I sip the excellent Bordeaux that accompanies the meal. “Well, I’ve pulled out all the stops so I can secure a second date.”
“Trying to get lucky, huh?” she asks, bold humor darkening her nimbus gray eyes.
“Uh, not sure what that means exactly.” Lies.
I know exactly what that means. And, yes, I’m trying to impress her. And yes, I hope I get to do all the things I fantasized about. She’s no longer off-limits.
“Hmmm. You were seventeen four years ago. So now that makes you . . .” I pretend to calculate in the air. “Carry the one—”
“Old enough.”
“Old enough for what exactly?”
“For whatever you’re thinking when you look at me like that.”
The sexual tension between us is as sharp and bright as crystals, suspended, reflecting her desire for me and mine to her. I’m mesmerized by the color and the light of it. It burns bright. It burns.
“When I look at you like what?”
“I think you know, but don’t worry,” she whispers, leaning forward. “I want it, too. I’m a girl who knows what she wants.”
“I thought you were the girl who chases stars.”
“What do you think I’m doing right now?”
She wants me, too. I knew that, but to hear her boldly assert it? To not beat around it, no games or pretense, it feels good. It actually feels special, which is dangerous because I’m not sure I can afford special. For the last four years, I’ve been what my father said I could not be—ruthless. I haven’t been ruthless in my treatment of people, or the way my father is in business. I’ve been, and will continue to be, ruthless with myself. The things I want to accomplish are bigger than I am. Bigger than I can even wrap my imagination around. The truths I want to uncover are buried in faraway places. The things I want to sell, some of them don’t even exist yet. The world I want to create for myself, the life I want requires me to be an explorer, philanthropist, inventor, businessman, every man and any man. I’m doing what four generations of Cades did, but on my own. Making something out of thin air. I know I’m capable of it, but it requires everything. I can’t afford distractions or attachments. I don’t do relationships. I don’t do . . . special.
Which is a problem, since I suspect Lennix is the kind of woman I’d want all those things with one day, but right now can’t allow myself to have.
We’re on the boat headed back to the city, and it’s the same as last night. We touch and stare until it feels like I’m coming out of my skin. I want her in ways I’ve never wanted anyone else. Not just under me or on top riding me or in front of me when I pound into her from behind, but with her hair splayed on my pillow. Talking. Laughing. I want to see her in morning-after sunlight. How does she take her coffee? How does she likes her eggs? Does she floss at night?
Really, Cade? Floss?
When we exit the boat and reach the street, I keep her hand and turn her so we face each other.
“I’m fully prepared to take you back to the hostel, but I’d rather take you home. Well, to the place I’m renting because—”
“Yes.” Her assent, though softly spoken, is sure. Not colored by even a shade of doubt.
“Okay.” I stroke her palm. “Then I guess we can—”
“But first I need to tell you something.” She looks away and then back, defiance and uncertainty mingling in her eyes. “I hope it won’t change your mind, but some guys are weird about this kind of thing.”
“I’m not some guys, and I can’t imagine there’s anything you could say that will change my mind about spending tonight with you.”
We share a moment, a look before she drops her eyes again.
“It’s cold out here,” I tell her. “Should we go back to my place and discuss this there? I’m not saying this to get you in bed faster. It’s just cold.”
“For the record, I don’t have a problem with getting to your bed faster.”
There’s no stopping the grin that spreads over my face.
“But,” she interjects with one of my least favorite words, “I want you to know something before I come with you.”
She looks up through a tangled web of long lashes, and it’s a stomach punch, how beautiful this girl is. It makes me really glad she’s not seventeen anymore.
“I’ve never done this before.”
What’s she saying? Never slept with someone after a day? On the first date? Will this be her first time four years after a protest?
“Done what, Nix?” I cup one side of her face. “I know it’s fast, but I don’t think of this as some one-night stand. I want . . .” I press my forehead to hers and sift my fingers into her hair. God, I’m going to sound like some besotted beggar, but I don’t give a fuck. “I want as much time as I can have with you. As long as we’re here. Until I leave for Antarctica or you go home. I just—”
“No, you don’t under . . .” She stops and smiles, and it’s a little self-conscious. “You said at dinner that you could clearly see my values, but I think you overlooked one.”
“Okay. Help me out here. What am I missing?”
“I’m a virgin, Doc.”
14
Lennix
The pin-drop silence following my words stretches so long I start fidgeting. Maxim just stares at me, mouth slightly open.
“I said virgin, not alien.” I run a hand through my hair. “If that’s a problem—”
“It’s not.”
When he takes my wrist between his strong fingers, it feels frail and small. Or maybe that’s how I feel, sharing something so personal and . . . mine with him. It reminds me how very little we know about each other.
“My favorite color is blue–green,” I blurt. “Not one or the other, because they’re just better blended together.”
He blinks a few times, frowns, then chuckles, a low, sensual sound that goes straight for my panties. If we actually make it to his place tonight, he’ll have the horniest virgin ever on his hands.
“Okaaaay. I’ll remember that the next time I’m, oh, I don’t know, buying you a pair of shoes, but tonight I feel like maybe there are other things we should discuss.” He starts walking, semi-dragging me along. “Let’s walk and talk.”
It’s not that late, and the streets still brim with conversations and laughter and people. Amsterdam is distinct and charming and wild and beguiling. It’s this amalgamation of medieval and modern that feels distinctly European to my American eyes.
“We’re going to your place?” I ask after a few moments of walking in silence.
“Yeah, unless you want your first time to be in a hostel with your two roommates listening and watching? I mean, if you’re into that kind of thing, I’m down. I just assumed you’d want some privacy.”
“Privacy would be better probably, yeah. Do you, um, want to know why I’m still a virgin?”
“If you want to tell me. It’s not like a disease or a contagious condition or something you have to confess to a partner for their personal health or safety. ‘Beware of virgin.’”