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Wasting time sounded very good to her, especially if she could do it clothed. She dug her keys out of her purse and unlocked the Beetle. She opened the driver’s-side door, tossed her things onto the seat and found her shirt. She slid on a bra—red, of course—pulled the shirt over her head and tugged it into place as Adam rounded the car and got into the passenger seat.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she held her white denim miniskirt in front of her, and she could have sworn she heard a swift intake of breath as she raised her leg to step into it. She pulled it up over her hips and buttoned it at the waist.
There. Now she felt better. She still wore the skyscraper stilettos, but every woman in Miami wore those. Nikki tossed her purse into the backseat and slid behind the wheel. “Should I take you to Jackson Memorial?” she asked.
Adam shuddered. “No—the E.R. there will be full of gunshot wounds, auto-accident victims, ODs and God only knows what else. We’d wait all night.” After some thought, he gave her the name of a minor emergency center close by, and directed her to it.
The building, not surprisingly, was regulation stucco with a standard red-tile roof. Adam signed in, and they waited in a shabby but comfortable sitting area done in blues and greens. The only other people there were a shrunken old man with a severe cough and a young couple. The wife rocked back and forth, clutching her stomach.
Nikki shot her a sympathetic glance, but the woman closed her eyes and wiped perspiration from her forehead with a paper towel.
After inspecting the faux wood tables, the utterly uninteresting plants and the dog-eared magazines perched haphazardly in a small rack, Nikki had nowhere to look but at Adam.
“Heh,” she said idiotically.
He raised his eyebrows at her over the wad of blood-saturated cocktail napkins. “Did you say something?”
“No,” she supplied, even more idiotically.
Silence fell between them again.
Nikki fidgeted. “So…what do you do?” she blurted, to make conversation.
“I’m a student.”
“Of what?”
He dodged the question. “What do you do, Nikki? Besides, er…dancing?”
She felt a blush climbing her neck and then suffusing her face. “I told you—”
“Right. You’ve never done it before.” His tone was polite, but the inflection of his voice indicated that the jury was still out on whether he believed her or not.
“I’m starting a new job on Monday,” she announced defensively. “I’m an administrative assistant.”
He nodded and adjusted the napkins slightly, peering at her from behind them. His glasses were smudged, which wasn’t surprising. Lucky she hadn’t broken them when she’d whacked him. “Do you like office work?”
Was he trying to reconcile the image of her filing with the image of her popping out of the cake wearing a G-string? She sighed. “It’s okay. It’s not what I want to do for the rest of my life, but it pays the bills and it gives me medical insurance.” She’d never before realized what a crucial thing that was, even to a twenty-four-year-old in “perfect” health.
“Besides,” she added, “I got appendicitis out of the clear blue, and had to have emergency surgery when I didn’t have medical insurance. So I have huge debt from that.”
He made a sympathetic noise. “What do you really want to do?”
She felt suddenly defensive. He was clearly a brainy type, a grad student going to school for something special, something focused, while she… Nikki wrapped her arms around herself and hunched her shoulders.
What she wanted most in the long run was a husband and a family, but it seemed so unhip to say that. Yet, given her childhood with a single mom and the fact that she’d never known her father, that was her dream: domestic bliss.
She pictured rabid feminists chasing her with pitchforks and cringed. “I don’t know what I want to do, exactly…except that it involves having my own business.” And she’d love to somehow help single moms like her own mother.
She pictured a small business that gave her plenty of time to spend with her children. She wouldn’t be like her mom, who spent her days on her feet in a bakery and covered in flour, at the beck and call of other people.
But first, Nikki had to find and date the right guy. Meanwhile, she had to pay off her medical debt—and then there was the fact that her mom needed a new roof and had no way to pay for it. Meanwhile, Nikki’s own rent and monthly bills didn’t go away. How did anyone manage to save money, except rich doctor and lawyer types? It seemed impossible.
A nurse appeared and called Adam’s name. He got up and went with her through a door to the back, while unaccountably Nikki fixed her gaze on his buns. Granted, his pants were damp and stained, so he did look a little as though he’d messed himself.
But she happened to know that the stains were her fault, that they’d come from the floor of the bar…and the wet fabric clung provocatively to the shape of his rear end.
It was an exceptional one. Sitting on it and studying a lot hadn’t flattened it out at all.
“Nikki?”
In fact, it looked pretty muscular… especially as it turned to the side…
“Nikki.”
“Huh?” She pulled her gaze upward, and realized that Adam had turned, along with his butt, and was saying her name.
Mortification was becoming her constant companion.
3
AS HER CHEEKS CAUGHT on fire, Adam eyed her quizzically from behind the paper napkins. “I said that I should be right out.”
“Great!” Nikki said brightly, and quickly picked up one of the magazines, spreading it open and holding it in front of her face.
Idiot! Idiot, idiot, idiot…
She dared to peek over the top of the magazine.
Adam’s mouth had quirked, and his eyebrows had lifted at her choice of reading material.
It wasn’t until he’d disappeared again that she looked at the cover: Forbes. Was he amused because he’d caught her staring at his ass, or because of her choice of magazine?
Why shouldn’t she read Forbes? Okay, it was a dry financial publication, but for all he knew, she could be passionately interested not only in his buns—she squirmed with embarrassment—but in money. In fact, she was passionate about money, as far as making some went. Immediately.
Her gaze fell on one of the topics highlighted on the cover: Securities and the Single Mom. Hmm… To take her mind off the fact that she still felt like a moron, she began to read.
By the time Adam came out with a blue-fabric, medically issued ice bag across his nose, Nikki had devoured the whole article and learned quite a bit in the process. There were all kinds of organizations and websites out there devoted to helping single moms not only with their finances, but with furthering their education—and she had the germ of a business idea.
The sight of her strip-assault victim brought her back to reality, though. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” He nodded. “It’s not broken.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” She put down the magazine.
He walked over to the little window to pay what he owed for the visit, and Nikki jumped up. Did she have enough space free on her MasterCard to pay?
Oh, God. She wasn’t sure. But she should make the offer. It was her moral obligation.
“Adam, let me take care of that. It’s the least I can do.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I will worry about it,” Nikki insisted, muttering a prayer to the credit gods under her breath. She gently nudged Adam aside. “Excuse me,” she said to the woman behind the window, “but I’d like to take care of his visit.”
Nikki handed her card to the woman with a smile, only barely refraining from tapping her nails nervously on the laminated countertop during what seemed an interminable wait.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it didn’t go through.”
Mortified, Nikki rummaged in her handbag and came up with a ten-dollar bill that she’d had earmarked for eggs, bread and milk. “Here, how about if you take this and then run the card again, for the balance?”
At this point, Adam took over. He folded both card and bill back into Nikki’s hand and said, “I’ve got this. Thanks, but I’ve got it.” He handed a credit card to the lady.
Nikki wished that a convenient sinkhole would open up in the floor and swallow her whole. A tic started at her left eye, though she tried to rub it away. Loser, loser, loser, it seemed to say.
She struggled with her desire to go home and crawl under the covers, to block out this whole evening and the ridiculous idea that she, the fat kid they’d called Chubba Bubba in grade school and mocked even more in high school, could possibly dance in front of men for money.
Was she crazy? Had Yvonne dropped something in her drink to make her agree to do it?
But unfortunately, she’d made this nice boy with the bloody nose a promise, and her mom had brought her up that only scabs didn’t keep their promises.
Was it worse to be a scab than a loser? Nikki didn’t want to think about that too much.
“Okay,” she said to Adam once they were outside the door. “I promised you a private dance if you’d get me out of there. It’s the least I can do—ow!” Another South Florida mosquito evidently flew up her skirt and bit her on the butt, and she slapped at it, hard.
There was an audible gulp from her male companion. “That’s…not necessary,” he said, as if it cost him great effort. “Don’t worry about it.”
For a moment she was relieved and elated. Then her conscience got her again and Nikki raised her chin. “I hit you in the nose and then I made you a promise, and I’m going to keep it. Besides, I want to see you settled properly with your feet elevated and your head tipped back. So I’ll drive you to your hotel and make sure you’re comfortable…and…and then …we’ll just get it over with.”
Adam looked at her oddly. “You don’t sound as if you want to do this, Nikki.”
“What? Oh, no—I do,” she lied.
He frowned.
“I, um—” She waved a hand. “I need the practice. Really. You’ll be doing me a favor to watch.” Okay, that was probably laying it on too thick, but Adam didn’t call her on it.
“Come on. Let’s stop talking and go.” She teetered out to the parking lot and over to her car. She pulled on the driver’s-side handle, but it was locked. Nikki fumbled her keys out of her bag and poked the relevant one toward the lock, but her hands shook and it was dark.
A couple of steps brought Adam up behind her, so close that she could smell his laundry detergent—the same brand she used—and a masculine-smelling shampoo. There was another scent that clung to Adam: faint traces of beer from the bar, but also something that reminded her of a library. Books? Paper? Ink?
“Excuse me.” His arm reached around her, his hand covered hers, and with long, lean, competent fingers he inserted her key into the lock of the door, then turned it. “There,” he said.
Nikki stood still for a moment, drawn to the warmth of him, the brush of his soft cotton shirt against her bare skin. She wanted to stay encircled by his arm, even lay her head against his chest. But Adam opened the car door for her, so she blinked and got in.
Adam shut the door and walked around the Beetle, getting into the passenger side. She started the engine, and seconds later the air conditioner shot a blast of lukewarm air straight between her thighs, making her jump and squirm.
He turned his steady, chocolate-brown gaze on her once again, still holding the ice pack to his nose. “You sure you want to do this dance?”
As she looked at him, at his slightly mussed dark hair, the crinkles of good humor around his eyes, the tough jaw and the tiny indentation in his chin, Nikki found to her surprise that she did want to dance for him. She wished it were under different circumstances—after a date maybe, when they’d eaten at a nice restaurant and maybe gone to see some live music.
That wasn’t the case, but she responded to his innate kindness and decency as well as his good looks. Here was a guy that she wanted to want her…and she had to meet him under these circumstances? She sighed inwardly, but turned her brightest smile on him.
“I absolutely do want to keep up my side of the bargain. I promised you a dance, and I’ll give you one.”
“It’s not smart to come back to my hotel room,” Adam told her. “How do you know I’m not a serial killer? A twisted rapist?”
Nikki frowned. “You don’t seem like the type.”
“What type would that be? They’re all pretty normal-looking white guys. Most of them are married with children.”
“Are you married with children?”
“Not even close, but you’re missing the point.”
“Are you a rapist or murderer?”
“No,” he said, sounding a bit exasperated. “But you shouldn’t take my word for it.”
“Would you like me to check on you from my iPhone? Find out if you have an arrest record before I get out of the car?”
Adam leaned his head against the seat, adjusted the ice pack and closed his eyes. “You can’t possibly be this naive.”
“There’s no need for name-calling,” Nikki said. “I have a solution. We’ll stop by the front desk at the hotel and let them know that if I’m found scattered in pieces anywhere, I spent my last hours with you. How’s that?”
“Fine, laugh at me. I’m simply trying to tell you that it’s a scary world out there and you shouldn’t go back to strange men’s hotel rooms.”
“Just how strange are you?”
“I give up!”
Nikki grinned, then put the Beetle into Reverse and backed out of the parking spot. “Look, I appreciate the good advice. I really do. But I have pretty good instincts about people and my creep radar didn’t go off around you.”
“She has a creep radar,” Adam said to nobody in particular. “Whatever that is.”
Nikki laughed. “If you were a sicko, you wouldn’t have tried to talk me out of going to your hotel room with you. You’d have been trying to convince me that you were the most harmless, trustworthy person on the planet. You might even have leaned on a crutch and begged for my help, Ted Bundy–style.”
“Whatever,” said Adam. They rode in silence for a little while.
“So you weren’t having a good time at the club?” Nikki asked. “Why not?”
“Just not my scene.”
“What’s your scene, then?”
He shrugged. “Quiet music, smoke-free air, a beer on a back porch, watching the sunset.”
“That sounds nice.”
