Page 20 of Not Part of the Plan
Niko leaned into her space, testing. She didn’t pull back, and the air between them crackled with awareness. “I don’t know whether to admire your delusions or feel sorry for you,” he whispered as if imparting a secret.
Emma gave a husky laugh, and Niko felt the sound go straight to his gut. She was a dare, and it was the first time in weeks that he felt like rising to one.
“While you decide between those two sterling options, let’s get back to the questions. You mentioned your parents. What are they like?”
“My mother was a wonderful, talented, amazing woman. She was a ballerina, actually. But when I came along she decided she’d rather be a mom. She still performed occasionally, taught more, but she was just this beautiful, warm, funny woman.”
“Was?”
“She died when I was fifteen. Cancer.”
Emma’s hand covered his where it rested on his leg. He hoped that she couldn’t feel the tremor of his muscles. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “It was a long time ago.”
“But you never stop missing her,” she guessed.
“And I never will,” he predicted. “She and my dad married at eighteen and left Russia to start a new life here. My dad was a civil engineer. An engineer and a ballerina,” he smiled wryly. “But they made it work. Our house was always full of music and friends. There were always extra plates set for dinner. I couldn’t tell you how many times I walked into the kitchen to find my parents dancing.”
“It sounds wonderful,” Emma said.
“It was a great way to grow up. I hope someday I can give kids that kind of childhood.” Niko frowned down at the empty shot glass.And just where the fuck had that sentiment come from?
“Are you and your father still close?”
He thought about it. “Not as close as either of us would like,” he said finally. “Mom was the glue, and without her, our lives carried on in different directions. He remarried a few years ago. A nice woman.” That he’d never really bothered to get to know, he realized. Niko picked up his shot glass. “What do they put in these shots? Truth serum?”
“Well, as long as you’re feeling truthy. Let’s talk about why you’re here.”
“What makes you think this isn’t just a vacation?” he asked, evading the question. He nodded at Ed for another beer, and Emma asked for a water.
She watched him expectantly, her chin on her hand. He let her wait, and she rolled her eyes.
“I Googled you,” she admitted and pointed a finger at him before he could gleefully accuse her of being interested. “Uh-uh, Romeo. You travel to Paris and Rome and Berlin. Every once in a while, you and the lucky lady of the week head to the Caribbean or Mediterranean. You do not vacation on a farm in Blue Fucking Moon.”
He liked a woman with a mouth on her, one who knew when to swear for emphasis rather than lack of vocabulary. “I want more points for not pointing out that cyber-stalking proves some level of interest.”
She looked unimpressed and settled back on her stool to wait. “What better way to prove how seriously you’re taking our fledgling friendship than by being honest with me?”
He studied the fresh beer Ed dropped in front of him. “Fine. But I’m already reconsidering our friendship. You’re very annoying.”
She gave him a swift, un-Emma-like kick to his bare shin.
“Ouch! Okay,” he grumbled, rubbing his abused leg that immediately went into spasm. “It started a few months ago. I have the perfect life. Everything I’ve been working toward I already have. My job is interesting. I live in an overpriced loft in one of the most expensive cities in the world. I date beautiful women. I can buy just about anything I want.”
Emma polished off the last of her martini but said nothing.
“And then one day, I woke up, and none of it felt like what I wanted anymore.”
“Ouch,” she winced.
“Exactly. Work went from this creative, high-energy experiment to me shooting on autopilot. The women I’d enjoyed seemed to lose all their color and appeal. I felt like I was shooting—and dating—clothes hangers.”
She grimaced.
“Yeah? Imagine how I feel. My whole life revolves around photography and—” he shot her a glance. “Women. But it feels as though the interest just dried up and disappeared.”
“And you thought coming here would…” she prodded.
