Take a Chance on Me (12 page)

Okay, then. I’d been hoping for a clear signal, and here it was. Green light.

So, I reached out to touch her hair. It was still up in that mysterious twist thing she did with it in the sauna. I tugged at it until those beautiful dark strands tumbled down around her face. And then finally, finally I moved in to kiss her.

It was like I’d been waiting for a decade for our lips to touch. She arched up against me as I gathered her closer. God, it wasn’t nearly close enough, though. I drank her in, pulling at her mouth with mine and taking in her very breath. When she moaned, I wasn’t sure I’d ever been so proud of an accomplishment in my life.

After our time in the sauna, she’d put back on her fancy outfit from her date with that superficial CEO. Nothing wrong with the dress but, man, did I ever want her out of it.

“I’m itching to tear this fabric off of you,” I confessed. “So, if you think you’ll ever want to wear this outfit again, you might want to remove it. Quickly.”

She laughed, unfastened some latch or something behind her back, and stepped out of the dress.

It took my breath away to see her in only her bra and panties. She had such smooth and beautiful olive skin—I stared at her, temporarily dazed.

She yanked at my shirt. I didn’t resist as she pulled it off of me. “Get rid of these,” she said, pointing at my jeans. “And meet me in your bedroom.”

She sauntered away from me with the most angelic smile I’d ever seen on a woman’s face. Then she paused and added, “I plan to have my wicked way with you.”

I snapped out of my trance, ditched my jeans in the middle of the living room floor, and followed her.

~Nia~

To the sound of Edwin McCain’s “I’ll Be” on the radio, Chance Michaelsen and I finally made love. And, oh, dear Lord, it was worth the wait.

He trailed kisses down both sides of my neck, then devoured my mouth again. He raked his hands down my back with such expert pressure that any pain I may once have felt was gone like a whisper.

He was all limbs and lean muscle. I couldn’t stop touching him. Marveling at the beauty of his body.

And at long last I got to run my palms across those amazing abs of his and feel the waves of muscular strength beneath his skin.

“You like that area, huh?” he asked, breathless between kisses.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. We were on our sides, face to face, legs entwined, but I kept leaning back a bit…the better to see and touch him.

He made a sound that was half laugh, half groan. “Then you should be on top this time, shouldn’t you?”

Before I had a chance to move or even think, he grabbed me and lifted me onto him in one swift movement so I was straddling his hips.

“Now you can touch my chest as much as you want,” he said. “And I can touch yours.”

“Oh,” I moaned, as he positioned me just where he wanted and then pulled me down—fully—onto him. He stroked me upward from my legs to my waist to my breasts. And I stroked him downward from his neck to his shoulders to his chest. And then we clung to each other, riding and rocking yet again.

He had so much physicality combined with skill and control that I was aware I was in the presence of a true athlete. And when he folded himself around me, brought me down side by side with him again, and cradled me in his arms, I felt utterly protected. Completely safe and secure.

We rested for a while and, maybe, napped—I’d completely lost track of time. Chance hadn’t stopped holding me, though, or rubbing my arms, my hips, my chest.

He whispered, “You have beautiful breasts, Nia.”

“Thanks, but—”

“But what?”

Okay, this was embarrassing. I’d been too passion crazed in the moments before to have cared, but self-consciousness was returning. His body was so trim, so hard. Mine was…a lot less so.

“But what, Nia? You can tell me.”

“But don’t you think they’re too big? That my body is too squishy?”

“No.” He chuckled. “Not at all. I think you’re gorgeous. Perfect.”

I smiled. “No one’s perfect, Chance.”

“You’re right. If you were perfect, you’d shut up and let me kiss you again.”

And so we alternated kissing and fondling. Stroking, riding, and holding each other for as long as we could. Until we were both exhausted but satiated. Until sleep finally became too irresistible to deny.

~*~

I was startled awake by an unfamiliar brightness. “What’s that light?” I asked, squinting.

“Probably my window,” Chance murmured.

“Your window…” I repeated, slowly opening my eyes up to a room I had no recollection of ever seeing. It had been dark when I’d come in here a few hours ago. I’d seen only shadows and hadn’t bothered to guess at the room’s contents beyond the bed. And Chance following me into it.

Now, in the growing light, I saw a dresser, too, the door to a closet, an assortment of garments—mine and his—scattered on the floor, along with a handful of hastily ripped open condom wrappers. But, otherwise, it was as sparsely decorated as the rest of his apartment. One framed family photograph on the dresser. One small nightstand with a lamp and a clock.

A clock.

I read the time. “Oh, my God, Chance, it’s 6:18!”

“Yeah?”

I bolted upright, narrowly missing the bottom of his chin with my head. “I’m going to be in so much trouble. I’ve got to go home
now
.”

He pushed himself up onto his elbow and stared at me. “Seriously? You’re twenty-six. You have a curfew?”

Ack. How to explain this to a guy who wasn’t from an Old World family?

“Not exactly. But it’s disrespectful not to let your parents know that you’re going to be out all night when you’re still living in their house.”

He tilted his head but continued staring. “Understood. But I sense there’s more to this.”

I nodded. “It was too early for me to go home after I ended my date with Grant last night—there would have been too many questions—but I didn’t expect to stay out so late with you either.” I got out of bed and began the search for my clothing around his apartment. It was like a scavenger hunt, trying to find all the pieces.

“And?”

“And, so, my parents are early risers. I’ll not only have to answer to being out all night with a man, but they’re going to assume that Grant was the man I was with.”

“We don’t want that,” Chance said, smiling.

“No, we don’t.” But Chance didn’t know the half of it. My parents
liked
Grant. A lot. I’d done a fabulous job of selling that relationship to them, dammit. I doubted they even knew who Chance Michaelsen was, apart from his recognizable last name. He’d never set foot in The Gala. He didn’t eat Greek food. He wasn’t one for backslapping, hugging, or other excessive shows of emotion. Even getting him to smile took some effort. They’d have no flipping idea what to do with a creature like him.

I grabbed my phone and checked for messages. One missed text from Dimitri (the
real
one), sent this morning at 5:32. My brother wrote:

Are you dead or just getting laid? Mama’s been pacing for half an hour in the living room.

Oh, no.

I texted back:

I’m alive…just fell asleep. Heading home now.

Finally, I managed to collect my clothing and put it on. My hair was beyond fixing, although I gave finger-combing it into another twist my best shot. But I’d had really great sex last night, and it showed.

“I have to go,” I told Chance.

He’d gotten out of bed, too, and thrown on his boxers. I wanted to rip them off and chase him back onto the mattress.

“I know,” he said, sighing. And then he kissed me until I was sure I wouldn’t want to leave until noon. The next day. Or maybe the next week.

“Bye,” I whispered, forcing myself to step away.

“See you soon,” he said.

I hoped that was a promise. However, it was one that should probably wait until after I’d managed to break the news to my parents that their fantasies of my future engagement to a certain popular CEO wouldn’t actually be happening.

And the thought of Aunt Helen—along with all of her prayers for me and my many future children—had me cringing as I drove home.

Chapter Nine

~ Nia ~

I knew it was futile to try to slip into the house unseen or unheard. Mama had the vision and hearing of a woman three decades younger—and the imagination of a fantasy writer. There were going to be questions, so I’d better be ready for them.

“You usually call if you’ll be out all night, Antonia,” Mama said from her semi-hidden perch on the staircase nearest the doorway.

I nodded. “I’m so sorry I worried you. I was really tired last night and just fell asleep.”

“I know,” she said. “Dimitri told me you’d texted him.” Then she smiled. “So¸ it’s serious between you two, then, yes? You’re in love with Grant.” She clapped her hands together, not waiting for me to reply. “I’m so excited for you, sweetheart. He will make you a wonderful husband! But, perhaps, we’d better not tell your father that you were out with him all night until after your engagement, eh?” She pointed upstairs and I could hear the shower running. “He just got up and didn’t know you’d stayed out so late. Quick, quick. Go change into, um—” She scanned my disheveled outfit. “Something else. And, maybe, brush your hair.”

But though she spoke urgently and practically pushed me out of the room before I could even attempt an explanation, there was a twinkling in her eyes that was unmistakable. And I realized I was in much bigger trouble than I’d thought.

Way over my head, in fact.

It was going to be a major problem getting them to like Chance after this. Not when my very traditional mother (who generally disapproved of premarital sex) wasn’t even upset about me sleeping with a man out of wedlock—provided that man was Grant Jordan.

I dutifully changed, washed up, brushed my hair and my teeth, and tried to figure out how to turn the Titanic around so it wouldn’t hit that iceberg.

Here was the thing—I loved my mother and all my family. I knew they wanted only what was best for me. However, they were worried about me. Worried I’d be “an old maid” if they didn’t succeed in getting me married off before I turned thirty.

Between my mom, my aunts, my cousins, and various friends of the family, I’d already been introduced to every “nice Greek boy” in the Midwest and, much to my parents’ disappointment, hadn’t wanted to marry any of them.

No one in the world would consider a man like Grant Jordan to be a consolation prize, though. So, on some level, I knew the second I’d started dating him that, if I wasn’t going to marry someone who was actually Greek, at least he was a guy my family would understand my relationship with. In truth, it had been part of my attraction to him. And I was horrified to realize that, for the sake of family harmony, I probably would have been able to subvert my own lack of sexual desire for Grant if I hadn’t met Chance Michaelsen.

What kind of a person was I that I’d be willing to ignore my own instincts?

And how could I possibly explain to my parents what had changed in me if I didn’t fully understand it myself?

When I got back downstairs, I kissed my father good morning. Mama was fixing coffee for us all. My brother was still in his bedroom. From the outside, it looked like a normal Saturday morning in the Pappayiannis house.

“We have a busy day ahead,” my dad declared. “Somebody better wake up Dimitri. It’s time to get to work.”

~*~

I tried to lose myself in baking tasks—rolling up the
dolmades
, crimping the edges of the feta
piroskis
, sautéing the meat for the
moussaka
—but Chance was on my mind all day. I couldn’t get him out of my head.

He’d invaded my senses so much that I could still see, hear, taste, and smell him. And feel him, too. The way he’d touched me. The way I’d touched him.

When he first followed me into his bedroom last night, all he said was, “I did as you asked.”

Sure enough, he’d ditched the jeans. There was, however, still the matter of his boxers.

He was leaning against the doorframe, looking at me as I lounged on his bed in only my underwear. The light was behind him, so his face was in shadow and I couldn’t read his expression. I was aware, though, that he wasn’t laughing at me or judging me. That he was simply waiting for me to direct him in whatever I’d wanted to have happen next.

I’d already told him—oh, so boldly—that I planned to have my wicked way with him. For a man with such physical power, the fact that he completely let me take the lead gave me an unexpected bolt of confidence.

“Are you going to join me, or do I have to drag you over here?” I asked.

I could feel, rather than see, his grin.

He walked to the bed with the graceful prowl of a wildcat and climbed onto the mattress with me. Then he trailed his fingertips slowly from my thigh up to my shoulder, leaving only a delicious tingle in the wake of his touch. I knew he could possess me in the span of a heartbeat. And yet, he still held back. Inviting me to make my move.