Judy Hubbard - Our First Kiss

He was silent for a full twenty seconds before warily asking, “Why do you ask?”

“Because your room is extremely well ordered with everything in its proper place. You’re more organized than I am, and that’s saying something,” she said and laughed. “Nathan?” she prompted when he remained noticeably silent.

“I did a short stint in the marines after high school,” he finally answered.

That was an interesting tidbit. She stared at the still-closed bathroom door, curiosity piqued.

“Did you ever consider going career military.”

“No, military life wasn’t for me. I wanted to be a lawyer. I enjoy sparring with words more than with weapons or my fists.”

Okay, that was a necessary little white lie. He loved hand-to-hand combat, the nonstop action and the insane danger his secret military career exposed him to—or at least he had loved it; however, recently nagging doubts about his inability to carve out a normal personal life due to his unusual profession had started surfacing, making him question his priorities.

When he reentered the bedroom, Marcy lowered a bottle of cologne from her nose and returned it to its proper place. He arched an eyebrow at her intrusiveness.

“I’m ready.” He was dressed in a cream sweater and chocolate pants. He slipped his muscled arms into the sleeves of a brown leather bomber jacket.

God, he looked good! It should be a crime for a man to be so gorgeous. He held up her coat, and she walked over and slipped it on. Unable to help herself, she then looped her hand through his arm as they walked to the door.

He inwardly groaned at the feel of her body against his. Shoving his hands into his jacket pocket, he fought down an overwhelming urge to grab and bury all ten of his fingers deeply into that gorgeous hair of hers and pull her soft, tempting mouth against his.

“You’re going to have a good time, Nathan,” she promised as they entered the elevator.

Not if I can help it, he silently promised.

As if she could read his mind, Marcy’s smile widened—the sight was like a kick in the gut. Lord, she was a beautiful woman—one he had no business agreeing to go shopping with. He was just being polite to his future sister-in-law—no harm in that. Hell, if he could routinely deal with terrorists, assassins and threats against the United States or its citizens, he could handle going shopping with Marcy Johnson for a few hours. However, could he squelch his exponentially growing attraction to her? That was the real question for which he didn’t have a satisfactory answer.

* * *

“Isn’t this lovely, Nathan?” Marcy held up a silver photo album.

“Yes, lovely, just like the candlesticks were, and the picture frame and the tray at the other store,” he reminded her.

He was annoyed. What he had prayed would be a short trip had turned into a marathon. Why couldn’t women ever make up their minds? They had been window-shopping over two hours—he had spent two long agonizing hours fighting his attraction to this captivating, spirited woman, and each passing second in her presence felt like torture.

“True, but this is really nice, isn’t it?” She lightly fingered the inlaid rose pattern, undaunted by his exasperated tones.

“Yes, Marcy, it’s lovely,” he dryly repeated. “I don’t know why you’re wasting so much time over it. You’re not going to buy it.”

“Women like to browse and find the best bargains.” She wrinkled her nose at him as she replaced the album on the shelf. “What is it about men that you hate shopping?”

“We don’t mind shopping. What we do mind is the uncertainty you women exhibit at every turn. Men know what we’re looking for, go out, find it and buy it.”

“Well, you must not know what you’re looking for because you haven’t bought anything yet, either,” she sweetly reminded him.

“Maybe I’m not going to give them silver or crystal,” he quickly replied.

“No?” She placed her hands on her shapely hips. “Then what do you have in mind?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of...” His voice trailed off, and he thought fast but not fast enough.

“You have no idea what you’re going to get, do you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Really, then tell me what it is,” she challenged.

“I was thinking of something else, but since you dragged me to all of these crystal stores, I’ve decided on wineglasses.”

She smiled and pointed behind him. “They have some lovely ones here.”

“I saw them. They’re not what I’m looking for.”

“What type were you thinking about? Goblets? Champagne glasses? Flutes? Are you looking for a particular brand of crystal? Waterford? Baccarat? Mikasa? Bavari? Lennox?” She expertly rattled off possible choices.

“Stop hurling possibilities at me.” He smiled despite himself. “I’ll know them when I see them.”

“Sure you will.” She chuckled and couldn’t resist impishly adding, “There’s nothing indecisive about you.”

“Are you going to get that?” He pointed to the music box in her hands.

“No.” Marcy set the box down, linked her hand through his arm and pulled him away, smiling at his knowing smirk. “Let’s try this other little shop down the way.”

They exited one of the wonderful specialty shops in Greenwich Village and walked toward another. Marcy could get lost in this part of Manhattan for days. As they walked down the pedestrian-filled sidewalks surrounded by various shades of redbrick buildings on either side of the busy one-way street filled with cars, buses and cabs, Marcy glanced at the barren trees that littered the sidewalk; she couldn’t wait for them to bloom with the arrival of spring.

She had purposefully taken him to five different places simply to prolong their time together. Now she guided him into the store where the wedding present she had ordered for Damien and Natasha was being held.

“Ms. Johnson.” The female clerk beamed as they entered. “I know why you’re here. Let me go and get it.” She disappeared into another room.

Nathan’s lips thinned. “You’ve already bought Natasha and Damien’s present?”

“Yes.” Marcy laughed at his exasperation. “Wait until you see it.”

He sighed loudly and then asked, “Then why did you drag me to all those other shops?”

“I thought you might like some ideas,” she innocently responded. At his look of displeasure, she asked, “Is my company so unbearable?”

Quite the contrary; he enjoyed being with her. She was a breath of fresh air, and in her presence, he felt as carefree as sails of a boat being hoisted by liberating winds. He shouldn’t be here with her, but honestly, he had no desire to be anywhere else.

“I don’t like being played.” He tried to sound stern but failed miserably.

“And I love to play,” she admitted around a chuckle, touching his arm and moving closer to him. “What are we going to do about that blatant contradiction?”

He shook his head at her as a smile played about his lips. He had never met a more brazen or fascinating woman.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he drawled.

“Oh, I’m sure I will,” she agreed.

“Here you are, Ms. Johnson.” The clerk returned carefully cradling a twelve-inch crystal sculpture of a male and female ballerina, limbs frozen in movement dancing close to each other.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous.” Marcy approved, gently taking the figure from the woman’s hands and lifting it for Nathan’s inspection. “Isn’t it, Nathan?”

“Yes, it’s very nice.” He smiled at the joy lighting up her face—joy at doing something for someone she loved.

She carefully placed it down on the glass countertop and flipped a switch in the back to send soft music filtering into the air. She cocked her ear listening and then enthused, “It’s perfect!”