Our First Kiss. Judy Lynn Hubbard
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from a recent shower. His eyes darkened at her actions and seemed slightly unsteady. Good, I do affect him.
Removing her fingers from his arm, he moved purposefully away from temptation by walking a few feet away, bending down to pick up the clothes that were neatly laid out on the bed. He turned toward the bathroom.
“I’ll be ready in a minute,” he shot over his shoulder.
“I’ll be waiting,” she promised and laughed when he sighed loudly before closing the bathroom door behind him. She walked over to the closed door and leaned against it, “I can’t believe your parents let you stay in a hotel—albeit a luxurious one.”
“They weren’t happy about it, but I finally convinced them it was for the best.” His voice was muffled by the closed door.
“Why?”
She placed her hand on the brass knob, toying with the scandalous idea of opening it. What would he do if she sauntered in while he was dressing? The thought of the possible wonderful repercussions of such action on her part almost made her test him. But she decided to be good—for now.
“I’m officially on vacation, but there are some...things that I still need to be on top of. I’ll be getting phone calls at all hours, and it’s just easier if I have my own place.” Inside the bathroom, he smiled as he remembered his mother’s indignation as he had tried to explain that fact to her. She had not been pleased to say the least.
“A workaholic,” Marcy sympathized, reluctantly dropping her hand from the doorknob and walking a few steps away.
He chuckled. “You, too?”
“Uh-huh.”
She peered into his partially open closet. His clothes were neatly hung and ordered by type—shirts, dress pants, jeans, sweaters and several immaculate suits. His shoes were neatly lined at the bottom—also sorted by types. She smiled and made her way over to his dresser and picked up various objects, studying them. Again, everything was neatly lined up in its proper place indicative of a man who thrived on order; she could relate, but she was determined to inject a little well-aimed chaos into his orderly life while he was in town.
“Are you always so disciplined and in control, Nathan?”
“Always.” His response was quick and sure.
She chuckled. “I knew you were going to say that.”
Unable to resist, she opened a drawer and found his socks neatly folded and equally spaced. Another drawer housed his underwear—black boxers, each pair purposefully folded in the same dimensions. She ran her fingers lightly over the soft material, and her smile widened. He gave a new meaning to the word organized.
“What are you doing out there?”
“Waiting for you,” she innocently responded, closing one drawer and then the other. “Were you ever in the military?”
He was silent for a full twenty seconds before warily asking, “Why do you ask?”
“Because your room is extremely well ordered with everything in its proper place. You’re more organized than I am, and that’s saying something,” she said and laughed. “Nathan?” she prompted when he remained noticeably silent.
“I did a short stint in the marines after high school,” he finally answered.
That was an interesting tidbit. She stared at the still-closed bathroom door, curiosity piqued.
“Did you ever consider going career military.”
“No, military life wasn’t for me. I wanted to be a lawyer. I enjoy sparring with words more than with weapons or my fists.”
Okay, that was a necessary little white lie. He loved hand-to-hand combat, the nonstop action and the insane danger his secret military career exposed him to—or at least he had loved it; however, recently nagging doubts about his inability to carve out a normal personal life due to his unusual profession had started surfacing, making him question his priorities.
When he reentered the bedroom, Marcy lowered a bottle of cologne from her nose and returned it to its proper place. He arched an eyebrow at her intrusiveness.
“I’m ready.” He was dressed in a cream sweater and chocolate pants. He slipped his muscled arms into the sleeves of a brown leather bomber jacket.
God, he looked good! It should be a crime for a man to be so gorgeous. He held up her coat, and she walked over and slipped it on. Unable to help herself, she then looped her hand through his arm as they walked to the door.
He inwardly groaned at the feel of her body against his. Shoving his hands into his jacket pocket, he fought down an overwhelming urge to grab and bury all ten of his fingers deeply into that gorgeous hair of hers and pull her soft, tempting mouth against his.
“You’re going to have a good time, Nathan,” she promised as they entered the elevator.
Not if I can help it, he silently promised.
As if she could read his mind, Marcy’s smile widened—the sight was like a kick in the gut. Lord, she was a beautiful woman—one he had no business agreeing to go shopping with. He was just being polite to his future sister-in-law—no harm in that. Hell, if he could routinely deal with terrorists, assassins and threats against the United States or its citizens, he could handle going shopping with Marcy Johnson for a few hours. However, could he squelch his exponentially growing attraction to her? That was the real question for which he didn’t have a satisfactory answer.
* * *
“Isn’t this lovely, Nathan?” Marcy held up a silver photo album.
“Yes, lovely, just like the candlesticks were, and the picture frame and the tray at the other store,” he reminded her.
He was annoyed. What he had prayed would be a short trip had turned into a marathon. Why couldn’t women ever make up their minds? They had been window-shopping over two hours—he had spent two long agonizing hours fighting his attraction to this captivating, spirited woman, and each passing second in her presence felt like torture.
“True, but this is really nice, isn’t it?” She lightly fingered the inlaid rose pattern, undaunted by his exasperated tones.
“Yes, Marcy, it’s lovely,” he dryly repeated. “I don’t know why you’re wasting so much time over it. You’re not going to buy it.”
“Women like to browse and find the best bargains.” She wrinkled her nose at him as she replaced the album on the shelf. “What is it about men that you hate shopping?”
“We don’t mind shopping. What we do mind is the uncertainty you women exhibit at every turn. Men know what we’re looking for, go out, find it and buy it.”
“Well, you must not know what you’re looking for because you haven’t bought anything yet, either,” she sweetly reminded him.
“Maybe I’m not going to give them silver or crystal,” he quickly replied.
“No?” She placed her hands on her shapely hips. “Then what do you have in mind?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of...” His voice trailed off, and he thought fast but not fast enough.
“You have no idea what you’re going to get, do you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Really, then tell me what it is,” she challenged.
“I was thinking of something else, but since you dragged me to all of these crystal stores, I’ve decided on wineglasses.”
She smiled and pointed behind him. “They have some lovely ones here.”
“I saw them. They’re not what I’m looking for.”
“What type were you thinking about? Goblets? Champagne glasses? Flutes? Are you looking for a