“Not home.” She wasn’t about to tell him that Nathan was spending Friday night at a friend’s house. She wasn’t ready for Mick to meet him yet. It was too soon, and she wasn’t sure where she and Mick were headed. Hell, she wasn’t sure about anything. No way was she going to involve her son.
“I see.” He grabbed her around he waist and jerked her against him, then planted his lips on hers, giving her one seriously hot kiss that melted her feet to her kitchen floor. Tara sank into the kiss, forgetting all about where she was until Mick pulled away.
“Wow.”
He grinned. “Figured we wouldn’t get any alone time for that tonight, so wanted to get it in now.”
She blinked to clear her head. “Okay then.”
He looked around. “So show me your house.”
“It’s just a condo, Mick. Nothing fancy.”
He turned to her. “I live in a condo. Nothing fancy, either. So show me yours, and when you come to my place I’ll show you mine.”
His words evoked images of you show me yours and I’ll show you mine that had nothing to do with living space. She tried to suppress the tingle that rolled down her spine, but as she led him from room to room, she felt his eyes on her and wondered if he was really looking at her place or at her.
“You have a nice place, Tara.”
She shrugged. “I try to make a home for Nathan. And he’s a slob, so if you find stinky tennis shoes anywhere, blame him.”
He laughed. “You forget who you’re talking to. And I’m glad we’re not at my condo right now, because you probably would find smelly tennis shoes somewhere. So relax. The fact you have a teenage boy and he actually lives here isn’t going to send me running out the door. I was a teenage boy once. I get how they live.”
“Fine. I’ll try not to panic.” She took him through the living room and dining room.
“I don’t think you want to see the upstairs.”
“Sure I do. I want to see your whole house.”
She sighed. “Fine.”
They took the stairs, and again she felt his gaze on her. It wasn’t making her uncomfortable, exactly, just aware that she was alone in her house with a man. When was she ever alone in her house with a man?
Uh ... never? She never brought guys over, never wanted to parade a stream of men in and out of Nathan’s life. She figured if she’d ever thought about having a permanent relationship with a guy, she’d let him meet Nathan.
So why had she invited Mick over? They weren’t even really dating.
“There are three bedrooms up here. Nathan’s room, my room, and the third I use for an office. I should probably warn you about Nathan’s room ...”
“You can skip it. That’s his private domain, and I don’t want to violate it.”
She stood outside her bedroom door. “Oh, but you’d be fine with violating my private domain?”
He leaned over her and turned the door handle. “Honey, I’ve already violated your domain.”
There went that flutter again, her sex and her nipples all too aware they were entering her bedroom.
She stood back and let him look, figuring he’d take a cursory glance and they’d be on their way back downstairs.
“It looks like you.”
She stared at her bedroom, at the cream and brown comforter, the pictures on the walls, the photos of Nathan. She turned to Mick “Really? How?”
“Colorful. The art on the walls isn’t just some mishmash of crap. The textures of the two pictures over the bed bring out the colors in the bedspread. I like Mondine’s art, by the way. She’s trendy, but doesn’t paint that weird shit where you can’t figure out what the hell it is. The black-and-white photos of your son seem to capture his personality. He looks like he’s trying damn hard to be serious as hell and all grown-up, but he’s just a big goof and probably feels dorky a lot of the time. Curse of being almost fifteen. Cute kid, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Her voice caught because he’d so perfectly described her son’s early awkward teenage years.
“I can tell you put thought into each piece. Same thing with the knickknacks that you have spread throughout the house. It’s not overkill, just subtle touches. It’s not fussy; it’s simple. I don’t feel like I have to watch where I walk or where I would set a glass down. And I imagine your son is comfortable living here. Your place looks lived-in. It’s inviting.”
She stared at him for the longest time, until he laughed.
“What?” he asked.
“Who are you?”
“Huh?”
“No football player knows art and décor. And you know who Mondine is.”
“Oh. Well, blame Liz for that.”
“Liz?”
“My agent. She makes me go to gallery openings and museums and charity events for the arts—the kinds of things no football player should have to endure. You soak enough of it up, some of it sticks. Like this sculpture here,” he said, picking up the entwined lovers. “It says something about who you are as well as the artist.”
“What does it say about me?”
“That you know good art. I saw this at a gallery opening a few months back. It also says you’re a romantic.”
She sat on the end of her bed and looked at him. “There are sides to you that boggle me, Mick Riley.”