A Taste of Magic Page 3

  “I’m f-fine. You can go. This is a l-little embarrassing,” I said through chattering teeth. Immediately, I recognized my mistake. I needed help, no matter how humiliated I was. Hopefully, he wasn’t a burglar—or, God help me, a photographer. “Actually, I could use some help. But you don’t have a camera, do you?”

  “Breaking and entering is a crime. Unfortunately for you, you chose the wrong window. Not only am I a cop, but I live in this building. So, what you’re going to do is come down from there so I can read you your rights and take you into the station.” He sounded annoyed. As if I had somehow ruined his night.

  “Don’t you think I’d come down if I could? Or do you think I like having strange men look up my skirt? And I’m not breaking in, I live here.” Police officer, huh? I thought I knew every occupant in my building, and there weren’t any cops.

  “Ma’am, you need to come down now. I don’t want to use force.”

  “Please, use force.”

  “I’m going to count to three. You have that long to get out of that window.”

  “Wait! I can prove to you who I am if you can get me out of here. My ID is in my purse!” Did I sound desperate? Probably. I didn’t care.

  He sighed. What sort of a man sighs? “Where’s your purse?”

  “On the other side of this window. I dropped it in before I tried to climb through.”

  “Why are you breaking into your own home?”

  Was this guy an idiot? I mean, seriously. “Because I lost my keys.” I enunciated each word slowly.

  I heard footsteps and then a click. His body brushed against mine as a bright light swooped into my field of vision, presumably from a flashlight. Maybe he was a cop? I turned my head, trying to catch a glimpse of his face, but couldn’t quite see that far behind me.

  I really had to pee.

  “I don’t see a purse. You’ll have to show me your ID when I get you out.”

  “Yeah. Sure. I’ll need to see yours too, Officer.”

  Another click, and all was dark again. I felt hard warm hands on my thighs. In other circumstances, I might have enjoyed such a feeling, but not these circumstances, despite the tingles traveling the length of my body. “Watch where you grab, fella.”

  “You want out or not?”

  “Yes, please.” No one would ever know about this. Ever.

  He tugged and then he pulled and then he yanked, his grip tighter on my thighs with each attempt. Next, he stood right behind me and moved his grasp up to my hips and pulled harder. This was an entirely new form of humiliation. I just knew my face, and all my other body parts, were as red as a fire engine.

  At least it was dark.

  The cop abruptly let go. “This is a really small window. How did you think you’d get through it?”

  Was that a joke about the size of my ass? “One too many margaritas,” I quipped, trying to cover my anxiety.

  “Oh. You’ve been drinking.” He sounded disapproving.

  “I was out for my birthday. People drink; it’s not a crime. Just get me out of here. It’s freezing, if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s not happening. I’m going to have to get some help, I think. We might have to remove the window bracing for enough give.”

  “No! Don’t do that!” I think I whimpered. The thought of more people viewing this spectacle would make any red-blooded woman whimper. Trust me. Even though the rain had stopped, I didn’t need my neighbors running outside to see what the commotion was. If that happened, I’d have to move. To another state. “Just try again.”

  “You’re not coming out this way. I’m going to radio in for assistance.”

  “No! I have an idea.” Hopefully, I was sober enough to have a good one. “Will you try something first?” I begged.

  The man hesitated. I could hear his intake of breath. I’m sure he wanted this over with. Well, guess what? So did I.

  “You said you live in this building?” I prayed he hadn’t been lying.

  “Yeah.”

  “So you have a key to get into the building then, right?”

  “That’s how it works when you live in a building.” Nice, not only could he see my pan ties, but he was sarcastic, too.

  “I have an extra key to my apartment underneath the plant outside my door. Maybe if you let yourself into my apartment, you can pull me in from the other side.”

  “You keep a key hidden outside your apartment? That’s not safe.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m pretty darn happy it’s there now,” I growled. Oops, wrong tactic. No need to piss the guy off. “I mean, I know, and you’re right, and I promise I’ll move it if you’ll just get me down.”

  “What ever, lady. We’ll try it your way. If it doesn’t work, I’m calling for help.” As he walked away, the mutter “Why do I meet all the crazy ones?” met my ears.

  Right back at you, buddy.

  The wait seemed excruciatingly long, but that possibly had more to do with the intense discomfort I was in rather than the actual number of minutes the cop took to get to me. When the bathroom light blazed on, I winced. Because the window was above the bathtub, all I could see was the fifteen-dollar white shower liner I’d bought at Wal-Mart almost a year ago. I probably should replace it; it was kind of dingy.

  “You there?” He really had a great voice. Deep and rumbly. I still had to pee.

  “Where would I go?”

  The curtain whipped back. I sucked in a deep breath— which wasn’t that easy due to my current predicament.

  The stranger was in uniform, so it appeared he’d been honest with me and really was a police officer. Kudos for him. His black hair was in a military cut, and his eyes were a shade of green I hadn’t known existed. Not romance novel handsome, but I definitely wouldn’t toss him out of bed—if he managed to find his way there. With the way my year had gone, that wasn’t likely.

  His gaze took in my appearance, and I couldn’t help but wonder exactly what he saw. I suspected it was better I didn’t know.

  “Let’s get this over with. What’s your name?”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Hi, Elizabeth. I’m Nate Sutherland.” As he spoke, he grabbed my purse and flipped it open.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m ascertaining you are who you say you are.”

  “Can’t you get me out first?”

  “No.”

  Jerk. Stupid, sexy jerk.

  “I have to pee.”

  “Shouldn’t have had so much to drink.”

  I watched as he opened my wallet and scanned my driver’s license and then raised his gaze to my face. “Sorry about that, Elizabeth.” He tossed my purse to the floor.

  Stepping halfway into the tub, Nate grasped underneath my arms. Right at my armpits. I hoped my anti-perspirant hadn’t stopped working. Wow, he smelled really nice. Sort of woodsy and manly all at once. I’d have to ask him what cologne he was wearing.

  “Ready?”

  “God, yes.”

  “I’m going to pull you out now.” Nate’s grip tightened and then he yanked. When I barely budged, he tugged again with far more force. I fell forward, and by reflex, I wrapped my arms around his neck. Moving his hands down to my waist, he pulled slower this time.

  This cop was strong; even with the majority of my weight in his arms, he stayed upright. Gotta like that in a man.

  “I’m just going to step backward and bring you the rest of the way—” Before he could finish the sentence, my skirt gave up its fight. The piece of fabric that had been caught let loose. I tumbled into Nate, he tumbled backward, and in no time at all I was free. Free!

  I was also in the arms of, and on top of, a fairly sexy guy— a sexy guy who, naturally, didn’t appear very pleased. More’s the pity.

  I stood up, fast, and tried to right my ruined skirt as much as possible. Its destruction saddened me, as it had been a long eight-hour day of shopping to find the dang thing to begin with. And I hated shopping.

  Wrappi
ng my arms around myself, I rubbed my arms in an effort to warm up. “Can you give me a minute?”

  As he righted himself, Nate frowned. Fortunately, he didn’t argue—just backed out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

  I wasn’t fast, but after I completed the necessities, I checked the mirror. Horrid wouldn’t begin to describe my appearance. Washing my face helped. Brushing my hair only gave me a nestlike style, but at least it was no longer rain-plastered to my head.

  After slipping off my totaled skirt, I grabbed my robe from the hook on the door and slid it on. Opening the door, I went to face the music.

  Nate leaned against the wall outside the bathroom, his legs stretched out in front of him. Silently, he offered me my key.

  “Thank you. For your help and everything. When did you move in?”

  “Yesterday. I’m your next door neighbor.”

  Oh, that was solid information. Maybe things were finally turning around.

  He walked to the front door. “I don’t need to file a report. I found you hanging out the window after my shift ended.”

  “Oh. Good,” I said. Nothing in writing to prove the night ever happened. Couldn’t argue with that.

  The cop stopped in the hallway, the open door between us. “Don’t keep your key outside. It really isn’t safe.”

  I nodded. “I’m sorry to—”

  A small smile and a tip of his head cut me off. “Things happen. Be more careful in the future.”

  Nodding again, I tightened the belt on my robe.

  “Good night, Elizabeth. Happy birthday.”

  Silly, but I stayed in the doorway for probably five minutes or so after he’d let himself in to his own apartment. Nate. I really wished I’d met him under better circumstances.

  Chapter Three

  I had cotton in my mouth. Rolling over, I squinted at the clock. The glowing blue numbers read 8:30 A.M. Earlier than I’d intended, but no way would I fall back asleep now. The older I got, the harder it was to sleep in. Even on Saturdays.

  Reaching for the water bottle I kept on my nightstand, I took a hefty swallow. Better. My head seemed a little foggy but not too bad considering the previous night. Other than the complete and utterly embarrassing way I’d encountered my new neighbor.“Don’t dwell.” I swung my feet to the floor and stretched my arms wide. My muscles pulled a bit, probably from being stuck in a window, but a hot shower would relax the kinks. After that, I wasn’t sure how I’d spend my day. It wasn’t like I had a pressing schedule to adhere to. I could finish one of the latch-hook rugs I’d started months ago, or I could unpack a few boxes, or I could even go shopping to replace my skirt.

  Yes, my life was exciting.

  It wasn’t until I stood in the shower, rinsing apple-scented shampoo out of my hair, that I remembered it was Marc’s wedding day. Pain sliced through me quick, and the air around me grew heavy, making it difficult to breathe normally. I wished I hadn’t remembered. Closing my eyes, I leaned against the shower wall. Today, the man I’d believed I’d spend the rest of my life with would vow to love and cherish another woman for the rest of her life.

  I didn’t cry, which surprised me. I felt like I should cry, because how could something hurt so much and not bring forth tears? Maybe I’d finally cried myself out. Did a person only get so many tears, and once shed, that was that? I didn’t know, but I didn’t really care, either.

  I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten—well, that it wasn’t the first thing on my mind when I’d woken that morning. But maybe, just maybe, that was the good news?

  Opening my eyes, I grabbed some conditioner. I poured a glop of it into my hand and tried to think of something else. Anything else.

  Nate’s face popped into my head, along with a possible plan. To thank Nate and to (hopefully) alter his first impression of me, I could bake him a thank-you-and-welcome-to the-building treat. It couldn’t hurt, and it gave me something to do. The longer I thought about it, the better I liked the idea. Before I knew it, I breathed easier, and the knot in my shoulders eased. I could do this.

  Thirty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a yellow sweatshirt, hair pulled back, I put on ABBA and went into the kitchen. Maybe it was Marc’s wedding day, but that didn’t mean I had to be miserable, right? Today could be as good or as bad as I chose.

  I chose “good.” And with that, everything about the day became a little brighter—a little happier. Singing “Take a Chance on Me” along with the CD, I gathered the ingredients to make banana-nut muffins. I enjoyed baking. It was a process I could control from beginning to end, and I liked making food that other people found pleasure in.

  My tiny kitchen didn’t compare to the kitchen at A Taste of Magic, but it suited me. Though, it could definitely use a fresh coat of paint. An actual color, perhaps, instead of the standard off-white. I’d planned on painting when I moved in, but hadn’t gotten around to it. Someday, maybe, I’d find the time.

  I mashed the bananas up in a bowl, my thoughts wandering to the prior night. Up until losing my keys (which were in my jacket pocket the entire time), my birthday had certainly been acceptable. Karaoke was always fun, and I’d met Maddie’s new boyfriend. I kind of thought she’d keep him for a while. She’d had that look.

  Just once, or maybe twice, I’d like to be on the receiving end of smoldering gazes from a sexy man. Maddie might be used to it, but I wasn’t.

  That hunky cop, for instance. “Am I your kind of woman, Nate?” I murmured as I crushed the walnuts for the batter. “I’d like to be. I’d like to make those green eyes of yours go dark with desire.”

  Odd that this man who’d seen me in the most awkward of circumstances could make my blood run hot. Especially after the crappy year I’d had. It was something in his smile, though, something in those eyes. And hey, it didn’t hurt that he lived right next door—and was a cop to boot.

  A man in uniform. Need I say more?

  Setting the oven to preheat, I chose a large wooden spoon to stir the remaining ingredients together. I liked my muffins a bit dense, so I tended to hand mix the batter rather than use my electric beater.

  I tried to think of the last time I’d felt special. Sexy. Spectacular. Beautiful. How sad was it that I couldn’t remember?

  I’d have to change that. I was divorced, not dead. You know what they say about women in their mid-thirties, right? Yeah, well, it’s true. Being at your sexual peak with no one to ride it with (literally and figuratively) was an extremely frustrating experience. If you can possibly avoid it, do so. Otherwise, you’ll end up with a drawer full of toys branded with very interesting names. Names such as “Bunny Rocket” (my favorite), “Pure Paradise” (regrettably, not so much), and “Velvet Touch” (no comment). And then, of course, there was “Sultry Lights,” which, yes, actually had colored strobe lights running up and down the shaft. Not my smartest purchase. But what’s a girl to do?

  I’ll tell you what. You thank God for the Internet and plain brown packaging.

  Well, I had to thank Maddie, too. After all, she was the one who—after several drinks one night—showed me her collection of toys. We laughed for hours over the names, colors, and added accessories someone, somewhere, came up with. As best friends, I couldn’t let her one up me, so now I had my own collection.

  What I really wanted, though, was a man. A standing up, walking around, totally male man. And for what ever reason, I couldn’t get the cop out of my thoughts.

  I stopped. Was I overreacting? I didn’t know, but it was so nice to feel happy I decided to go with the flow. Grandma Verda had said to let loose, so why not?

  Returning my attention to my task, I tossed in the chopped nuts and slowly mixed them into the banana batter. My skin grew hot at the idea of Nate in my bed. Or me in Nate’s bed. I wasn’t too picky on the actual logistics. Silly, I guess, dreaming about a man who’d seen my rear in about the worst imaginable position, but I couldn’t help it.

  Maybe I’d go for it. Oh hell, why not? I wanted a new lif
e. I wanted to change. I wanted something different for my future. And I was already baking the guy muffins. Sure, it was under the guise of a thank-you, but that was a thinly veiled excuse. At least I recognized that. Could I flirt with him? Did I even know how to flirt?

  I just wanted it to happen. I wanted him to do the work. Keep dreaming, right? Maybe if last night hadn’t occurred, it could be a possibility.

  “Nate, I want you to see me as the woman I am. I want you to desire me. I want you to want me.” I whispered my thoughts out loud, still stirring.

  Almost instantaneously, a hard shiver rode my body from my feet to my scalp and then straight down my arms to my hands. A spark zapped from my hand to the spoon to the batter to the bowl. The spark turned into a soft glow that I could almost hear. It crackled and buzzed and sizzled in my ears.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” I dropped the wooden handle. Fast. Stepping back, I forced a breath. My arms were shaking, my legs were weak, and my heart was pounding. This reminded me of the mixer at A Taste of Magic. But last I checked, wooden spoons didn’t run on electricity.

  So if the problem hadn’t been the mixer, then it had to be me. I was the only common denominator in both situations, correct? But that didn’t make any sense. I sucked in another deep breath as the tingles slowly dissipated. Again, the light died down, and all that remained was a very normal appearing bowl with a spoon. No sparks. No sizzles. Nothing.

  I tried to find the answer as I finished the muffins and slid the pan into the oven. Nothing I came up with equaled a reasonable explanation. Static electricity, maybe? Like when you rub your stocking feet on the carpet and shock someone with your finger?

  Possibly.

  Okay, doubtful.

  But until a better solution came to mind, I was sticking to that one.

  An hour later, I stood outside of Nate’s apartment, freshly baked muffins in tow. I used to hate the expression “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” but now I sort of hoped it was true. Or, at the very least, I hoped it was the way to his libido. Because while I was hungry for sex, I—definitely and without a doubt—had had my fill of love.