Just My Type (37 page)
“By the way,” Sara said to Mac. “Chad’s engaged.”
Mac looked at the other man’s retreating back. “Oh.”
“To someone else,” she clarified as the door swung shut behind them.
“He kissed you when he first got here tonight.”
“On the cheek. And he kissed Jessica and Dani too.”
“He did?” He’d totally missed that. Completely focused on Sara as he’d been, it wasn’t really surprising.
“So no worries there,” she said softly.
Mac focused on her again. “I’ve done it too, princess.”
“What?”
“Assumed I knew best what you need and want. I haven’t spent a lot of time listening to you.”
“Well,” she said slowly, knowing she had to share with him what she’d learned in the past month without him, since Oscar. “The thing is, you all had to assume, because I didn’t know all of what I needed or wanted. And I didn’t realize how much of what I wanted I could get for myself.”
“And now you’ve figured it out?”
“Some of it,” she answered honestly. “I’m working on the rest.” Jessica and Sam were expanding their lives. They had other things to concentrate on, to make them happy and fulfilled. She was still important to them, but she wasn’t—and shouldn’t be—the center of their lives.
“Sara,” Mac said. His hand cupped her cheek.
“Yeah?” She loved that he was here, that he’d scared Chad off, that he had been paying attention and knew this life wasn’t where she should be anymore.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I mean it. No one will ever take care of you the way I can.”
“I know.”
“And taking care of you the right way doesn’t mean always doing everything you want, every time you want.”
“I know.”
“It does mean loving you more than anything. Which makes me the perfect candidate.”
“I know. And I love you too, more than anything.”
“Will you go steady with me?”
She laughed in surprise. “What?”
“I want to date you. But it has to be exclusive.”
“Date me?”
“Yes. Let me get to know you. Let me get to know this confident, independent woman you’ve become.”
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Just My Type
That made her tear up. “Yes. I’ll date you.”
He stood, just looking at her, for a long time. Sara loved it. She just looked right back, taking a deep breath. This was real, this was right—
“You smell like cotton candy,” she said suddenly.
He grinned. “I know.”
She quirked an eyebrow and stepped even closer. She rose on tiptoes and put her nose against the skin at the base of his throat, pulling in a deep breath. Yep, cotton candy. She flicked out her tongue and tasted his neck. Definitely cotton candy.
“Why?”
“It reminds me of you.”
“Won’t the guys tease you?”
“I’ve been so pissy lately no one is getting close enough to me to smell anything.” She smiled. “Got it.” She licked along his collarbone. “Let’s go home.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Okay.” His hands dropped to her rear end and squeezed.
“You don’t have to sound so excited,” she teased.
“Honey, it’s pure relief.”
She felt her heart melt a little. “Oh. Good.” She rose on tiptoe and flicked her tongue just below his ear, relishing his groan of pleasure. “And for the record, from now on home means Oscar.”
“I know.”
“And you should know I’m starting a business in Oscar, just like I planned,” she said.
“When will your classes be done?”
“Oh, I’m not going to massage therapy school,” she said.
“Oh?”
“I wanted my own business, something that would contribute, and that was the first thing that seemed to make sense. But it was just convenient. I have a much better business plan now. And I have six clients already.”
“Clients? For what?”
“I’m starting a house-cleaning business.”
Mac stared down at her. Then he suddenly tipped his head back and laughed. Loud and long and from the gut.
She just waited.
Finally he settled down enough to say, “I think you got the Cinderella story backward. You’re supposed to go from cleaning the house to being the princess. You’re going the other way.” She grinned up at him. “I guess so.”
“Who are your clients?”
211
Erin Nicholas
“Angie and some of the other gals who hang out at Style. They all work hard. They need someone to help them out like this.”
“Angie told me she drove you back here. You got to be pretty good friends, huh?” She lit up. “Yeah. A friend I made all by myself.”
He pulled her close and rubbed his chin against the top of her head. “I might have started hanging out with you because of Sam but I’ve always liked you because of
you
, princess.” She felt her eyes sting a little. Besides, it had been three months since anyone called her princess.
Dooley and Kevin had stopped after Mac told them to in Oscar, and Mac had been nothing but coolly polite over the past months, calling her Sara on the rare occasions where he addressed her directly. She wasn’t going to be as much of a princess anymore, but…
Oh, who was she kidding? She was still going to get pedicures, would never know how to change the oil in her car and would
never
tolerate spiders. And she wasn’t giving up her primping, or her creams and sprays, or her dresses for anything.
Which reminded her… “Oh, and I got another tattoo.”
That made him push her back slightly to look at her. “You did not.”
“Oh, yeah. I told you way back in St. Croix that I intended to get your attention. I thought maybe I had to start over.”
He moved his hands to cradle her head as he looked into her eyes. “That’s the ironic thing. I haven’t paid any woman as much attention as I have you over the years and I still missed it.”
“Missed what?”
“The fact that you’re just my type.”
She hugged him, then looked up. “Which means we
are
going to use nipple clamps and wedges and—
”
He groaned. “Hell, yeah. As soon as possible.”
“We just have to get back to Oscar.”
“Or we could go to the toy store and then to your place.” She smiled. “Oh, you are
definitely
my type too.”
“What about Italy?” he asked. “You still want to go?”
“I do,” she said. “You want to come now?”
He shook his head. “I think you need to go alone. It might kill me, but I think it would be good for both of us.”
“It’s only for two weeks.”
“And we can always have phone sex.”
Ooh.
“That’s my guy.”
Mac bent his head to take her lips again and Sara sighed with happiness.
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Just My Type
This was exactly how it was supposed to go. Princesses were supposed to live happily ever after with their one true love.
Even the ones with dragons tattooed on their butts.
213
About the Author
Erin Nicholas
has been reading and writing romantic fiction since her mother gave her a romance novel in high school and she discovered happily-ever-after suddenly went a little beyond glass slippers and fairy godmothers! She lives in the Midwest with her husband who only wants to read the sex scenes in her books, her kids who will
never
read the sex scenes in her books, and family and friends who say they’re shocked by the sex scenes in her books (yeah, right!).
For more information about Erin and her books, visit:
www.ErinNicholas.com
(including Twitter and Facebook links!)
http://ninenaughtynovelists.blogspot.com/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ErinNicholas/
Look for these titles by Erin Nicholas
Now Available:
The Bradfords
Just Right
Just Like That
No Matter What
Some rules just beg to be broken.
Just Like That
© 2010 Erin Nicholas
The Bradfords, Book 2
Danika Steffen can take care of herself. Watching her mother slowly succumb to muscular dystrophy convinced Danika that total independence is the only way to go. Anything that needs fixing, she’s got the tools. So what if she’s never had an orgasm. No one really needs one, right?
Sam Bradford is good at two things: his job as a paramedic, and seducing women. Being dependable?
Not so much. Losing his father at age fifteen tore a permanent hole in his life, and now he’s determined never to let anyone need him that much. Enjoying women, though, is definitely on the menu. As long as they understand his unbreakable rule: one night only. Until a date with Danika Steffen ends not in her bed, but with a trip to the ER.
Danika may have a broken wrist, but Sam’s the one suffering…an intense case of guilt. And instead of doing things to her, he only wants to do things for her. Which would drive her crazy if not for the sneaking suspicion that Sam needs a little TLC too. And damned if she doesn’t want to be the one to give it…
Warning: Contains an I’ll-do-it-myself girl who can fix anything, a commitment-phobic guy who can’t
fix anything, and a whole new way to look at butter. Yes, butter.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Just Like That: She was desperate. Plain and simple. She
had
to wash her hair or she was going to go crazy and there was absolutely no way she could do it herself.
It was
so
frustrating! To not be able to do the simplest, most normal thing made her want to scream.
She didn’t want to need Sam, not like this. She was kind of okay with needing him physically, with feeling like she would die if he didn’t touch her. At least, she was getting used to it. She wasn’t as okay with needing him to make her a sandwich, unzip her dress and wash her hair.
Talk about pathetic.
This was
exactly
the kind of thing she avoided at all costs. She never let other people take care of her.
She’d been sick with the flu for almost a week four years ago and it had taken her three days to call Carmen and even tell her and another two before she would let Carmen come over. She hated the feeling of vulnerability, of weakness, of being a burden.
Sam thought this was fun now. He felt responsible now. He was even making it sexy.
How long would any of that last?
Not as long as she would remember being dependent on him for the smallest thing.
She was able to wiggle out of her panties and the nightgown was loose enough that she could pull it over her head one-handed. The swimming suit was more of a challenge. It was a one-piece and she was able to get the bottom of the suit up by pulling one side up, then the other until it was in place. She threaded her casted hand in through the strap and up onto her shoulder, then the other side.
“I’m going to need a plastic bag to put over the cast,” she said as she stepped back into the hallway, still pulling her right shoulder strap up.
Sam was standing across from her, leaning back against the wall, but he pushed away as she stepped through the door. His eyes were wide.
“Wow.”
She stopped short at the look in his eyes. She might as well have been naked. He was looking at her as if memorizing every curve and prominence.
She tried to ignore the tingles that seemed to erupt everywhere as she realized that he was imagining peeling her swimming suit off of her. It was so clear, in fact, it was like reading his mind. “You going to be able to do this?” she asked.
“Definitely. I’m a little tight in my jeans, but I’m okay.” Her eyes dropped to his fly in spite of her effort to avoid it. He was grinning when she looked back into his eyes.
“Let’s do this,” she muttered, stepping past him into the bathroom.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Washing my hair,” she clarified.
“Of course.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “The garbage bags are under the sink.”
“I’m all over it.”
She wanted him all over her. “Garbage bags.” She wasn’t sure if she said it to try to distract her own thoughts or to again clarify what he was all over.
“Right.”
She started the water running while Sam went to retrieve a plastic bag from the kitchen. She knew the moment he was back because the air temperature in the bathroom spiked and she could feel him behind her, checking out her butt.
“Isn’t that how we ended up in this mess?” she asked without looking at him.
“Yep,” he said unapologetically. “But it isn’t my fault. You can’t take someone to the edge of the Grand Canyon and expect him not to look.”
With the water the right temperature, she turned to frown at him. “My butt reminds you of the Grand Canyon?”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Again, thinking too fast on my feet. How about you can’t take someone to see the Hope Diamond and expect him not to look.”
“Again, you’re comparing my butt to something that is extraordinarily big.” He chuckled. “I can’t think of anything amazingly beautiful, but appropriately trim, firm and
tiny
.” She tipped her head to one side, considering that. She, of course, didn’t think that he’d been insulting her and she couldn’t think of any other way to make him squirm so she shrugged. “Forgiven.” She started to step into the tub and he immediately moved forward and took her good hand. Once she was standing in the warm water swirling at the bottom of the tub, he shook the plastic bag and held it out to her. She stuck her hand inside and he smoothed it over her cast, sliding a rubber band over it to hold it tight.
It wasn’t going to be completely waterproof, but it would keep drops from kicking up onto the plaster. She would still, obviously, have to keep her hand up out of the water.
“Now what?” he asked.
Thankfully, she had a sprayer that could be taken down from the wall and held. “I’ll sit and then you’ll have to use that to wet my hair.”
“Sounds good.” For a guy who had been claiming to not know what to do with washing a woman’s hair, he certainly sounded confident.