In His Kiss (Love On The North Shore Book 4) Page 10

  “Buddy?” he said, sounding insulted.

  “Pretty please with sugar on top? Is that better?”

  “A little.”

  Mon dieu! He was pushing her buttons this morning. “It’s killing me. Please tell me.”

  He pulled an envelope from his back jeans pocket. “Thought we’d visit the Museum of Fine Arts first. Later we’ll check in to the Hilltop Hotel.”

  She opened her mouth, prepared to protest, but he held up his hands before she said anything. “Don’t worry, I got a room with two queen beds. Dinner reservations are at five.”

  Ella thought about pinching herself. He’d booked a room with two beds? Maybe something in his head had changed while she’d been gone.

  “Then we’ve got tickets to see Sleeping Beauty performed at the Boston Opera House. I have no idea if our seats are any good or not. The woman at the ticket office said they were.”

  “The ballet?” Yep, it was official. Aliens had abducted him and left behind a replica. “Striker, you hate the ballet. Like hate with a capital H. You refused to see The Nutcracker with me last year. I went with my sister instead, remember?”

  He handed her the envelope and then gripped her shoulders. “But you don’t. This weekend is all about you. Next time we’ll do something we both like.”

  Wow, he was trying hard. He’d asked for a chance to prove he loved her, and so far he was doing his damnedest. “Guess I should pack something for tonight, then.”

  “Hey, if you want to go to the ballet wearing what you’ve got on and sleep naked, I’m good with that. Especially the sleeping naked part.” He winked at her and smiled.

  That sounded more like Striker. Maybe aliens had just played with his brain a little rather than leave a replacement in his place. “Dream away about that, buddy, while I grab some stuff.”

  ***

  Founded in 1870 and opened in 1876, the Museum of Fine Arts, better known as the MFA by most New Englanders, had grown significantly over the years. Today, the popular museum on Huntington Avenue was the largest museum in New England, and the fourth-largest museum in the United States.

  Ella’s first visit occurred in high school as part of a field trip to the city. Since then she’d made numerous visits, and doubted she’d even remotely come close to seeing everything housed inside. According to the last informational brochure she’d read, the museum collection contained around 450,000 different items. The number didn’t include the visiting exhibits featured for limited periods during the year. And while she’d visited many museums in and around Boston, she loved the MFA more than any other. Unlike some museums, the MFA featured everything from Egyptian artifacts to French Impressionist paintings. There weren’t too many places that could say the same.

  “The first and last time I came here, I was in high school,” Striker said as they entered the building via the Huntington Avenue entrance.

  “Eleventh grade field trip, right?” Junior year of high school had been all about US history and US literature. A trip to Boston, the heart of the American Revolution, had fit right in. “Went on the same field trip my junior year. That was the first time I came, too.”

  After purchasing tickets for admission, Striker grabbed a museum map, which also contained a listing of the visiting exhibits, from a stand and handed it to her. “They still bring the eleventh grade into Boston. I’ve heard the players talk about it. Don’t know if they come here anymore.”

  Unlike at the block party, he took her hand right away as they passed by the stairs and kept walking toward the rotunda. Sunday, she would’ve considered tugging her hand away. Now she gave his hand a squeeze, the feel of his palm against hers natural and reassuring.

  “I know you’ve come a lot, so I’ll follow your lead. Where to first?” He stopped in the center of the rotunda.

  She looked at the various categories of art listed on the map, even though she had them memorized. “How ’bout we start with some ancient art? Most of it’s on this level. There’s some upstairs, too.” She hadn’t visited the ancient art section in a while.

  “Ancient as in Egyptian stuff? Sure, why not.”

  Ella stuffed the map into her shoulder bag and turned left. “There are many Egyptian pieces, but also several other collections. Ten altogether, I think. My favorite is the Greek Mythology collection.”

  Striker didn’t say much as they viewed the various sculptures and other artifacts on display. Some dated back thousands of years, and each piece gave visitors a tiny glimpse into the past.

  “Saturn. Even I’ve heard of him.” Striker stopped in front of a small statue depicting the Roman god. “Looks like he had a rough day.” At some point before coming to reside in the museum the statue had lost both its arms, and there was damage to the face.

  Ella pointed toward the plaque listing details about the piece. “It was made around the year 190 AD. That’s almost two thousand years of wear and tear. Let’s see how good you look in a few thousand years.” She took his hand this time and started walking. She’d like to see at least one more section of the museum before they left. “Let’s head over and see the Art of the Americas. It’s spread out on all the floors, so we can start on this level and either go up or down stairs.”

  No longer satisfied with only holding her hand, he threw his arm across her shoulders and pulled her tightly against his side. “You’re in charge in here.” He kissed her temple. The feel of his lips and warm breath against her skin excited her more than a simple kiss should. If her body kept responding like this to each kiss or brief touch, she’d find herself joining Striker in bed tonight. Naked. And they wouldn’t be sleeping.

  They checked out part of the Americas collection on the second level, and headed downstairs to where other pieces of the exhibit were on display.

  “This stuff is much different than the ancient pieces,” Striker said. He’d kept his arm around her shoulders the entire time they walked around. She didn’t plan on telling him to move it.

  “That’s one of the reasons I love this museum. There’s a ton of variety. Some museums contain nothing but paintings or contemporary pieces. Here, we can see everything.” She stopped near the glass-enclosed courtyard housing the New American Café. “We can even grab a drink, and I think a caramel latte is calling my name right now. A slice of apple crisp with vanilla ice cream, too.”

  “Hey, if you want dessert before lunch I’m not going to stop you.” He stepped forward, his arm slipping off her shoulders. Her body instantly missed the weight and warmth of his arm around her. “And I promise not to tell Claire.” He opened the door and waited for her to enter.

  “Between taking care of my niece and being pregnant, my sister has more important things to worry about than whether I’m eating healthily or not.”

  ***

  Although not the most expensive hotel in Boston, the Hilltop was nice. He’d picked it partially for that reason. He’d also settled on it because when she’d surprised him with tickets to see his favorite band, she’d booked them a room there. Back then they’d had a room with a king-size bed, not the two queens before him now. When he’d called the hotel, he’d considered getting them two separate rooms, but he’d already spent a lot on the ballet tickets, and his budget prevented him from getting more than one room if he also hoped to take her to Legal Crossing tonight for dinner.

  He’d learned that, depending on her plans, Ella took a long time getting ready. Today he’d planned accordingly. “We’ve got more than an hour before dinner. I thought I’d go for a quick swim while you get ready.” She wouldn’t want him in the room while she changed. And it probably wasn’t the safest place for him to be anyway. Seeing her in various states of undress would only make his burning need worse. Even having a bed and her in the same room was killing him. He prayed the hotel kept their indoor pool very cool, because he needed it.

  “Perfect. I can take a quick shower.”

  If anyone needed a shower, he did. An ice-cold shower in a well air-conditioned ba
throom with lots of fans going. Either that, or a nice long soak in an ice bath.

  Striker got his bathing suit from his overnight bag. “Let me change and I’ll go.”

  The bathroom contained all the usual hotel amenities as well as extra-large towels for the pool. After changing, he grabbed one and carried his clothes back into the room.

  “Have a nice swim,” Ella said. She sat on the bed, looking through the hotel magazine that had been left on the nightstand.

  Alone with Ella and a bed. Yeah, he hadn’t thought this one through. Too bad the hotel didn’t have an outdoor pool, as those were always cooler than their indoor counterparts.

  Striker wrapped the towel around his waist. He’d rather not announce to the entire hotel that he had an erection that wouldn’t quit.

  The pool, along with the hotel’s excuse for a gym and a hot tub, were all located on the ground floor… meaning he could avoid the lobby. Although not huge, the pool was big enough to swim some laps and, best of all, the area remained empty. After a quick and thankfully chilly rinse, he got into the pool. Then all hell broke loose.

  A mom armed with colorful balloons and a bakery box came in. Ten or so loud giggling girls followed right behind her, each one dressed in a swimsuit. A man, perhaps the woman’s husband, as well as a hotel employee brought up the rear. One carried a stack of wrapped presents while the other had several pizza boxes.

  “Like you were told on the phone, we can’t close the pool for the party. However, few guests use it at this time of day.” The hotel employee set down the pizzas on a table.

  “Any guests will take one look at this crew and run,” the man said, earning him a nod of agreement from the woman.

  Great timing. No way was he sticking around here surrounded by all these giggling preteens.

  Before he got both feet on the ladder, a girl cannonballed into the pool. Others followed her lead.

  He knocked on their room door rather than risk walking in on a naked Ella, an event his body couldn’t handle. When she didn’t respond, he used his room key. The bathroom door remained closed. Striker knocked on it, too, so she’d know he was in the room and not walk out in nothing but a towel. Or, worse, completely naked. The sound of the shower running was the only response, and Striker groaned as various images of Ella naked and wet formed. They’d showered together more than once, so he knew just what she looked like with water streaming down her breasts and taut stomach. She liked to wash her arms first. Or have him wash them first. His palms itched at the memories. After her arms, she’d lather up her legs. Rather than bend down to get her calves, she propped her foot on the side of the tub, except for when he’d been with her. Then he’d knelt before her and rested her foot on his thigh. He’d always started at her ankle and worked up, usually giving the spot between her thighs some extra-special attention.

  Thanks to walking around in a wet bathing suit, his erection had diminished. Now it pulsed painfully again.

  The bathroom door opened and steam billowed out. Ella followed, dressed in only a light tan strapless bra and lacy blue hip-hugging panties. A single drop of water streamed down her chest, disappearing under the bra, but Striker could picture the water running down her breasts to her nipple. A few droplets of water clung to her stomach and thighs. Her bright purple toenails stood out against the dark gray rug.

  “Striker!” Her eyes got wide and she stepped forward. “You said you were going swimming. What are you doing back already?”

  “Got kicked out by a birthday party. I knocked on the door… guess you didn’t hear me.”

  “I didn’t hear anything.” She picked up her brush and started combing her towel-dried hair. “That stinks about the pool. Who’d have a birthday party here?”

  He’d seen women wear bathing suits that covered less than her bra and panties. Still, the sight of her was driving him mad. And as much as he enjoyed looking at her, it’d be better for them both if she pulled her dress on and covered up some of her body. Either that or he got the hell out of Dodge. “You done in the bathroom? I need a shower.”

  “Yeah, I need to comb my hair. I can do that out here. When you’re done, I’ll put on my makeup,” she said, standing there as if she were in shorts and a T-shirt instead of her underwear.

  Damn, is she trying to kill me? Was it possible she didn’t know how turned on he was already? Striker grabbed his underwear and suit pants, and then made his retreat.

  Ella bit on her lip until she heard the bathroom door close behind her. When she heard the click of the lock, she smiled. She’d been surprised when she came out and found Striker sitting on his bed. The idea of running back and grabbing a dry towel skipped into her head and right out. She’d worn a bikini that covered less around him. But that wasn’t the only reason she kept right on talking without trying to cover up. No, she stood there because of Striker. He’d taken his time raking his eyes across her body, his discomfort and frustration written on his face. He wanted her.

  She knew it was mean and something she shouldn’t have done, but she’d wanted to see how he’d react. Would he try to convince her having sex was a good idea? If he did, would he get angry if she refused? Or would he respect her desire to be in control?

  He’d reacted by removing himself as quickly as possible without even a kiss. Another part of the barrier she’d built around her heart slipped. Maybe their relationship did have a chance. Cat and Kelsey both seemed to think so. Perhaps they were wiser than she.

  The water in the bathroom turned off, kicking Ella into gear. Before Striker came out, she should slip on her dress.

  She’d bought the teal keyhole-neck sleeveless sheath dress in February. With Striker away for work, she’d called Cat and they’d hit the Natick Collection. They’d spent most of the day there shopping, and they’d both bought way more than they needed. If she hadn’t found the gown she’d worn to Jessie’s wedding in Paris, she would’ve worn this one to her friend’s wedding. Maybe she’d wear it to Sean’s wedding next weekend. Cutting off the tags, she stepped into the dress and zipped it up.

  Striker entered the room, a plume of steam behind him. “Good, you’re dressed.”

  She heard the relief in his voice, and both guilt and humor washed over her. I really shouldn’t have done that to him. “I need maybe another fifteen minutes for my hair and makeup.”

  “You look fantastic to me.”

  He stopped inches away from her, the heat from his naked torso crossing through her dress and scorching her breasts. Her nipples hardened and pressed against her bra. As if controlled by a puppeteer, she reached out and touched his chest. The hard muscles tensed under her hand. “Thank you.” She leaned closer, her attention locked on his lips.

  Perhaps sensing her intent, he slipped both hands under her hair and cradled her head. “For what?”

  “This weekend. You were right. I love it.” Before he responded, she set her lips against his. Gently she coaxed his lips apart before slipping her tongue inside.

  She kissed him for as long as she dared. Not because she feared what he might do, but what she might do. Already her nipples begged for his tongue, and she ached between her legs. If she kissed him any longer, she’d undo the button on his pants and slide down the zipper. They were both more than ready. His erection pressed against her and she was wet.

  “I really need to get my hair up. And you need to finish getting dressed.” Seeing him only partially dressed, she now had a decent idea of what she’d put him through a few minutes ago. “Be right back.”

  Chapter 9

  The doorbell rang as Ella finished changing into some loose sweats and a T-shirt. Darn it. She’d been looking forward to a quiet night alone. The new semester had kicked off yesterday, and it always took her a good week to get back into the routine of teaching. When she’d left campus, her plan had been stop at the toy store for Kerry’s birthday gift, and then watch a movie. Company, no matter who it was, put a kink in her agenda.

  “Spill it. How’s it goi
ng?” Cat asked, walking into the kitchen after Ella opened the door. She didn’t even bother with a hello first.

  Well, if she had to have a visitor she was glad it was Cat and not her mom. Cat wouldn’t stay all night. She’d want to get home and see Tony. Her mom, on the other hand, tended to linger whenever she visited, especially when Ella’s dad was away on business. Like he was this week.

  “The semester only started yesterday. But it should be like always,” Ella answered as she rifled through the unopened mail she’d left on the table.

  Ella’s answer earned her an eye roll. “Not the semester, you goose. How’s it going with my brother? I know he had a big weekend planned for you, but he didn’t say anything when he came to pick up Elvis on Sunday.”

  “Who’s Elvis?” Ella asked, putting the mail on the table.

  Cat went to the refrigerator and helped herself to a bottle of lemonade. “His dog. Didn’t he tell you? He adopted him in July.” Without pausing she filled a glass with ice and added the lemonade, making it impossible for Ella to answer. “He told Tony he bought tickets for the ballet. Almost died when Tony told me. Striker at the ballet? Never imagined he’d sit through a performance unless he had no other option. I know he loves you, but still I never expected that.”

  Was Cat assuming Striker loved her, or had he told her? The last time they’d really spoken, Cat and her brother weren’t on the best of terms. “Did he tell you he loves me?” He’d said he loved her. It should be enough, but insecurities were getting the better of Ella this time around with him.

  “Uh, yeah.” Cat’s expression said it all as she put her drink down. She considered Ella’s question a ridiculous one. “I’m starving. I came straight here from work. Do mind if I grab a snack?”

  “Like you need to ask. Help yourself. There are some almonds covered with cocoa powder in the cabinet near the microwave. They’re delicious.” Ella waited until Cat returned with the nuts and an unopened bag of pretzels. “When did he tell you?” Pumping his sister, who also happened to be one of her best friends, wasn’t cool. Regardless, tonight the questions kept on slipping out.