Infinite Us(25)

"It's nothing I'm not used to," I'd said, voice hitting barely a whisper. "Been like this a while."

There had been something in Willow's expression I couldn't read. A little sadness, a little confusion, enough of something to make her look withdrawn and tight. Still, she continued to move her fingers in a trace along my lip, and even though I'd never allowed such a thing before, it felt familiar, and intimate. Without stopping to think about it, I'd decided to crush the cautious whine in the back of my head and do more than let the moment pass.

"You should be sleeping. I can try … " She broke off, failing to stifle a yawn and moved her fingers from my face, but I grabbed her wrist, holding her palm flat against my mouth, I kissed her hand.

She was surprised, even more than I was.

"Nash?"

Her voice was soft, and sweet, and without stopping to try to make sense of it, I'd pulled her up, tugging on her hand until she lifted from the chair.

"Come here," I'd said, keeping my fingers against her wrist.

It was stupid to do. It was something I'd never been impulsive about-taking a woman I wanted, leading, demanding, but right then it's what I'd done. I hadn't asked Willow to come closer but even with that small demand, she'd come to me, warm and wild and without hesitation.

I hadn't had to ask anything after that. She'd moved like the slow breeze, barely any direction, but constant, sure, and before I realized what happened, Willow was on my lap and I'd moved my hands to her face, my fingers in her hair and she'd opened her mouth, an invitation that was sweet, certain and I took it, kissing her as if I'd always done it, like my mouth, my tongue knew the contours of her lips and the taste of her breath.

It'd occurred to me then that the kiss had felt right. The scent of her breath, the warmth that fanned over my face, how it warmed me from the inside, all felt so damn familiar; not like it was me kissing Willow, but something deeper. Something I couldn't place, like a memory tucked far away in my head, hidden and waiting.

It had felt too good, too right. It had scared the hell out of me.

And right before the kiss had led somewhere else, had gotten us moving quicker, deeper, Mickey had banged open the rooftop door, letting us know he was going to replace the bulbs on the outdoor lamps, and we pulled apart, not reluctantly but kinda like kids who had almost been caught in the act of misbehaving. She'd blushed and laughed under her breath, I'd cleared my throat and held the door for her as she left, without looking back, but with a little sway in her walk that I'd known was just for me.

And damn, but hadn't that seemed like the right way for the evening to end? Don't ask me why, but it felt pretty fucking perfect. Even the way her perfume lingered.

And for once I slept well. Well, better than I had in a while. But when I did wake, it almost seemed like that night had been its own kind of dream, kind of like it, too, belonged to another place and time, and all the old cares and worries crowded in again.

For years I'd stayed focused, driven, disciplined, always looking ahead. I didn't hang out and get shitty in college because I knew as a scholarship kid there was no room for fucking up. At MIT I worked to prove myself, determined to do more, be more because it was expected. Now I worked to build the best program, the most efficient means to deliver a quality product to clients, with a board of potential investors who also believed in what I was trying to do.

There was no space in my life for distractions. There was no room for anyone who'd have me deviating from the game plan. I had zero time for Willow, no matter how sweet she sounded when I kissed her. No matter how much I'd liked the way she gripped my collar like she needed to hold on to me before we fell from that moment.



       
         
       
        

So when I started out this morning and found a small white box on the floor in front of my landing, with the note Thank you for the nap and the rescue and … all the other very good stuff. Let me return the favor, I didn't really know how to respond, or even what to think.

Up on that rooftop deck with Willow, everything had seemed so simple, so right. But this morning, reality hit me like a ton of bricks. I realized I had no clue what Willow really wanted from me. I only knew that if the dream wasn't distracting me, then Willow was, and I didn't have time for any of it. I had sleep to avoid and work to do. There was no time for dreams that made no sense or for women, no matter how beautiful, who would do nothing but distract me from the life I wanted. Even if they made killer cupcakes.

Damn, I couldn't even concentrate. There were too many thoughts-of New Orleans and a kid in the 20's of Willow and the sweet, sinful taste of her tongue, of Duncan and his needy, pestering drama that always seemed to surf around the edges of our conversations.