Judy Hubbard - Our First Kiss

“That’s the spirit,” she approved, glad he was loosening up. “You were going to tell me about yourself,” she reminded.

“Like I said, there’s not much to tell,” he reiterated, barely disguising a sigh at her tenacity.

“I doubt that,” she said as she lowered her drink to the table. “Lawyer for the State Department—you must have a dozen interesting tales.”

She didn’t know the half of it. What would she say if she knew he had spent the past ten years of his life as a member of an officially nonexistent military unit that not even his family knew about? He could relate stories of danger and intrigue that would rival the plot of any movie—if he could talk about his Black Ops job that is, which he couldn’t.

“My job’s confidential.”

She noted his fingers tightened around his glass. Doesn’t like to talk about his work, she mentally noted—strange and intriguing.

“Are you enjoying being home?” she asked, changing subjects, and his fingers noticeably relaxed.

“Yes,” he said and nodded. “It’s great to be back.”

She absently slid fingers through her silky hair, and he hid a groan, longing to do the same thing; he knew from experience how incredibly soft it was. His mind wandered to the one time he had touched her hair, had held her in his arms and tasted her incredibly sweet lips—a week ago on New Year’s Eve.

Staring at the vibrant woman sitting across from him only intensified the seeds of dissatisfaction with his life. His job was necessary, and he knew he made a difference, but he was growing tired of the necessary secrecy, weary of running around from one side of the world to the other—most of the time with little or no notice. He was fed up with having nowhere to really call home and more importantly of having no one to share his life with.

His country had always come first before everything. He didn’t regret his years of service, but perhaps it was time for some serious reevaluation. Maybe he was just getting old; after all, he was thirty-one, and his priorities had naturally changed. A dissatisfied soldier was a dangerous one, and there was no denying the fact that he had become increasingly dissatisfied of late and meeting Marcy had really emphasized that fact for him.

“Nathan?” Marcy touched his hand and called his name more forcefully, “Nathan!”

“Hmm?” He snapped out of his disturbing introspection.

“Where were you?” She pretended to pout. “Am I so boring that I can’t hold your attention?”

“Marcy, no one would ever call you boring.” He laughed and she joined him. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing important,” he assured. “What were you saying before I spaced out?”

“I was asking if you’ve missed New York.” Her well-manicured fingernails played with the ends of a napkin.

“Very much,” he admitted, wanting to cover those long, feminine fingers with his, pull her into his lap and...

“Are you involved with a woman?” she asked out of the blue.

“That’s rather personal, isn’t it?” He fought back a grin, realizing he had smiled more today than he had in the four years he had been away from home, and the reason was sitting across the table from him.

“Not as personal as I plan to get,” she promised, and he could do nothing except chuckle. “Well, are you?”

“No, my job takes up all of my time.”

His words were music to her ears. He was free, and she was determined that when all was said and done he would be hers.

“It’s just a job, Nathan,” she whispered.

“A career,” he corrected. An increasingly burdensome career.

“Even a career we love can become all-consuming if we let it.” She spoke from experience.

“Maybe I don’t have a problem with that.” He glanced around hoping to see their food coming so he could escape her probing questions.

“Maybe you should. Life’s too short to let it pass you by. Haven’t you ever wanted to find a nice woman, settle down and have some kids?” He remained noticeably silent, staring intently at the contents of his glass, prompting her to change the subject again. “Do you like basketball?”

“What?” He glanced up from his drink, baffled at sudden shift in direction.

“Basketball. Do you like it?” she repeated, smiling.

“You do that very well,” he said, intending to flatter, without answering her question.

“Tools of the trade.” She smiled.

“Stockbroker, right?” He was more comfortable talking about her.

“Correct.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she enthused. “My day’s always different, always interesting—never a dull moment.”

“You thrive on change,” he stated, not asking. That was very apparent to anyone having the pleasure to meet her.

“And challenges,” she said and glanced at him pointedly. “I prefer more continuity in my personal life, though.”

His heart sank a little at her easy admission. That was one thing he could never give her. Absurdly, he wished he could.

“Most people do,” he shortly agreed.

“Do you?” She tilted her head, and her thick mane of hair fell to one side.

“As I said before, I don’t have much of a personal life,” he truthfully responded. “Work takes up most of my time.”

“That leads to a lonely existence, Nathan.”

“I suppose.” He sighed, eyes growing distant. He knew how true her words were—how true he feared they would always be for him.

“Are you?” She watched him closely.

“Am I what?” He refocused on her.

“Lonely?” She reached across and covered his hand with hers, which relaxed for a few seconds before he pulled away.

“I’m content.” He realized he was trying to convince himself rather than her.

“Evasive,” she murmured.

“You’re tenacious,” he countered, and she smiled.

“I told you I was,” she said and shrugged. “I won’t let you be lonely while you’re here, Nathan,” she softly promised.

“I’m sure you won’t,” he agreed with a smirk. “Marcy Johnson, I don’t quite know what to make of you.” He paused before grudgingly admitting as their food was placed before them. “You are something else.”

“Mmm-hmm.” She acknowledged the validity of his words. “You know what else I am?” She picked up her napkin and placed it on her lap.

“What?” He ventured to ask.

“I’m all yours. All you have to do is admit that you want me, reach out your hand and take me,” she bluntly responded when they were alone before picking up her fork and cutting into her buttery soft chicken.

His mouth dropped open in shock as he digested her stunning words, and he was unable to stop it. She had completely floored him with her unabashed forwardness and determination. She also excited, enthralled and enchanted him.

“You shouldn’t say things like that, Marcy.”

“Why not?”

“Because people will take advantage of you if you let them.”

“Is that what you plan to do?”

“No.”

She sighed regretfully. “That’s a shame.”

“Marcy Johnson, you are—” he paused before admitting “—unlike any woman I’ve ever met.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Definitely good,” he said and smiled. “There’s nothing fake about you.”

“What you see is what you get, Nathan.”

What he saw, he wanted—badly. Dammit, why did he have to return home and run headlong into this fascinating, exciting woman who appeared to want nothing more than the chance to make him happy, and why did he want nothing more than the time to let her try?

“It’s fate,” she whispered, laughing softly at his shocked expression when she answered his silent question.