighting with this man instead of figuring out a way to get him in your bed?”
Everything, all his words, registered at once.
“Are you outta your mind?” I barked, shoving away from him, glaring. “I’m your fixer, you idiot. You don’t have sex with your fixer!”
His smile lit up his face. “Oh, baby, I’ve got news for you; we’re going to do so much more than just have sex.”
Clearly one of my mother’s hippie friends had come by and brought her some peyote or magic mushrooms and, either accidentally or on purpose, dosed the hell out of Nick Madison.
“I ask this with all sincerity,” I said, squinting at him. “Are you high?”
“You just got me clean,” he said indignantly.
“I know!” I yelled at him. “How the hell do you think I feel?”
He laughed at me, and I spun around to go back to the garden to get my shirt. It was suddenly very important to have more clothes on around him.
“Running away isn’t you,” Nick announced, easily keeping pace with me. “You’re much more the stand-and-fight guy.”
“I’m not fighting with––” I growled at him. “We’re not fighting!”
“Then why are you yelling?”
“Because you’re being stupid,” I thundered back.
“Oh? In what way?” he asked cheerfully.
I went to grab my shirt, but he shoved by me and snatched it off the gate along with the cowboy hat, which he put on.
“Gimme the shirt.”
“I’ll trade you for the jeans,” he offered, his gaze sliding over me from head to toe.
I crossed my arms and scowled at him. “Where the fuck is this coming from?”
“Months and months of pent-up longing,” he admitted, not sounding happy about it and giving me a pained smile.
“That’s not true. You hated me.”
“Yes,” he admitted, “I did. At first. But even when I thought you were the devil, I still dreamed about crawling into bed with you every night.”
“That’s such shit,” I snarled at him. “I listened to every word you ever said to me.”
“I was angry and stupid and selfish,” he conceded, reaching for me, “and I’m sorry, but you really need to stop thinking about anything I said before right this very second.”
I walked a few feet away and then turned to face him. “You are completely deluded right now with what you’re thinking and feeling.”
“No,” he argued, closing the distance between us, flipping my shirt over his shoulder as he took hold of me, his hands sliding over my ribs as he met my gaze. “I may have been confused at first, but it’s been months, you understand? I’ve watched you make yourself at home in my life for months.”
I reached for my shirt, but he batted my hand away and tossed it to the ground. When I looked back at him, his grin was wicked and daring as he put his hand back on me.
“What the hell is going on?”
“I want you,” he said, all playfulness and teasing gone.
“I’m leaving,” I assured him, struggling to take a step back, because Jesus, his hands on me, on my skin, felt insanely good. He was reverent, savoring the touch, but there was also pressure there, like if I went to move, he’d stop me. “And after that, you get your life back.”
“I already have my life back,” he informed me, “and I’ll be damned if you go anywhere.”
“Nick,” I said, squinting at him. “Did you understand everything Mr. Cox told you?”
“Yes,” he murmured, leaning close, kissing under my jaw, causing a shudder to roll through me, making my knees weak. “He has faith in me again, he trusts me, my new label supports me, and the conservatorship is no longer a concern.”
“Yes,” I choked out as he lifted his right hand from my side and slipped it around the back of my neck, his thumb rubbing over my jaw. “You have everything now; the future is wide open and all yours.”
“Oh yeah?” he rasped, and I saw how blown his pupils were, and how he wet his lips, heard his breath catch, and I inhaled the scent of sandalwood on his skin. “The future’s all mine?”
“Yes,” I husked, ready to take a step back.
“You know what I want to be mine?”
“Nick––”
“You,” he said with a sigh before he drew me close and