Wild Abandon (26 page)

Nate looks at me, face stern, eyes hard, and his look is so serious that I think something really intense is about to pour out of his mouth.

“She’s so damn primal with her bom, bom, bom.”
Nate has broken out into a full rap, singing loud and proud, with his arms stretched out and then crossing over his body, as rappers do.
“Get nasty! I get loose! I get crazy! She’s so loose! It’s Master Craze, and the girl’s in a daze. I just can’t help myself.”

Even the homeless man on the corner is looking at Nate like he’s insane. It’s ridiculous and embarrassing.

And it’s so damn funny that I can’t help but laugh so hard that I have to wipe back tears.

“Come on, Flavor Flav.” I pull on his shirt and tug him through the doors.

We’re still laughing when we practically fall out of the elevator. He knows every word to that song by heart, and finally—
thank God
—he hits the final note as I am approaching my door.

When the light on the door turns green, I push the door open and then turn around to Nate. He’s still smiling from ear to ear.

“You’re a pretty good time, Nathaniel Teller.” I lean in like it’s a secret. “Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Red.” His smile relaxes, and he takes a deep breath, his chest puffing out with the action. “I like hanging out with you.”

“Thanks. Same here.” I hope that didn’t come out as dismissive as it sounded in my head.

“I haven’t had fun in a long time.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Yes. Friends,” he says.

I start to close the door, but his hand rises up and holds it open.

“I…okay, I don’t want you to think it’s the booze talking, but I need you to know this. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a while. I mean it. And I know you should be in Tahoe this weekend, but I’m really happy you’re here with me.”

I lean forward and place a kiss on his cheek. “You’re my best thing, too, Nate.” I smile and back up, closing the door on a grinning Nate.

My best thing.

chapter SEVENTEEN

I woke up this morning with a pep in my step. San Francisco in the fall is glorious—less fog, hotter days. I’m feeling pretty jazzed about my plans for the day. I don’t know what Nate wants to do, and I don’t care. Today, I have my own activity planned.

I let him sleep in, assuming he has one hell of a Jack Daniel’s hangover to conquer. I knock on his door with my foot, a large shopping bag in one hand, and a smaller white bag and a coffee tray in the other.

“Who is it?”

“Housekeeping!” I shout.

Shortly afterward, I hear the door unlock. I’m about to make a crude remark about fluffing, but when the door opens, I go slack-jawed and forget what it was I was about to say.

Nate has washboard abs.

Wearing a white towel around his waist and in the middle of brushing his teeth, he holds the door open. “Yes, the day I see you scrub toilets is the day I stop drinking.”

He walks into the bathroom to rinse, and I get my bearings. Toilets. Cleaning. Hell freezing.

“Well, you’re gonna go thirsty, my friend. You should see what I did to the bathroom at the ranch. That thing sparkles now.” I can’t believe I’m boasting about a toilet bowl. It’s his abs. They’re distracting.

Nate comes out, and I do my best to keep my eyes looking north.

“Coffee?” I hold up the tray.

He grabs the tray and the small white bag. I brought him a muffin as well.

“Breakfast in bed?” He winks at me and stuffs the muffin into his mouth with his fist.

Charming.

“I figured you’d be in rough shape this morning and in need of sustenance.”

He grabs boxers and slides them on under his towel. “I’ve been up for a few. Went for a run. I was letting you sleep in. Thought
you’d
be the one with the hangover.”

He has no idea I’m way too excited to be hungover. “Get dressed. I have a surprise for you.” I reach into the bag and throw a shirt at him.

With one brow raised, he looks at me in confusion and unravels the San Francisco Giants shirt I just bought.

“Today, we are going to a Giants game,” I beam.

He is looking back at me, an unusual expression on his face. He almost looks offended at the idea of going to the game.

“
You
are going to a baseball game?” he asks.

I reach into the bag and take out the lightweight Giants jacket I got myself. I slide it on and then fix my new baseball cap onto my head, sliding my ponytail through the back.

“Go, Giants!” I cheer.

Nate closes his eyes for a beat, and when he opens them, he also lets out a crazy wide smile. “That is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Wait until you see my foam finger. You’re gonna go nuts!” I say.

He laughs.

And then he laughs even louder when I produce the actual foam finger. Hey, try new things and all, right?

“You can show me the stadium,” I say.

If I didn’t know better, I would think Nate was looking at me like a man in love. It’s wonder and awe and everything you want a man to look at you with.

I know better though. He’s in love with the jacket.

“I’ve never been to the stadium before.” His words are tentative.

“Huh?” Yeah, that’s all I have to say.

“I’ve never been to a Giants game.” He doesn’t necessarily look like he wants to back out, but he definitely has a tone of hesitation in his voice.

“I didn’t realize you were saving the experience. We don’t have to go—”

“No.” He holds the shirt up to his chest, resting it against his heart. “I want to go with you.”

Chills. Up the spine and around my chest. That’s what I feel.

I turn around to allow Nate to pull on some pants and his new shirt, and together, we head to our first Giants game.

When we step out of the cab, Nate is nervous and excited, like a ten-year-old kid. But he doesn’t show it like a child would. I can see it in the widening of his eyes at the sight of the stadium, the rise of his mouth at the statue of Willie Howard Mays Jr. in front of the gates, the way he clutches his ticket and almost doesn’t hand it over to the ticket counter, and how his face positively lights up when he sees the field, his favorite team warming up for the game.

We walk around, taking in the whole park. He is mesmerized by every facet and steel beam. Me? I’m fascinated by the many food stands—Crazy Crab’z, Orlando’s Caribbean BBQ, pizza, cheesesteaks, and a nacho cart. There are so many awesome food stands, all decorated with characters and themes. I grab his hand and rush him over to grab some grub, and he willingly obliges.

We are in our seats, a few rows behind the Giants’ dugout. The tickets cost me a lot of money, but I don’t care. Just seeing the look on Nate’s face makes it all worth it. When the national anthem is played, we take our hats off and sing. When the first pitch is thrown, we cheer. And when the game starts, we watch.

I have no idea what is going on, so he tells me. He’s informative and entertaining, not condescending or annoyed. He has his eyes on the game and me in equal parts.

My favorite part of the experience is yelling, “Charge!” and, “Let’s go, Giants!” and, of course, doing the wave. Because, hey, it’s the wave.

We eat some more and walk around a second time. He waits in line and makes us take a picture with the World Series trophy on display. He buys himself a matching foam finger and joins me in being silly throughout the game.

When the seventh inning stretch comes, I stand on my chair and sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” as loud as I can. When I look down, he is just beaming.

And when the eighth inning is over,
“Lights”
by Journey is played, and I positively melt. The sun is setting, and the air is chilly. The melody pouring over the stadium is absolutely beautiful as the crowd of thousands sings a song about a love for their city. A song about two lonely people and a city on the bay. A song about finding your home.

I’m singing, smiling, and oohing along with Steve Perry. I look over at Nate, and he’s not singing. He’s not oohing. And he’s certainly not smiling.

He’s staring.

At me.

And not in a way he’s stared before.

His eyes are stunned and startled. They’re looking at me like I’m a revelation, a discovery, and he is just now realizing it all for the very first time.

His gaze is intense and smoldering, and those green eyes are so dark and full of something so powerful that I can’t help but fall right into them.

And then he whispers, “Olive juice.”

Two words.

Two words that make my knees go weak and the hair on the back of my neck stand up straight from the sheer electricity those two words elicit.

“Olive juice,” he repeats the words again as he snakes his hand around the side of my face, his thumb grazing my mouth, pulling my lower lip out.

He takes my lip in his mouth and holds on to it tightly. I moan when his teeth graze the flesh.

His other hand rises to the other side of my face, and he kisses me. His lips part, and mine open without having to be coaxed or softened. The desire I’ve been harboring for weeks comes to the surface. When his tongue glides against mine, I do everything to keep from falling apart. I grab on to him and pull him in.

The smell of him, the feel of his hands in my hair, the taste of Nate are intoxicating me in so many ways that I forget where we are, who we are, what we are.

“Down in front,” a loud voice bellows from behind us.

We startle, staring at each other, wide-eyed and in shock of our public display of affection.

My heart drops to my stomach. Nate is going to freak out. He doesn’t lose control, and when he does, he panics. I brace myself for the rejection. Taking a deep breath, I wait for him to say the words.

Instead, he leans forward and kisses me again, and with a grin to match all grins, he says, “How fast can you run?”

I don’t even have a chance to answer. With his hand in mine, he pulls me with him.

We run.

Up the stairs and through the tunnels.

Out the gates and to the curb.

Nate raises his arm to hail a cab.

We kiss.

We kiss with vigor and passion and weeks of pent-up sexual frustration. We kiss until the cab comes. We get in the backseat and kiss some more. We’re all hands and tongues and legs, heavy breathing and friction being caused by two bodies that can’t get close enough to each other, even in the small confines of a taxicab.

We run.

Through the hotel lobby to the elevator bank.

A sound of relief pours from Nate’s throat when the doors close, and we start to rise.

We kiss.

His hands run up the insides of my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders and onto the floor. My back hits the wall, the full weight of his body pushing up against me. He entwines his hands in mine and raises them above my head. I can feel every inch of him—hard, so very hard. The hard planes of his chest against my pebbling skin, his strong thighs locking mine apart, and the rock solid mass between his legs making me hot and warm and ready for him to take me.

The doors open, and we stumble into the hallway. Our mouths still connected, our hands looking for room keys, any key.

“Back pocket,” I mutter.

Soon, my head hits the back of a door, and Nate breaks our kiss to pull the key from my pocket and swipe it into the card lock.

When the click of the lock sounds, I spin my body around and walk inside the room. The king-size bed along the wall, looking out at the twinkling lights of San Francisco, is now more prominent than ever. I’m out of breath and flustered. I turn around to see Nate standing near the door. His chest rises and falls. He’s as out of control as I am. And his eyes. They’re burning, carnal, and their green is so dark that they’re onyx.

If I had any concerns of him backing out, they are quickly erased with the purposeful strides he is taking toward me. One hand around my waist, the other in my hair, Nate lays claim to me, his tongue entering my mouth once again, and I fall right into him.

“Crystal,” he calls out my name.

My name.

No one else’s.

Because there is someone else.

I push my hands against his chest. “We can’t do this.”

With his hands wrapped around my waist and hair, Nate’s head falls to my shoulder. His back is rigid, and his fingers are digging into my skin, like they don’t ever want to let go. When his eyes rise to mine, he is determined. Focused. Clear.

“I haven’t made love to a woman in four years. I have so much to explain. So much to tell you. Right now, I just want to be a man making love to a beautiful woman. I want to touch you. I want to kiss you. I want to be with you, Crystal. I’ll tell you everything. My story, my life. You might want to run. Oh God, I hope you don’t run. But, for now, please, let me love you. Let me be Nate.”

I can’t imagine where his story begins. I’m frightened to know where it ends.

He’s so different from anything I’ve ever wanted. The opposite of what I should want. Yet I need him more than I need air to breathe.

This could all end badly, but I don’t care.

I want him.

I want him forever.

Time stands still.

I step back.

My hands cross in front of my shirt, and I slowly raise my shirt over my head. I swallow down the emotions I feel from the sheer look of his eyes when I unclasp my lace bra and let it fall to the floor. They’re glazed over. The look is full of appreciation and love, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

I push my jeans down my legs and am left in nothing but lace panties. My skin is cold in the exposed air.

Nate’s pupils dilate as he takes in my body. Every curve, every inch.

“Beautiful,” he breathes.

His gaze is so heated that I instantly start to warm.

Nate removes his shirt. The perfectly defined chest and rippling torso are on display. What I’m surprised to see is clean, untouched skin. I assumed by the tattoo on his wrist that he’d be covered in ink beneath. Instead, it’s just golden, masculine Nate. I was too flustered yesterday to notice. Today, I can appraise all I want. I reach a hand forward to touch the velvety skin. Nate lets out a groan.