Like to Get to Know You Well

Kick

It was the first morning in a long while I didn’t fight waking up. I couldn’t tell if it was the light on my eyelids that brought me to consciousness or the gentle caress to my shoulders. I stretched and smiled, keeping my eyes closed on the chance this was one of my lucid dreams. A dream had never surrounded me with such a delicious cedar-and-citrus scent though—in the sheets, the quilt, and especially potent from behind me. This was definitely real. A wonderful, new reality.

A stronger ray of sunlight pried its way through my lids, startling me. It was too bright. I bolted up to a sitting position.

“Whoa.” Thomas chuckled, raising his hand. “Bad dream, darlin’?” His tone shifted from surprise to concern.

He had to stop it before I fell hard. We may have taken the next step by sleeping together, but we had made no commitments. We’d certainly hadn’t declared any vows.

I reminded myself to slow the hell down as I shook my head. “No, sweets, I’m late. Liam—”

“Has the day off and stayed at Dylan’s.”

I let out a long breath. “Right. It’s a teacher workday.” The previous day’s disaster washed over me like a flash flood—the Halloween party, the panic, Jonn Graham. Thomas too. I turned fully to him as a smile stretched across my face. I couldn’t help it. He’d been… everything. Darn him and his chin. Oh hell, the shoulders too. And other things. A big, beautiful…

“You’re adorable.” Thomas’s hand slid up my arm and took hold of a curl. A fuzzy one.

I let out a squeak and grabbed my hair, trying to squish the mess down. “Jaysus, I must look a fright.” No one saw me before I’d fixed myself in the bathroom. Not anymore.

“Did I not say you’re adorable?”

“Thomas,” I scolded then figured I should explain. “I forgot to bring a silk pillow or a head wrap. Hell, I didn’t even put it up in a pineapple.” I pulled my curls over my shoulder but could only see the ends. Messy, fuzzy ends. The curly police would arrest me for hair abuse.

I slid my leg out from under the covers and quickly swept my toes over the floor, hoping to grab my nightshirt. Thomas noticed and stretched across me, his brow lifted in the way it did when I confused him. So much for being stealthy.

“Don’t cover yourself around me.” He nudged the quilt and let his eyes sweep over what he revealed. “I like the view.”

“I planned to wrap my hair in it.”

Thomas reached for my temple and pulled his fingers through the rat’s nest. I squealed and gasped at the same time. It was a sound of equal parts surprise, pain, and anger. I grabbed my head. “You broke curly girl rule number one, pal. Plus, ouch!”

He blushed and rolled back to his side, contrition already in place. “I’m sorry. I’ve been wanting to do that forever. Guess I got carried away.”

He had the nerve to grin at me like a little kid about to descend the stairs on Christmas morning. He had told me no other women had spent the night in his home. Something about that made me want to grin too.

“Will you want to shower?”

“Now that you’ve turned me into a backup dancer for a disco band?” I laughed. “Yeah, I could shower.”

Thomas’s head tilted like a puppy’s. “A backup dancer, huh? Should make you perform for those bathroom privileges.”

It was then I noticed Thomas wore a T-shirt and pajama pants. Plus his hair was damp. I grabbed his jaw and turned it to the side. “You’re shaved. And showered.”

He lifted a shoulder. “I woke early and worked out. Wasn’t about to slip back into bed all sweaty.”

“Oh.” I bit my lip. “Thank you. You didn’t wake me though.”

He kissed my forehead. “Not on your life. Yesterday sucked. Plus you looked too peaceful to wake.” He whispered in my ear, “I may have felt bad for keeping you up late. I was afraid you might be… sore.”

My eyes flashed wide with embarrassment. I hadn’t thought of that. I managed a discreet stretch. He had a point.

“A little. My bladder’s hollering though. Would you mind getting my scrunchie while I use the bathroom? It’s on the hope chest at the foot of the bed in the guest room.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Thomas chuckled. “I don’t even know where my wallet and keys are.”

I shrugged. The kids always called me their LoJack. “I guess I’m just a mom. You left your stuff on top of the dryer in the mudroom, by the way.”

He bobbed his head and laughed. “Impressive, darlin’. I’ll be right back.”

Thomas

Thomas tapped a knuckle on the door to his bathroom. He carried a mug of coffee for him and a glass of lemon water for Kick.

A gentle “Come on in,” lifted his spirit. Since he’d woke, his emotions had run the gamut. One minute Thomas freaked out to the point of a near panic attack. Thank Christ for a fierce workout to set that straight. Anytime he returned to Kick, his heart soared like a lovesick kid, something he’d never been.

He’d loved his late wife, Alicia, but their relationship had started off as a beneficial arrangement. He had considered her pretty face and pleasant personality a bonus—luck, really. When she died, Thomas discovered how much he’d truly lost.

Thomas straightened his spine and figured he’d simply been alone too long. His mind returned to his early-morning meditation when he determined to focus on the moment. It was all anyone could count on anyway.

He stepped onto the tiled floor and quickly shut the door to keep the heat in. “Here’s your lemon water.”

Kick’s face lit up. “Ooh, thank you. I’m parched.” She took a long drink, and Thomas watched the muscles in her throat work. His own mouth went dry as he thought about licking her there. Her neck had to be one of her sexiest parts. He took a deep inhale to settle himself.

“Mind if I sit?” He tipped his head toward the covered commode.

“Not at all. It takes a few minutes to bring my curls into submission…” Kick giggled as if she’d made a joke. “Like this hair ever submits. We should plan out the day anyway.”

Thomas sat and took a sip of his coffee, fascinated by the sight before him. Kick made a simple satin, cream bikini and bra set look like goddess attire.

She bent her head into the shower area and squeezed her hair with a T-shirt. He’d never known anyone to do that unless no towels were handy, but he’d given her a stack. She pressed and squeezed two different products through her hair then stood, moved to the sink counter, arranging her gelled curls over the T-shirt and intricately wrapping everything up on top of her head with a clip of some sort.

She caught Thomas’s gaze in the mirror and smiled. “What?”

He blinked himself from his stupor. “What the hell did you just do?”

Kick pointed at each of the bottles. “One’s a filler. The other is a fabulous flaxseed gel. It seals more or less.” Her finger tipped up to her head. “I plunked everything into my hair T-shirt to let it set while I finish getting ready.”

“A hair T-shirt?”

Kick bit her lip. “A regular towel frizzes my hair with one touch. I guess your gorgeous, straight locks couldn’t care less, could they?”

“A vigorous scrub and comb and I’m done.”

“Wow.” She studied Thomas with what looked like envy.

“How did you figure all this out?” he asked, after taking a long pull of his coffee and absorbing the new information.

“Ah, well. Bloggers, mostly, until they became fanatical. Then I experimented on my own. My hair is super porous. Not all curlies are. Those lucky ducks. At least the humid part of the year is over.”

“Must be hell,” Thomas muttered.

Kick shrugged like it was the least of her problems. Considering everything he knew about her, Thomas guessed it was. “Great products and a good cut are my friends.”

She stepped in front of Thomas and sifted her fingers through his hair. If he’d been a cat, Thomas would’ve purred for her. Kick arranged his hair, putting it back the way she’d found it, like she was careful to respect the way he’d styled it, though he’d never been a man who’d styled his hair. Or he hadn’t been in a long time. Her fingers slowly slid along his jaw as she eased away from him and over to her open suitcase on the bed.

After Thomas had left to grab her hair thing from the guest room, he’d brought everything back with him. Not only didn’t he want Kick running back and forth between rooms, but he also liked the idea of her living in his space with him, even if only for a few hours. His constant delight at entering the room and seeing her there was changing something inside him, though he couldn’t admit it.

Thomas sat in a wing-backed chair by the big window and watched Kick dress in a pair of jeans and a Perked Cup T-shirt with a plaid flannel over it. As much as he’d enjoyed every second of her striptease the night before, watching her move into clothing pleased him too. He’d liked watching her do pretty much anything so far. Damn, he might’ve been in trouble.

He stood as Kick removed the clip and T-shirt from her head, then hung it up in the bathroom. She returned with perfectly formed coils gently framing her face.

“Think I’ll let as much of it air-dry as it can while I make us breakfast, okay?”

Thomas shook his head. “What?”

“Is it okay? With the long day ahead, I don’t know when I’ll be able to thank you for… everything.” She dipped her head and blushed. “Breakfast isn’t much, but I want to do something.”

Thank him? Thomas should show his gratitude for the best night he could remember. He should’ve been bowing down and kissing her bare feet in supplication. She’d opened her heart and soul, gave Thomas everything while previous commitments forced him to hold back. He was so used to it that only a part of him cared. That part cared a helluva lot though.

Kick added, “We’ll need a proper breakfast today.”

No doubt. The day would be long and hard. Thomas made a mental note to see if he could have dinner delivered to Kick and Liam and anyone else helping her sort through the chaos at the Perked Cup.

Kick moved some items around in her suitcase. Thomas’s brow pinched. Part of him wished she could place it all in the closet. Permanently. He pushed the thought aside. No matter what, his commitment to the research couldn’t stray.

“What would you like to eat?” Kick asked. “Or maybe I should ask what you have.”

Just then, Thomas’s phone buzzed with a text message. He stopped and swiped it open. It proved his point… “This is the lab. I should call in.”

“Of course.”

Thomas shooed her on. “The kitchen’s yours to peruse. Anything you make will be wonderful.”

“I don’t know, professor. I make some weird shit nowadays.” Kick’s laugh sounded like an angel’s, or his head was loopy from the orgasms.

She was out in the hall before he could answer her nonthreat. Thomas chuckled as he dialed the phone. The check-in with reality was exactly what he needed to keep his head—and heart—from getting caught up in her.

Kick

A gallery of old photos on the second floor slowed my progress to the kitchen. The wooden frames varied in size, texture, and tint, but they all enhanced the black-and-white pictures. One photo was in the nineteenth-century style where the subjects had to stand perfectly posed for several minutes and didn’t smile. The men in it looked like legit miners. I wondered if they were from the California gold rush.

Another photograph showed a gorgeous woman standing in front of a boutique in a big city. Based primarily on my recollection of art history and design, I guessed the time frame to be around World War II. I wondered who the woman had been to Thomas. A great-grandmother, perhaps?

The pictures told a story of time, moving all the way to the 1970s, given the size of the shirt collar on the last one. What a treasure. These had to be members of Thomas’s family. I wanted to ask him about it, but he paced in front of his bedroom window, deep in conversation with whoever had texted from his lab.

I hoped someday to have walls done like this in a future home, though my pictures couldn’t go back farther than the one Bobby had of her father in his World War II RAF uniform, looking proud and defiant for his controversial service.

My stomach grumbled, reminding me of my mission. I hoped I could have breakfast ready by the time Thomas came down.

“Surely this isn’t all for me.” Thomas chuckled as I set a frittata on the kitchen island. Still sizzling in the cast-iron skillet, I sliced it up and served him a piece.

“Eat as much as you want and save the rest for later.” I sat in front of my plate with a boring omelet on it.

“Kick,” he drawled. “You didn’t have to do all this, especially when yours is so…”

“Wanting?” I laughed. Once again, I reminded myself that a little dietary pain now would pay off soon enough if I could keep making progress in my health journey. I waved off Thomas’s concern. “I used some of the same veggies in your frittata for my plate.” I shrugged. “The other things simply aren’t allowed right now. Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, hell,” he mumbled, then took a bite. “Good Christ, darlin’ this is amazing. Now I feel like a heel.”

“Stop,” I warned, then laughed at his pinched brow. “I’ll have the rest of my life to eat cheese and ham. As long as they’re organic, of course.”

Thomas must have put together how his ingredients didn’t meet the organic requirement and grimaced. “Well, shit.”

I bumped his shoulder, still smiling at him. “Just shut up and eat.”

A buzzing from Thomas’s jeans pocket caught our attention. “Oh right.” He pulled the phone out—my phone—and set it on the counter. “You received a few alerts while I was talking to my assistant.”

I swiped it awake and saw several texts from Cyndi, each one more manic than the last. “Crap. Cyn’s freaking out about yesterday.”

The last one said: If you don’t text soon, I’ll hunt you down!!

Me: Sorry, chica! Finishing b’fast. I’ll call ASAP.

I shoveled the last two bites of omelet and said, “I need to call her.”

“Go. I’ll clean up here.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Thank you for making all this for me.”

As if I hadn’t spent years making separate meals for the kids and me. I mean, as much as I could, I made one meal for all of us, but autoimmune diets aren’t something you just subject to healthy, growing kids, especially when they’re teens.

I caressed Thomas’s jaw and bit my lip, fighting the pull to fall hard for his concern. It wasn’t who we were. To avoid the gratitude in his eyes, I threw it back at him. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” I placed a quick peck on his nose. “This was nothing.”

I fished my earpiece out of my purse and said, “I’ll call Cyndi from the bedroom while I pack.”

“What on Earth happened yesterday? I can’t believe I had to learn about it on the community page this morning.”

I winced at Cyndi’s words. “Do I even want to know what’s being said on there?”

“No,” she clipped. “Stay off the site. In fact, just wait until I tell you it’s okay again.”

JaysusMaryandJoseph. “There went my joy bubble. I guess real life had to break it soon anyway.”

“Yeah, about that,” Cyndi started. “The boys said you’re at the professor’s.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Annd…,” she prodded, but I kept mum. “Come on, Kick. Is it a ‘love shack’ situation?”

“What? No. It’s a rather pretty farmhouse—”

Cyndi’s timbre changed to what I imagined a phone sex worker might sound like. “Chica, I want to know if the tin roof’s still rusted.” Keeping with the B-52’s theme, her meaning finally clicked.

“Ah, no. I guess it’s not.” I collected my shower items and dried them with a towel.

Cyndi’s squeal over the phone nearly burst my eardrum. “Woo-hoo!” Thankfully, she resumed her normal tone. “How are you doing?”

I dropped the bottles into a ziplock bag. “Fine? Why?”

“Kicky…” She chided me. My name from her mouth told me everything she’d been thinking. Whether I’d been overthinking and planning a life with Thomas. She knew me enough to run the gamut of my emotions without my saying them.

Still in denial, I lightened my voice and deflected while placing the bag in my suitcase. “I swear everything’s fine.” I almost believed it.

“Shit. You’ve gone off the deep end.” I opened my mouth to respond, but she jumped in first. “Just listen. You’re in my territory now. I’m super proud of you, by the way. Anyhoo, make sure you keep your head. Don’t make any big declarations—you haven’t made any, have you?”

I gathered up my discarded nightshirt. “No, but—”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

I threw it on top of yesterday’s clothes and dropped into one of the wing-backed chairs. I wanted to sink inside its comfort, and I swore it would have let me. To be honest, I could see myself living with Thomas in his farmhouse, with his handcrafted furniture, beautiful photo galleries, and his gratitude for a simple breakfast. My heart had already jumped, as Cyndi put it. “I’m confused,” I confessed.

“I know, chica,” she soothed. Then, as if she were imparting a lifetime’s worth of wisdom, which I guess she was, she said, “You two have such an easy chemistry, it’s probably hard to understand how rare it is. I really wish you could go on a string of crappy online dates, but we can’t turn back time. So, no matter what, keep your feelings to yourself for now. Trust me.”

“You know how much I hate games.” I stood and resumed packing. Her words made me antsy.

“I’m talking about your heart, Kicky, not games. You’ve moved fast physically, for you. It’s perfectly fine to keep your heart at a slower pace. In fact, I insist upon it. You’ve been meditating, right?”

JaysusMaryandJoseph. Why did everyone care about my meditation habits? “Yes,” I grumbled.

“Then you understand living in the moment. Practice it with Thomas. Don’t look down the road, just keep your eyes right in front of you, so to speak. And receive as many orgasms as that man wants to give you.”

I laughed at the advice, though it made a world of sense. It calmed the butterflies in my stomach too, meaning it hit the spot.

I folded my suitcase over and zipped it up. “Thank you for talking me off a cliff I didn’t know I stood on.”

“Anytime, chica. Call me when you get home? I want to know all the things about the attack. The professor too, unless you’ll be having another sexfest tonight.”

“No.” I laughed. “I’ll be home. I’ll call.”

Thomas

“I wish you’d have let me bring that down for you,” Thomas said as Kick rolled her suitcase over to the mudroom.

“If it had been too heavy to carry, I promise I’d have asked. I’m no martyr, Thomas.” She walked to the kitchen and opened cabinet doors.

Good to know he thought, but simply nodded. “You’re looking for…”

“A water bottle. You have any? I left mine in my office.” Then she mumbled, “I’d kill for an Americano right now.”

Thomas didn’t know what to do with the uncomfortable feeling he had anytime Kick brought up her eating restrictions. He hated the idea of her watching others eat—or in this case drink—something she couldn’t have. Yet he also knew she’d notice if he dumped his thermos of coffee in the sink just to show solidarity. He moved to the cabinet below the coffee station and pulled out a stainless steel bottle. “I only use it for water.”

She sighed in relief. “Thank you so much.” She filled it with ice, water, and a squeeze of lemon before sitting on a barstool next to Thomas. He was checking the lab schedule on his laptop, hoping he could get more time with Kick. “Shit, it’s getting late,” she muttered. “I don’t even have time to swing by the house for a quick yoga session.”

Thomas gestured toward the stairs. “There’s a workout room upstairs. You could do it here.”

She rechecked her phone. “Nope. There’s still not enough time. Thank you though.”

“Anytime.” He turned his chin and flashed Kick a quick smile, not thinking about how much he enjoyed having her in his house. Nope.

Kick took a long pull from the water bottle and sighed, looking refreshed by the water. Maybe she wasn’t craving caffeine as much as Thomas had thought.

“Speaking of upstairs, I love your photo gallery.”

Thomas jerked at Kick’s words, then hoped she didn’t notice. After the close call with Presley, he’d thought about taking the pictures down, but he’d been too busy. Plus no one ever saw them except the cleaning crew. Until now. “Thanks.”

“I loved the one of the woman in front of the boutique. Was she a grandmother? Great-grand? I mean, I presume the photos are of family, right?”

Thomas closed his eyes, not knowing if he’d dodged another bullet or not. He didn’t want to talk about the photos. They were on the walls for him. So he wouldn’t forget the past. They pushed him forward too. He definitely hadn’t thought about them when Kick needed his support and safety.

Thomas cleared his throat. “She was a family friend.”

“When was it taken? And where? The store looks glamorous. Was it hers?”

Christ, he almost bit her head off, regretting ever putting them up. They lived in the part of him he couldn’t share. “Late ’30s, I think. New York, I believe. It was her shop.” There. He answered and hoped like hell Kick would let it drop.

“What about the Depression?” Kick asked, her brow pinching.

Damn her curiosity. “Money wasn’t an issue.” Thomas shrugged. “She could afford to wait it out. The war too.”

“Huh. Fascinating.” She smiled and shook her head. Kick got up and refilled the bottle.

Thankful she hadn’t pressed. Thomas returned to his laptop and powered it down. He’d hoped to sneak up to the third floor and message Grand-père but figured he shouldn’t risk it. Kick’s poking-around habit would probably lead her right up to his sanctum. He had to stay mindful of security. The Presley thing made him jumpy.

Or he’d become too complacent, thinking Banger had everything handled.

Or he wanted an excuse to think about anything other than the woman in his kitchen. He knew better than to let his heart run amuck, but Christ how it wanted to. The damn thing was annoying him. He didn’t want it pitting him against his commitments to the Felidae.

Kick sauntered over to Thomas and stepped in between his legs. She wrapped her arms around his neck, sifted her fingers through his hair. “Before we head out and go our separate ways, I wanted to do this one more time.” She leaned in and kissed him. Her sigh did him in.

Without breaking the kiss, Thomas stood and lifted Kick onto the counter. He set one hand next to her thigh, the other at the back of her head, and kissed her thoroughly. It was all he’d meant to do. The next thing he knew, he’d removed the soft, pink-and-gray flannel and Kick’s T-shirt.

She didn’t complain, so Thomas unclipped her bra and slid the straps down with his nose. His hands were busy with her jeans—and his own. For a brief second, he noted their location and knew he’d never see his kitchen the same way again.

Kick didn’t protest though. Her forest-green eyes hazed over with the same lust he figured shown in his. Her soft lips and sweet gasps quieted Thomas’s noisy thoughts. This was what Kick did for him. He hoped he did the same, as he pressed into her. Her back arched as a sweet smile spread across her face. And his weary mind finally rested awhile.