Threads Of Desire (Creative Hearts Book 3) (9 page)

Gabby stopped stirring and stared at him. “Can I ask what the hell you’re doing?”

His eyes shot up and away from the messy counter. His tie was draped over his briefcase and his shirt was folded and draped over that too and now here he was standing in his white tank almost ready to get fully naked about to clean up a mess that wasn’t even his. He looked at her. “I, um, I was going to clean up the kitchen?”

“Why?”

“Because it looks like it needs cleaning.”

Her brows drew together and a heart-clenching type of concern came across her face. “But it’s not your mess, Nick. You don’t have to do that.” She shrugged and gave a half smile, that took that clench and give it an added twist. “And from your face it’s not like you’re even that keen on sampling my meal. So why worry about it?”

Nick swallowed. 
Why worry about it?
 He let her question tumble over in his mind. He knew he was being irrational. Gabby was right. This wasn’t his mess; this was his problem. His own deep-seeded fucked-upness that had plagued him all his life. This need to have order. To have everything perfect. Would he ever, once and for all, be able to just let things lie?

As he stared back at Gabby’s curious look, the relationship between his father and mother came to mind. How opposite they were. His mother had done her best to try and keep an orderly home, but one that was filled with love and laughter. A haven of warmth. There was always something cooking and some new craft project going. And if things got a little messy in the process, then so be it. She was never one for idle hands, which was one of the reasons she’d always loved Gabby. They seemed to be kindred spirits. So many times he’d found them laughing over a pot on the stove or a needle and thread. The thought brought a pang to his chest. Those little moments of secretly watching his mother so happy always brought him so much joy.

But that joy always had a short shelf life, lasting only until his father decided to come back home and grace them with his presence. A discharged military man turned traveling salesman-slash-pick-up artist, Leo Ross was the original game player. He’d breeze in on a high, sweeping their mother up in his blaze of promises and bullshit only to go on one of his booze-fueled benders, blaze into a tornado of rage and blame, and then swirl out again, leaving Nick to clean up the mess.

Before he’d go, though, there’d usually be a shared whisky with his underage boys to commiserate on where his life went wrong. His father had often blamed his mother for getting pregnant with Nick too early, saddling him with fatherhood and curtailing his starry-eyed dreams of taking the world by storm. Dad was nothing if not full of shit. He’d never once thought about how that might sound to his child, to be called a burden, the root of a problem. He’d schooled Nick early and every chance he got to be smarter and stronger, warned him not to get swept up and fall in love with a woman who could snatch those dreams.

Now here he was, his father, over ten years dead, a product of his own excess taken out by liver disease, and Nick still hated him with every fiber of his being. He still hated that, at times, he woke with the sound of his mother crying in his ears, and heard his father’s slurred voice in the back of his mind, taunting him with the possibilities of what he so easily could turn into.

Why worry about it?
 He thought of Gabby’s question for a second more before he slammed the door shut on the past and looked at her, blinking briefly before flashing her a sheepish smile. “You’re right. It’s not my mess. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Grabbing his things from the chair, Nick strode back over to the iPod deck and flipped the music back on. The horrid rap, coming from a millionaire who had no business ranting about struggle, assaulted him ten times more than when he’d first walked in the door. But he turned back Gabby’s way. “Sorry to have disturbed your evening’s solitude.” And with that, Nick ran off to his temporary room and shut the door.

• • •

Confusion made a thick soup of Gabby’s mind. She stood there for a long few long beats, just staring at Nick’s closed door, his dark expression seared on her brain. After a minute, she walked over and turned the music down. Way down. It was driving her bananas anyway. But then again, that was the point—she’d needed some manic motivation, and crap music usually did the trick when it came to designing for Zenia.

Gabby tipped around the living room in small circles, staring down at her piles of fabric swatches with their accompanying sketches. Finally she let out a sigh. She couldn’t worry about Nick and his moods. She had to get back to work. She’d made a bit of headway with her meeting but now here they were, the same old poly blends that she had worked with for years. So far everything she’d come up with, Mr. Caberrera knocked back down as being too expensive, all too eager and ready to send her back to his same old supplier friends. It was as if she’d never escape them. How could she do anything remotely new or fresh when she wasn’t allowed to even source a new fabric vendor?

Frustrated, she stepped over the piles and went back to the kitchen, trying to see the mess through Nick’s eyes. How did he think a meal was supposed to get put together? Did it come by some chef fairy, all perfect and fancy and on a clean white plate like magic?

Gabby stirred the pot, closed the lid, and lowered the flame, and started to absentmindedly clear off the counter. It wasn’t any more than her usual dinner-related chaos, but she knew from when they were younger, that the more stressed he was, the more he liked order in his life.

A wry smile caught the corner of her lips. She supposed it was why she’d always bugged him. She was the opposite of order. Always had been. Never quite together, always a little something off or out of place. Her smile faded. Just the opposite of the women he chose for himself. She could hardly imagine the likes of Claire throwing down in the kitchen. No way she was getting her hands dirty.

Well, maybe Nick needed to realize that some of the best things started out a little messy at first. What did she care anyway? It wasn’t like she’d made this meal with him in mind…even if it 
was
 the first meal they’d be sharing in the apartment alone together. Gabby swallowed, then turned and looked over at Nick’s closed door again. She should really take her own advice not to worry about it, since it wasn’t her problem, but still Gabby couldn’t help the nagging feeling of guilt. Well, he could order pizza or starve, for all she cared.

She threw the rag down in frustration, and ran her hands through her hair. Telling herself that she did it for her alone was nothing but bullshit, and she knew it. It was stupid to make this dinner. Yeah, she liked to cook, but what was she doing cooking for him? Gabby closed her eyes, willing her long-held hate, the old pain, to bubble up and fuel her as it had been for so long. But damn it, tonight it wouldn’t come.

All day long all she could think of was Nick. Nick, as he’d looked, all cute and disheveled, when he came to their apartment drunk. Nick, when he danced with her and wrapped his arms sensually around her body. Even the way Nick had looked at her when he said goodbye this morning, and how she could still feel his eyes on her as she walked away. She knew she was being a damned fool. Him walking away from her tonight proved it. He hadn’t changed.

He was Nick. He still needed order, beauty, perfection, and not her. Her appetite was good and gone.

Getting back to work, Gabby tried her best to put the incident out of her mind, but it was impossible. There was something in his eyes that gnawed at her. He and Steve both had been through so much with the loss of their mother and then to lose their father, whether they’d had a horrible relationship with him or not, had been a tough blow. Steve was simpler. He was a talker, and she knew how he dealt with things, but what did she really know about Nick?

Sure, she knew him as her friend’s dismissive older brother and the crush she’d had for way too long. She also knew him as the bullshit artist who’d lured her in with soft words one moment and then broke her heart and part of her spirit. But she knew there was more. More he’d tried to hide. Something behind that wall that, despite her knowing better, always called her to peek over. Gabby frowned as she sat on the couch and stared at the sketch in her hand. It was a particularly hideous design modification of last season’s bestselling jumpsuit. She crumpled it up. Dwelling on the past was such a waste of time but that seemed to be all she could do lately. It was time to get to work.

A half hour later, Gabby ran her hands through her curls and wiped sweat from her brow. She looked at the air conditioner hoping that it would hold up with this heat wave. If not she’d have to shell out money she didn’t have to get a new one. A sound pulled her attention to her right. Nick stirring in his room. It was the first she’d heard of him since he’d stormed off and she wondered if he’d gotten over his earlier fit about her mess? Well he’d better. He was in her territory now.

Then she heard the click of his doorknob turning and cursed her heart for clicking along with it. She looked up when he did that discreet-coughing-to-get-her-attention thing.

He’d changed and was now dressed in what she’d come to know was his casual uniform of basketball shorts and a tank. It was ridiculous how elegant he could make them look, seeming completely out of place, while trying to look relaxed in the midst of her mess.

“Yes?” she said.

He looked down, embarrassed, then seemed angry at himself for it, his strong jaw notching up and his dark eyes meeting hers again. But his voice was low and soft nonetheless when he spoke. “I’m, um… I’m… I apologize.”

Gabby let out a long breath and raised a hand as if he should stop. She couldn’t let him know he’d gotten to her. “What are you talking about? You have nothing to apologize for.”

He looked over to the kitchen and then leaned one hand on the counter. “Well, I had no business coming in here and turning your music down, talking about your dinner which you obliviously worked hard on, or…” He looked around at the piles. “Criticizing how you keep house.”

Gabby let out a snort. “Keep house, huh? Shit, you just can’t help it, can you, Nick?”

“What are you talking about?”

She shook her head. “That there. The way you looked around and how you said it—keep house. It was all a criticism.” She waved a hand up and down his body. “Look at you. Even the way you’re standing now. You just can’t relax. It’s like our apartment makes you itch, or, who knows, maybe it’s just me making you squirm.”

Gabby thought she maybe saw a hint of a blush creep up his cheeks even through his brown skin. She’d hit a nerve. So he was uncomfortable around her. Well, that was his problem not hers.

She went back to her work, reaching for a new piece of paper and picking up her pencil.

“You know that’s not true.” His deep voice was earnest.

She looked up again. “I know what’s not true?”

“You don’t make me itch. Or squirm.”

She stared at him. The man was impossible. “You are a fool, you know.”

He smiled. It was the first time she’d seen him smile in a genuine way in she didn’t know how long. It stopped her breath for a moment, making her stomach do a nosedive.

“Though I can’t say much for your choice of décor. It is a bit eclectic and bohemian around here.”

“Your brother never complained.”

“My brother could care less about order. He’s just happy to have a place to rest his head.”

“Yeah that’s true. He hardly notices when I change anything.”

“Well, I am not my brother.”

“That’s for sure.”

It was his turn to snort. “This apology is getting turned around. Is the offer of dinner still on the table? I think I’m strong enough to handle something different for a change.”

Gabby looked at him long and hard. She shook her head then put her work aside, extending her arms above her head and stretching. “Okay, let’s eat. But I warn you, I like it hot.”

Chapter 7

Watching Gabby as she moved around the kitchen was taking Nick over the edge. He’d never thought of himself as the type to think of a woman in the kitchen as particularly sexy or something he even cared about, but watching her had him rethinking everything… and not with his head. She had such an easy and relaxed way about her, and she looked amazing with her hair all wild and curling around her face and those ass-hugging leggings driving him insane. At the moment, he’d like nothing better than to bend her over the counter and really heat things up.

Nick frowned as his analytical mind mentally began to calculate the women he’d previously been with and how many he’d observed making him a meal. They were scantily few of the latter. And they were definitely nothing like Gabby. His previous girlfriends had honestly been a means to an end. Tall and slim, sophisticated but trendy. Chosen mainly to compliment his own ideals of polished perfection.

Nick begun to frown at his own assessment as Gabby bent down into a lower cabinet, pulling out another cutting board. No, there was nothing slim about her luscious behind. He silently cursed the immediate pull in his groin and fought for much needed control as she turned to him, all business, the board in one hand and a long knife in the other.

“How about you grab that bread and make yourself useful?” She shot him a wink then turned back to fixing the plates. Nick nodded. None of the women in his past would talk to him the way she always did. It wasn’t that they lacked the gumption to talk back; it was just that they never had with him. Besides, he usually talked enough for two people anyhow. Quick to have the answer and always the first to close the deal. So why was it around Gabby he always seemed to be either tongue-tied or putting his foot in his mouth?