Lost and Found

Chapter Eight

Nate nodded. “That happen a lot?”

“Oh, yeah.” She sighed. “I’m used to it. Good thing he called before I got his steak ready.” She picked up the third rib-eye and put it into the freezer.

“He said he won’t be home until about ten. Client meetings.”

She nodded, washing her hands at the sink.

“How ’bout I open that wine?”

“Sure.”

She handed the corkscrew over to him and while he opened the Pinot Noir she got out glasses. He poured some into each and she sipped it.

“Very nice.” She nodded, sipped again, enjoyed the puckery tannins, the fruity berry taste.

“Mmm.” He looked around. “You going to grill those steaks outside?”

“Yes. It’s a gas grill, it’s easy to use.”

“Just say when, and I’ll help. I’m pretty good with a barbeque.”

She smiled. Since he’d been back, he’d seemed so different than she remembered. This was the first glimpse she’d had of the Nate she recalled. He’d always been so much fun—wild, spontaneous, always smiling and laughing. The laugh they’d shared that afternoon had been the first smile she’d seen cross his grim face. His deep-set eyes and straight, grim mouth gave him a forbidding look that one smile banished. Yeah, she’d felt sorry for him earlier, but he was so not the loser he felt like. He was smart, funny, talented. And gorgeous. “I like you, Nate.”

He turned a startled face to her. “Uh…thanks. I…uh…like you too.”

She grinned. “People don’t say that to each other often enough. You tell people you love that you love them, but you never tell your friends that you like them.”

He studied his wine. “So I’m your friend?”

“Of course you are. You’re Derek’s friend, so you’re mine too.”

He said nothing, just kept looking at his wine glass and she sensed the discomfort he felt. This Nate was different—closed off, unavailable and brooding.

“We should get those steaks on,” she said brightly.

They grilled the steaks and the mushrooms and Nate whipped up a vinaigrette dressing for the salad Krissa put together. They sat out on the deck to eat their meal in the evening sunshine, Nate with his back to it.

“How’re your eyes? Better than this morning?”

“Better. They’re always sore and sensitive, but sometimes not so bad.”

“Have they improved at all since you got sick?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

She nodded, cut a piece of steak and popped it into her mouth. Just the right bite of black pepper, heat of cayenne, warmth of garlic.

“This is good,” he remarked. “Really good steak. Mushrooms are good too.”

They were—earthy and smoky. Heat crept into her cheeks. “Sorry about earlier. I get the idea I want something and I have to have it.”

“I know.” He smiled.

She reached for the bottle of wine and poured the last of it into their glasses. “I love food.”

“Good thing you’re skinny.”

“I’m not skinny!”

“I mean…I thought girls liked to be skinny.”

She frowned. “Slim, maybe. Slender. Skinny sounds…bony. Ugly.”

“Okay, good thing you’re so slim.”

She smiled at him. “That’s better.”

“You’re not bony. And you’re definitely not ugly.”

Their eyes met and held, his just visible through the dark lenses. She felt her cheeks heat, and bent her head, letting her hair fall over her face. “Thanks. You’re definitely not ugly either.”

He groaned. “When you say it, I realize what a lousy compliment that is.”

She lifted her head. “You’re fun to be with, Nate.”

And she really meant that. He’d taken her mind off her misery, and his mild flirting made her feel better about herself. Not like a failure, a nagging wife, a woman who would never be a mother. She actually felt good.

“Strangely enough, I’m having fun, too,” he said slowly. “And I thought I came here to wallow in self-pity.”

“This is the Pity Palace, right now.”

He laughed again, a dry, dusty sound, and she had a feeling he hadn’t laughed a lot in the last couple of years.

He helped with the dishes after dinner and they wandered into the family room. Krissa clicked through the many channels on TV until she found a movie they both wanted to watch. Shortly before ten o’clock, Derek arrived home.

He’d been drinking, she could tell immediately, smelling it on him, but he wasn’t drunk. But then, she’d been drinking, too, she and Nate having finished off the bottle of Pinot Noir and started in on the Sauvignon Blanc.

“Long day,” he sighed. He yanked his tie down and then off, undid the top buttons of his shirt. He sat down on the couch beside her, Nate having moved to the arm chair across from the sofa when Derek had come in. Derek put his arm around her and pulled her against him, kissed her head. “How was your day?”

“Good.”

“Really?” He drew back and looked at her. “You’re not mad still?”

She sighed, pasted on a smile. “I’m okay.”

“Love you, Krissa.” He hugged her and kissed her mouth.

She closed her eyes. She loved him, too. He was her husband. For better or for worse. How could she leave him?

But she couldn’t deny the aching sadness still lingering deep inside her.

Nate watched Derek embrace his wife and kiss her, and shifted in the armchair. He’d almost been hoping she’d still be pissed at Derek. He deserved it. He should have been home with his wife.

For some reason, Nate was annoyed at his friend. He’d hurt Krissa. And then he didn’t even come home for dinner. Again.

Hell, it was none of his business. If Krissa was okay, he shouldn’t be worked up about it anymore either.

Krissa snuggled into Derek’s side, closer, and Derek put both arms around her. One hand stroked her hip and she rested her cheek on his chest, her hand on his shoulder. Then Derek slid his hand to the back of her thigh and lifted her knee across his lap. With a sigh, Krissa’s hand moved to Derek’s neck and she tipped her head back to look at his face.

“I’m sorry, babe,” he whispered. Nate could barely hear him. He wanted to look away from the increasing intimacy of their pose, but couldn’t. From behind his dark glasses, he knew they couldn’t really tell if he was looking at them or not. He faced the television screen but could see them.

Derek bent his head and kissed Krissa again, and Nate watched her mouth open beneath Derek’s. Nate’s groin tightened, heavy and full. The kiss deepened, Krissa’s hand on Derek’s cheek, his hand on her ass. As they kissed, mouths shifting, he could see tongues touching and licking, heard soft breaths and soft, wet suckling noises.

Someone groaned—he wasn’t sure if it was Krissa or Derek—and Nate’s cock swelled. Jesus. Had they forgotten he was there?

His cock throbbed beneath the fly of his jeans, and he altered his position in the chair again. He swallowed, but still couldn’t drag his eyes off the vignette of the couple making out in front of him.

Their mouths parted, wet and shiny, and they looked at each other. Krissa blinked, caressed her husband’s face. Derek nuzzled her neck, kissed her throat.

Krissa’s eyes drifted to Nate and widened. “Oh.” She pushed at Derek. “Derek. Stop.”

“Mmm.” He licked her throat and she quivered.

“Stop, Derek. Nate’s here.”

“S’okay,” he murmured. “He likes to watch. Dontcha, Nate?”

Derek lifted his head and sent a wicked smile Nate’s way.

Nate’s skin burned and tingled all over and his cock pulsed. He wanted to touch himself. He wanted to see more. He wanted Derek to touch Krissa. Hell, Nate wanted to touch Krissa.

He swallowed a groan but didn’t answer Derek, who had returned to kissing and sucking the soft flesh of Krissa’s neck and shoulder. Her head fell back.

“Derek…” her voice trailed off.

Touch her. Nate could see her breasts swelling beneath her thin T-shirt, begging to be touched. Christ, if Derek didn’t do it soon, he was going to.

Derek did it. His hand slid up over Krissa’s flat stomach under the T-shirt, and cupped her breast.

Nate was going to explode.

Krissa gave a soft moan that sounded like the word “no” but if it was, Derek ignored her, caressed her breast, the T-shirt riding high and exposing her smooth tummy.

Fuck. Nate was either going to whip his dick out and jerk off right there in front of them, or he was going to burst. Gritting his teeth, he rose to his feet and almost staggered out of the room.

“I’ll give you two some privacy,” he muttered, and headed to his room.

He tore off the sunglasses, not bothering with the light in his room, and fell onto the bed, hands fumbling at his zipper. He shoved his jeans open and down, pulled out his aching cock and fisted it. He groaned into the soft darkness, the pull of his hand gratifying, relieving. He slid his other hand under his T-shirt, rubbed his chest as he thrust into his fist. Then he lowered his hand to cup his balls, squeezed, and pumped into his hand only a few times before he came, white hot streams of semen spurting onto his belly.

He lay there panting, staring at the ceiling.

Derek was only half right. Nate did like to watch. But Derek liked to watch, too.