Breathe for Me

chapter Seven





Chelsea walked as quickly as she could to her door. The look on his face had her heating. Her body was thawing. She still couldn’t believe he’d nearly gone down on her in public, in broad daylight. That she’d let him.

And now, would he block her exit with a heavy hand like he had at the pool the other night? She half hoped so. It was crazy, but she couldn’t resist going with this. With him. She wanted to know what he’d try next—yet she couldn’t admit to herself what she really hoped it would be. But instead of stopping her, he followed her out to the corridor.

“You have a favorite restaurant, or is this your first time in New York?” he asked.

Chelsea shook her head, feeling wired in the face of his focus, his acute attention. “I’ve been here lots, but you choose.”

“Lots like ten trips, or lots like a hundred?”

She was from upstate New York but had stayed in Manhattan many times. She knew it pretty well. “Lots like fifty?” She hazarded a guess. “But this is my first time living here. Who doesn’t want to live in the city, at least for a little while?”

“So you’re not here to stay?”

She shook her head and led the way out of the building but then paused, waiting to follow his direction. “It’s transitional. Like my work. Temporary installations.”

“Why temporary?” He slowly drew her along the pavement.

“Why not?” She smiled. “Everything’s temporary, right?”

“So you’re an artist.”

“I’m interested in urban design, yes. Challenging the environment we’re in. Shaking it up a bit. And providing a talking point, preferably one that’s a bit fun.”

“But not fun enough to stick around?”

She shrugged. “The novelty wears off. Better to exit on a high.”

“So what are you going to do once it’s done?”

“Go to another city. Maybe a smaller town. Do some work there. Try a different project. See how it goes.”

“It’s all part of your study?”

She nodded. “Ultimately.”

“Professor Greene sounds good.”

She smiled. “Well Dr Lawson sounds good.”

He grimaced. “It was my cousins who started calling me that. Even before I got the certificate. They like to tease.”

“And it’s stuck?”

“Unfortunately.”

She smiled. Her stomach rumbled again.

“Better get some food into you before you keel over.” He put his hand on her back, measuring his pace to hers and guided her into the busy bistro on the corner.

Pride and embarrassment flooded her. “I don’t need you to help me.”

“I’m not helping you, I’m letting all the other guys in here know you’re with me.” He grinned wickedly.

“I’m not with you.”

“Sure you are. This is a date. Didn’t you realize?”

He said nothing as she stumbled, but his hand at the small of her back slid to tighten around her waist.

She was too busy swallowing the idea to pull away.

“This isn’t a date. This is neighbors sharing lunch.” She hadn’t been on a date in so long.

He laughed and steered her towards a table. “It’s a date.”

Suddenly her damaged calf muscle tightened unbearably. She more fell than sat in the chair and as she did she knocked the water glass. In turn that knocked the small already-lit candle. In a panic she reached to grab it, to stop it setting fire to the place, and in doing so knocked the small single stem vase right off the table.

It shattered on the floor.

She froze and slowly lifted her gaze from the damp rose mess splattered on the wood. Everyone was staring at them. All conversation silenced.

Self-conscious she finally braved looking directly at Xander. In less than six seconds she’d proved her incompetence. If her mother were here she’d be hovering and mopping and fussing and making Chelsea more shaky and useless—albeit with the best of intentions.

But Xander just smiled. “You want salad or steak? They do all kinds of both here.”

“Salad. Greek please. Sorry,” she said weakly, sending the waiter an apologetic-but-grateful smile as he whisked away the wreckage in record time before coming back to take their orders.

“So what are you going to do while you’re in New York?” Xander asked once the waiter had headed to the kitchen. “If you’re here only a short time you want to get everything you can out of it.”

She sucked in one last shred of moxie. “I’m thinking of signing up to a roller derby club.” She’d go girl power. Luisa, the coffee diva, had put ideas in her head. Why couldn’t she get well enough to do that?

“With that knee?” Xander’s left eyebrow lifted.

“Sure,” she said defiantly. “It’s getting stronger every day.”

“You’re working out with it?”

“Of course.” She was walking a little further on it each day. She’d get there.

“But not swimming.”

Fortunately her Greek salad arrived, so she avoided answering by giving effusive thanks to the waiter. He was so getting a big tip from her, his timing was perfection.

“I meant it when I said I’d teach you to swim.” Xander said the second the waiter walked away again.

“And I meant it when I said I already could.”

“So why don’t you?”

“I do. I just prefer privacy.”

He was silent a moment. “Why?”

A lie based on truth was more believable, right? “My leg. I feel self-conscious. I don’t swim as well as I once did, and while I’m working on it I don’t like people staring at it.”

“I won’t stare at it,” he said calmly. “There are other bits of your body I’d like to stare at instead.”

She choked.

“What happened?” he asked softly.

“Lettuce went down the wrong way.”

“Chelsea.” Firmer that time.

She’d known the question was coming. She sighed. “Car accident. It’s a lot better.”

“Were you driving?”

She paused, her fork part-way lifted but she looked directly at him, wanting him to understand this was non-negotiable. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Ever.

He held her gaze. Slowly he nodded. As he did the serious look in his eyes vanished and the roguish one returned. “I’m Scorpio. My favorite color is navy. I like apples but I don’t like bananas—except in milkshakes or baking. I love roasted red peppers.”

“What are you doing?” She laughed at the random change in topic.

“Telling you ten things about myself so you won’t feel like you’re sleeping with a stranger.”

Her jaw almost hit the floor. She shut it with a snap and stared at him her brain both going to mush and becoming acutely alert. Unperturbed he met her gaze, a half smile on his lips and that spark kindling his eyes.

“I can’t decide if you actually mean that, or are just trying for a reaction.” And he was getting a reaction. A mix of astonishment and scalding heat. The heat was winning, melting her resistance, her reason, slickening her muscles, making her boneless all over again.

“Why not both?”

That irresistible mix of laughter and roguishness lit his eyes making him so damn attractive. She lifted her glass and took a long sip of iced water and tried to rein herself in. Well of course the man thought she’d sleep with him the second he asked, given the way she’d been hot and wet and writhing against him less than half an hour ago...

It was a bad move to remember those minutes in his arms. She was incinerating from the inside out and the urge to fly straight to the source of the flame was overpowering.

Okay. She set the glass down. She’d play the game. Twist it. “You’re not telling me anything relevant.”

“I’d have thought vegetables were very relevant.” He speared a piece of steak. “Especially to a woman who loves herbs.”

“Where did you grow up?” She ignored his comment and went with her burgeoning curiosity.

He cocked his head, his wicked grin widening. He waggled his fork at her the way an old-school strict teacher waved a ruler. “I’ll only tell you if you tell me. The questions you ask me, you have to be prepared to answer yourself. Game?”

“Sure.” She could work with that. “Where did you grow up?”

“California in the early years. Summerhill in the later. It’s a ski town.”

“Nice. You ski?”

He nodded. “So your turn—where’d you grow up?”

“A town near Rochester.” She picked at another piece of lettuce. “Where are your parents?”

“My mother lives in Summerhill.”

“And your father?”

He shrugged.

Hmm. Broken home? She wanted to ask more, to challenge, to pry. But didn’t want to have to reciprocate. And judging by the amused look on his face he knew it. So far, so not enlightening. She pondered some possibilities. Then couldn’t resist a little tease. “Vanilla or chocolate?”

His expression sharpened. “Chocolate. I like the richness—I like the variety—from rich, dark and bitter to creamy milk and sweet. You?”

“Vanilla,” she said, mainly to be contrary. “The scent. The subtlety. And yet it too can be very rich.”

“You’re not a chocolate lover?”

“I like it, but the question was preference, right?” She gave him a coy look. “If forced to choose.”

“Okay. Another question?” he prompted.

“Best moment ever.”

He paused, putting on a ponderous look. Then a wry grin appeared, chasing away the solemnity and putting the wicked glint back in his eyes. “It’s going to sound cheesy.”

“I don’t mind a little cheese,” she said softly.

“You want me to be honest?”

She nodded.

“First summer on the job.”

“Engineering?”

“Lifeguard.”

Oh of course—it was his hero syndrome. “You saved someone?” She’d pulled someone from the water too. But it had been too late. She didn’t know if she could bear listening to his story.

He shook his head.“ I was fourteen. It was a dog.”

Relieved yet touched, a small burst of giggles escaped her.

“It mattered to that little kid,” he said, all seriousness.

Of course it did. It was sweet. “Did you have a dog when you were a boy?”

He shook his head. “Your turn to answer.”

“Yeah, we had a black spaniel. He was—”

“No,” Xander interrupted with a knowing smile. “Best moment.”

Damn. She looked away. It should have been the night Tom proposed. “I’ve had lots of good moments,” she fudged. “Still waiting on the best.”

He kept watching her—apparently waiting for her to say more. But she didn’t. Instead she looked into his pale blue eyes and felt her insides melt.

“That’s your ten,” he finally said. “Know me well enough now?”