Marked Men: Nash Part 8

"Saint?"

I could feel the latex slide over me. Good thing she was a nurse, she didn't have any trip up getting it around the metal decorating my business.

"Nash?"

Her eyes were on mine as she sat up, put both her hands right on the center of my chest, and seated herself down on me, all the way to the hilt. She was tight, suffocatingly so. She was hot and slick, and since she was on top, riding me up and down in a torturous motion, all I wanted to do was watch myself disappear inside of her. Everything about this girl was bound to be shrouded in secrets, even what we looked like when we were joined together. I loved it and hated it at the same time. Kind of how I was starting to feel about Saint Ford.

Whatever I had been about to say to her fled. It was odd. I'd never had s.e.x where my partner was fully clothed while I was on display. I'd also never been intimate with anyone who seemed like they were desperately, furiously trying to get to the end, regardless of what I was or wasn't doing. Like she was using me to get to completion but wasn't even in the act with me. I put my hands on her, tried to get the strap of her dress down over her shoulder so I could get access to all that creamy, white skin, and scowled in concern when she flinched away from me.

Her head was tossed back, her hair was pooling in a fiery blanket across the top of my bare thighs, and her hands were curling into clawing talons on my chest. Her eyes were locked on mine, so I saw it br.i.m.m.i.n.g, saw the surprise, the wonder crest over the thunderclouds when she came apart. I also saw tears spring into her gaze and the way her chest started to rise and fall like she was going to hyperventilate as soon as the last shuddering crest of the o.r.g.a.s.m wafted over her.

I mean I was pretty good in bed, or on the couch, as the case might be, but that was the fastest o.r.g.a.s.m I had ever inspired in any woman, and as far as I was concerned, we hadn't even gotten to the good stuff yet. I was still painfully hard, still dying to get her naked and my mouth on any part of her that she would let me, but Saint had other plans.

She looked down at me like she just suddenly realized I was there, a living breathing person and not a vibrator. She jerked her hands off of my chest, scrambled off of me in a way that made my d.i.c.k scream at both of us, and collected all that glorious hair into her shaking hands. The tears s.h.i.+mmering in her eyes started to fall, and before I could sit up and ask her what in the h.e.l.l was going on, she was practically running for the door.

"I'm so sorry, Nash."

While getting left high and dry with a raging hard-on wasn't my favorite thing that had happened that day, I was more worried about the fact that she looked like she was going to shatter like an icicle hanging off the edge of a steep roof. She was shaking all over, her eyes were too big in her pale face, and her freckles were standing out in stark relief. The trails the tears were leaving made her look like something that was going to shatter.

"Saint, hold on a second." I had to struggle back into my pants, not easy when my d.i.c.k was still ready and rearing to go, but she shook her head at me and dashed to the front door.

"No, no ... I told you I didn't know how to do this with you. I have to go." The door slammed behind her in her haste to exit, and by the time I was semipresentable, tucked away, and had made it to the hallway with only a slight limp, she was long gone.

The other new redhead in my life, however, was coming in through the front door. She was all bundled up and slid her gaze over my rumpled and rough state and blew out a sharp whistle through her teeth.

"Bad date?"

I snorted and leaned against the open doorway, my arms up over my head. Royal had no problem checking out the show. Too bad none of it was for her.

"It started out a little rough, got bad, had a high point, and then ended with a whimper."

She let her gaze roam unabashedly over my naked chest, tattooed arms, and still-open pants. Why couldn't I be attracted to her? She was adorable, bold, and I liked her unabashed and unapologetic att.i.tude, but there was no doubt about it, she wasn't going to be a subst.i.tute for Saint. The idea of it even took care of the uncomfortable problem in my pants.

"I gotta say, you are better than TV for pure entertainment value."

I snorted. "Glad you can find humor at the state of my dismal dating life."

She made her way to her own door and smiled at me over her shoulder.

"You're a babe, a little rough and dangerous, and she's shy and quiet. I saw her on my way in. You probably overwhelm her and she feels out of her depth. Give her a minute to realize you wouldn't be all up on her if you didn't think she was just as awesome as she clearly thinks you are. That is a pretty girl with a crush for sure. Boys need to be careful with pretty girls that have crushes."

I lifted my eyebrow at her.

"How do you know all that? You psychic or something?"

She pushed her own door open and laughed at me.

"Not even close. I have really good instincts about people. It serves me well in my line of work."

She looked like a yoga instructor or a high-end stripper, and with a name like Royal, come on. I couldn't imagine what her job really was.

"What do you do?"

She lifted one of her own eyebrows back at me. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Don't give up on her, neighbor. She looks like she could use a guy like you, someone to shake her up, force her to have some fun. Have a good night."

She shut the door without giving me a real answer about her job, and I retreated into my own place. I needed a minute to clear my head and, more pressing than that, to work out my frustration in a hot shower. I'd never been so twisted up, so wound up about a girl before. Saint took effort, a gentle touch I wasn't a hundred percent sure I was equipped with. I mean I was never the kind of guy who just barreled into a girl's life and turned it upside down. I never cared enough to do that. With Saint I was starting to want to not only turn everything upside down, but put it in a jar, or a box, and shake it all up and around until something completely different came out. A different Nash and Saint who could figure this s.h.i.+t out.

CHAPTER 8.

Saint

I paced around my apartment like a neurotic mess the rest of the night. I couldn't believe what I had done, or the way I had left him like that. I was mortified and stupefied at not only my actions but that I had actually managed to get off with him. That had never happened to me before, and all the foreign goodness and startling knowledge that it was him that could get me there had me nearly blind with panic.

I spent all the next day cleaning and finding anything to keep my whirling mind busy until I had to go in for my s.h.i.+ft. I barely pulled it together to go in for my rounds, but considering my phone was blowing up with an equal mix of angry text messages from my mom, and disappointed ones from my dad, I had to get out of my apartment. I called Faith to tell her and the rest of her brood family Merry Christmas, and even though I tried to keep it brief, I think she could tell I was upset and something was really wrong.

There was nothing she could do or say to stop me from feeling like I was a lunatic. I don't know what happened to me when I was around Nash, but something about him and me in the same room and I turned into an unpredictable mess.

Things had been all right. I didn't love not having my own car in case I wanted to escape the wedding and my own nerves, but his friends and all of the wedding party had been really nice, and his dad, or Phil, as the older man laughingly told me to call him, was delightful. Had I not known any different, I would have thought he was healthy as a horse. The nurse in me wasn't certain that being around so many people in his fragile state was a smart idea, but I could tell there was no way he would've missed the big event. This group was tighter than any band of friends I had ever encountered.

All of Nash's friends were gorgeous and covered in defining marks that made them an unforgettable group. It wasn't the tattoos or the fact that the groom was sporting a purple Mohawk that made me start to hyperventilate-it was the palpable love, the care, the respect and genuine admiration they all had for one another that made my skin feel too tight, made a longing I had never felt before start to stifle everything else inside of me.

The only person I had ever had that kind of bond with was Faith, and now that she had her own family and husband to take care of, I felt more and more on my own. Watching this mismatched group of men and women, seeing the bride and groom who were so clearly determined to overcome everything just to be together, made me feel out of sorts, achingly jealous, and as it throbbed in my blood I felt like I needed to go. I couldn't take it anymore. And just like Nash said, I knew, had no doubt that he would have brought me home without complaint, and I just couldn't get my head and my heart to line up on what they thought about that. On one hand, I wanted to take his nice-guy facade at face value, but I had been burned by my misconception of him before and I didn't think that was a risk I wanted to take again. I didn't know that I could handle being disappointed by him again now that I was just starting to get to a point where I wanted to think he was different than he had been all those years ago.

As I watched him walk down the aisle, so big and handsome, so colorful and distinct, there was no question that I wanted him. I felt desire, was unquestioningly aroused whenever he touched me, whenever he looked at me with those unforgettable eyes. I wasn't used to that, and to all the heat and confusion that Nash Donovan had once again brought into my life. The buildup was coiled so tight inside of me that it was like a spring ready to snap ... and snap, it had taken me right along with it.

If my colossal freak-out at the wedding wasn't bad enough, my confusing reaction only seconds after the only o.r.g.a.s.m given to me by another person was enough to make me want to change my name and move to an island n.o.body had ever heard of before. Bursting into tears after s.e.x was nothing new for me, even if these had been tears of grat.i.tude rather than disappointment. But the way I freaked, the way I had run away like I had never run before, and maybe most shameful, the way I had callously left Nash with an unmistakably unsatisfied erection made me question my own sanity.

Obviously the other guys were wrong. There wasn't anything wrong with me s.e.xually. I wasn't frigid or cold ... if Nash had gotten me any hotter last night, we would have melted together. Apparently I just needed the guy to be covered in ink, pierced in some unusual places, and tied to my past and the heart of my lack of confidence in the most devastating of ways in order to have an o.r.g.a.s.m. He was beautiful, all dusky skin, corded slabs of hard muscle, and strong planes and valleys of s.e.xy perfection. He was not a small guy, anywhere, and where I thought that would be intimidating, it just made me feel slight and exceedingly feminine next to him. It made me want him more.

On top of everything else I was kicking myself over, I still didn't get a look at the rest of that tattoo. I knew my thumb and forefinger barely fit around the circ.u.mference of his erection when he was aroused, that the metal he sported was blazing hot from being so close to his body, that he looked way better in white boxers than black because of his darker skin tone, that his eyes turned purple not just when he was mad, but also when he was turned on. That d.a.m.n tattoo was still a mystery, though, and all the while I was lambasting myself, calling myself every foolish name in the book, I was still trying to piece together what it might look like.

I managed to get through the holiday s.h.i.+ft with no incidents, and aside from Sunny asking me what was wrong every five minutes, it was preferable to listening to my mom scream and moan about her life and the way the holidays were playing out for the Fords this year. I was dodging Dr. Bennet left and right because even though I promised to go out with him and I didn't want to disappoint Sunny, my instincts were screaming at me to cancel my date with him. I was too unnerved, too off-kilter after what had happened with Nash, to think I could get through the date unscathed.

When it was time to go home I looked at my phone and winced when I saw I had a missed call from Nash. He didn't leave a voice mail, but there was also a text that simply said: Merry Xmas Saint.

I owed him an explanation. I knew it, but I just didn't think I could do it. I had a difficult time expressing myself clearly when the subject wasn't embarra.s.sing and undignified. How was I supposed to tell him that not only was he the first guy I had ever been with that made me feel that good, he made me want to actually have s.e.x? How was I supposed to explain that I didn't want him to be the guy that made s.e.x fun, made me want it, because of the awful things he said a lifetime ago and the way they made me feel? How did I go about explaining that I didn't want to like him, didn't want to feel anything for him after the abysmal way his flagrant disregard for me in high school had left me feeling for a lifetime? Would he even understand that because of the younger him, because of those painful moments tied directly to his actions, I normally hated the idea of being naked around another person, loathed being exposed and vulnerable, so s.e.x for me was always confusing and awful?

I couldn't explain it to him when I couldn't even get it to make sense to myself. When had all my dislike for him morphed into something that had me jumping him the first chance I got? And did that mean I was ready to forgive him for the sins of the past? I didn't have answers to those questions and thinking about them made my head hurt.

I didn't text him back that day, or the next, when he asked if I was okay, or the next, when he asked if we could talk. I straight up ignored him. Phil had decided that if he was well enough to attend Rule and Shaw's wedding, he was well enough to try his luck moving his care home, so I didn't have to worry about running into Nash at the hospital anymore. That thought made me want to cheer and howl in frustration at the same time. But by the weekend he wasn't texting me anymore, and I resigned myself to the fact that whatever symphony of self-destruction I had created had played its last note. Since I was the composer, I had nowhere else to lay the blame.

Time flew and all of a sudden it was the beginning of the following week and my date with the good doctor had arrived. I wanted to go even less now than I had when he first asked me. I would have backed out, made some kind of excuse and played dead if only Sunny hadn't been hounding me about it every chance she got. I'd also made the mistake of telling Faith about it, more for her support than anything else, but she was tickled pink about the prospect of me dating anyone, so she was nudging as well. I was stuck and all I could do was power through it.

I had a similar argument with the doctor that I had with Nash about wanting to take my own car, only instead of being Nash and using gentle persuasion and unflappable logic to get me to ride with him, he looked at me disapprovingly and pointed out how odd it would appear to his friends if we showed up not together. It wasn't an argument I wanted to rehash with someone so concerned about appearances, so I reluctantly agreed, and he told me he would pick me up at my apartment. I told him we should just leave from the hospital since the party was in Cherry Creek and it was closer, but again he gave me a look like I was silly and didn't know how dates worked.

So there I was at nine P.M. on New Year's Eve, it had been exactly seven days since my disastrous date with Nash, and instead of trying to make polite conversation, or figuring out how to make the most of my time with Dr. Bennet-Andrew-I found myself in the pa.s.senger seat of his very nice SUV pondering what Nash was up to. After all, it was New Year's and that meant kissing at midnight.

I sighed heavily and started when Andrew stopped the steady stream of conversation he was having with himself about himself. No doubt about it: the doctor was his own biggest fan.

"Everything all right?"

I forced a smile and fiddled with the ends of my hair, which I had left down and put into giant, loose curls.

"Sure. It's just been busy at work and with the holidays. I'm a little beat." And I'm obsessing over a guy I shouldn't be, but I didn't think he wanted to know that part of it.

"Did you always want to be a nurse?"

"Yep. I like nursing, like the rush of the ER, but mostly I wanted to help people."

"Ahh, you're one of those."

I lifted an eyebrow and looked at him out of the corner of my eye. We had stopped in front of an opulent town house in one of the wealthiest suburbs of the city. My stomach dipped. I could already tell this was going to be dreadful. We had been doing just fine when he didn't need me to join in on the chatter.

"One of what exactly?"

"Those people who went to nursing or medical school based on ideals and fuzzy feelings of giving back."

What? People went into these fields for reasons other than compa.s.sion and concern for the well-being of others? Since when? I was dumbfounded, so I had to ask, "Why did you go?"

He chuckled and made his way out of the car to open my door. He offered me his hand, which I begrudgingly took. I didn't like how soft, how perfectly manicured it felt next to mine. Those were hands that handed out plain white business cards all day long.

"I went because I wanted a good job, something that was secure, something that had status and prestige attached to it. Don't get me wrong; I love medicine, love healing, love being in the hospital all day, but honestly, if I could do the same thing and not have the same level of interaction with patients, I would. It gets old after a while, you know? Treating people that are often suffering from nothing more than their own dumb choices. My long-term plans involve going into private practice. I think that has to be the way to go so I can pick and choose the types of patients I want to treat. There won't be any more cheating husbands with vindictive wives or kids falling off of bikes for me."

That att.i.tude was ridiculous, and if I was someone else, maybe I would have had the right words to tell him that. Instead I waited until he turned around and rolled my eyes at the back of his perfectly styled head. It was a good thing he had his job and his looks going for him because it was pretty obvious to me this man was shallow as a rain puddle. He might be nice to look at on the outside, but I was starting to see his insides were pretty unappealing, which had me thinking of Nash yet again.

His looks were so dynamic, so in-your-face. Yes, he was good-looking, but it was in a really complicated way; you had to look past all the things on the outside that made him stand out from the norm to see how beautiful he truly was. His insides, though, I had long thought were devious and nasty, but what s.h.i.+ned out of his periwinkle eyes was nothing but forthrightness and sincerity ... that was the most beautiful thing about him. If anyone saw the two men I had agreed to dates with together, I knew instinctively most would look at Andrew and ask why I wasn't trying to s.n.a.t.c.h him up, but Nash ... to me, he was the real prize ... he was something unique and special in a way that I was having an impossible time letting go of, even twisted up about the past like I was.

"I hope it won't make you uncomfortable, but some of the young ladies attending this soiree are women I've had relations.h.i.+ps with in the past. Typically, all the relations.h.i.+ps ended well, but you never know what showing up with a beautiful new woman on my arm will inspire."

I wanted to kick him in the s.h.i.+n, or maybe mess up that ruthlessly gelled hair.

Seriously, not only was I going to have to spend the evening in a room full of strangers, but I was also going to be used as live bait for him to dangle in front of his exes. Oh boy, didn't that sound like fun?

"I'm pretty quiet. I don't exactly mingle well."

"Just smile and look pretty." He winked at me and I had to clamp my teeth down on my tongue to avoid telling him I thought he was superficial and all-around icky. He was making my skin crawl, and when I recalled the way Nash made it burn and quiver, I wanted to find the nearest exit and find my way back to the Victorian on Capitol Hill. I was such a mess.

It was apparent as soon as we walked in the door that my role for the evening was to be Bennet's show pony. He never once told people I was a nurse, never mentioned where I went to school or how we really knew each other. He just flashed me around and kept telling me to have a drink and smile. For the most part, everyone at the luxurious s.h.i.+ndig seemed just as self-absorbed and fake as the good doctor was, so my only saving grace was that no one expected me to say very much. I just nodded and muttered noises that made it sound like I was interested and tried to remember it was just one date and it would be over soon. Sunny would be happy and I could move on with my life.

About an hour in and not only was I sick of spectacle and s...o...b..ating, but I was completely bored out of my mind. I had had two gla.s.ses of champagne that I'm sure was expensive but tasted terrible and decided to go find a bathroom. No one seemed eager to point me in the right direction, so I went off wandering alone. The town house wasn't ma.s.sive, but there were a lot of rooms, and as I was making my way down a hallway I heard high-pitched female laughter coming out of one of them. I was going to stick my head in and ask if I was getting close to my destination, when deja vu kicked my a.s.s right back to my high school days.

"What is up with that girl Andrew brought? I don't think she's said one word all night."

More laughter and I felt something lodge in my throat and my hands curl into fists at my sides.

"Maybe she's slow ... you know, special. Clearly he only brought her because she's young and pretty. He wanted to make Heather jealous, I bet, since she got engaged and Tommy gave her that gigantic rock. I don't think Tommy knows Heather went to Aspen with Andrew a couple weekends ago."

"Like anyone would be jealous of her. She has the conversational skills and IQ level of a hedgehog. What was he thinking?"

A delicate female snort followed by, "She's probably easy, so he was thinking it's New Year's Eve and he wants to get laid. She's a sure thing, I bet."

I couldn't decide if I was more furious or offended. This wasn't how grown people were supposed to act. It was juvenile, it was way too akin to what had made me so quiet and reserved in the first place, and if my date had bothered to treat me as a person rather than an accessory, maybe these strangers wouldn't have any ammunition to lob around like gossipy schoolgirls.

I had reached the end of my tolerance for nonsense. I kept walking down the hall and fished my cell out of my bra, where I had stashed it. Sure, a healthier, more mature response would have been to confront those women, to tell Andrew he was a conceited jacka.s.s, but I was just over it. I was not going to let strangers make me feel bad about myself. I did a bang-up job of that all on my own and at least I had real reasons for not cutting myself any slack. I made a call I should have made over a week ago.

The phone rang and rang and I remembered it was a big party holiday and he was probably out. Out with someone who wasn't me. I held my breath and was about to hang up and call a cab when his deep voice came over the line. He sounded like salvation and temptation all in one word.

"Saint?" He was obviously at a bar or some other place that was loud. There was noise and revelry in the background. Voices screaming, people partying, but the noise was fading as he moved away from it.

"I ... I need a ride. Can you come get me?"

He was quiet on the other end of the line. h.e.l.l, if I was him I would say no to the crazy lady that had left me high and dry and then ignored me all week, but once again Nash was out to prove what I thought I knew and what was actuality were worlds apart.

"Where are you at?"

"I'm at some awful party filled with awful people in Cherry Creek. I'm sorry, I wouldn't ask, but I didn't drive and I'm sort of stuck. I have to get out of here ... please."

He sighed and I could almost see him running his hands over his supershort hair like he did when he was aggravated. His eyes would also be dancing between purple and lilac. I sighed at the mental image involuntarily.

"Text me the address and I'll be there in fifteen."

I let out a relieved breath and pushed my hair off of my face.

"Thank you."

He muttered a dirty word that made me wince and then he sighed again.

"Anything, Saint. Anytime."

The line went dead and I shot him the address. I fully intended to hide in the bathroom until my rescuer showed up, only my none too brilliant plan was thwarted by a knock on the door and my lackl.u.s.ter date calling my name questioningly through the barrier.

"Saint? Are you in there?"

I guess I had been gone long enough for him to notice, or maybe everyone else had grown tired of his monotonous discourse on how amazing he was and he needed me around to feign interest. What a weasel.

"Uh, yeah, give me a second." I washed my hands and gave myself a quick once-over in the mirror. I was paler than normal, but there was no missing that my eyes were glittering back at me with antic.i.p.ation. s.h.i.+t. I wanted to see Nash. Wanted to be near him, wanted to touch him, and he hadn't even questioned why I needed him, so I also wanted to hug him out of pure appreciation.