Take A Chance On Me (A NOLA Heart Novel Book 2) Page 6

  No, but she was embarrassed. As heat climbed her face, Jade wondered if she’d stepped off the deep end. She’d never experienced such an immediate reaction to a man. She wanted his muscular arms wrapped around her waist. She wanted to feel his lips on hers . . . . But she wasn’t looking for a relationship.

  Don’t forget about your mother.

  Lucia was the perfect example of what happened when you let a man get in the way of your dreams. Jade loved her dad, she did, but there was something to be said about how Kevin Harper had married and continued on with his career while Lucia’s dream of becoming a pediatrician faded during the years of skinned knees, birthday parties, and childhood crushes.

  Jade didn’t want that for herself. She had so many plans, so many goals, and the truth of the matter was . . . she’d come to New Orleans looking for a fresh start. Danvers didn’t fit into that equation.

  Stepping back into her apartment, she steeled herself against his sexy charm and made a sweeping motion with her arm. “Welcome.” Her voice was a little too high-pitched to be considered normal. “It’s not big but it’s home.”

  Like a lion stalking its prey, Danvers circled the small living room. Two bare windows on the far side let in some natural light, but the windows were too small to be deemed anything other than quaint.

  “Do you mind if I ask how much your rent is here?”

  Jade planted her hands on her hips. “Thinking about moving in?”

  “Me?” A husky, masculine chuckle left his lips. “Jade, I’m not even sure I could lay down on the floor without my limbs touching the walls.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “Am I?” When he made as though he planned to toe off his shoes and put his theory to the test, Jade stilled him with a hand to his shoulder. The muscles in his arm tightened under her touch, and she wondered if he, too, felt a shock hit his body.

  Jade yanked her hand back. “The apartment’s small, I know, but it was all I could find on short notice.” She paused, eyes skimming the living space she hoped to make into a home. “You’re right, though. My landlord is probably getting a lot more money out of me than the place is worth.”

  “Ah, well, don’t take it too personally. I’m sure it happens to everyone.”

  She cut him a swift glance. “Did it happen to you?”

  Large shoulders rolled up in a shrug. “Well, no. But I happen to know my landlord, and he cut me a sweet deal on my place.”

  “That’s cheating.”

  The grin he gave her was a panty-melter, for sure. “It is a day that ends in Y, isn’t it?”

  Jade rolled her eyes and motioned for him to follow her into the small, galley-style kitchen. “Do you want something to drink before we get started?”

  He paused by the sink, one large hand resting on the countertop. “We?”

  “Yes, we.” Withdrawing two glasses from the cupboard, she poured the two of them some cold lemonade from the fridge. “You didn’t think I was going to let you do everything, did you?”

  He accepted the glass she offered him, murmured his thanks, and said, “I figured you had more unpacking to do.”

  Oh, she had plenty of unpacking left, but she desperately needed a break from organizing. Planting her butt against the counter, she turned to Danvers. Maybe three feet separated them, and she shifted another foot to the right—just to be safe, in case her hormones decided to betray her. She might have moved to New Orleans with the intent of shedding her predictability, but having sex with a guy who was pretty much a stranger didn’t seem like the way to go about doing that.

  “I have a confession,” she said, raising her hand.

  “You didn’t make chocolate-covered strawberries, did you?” The words were said with such an air of casual disappointment that she felt the insane urge to drive to the grocery store and pick up the necessary ingredients.

  “I may have forgotten to make them,” came her awkward admission.

  He nodded slowly, sipping his lemonade, watching her. His gray eyes pinned her in place. “And the pasta?”

  Jade downed the rest of her glass like it was vodka. “Well . . . ”

  “You forgot?”

  Sighing, she put the empty glass in the sink. “I got so wrapped up in unpacking this morning. I feel guilty.”

  He crossed the three-foot wide kitchen and placed his glass next to hers. She felt his nearness like a caress down her spine.

  “You could make it up to me.” His voice came from just over her right shoulder. Her apartment was small enough on its own, but his presence soaked up the extra square footage like it was his right.

  Jade sucked in a rough breath. “Why do I feel like you’re up to no good?”

  There was a small pause, in which she actually heard him stifle a laugh. “I’m always up to good, Jade. It just depends on what type of good we’re talking about.”

  She lifted her gaze to his, not at all surprised to find his slate-gray eyes dancing with mirth. “Didn’t we have this conversation the other day? Except that instead of being good, you were discussing all the ways you could be bad?”

  Twin dimples appeared in his cheeks. “Can’t a man be both? Gotta keep you on your toes.”

  Grab control of yourself, girl. She mentally shook herself. “You’re one of those people, aren’t you?”

  “Which people?” he asked with a tilt of his head. Somehow, as if he’d read her mind and realized that she desperately needed space, he moved back toward the living room.

  Which was small, but at least bigger than the kitchen.

  They came to a stop in the center of the room, amidst all the boxes and the unassembled furniture. Danvers really was too large for the space. Unlike the few New Orleans buildings she’d visited over the last few days, her apartment’s ceilings were not ten feet tall or more—maybe seven and a half, if that. Since Danvers himself was only a foot or so shorter than the ceiling, he’d assumed a perpetual hunched look in his shoulders as though he were nervous about smacking his head against the whirring ceiling fan.

  “Jade?”

  “Yes?”

  “You were saying?”

  Oh, right. “You’re one of those perpetually happy people, aren’t you? The glass half-full types.”

  And then it happened again. Even though his mouth curled in a naughty grin that did funny things to her insides, his gaze cooled. Jade struggled to piece together his carefree smile with the bleak emotion swirling in those gray depths. He was a dichotomy, a puzzle, and Jade loved puzzles. It was why she’d wanted to enter the forensics field in the first place. That, and the thought that even if she was a disappointment to her mother, at least she was making her father proud.

  She wanted to push Danvers for answers. To push him until those walls he held up buckled and caved—not that it was her right to do so. It was weird, totally unfamiliar, but she had the oddest feeling that if she wanted to . . . she could learn this man’s secrets.

  But then Danvers blinked, and it was as though that brief look into his soul hadn’t existed at all. “Have to keep positive,” he said, turning around to face the mess that was her living room with his hands fisted at his hips, “otherwise shit gets too real most days.”

  She had a sneaking suspicion that he thought their conversation was getting too real right now. She didn’t want his guard to go up, and she certainly didn’t want to make him feel as though she was digging for information. Even though she’d been doing just that.

  So, she did what she had to do to keep the moment light, casual.

  “How do you feel about pizza?”

  Chapter Eight

  How did he feel about pizza?

  For the most part, Nathan was a diehard fan. His favorite food group even, especially if the pizza was dressed with Andouille sausage, alligator sausage, and about four different types of cheese. (Most people thought it was the dough that made a standout pizza, but Nathan was convinced that cheese made the difference).

  Still, he wasn’t quite
sure what had brought on the subject change. He closed his eyes. Full disclosure: Nathan wasn’t the “glass half-full” type. Neither was he the half-empty type. End of the day, Nathan didn’t believe in the glass at all. Life could shit on you whether you were the happiest person alive or the most miserable.

  Take Shawna Zeker, for instance. She was as good as good came, but that still hadn’t stopped the rage from sweeping over her body when she discovered her husband cheating. Now the husband was dead, she was locked behind bars, awaiting her first trial, and he bet Shawna had never once thought herself capable of murder.

  When the glass shattered and the liquid spilled, people reacted on human instinct alone. He’d seen it in the Middle East during his military days, and he’d seen it countless times while on the force here in New Orleans.

  But not him—Nathan made sure of it. The laughs, the flirting, the self-deprecating persona . . . His lungs squeezed and his fingers curled into fists at his sides. Yeah. It was a lot easier to pretend that he didn’t have a care in the world than to show that he simply cared too damn much.

  He opened his eyes. Heard his raspy voice over the pounding in his ears. “Pizza’s fine. Do you want to get started on the furniture before we eat?”

  Her dark eyes flicked over him, roaming his face as though trying to decipher his mood. When she gave a little sigh, Nathan figured she’d given up. And that was good, absolutely. His body might crave hers with an alarming immediacy he’d never experienced before with another woman, but that didn’t mean he needed her prodding into his closet of secrets.

  But Jade surprised him.

  Her fingers went to his wrist, her touch light and unassuming. “Do you ever get tired of putting up walls?”

  Heart pumping erratically, Nathan smoothed his breathing and forced himself to take a step back. Away from her touch, away from what she wasn’t offering him—in other words, her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you don’t.” Then she grinned, and he got that feeling again like he was standing too close to the sun. Like this woman was eagerly waiting for him to step out of the shadows and into the light.

  Nathan stared down at her, the flippant words, for once, jammed in his throat.

  Once again, she read his silence to perfection. With a crook of her finger, she said, “All right, follow me. You’re about to be put to work.”

  Work he could handle. Random hookups he could handle. The emotional mess she’d unknowingly tangled him in just now? It was out of his realm of experience, and he wasn’t all that sure he liked it.

  He followed her down a very short hallway that led to the apartment’s only bedroom that wasn’t much bigger than the kitchen. Until now, Nathan had never experienced symptoms of claustrophobia. Standing in her bedroom, he felt very much like a giant pandering around a delicate toy shop. One foot to the right and he might crush a porcelain doll. A shift to the left and, yep, there went a little girl’s tea set.

  He put his hands to his hips and took a look around. “You’ve got a nice stained-glass window in here,” he said with a dip of his chin toward the window in question. It was oval-shaped and maybe twice the size of his hand. Not much natural light, but he guessed that was the purpose of fluorescent bulbs.

  Thank you, Thomas Edison.

  Jade clambered over a box and brushed her finger against the mosaicked glass. “It’s probably my favorite piece in the house.”

  “It’s pretty.” Just like her. Shaking his head from ridiculous thoughts, he found the box holding the bedframe and took out his pocketknife from his shorts. As he sliced the box open, he felt compelled to admit, “It might be the time for me to come clean. I’ve never put a bedframe together. Tables, dressers, I’ve tackled it all. Bedframes not so much.”

  Jade’s laughter was bright as she sat next to him on the floor. “That’s great because neither have I.”

  Nathan held up the direction sheet between his index and middle fingers. “Do you suggest we follow the rules, then? Or should we get adventurous and figure it out on our own?”

  She plucked the paper away from him and flattened it across her lap. “Normally I’d vote for adventure, but sleeping on the floor for another night is not an option. I’ve got a crick in my neck already. Another one and I’ll barely be able to turn my head.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to offer to massage it for her. Except that, no, they weren’t going down that path. Plus, God only knew what Cartwell would do if he found out that his stepson had seduced his best friend’s daughter.

  Nathan liked where his head was—attached to his cock and not in fear of castration.

  “All right, Miss Let’s-Follow-Directions, lead the way.”

  They spent the next hour or so hammering, screwing, and tightening the bedframe into place. Nathan avoided saying anything that sounded remotely sexual—such as inviting her to “hammer his nail” or “screw that one on real tight.”

  They did, however, find themselves deep in the trenches discussing their mutual love for the TV show, The First 48.

  “Did you see that episode where the victim turned out to be the perpetrator’s brother?” Jade asked as she straddled one of the bed rails, her curly hair spilling over her shoulders. She thwacked the hammer against a wooden slat, nailing it into place like a pro. Damn, but she was sexy as all hell. She continued between thwacks from the hammer, “Usually I can see twists like that coming from a mile away but not that one.”

  Seated on the floor with his legs sprawled out before him, Nathan worked on securing the bedposts. At some point, the directions had gone MIA. He shoved his hair back from his face and looked at the woman pounding away at a nail like it was the most fun she’d ever had. “You do realize that describes almost every episode, right?”

  “Not true.” Pointing the tool in his direction, it bobbed slightly before she adjusted her grip. “What about the episode where the stepfather pled innocent but turned out to be guilty for murdering his stepson and wife?”

  “I’m sorry, just about every other episode, then.”

  She laughed. “Do you ever wonder why police departments even let shows like that follow their employees?”

  “Free marketing.” Nathan shifted across the floor to the other bedpost. “Think about it. All you have to do is let a camera crew hang around for a bit, and people will see it all on TV. If you’re hoping to increase your recruitment numbers, it’s a great method for showing possible applicants not only the nature of the job but the work environment, too.”

  “Is that why you joined the NOPD?” With her head tilted down, she spoke through the dark curtain of her hair. His fingers itched to slip the curly tangles behind her ear. “Or was it because of your stepfather?”

  Neither.

  He sat up, bending one leg up to rest his wrist across the knee. “I was a marine, originally.”

  Her face jerked up. “You were?”

  “A sniper.” The rough admission surged from somewhere deep in his chest. He’d been discharged from the military for almost eight years now, and yet he rarely spoke of his time in the USMC. Sometimes he did so with the vets at the V.A., but even then he usually took the passive approach and listened to their stories, their struggles. His words, his wounds, his worries, remained a festering injury he kept locked tight. “Was a spotter at first, but I’m from Louisiana.”

  Her brows drew together. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “I guess it’s got less to do with Louisiana and more to do with the South just in general. It’s sorta just assumed that we’re all good marksmen. Hunters from birth or some shi—thing.”

  She smiled at his slip up. “I’m not a delicate flower, Danvers. Feel free to curse in front of me. I won’t shatter.”

  “My mom would kill me.”

  “And you always do what your mom says?” Whether she’d meant to or not, the question bordered the line of flirtation—and Nathan liked it. He liked it a lot, but the vibe he got from her was
friendly while not necessarily being friendly. Or, rather, not the kind of friendly he preferred, since it involved two naked bodies and a flat surface.

  He watched silently as she threw one long leg over the bed railing and stood, using the hammer against her knees as leverage. After a quick survey of the newly built bedframe, Jade looked to him, a sheepish expression on her face.

  “Okay, confession time,” she said, “I almost always do what my mom says.”

  Nathan lifted a brow. “Almost?”

  Her sheepish expression morphed into something that looked a lot more like guilt. “Well, I-I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I’m pretty sure I let my mom down big time by not being anything at all like my sisters.”

  He couldn’t imagine Jade disappointing anyone. She was . . . vivacious. Yeah, that was the perfect word for her. Bright and lively and so damn beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. Too vivacious for him; his good humor was nothing more than a front. Didn’t stop him from wanting to tumble her into a bed and steal pockets full of that sunshine for himself, though.

  “What are your sisters like?” he asked, digging his socked feet into the rough carpet to keep himself from going to her. “Short?”

  Her full, luscious mouth twitched. “We’re all about the same height.”

  Nathan pretended to tick off a box from an imaginary checklist. “All right, we’ll scratch that off.” He narrowed his eyes on her playfully. “You got a blonde sister running around?”

  This time, a bubble of laughter escaped her. “Rita, the oldest, she’s a bit blonde—but it’s definitely not real, I’ll tell you that.”

  With satisfaction humming through his veins, Nathan ticked off another invisible box. “Okay, let’s have it then. You’re you and your sisters are . . . Fill in the blank for me.”

  The tip of her nose scrunched, like she was giving the question her all. “My sisters are just like Lizzie.”

  Well, he hadn’t expected that one. Scratching at his chin, he tried to cover up his confusion with a one-liner. “So, obnoxious as all hell?”