Not My Type: Adele Ch. 04

More than an hour later I threw up my hands and conceded defeat. Nate had pulled ahead by twenty points and the only tiles left in my tray were 'z', 'k', and 'g', none of which were of any use to me.

He shot me a mischievous grin from across the board. The firelight glinted like gold off his hair. He was so damn good-looking that I forgot to breathe for a moment.

"Sorry, sweetheart!"

I glanced down at the last word he played. "Cacomixl? I don't even know what that means!"

"It's a raccoon-like mammal," Nate explained with a soft chuckle. "Ring-tailed, looks sort of like a cat. From South America."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Really?" My last word—juridic—seemed positively banal by comparison.

"Really," he assured me. "If you don't believe me I've got an encyclopaedia around here somewhere."

I shook my head. "No, no... I believe you. I think. I mean, if anyone knows the little-known mammalian wonders of God's creation, it'll be you."

Nate winked at me. "As recompense I'll cook you dinner."

My stomach growled in response. Lunchtime felt like it had flown by a million years ago. The blizzard had darkened the world so much it was difficult to tell precisely what time it was. Or maybe it was that so much had passed between lunch and this moment. Either way, I found I was starving.

Dinner turned out to be fettuccine with an amazing alfredo sauce -- thick, rich, and sinfully luxurious. I think I moaned at the first bite.

"Where did you learn to cook?" I asked before after I took a sip of the smooth shiraz.

"My best friend is a three-star chef," Nate teased. "He's taught me a thing or two. Your ex never cooked you dinner?"

The question, its subject matter and the ease with which he brought it up, caught me off guard but I wouldn't let it show. I didn't like where this was going but maybe if I gave Nate an honest answer, he'd let it go.

"I'm not even sure he knew how to boil water. Harry lived in a world where everything was done for him. He didn't cook, he certainly didn't clean. If I wasn't home in time to get dinner on the table, he ate out. Even if I was exhausted from being in court all day, he still figured I'd be the one to feed him."

In between bites of fettuccine alfredo, Nate smirked. "You're doing nothing to improve my opinion of the man."

I gigged.

"What did he do for a living anyhow?"

I twirled the fettuccine noodles around my fork but I couldn't bring myself to take another bite. Yes, I definitely didn't like where this was going.

"As little as possible," I told him. "When I met him he was going to be a lawyer too, but he didn't keep up with the studying. He tried to become a firefighter but couldn't pass the physicals. Instead he bounced around from job to job... for a while he even sold used cars. Mostly though, he didn't do much at all."

Nate reached over and touched my hand. "I can't believe you put up with that. You're so driven."

"I was in love and he was my husband, what was I going to do? He always had an excuse that made sense and I wanted to be the supportive wife instead of nagging him all the time. I'd always known what direction my own life was going to take, but I also know it's not that easy for everyone. I thought Harry was just... I thought he just needed time to find himself, you know? We were young after all, it's not unheard of."

Nate's brown eyes glassed over for a minute and I could tell he was thinking of his own lost years. His gaze met mine and sharpened.

"He was very lucky to have you and a complete idiot for not realizing what a treasure you are."

I shrugged. I know I still carried around a lot of bitterness towards Harry and our failed marriage, but one afternoon with Nate had done a lot to banish the lingering shadows of that hurt. Nate returned the grateful smile I sent across the table.

We laughed and chatted over the remainder of dinner. My appetite, usually small at best, seemed to expand over the meal, and I ate the entire helping Nate heaped on my plate. A glass-and-a-half of wine later, I was feeling very, very good.

We stood shoulder to shoulder at the sink and washed up the dishes together with water warmed on the corner woodstove. That stove was a handy thing to have, I realized as I plunged my hands into the warm soapy water; we had no electricity but still enjoyed a hot meal and even hotter water.

Nate's long fingers brushed over my soap-slick hands each time I passed him a dish to dry. Somehow this everyday, domestic task became charged with an intimacy I'd never experienced before. I didn't want the evening to end.

Back in the livingroom Nate piled more wood into the fire. The candles had burned low and he replenished them carefully, casting the room in a soft, ethereal glow. There was magic all around us as I lowered myself onto my end of the couch. Instead of taking his place beside me though, Nate sank to the floor and pulled an acoustic guitar from behind the sofa.

"Mind if I play for a while? My fingers itch if I don't get it out of my system."

I shook my head, more than willing to be submitted to the captivating spell of Nate's music. I didn't even make the pretence of reading my book as he played; instead I watched the candle-light flicker off the blond crown of his bent head and the masterful movements of his fingers over the strings.

Some of the songs I recognized—old folk tunes I'd heard as a child, a few Beatles songs made more appealing and somehow new by the acoustic guitar, familiar radio anthems softened by Nate's talented fingers. I didn't ask him about the unfamiliar songs because I didn't want to interrupt Nate. Anyway, the titles didn't really matter, they were all beautiful.

When he first began to sing I had to strain to hear him, but his voice grew stronger as he moved through an old David Gray song. The words were husky in the back of his throat and I didn't dare move in case I missed a single line of "Sail Away". But sitting still became impossible when Nate sang the chorus a second time.

I sank to my knees in front of him and kissed him with everything I had in me. The guitar shifted between us. His arms were around me and he was pulling me down to the carpet in front of the fireplace.

At first his touch was gentle, almost unsure, but he grew more fervent as our kiss deepened. This wasn't the careful exploration we'd made earlier upstairs in the music room. This time Nate took from me with frantic hunger and I returned every feeling he brought out in me, every ounce of hope he shared with me. My spine arched up off the floor when his fingers brushed the underside of my breast.

"Nate..." I was desperate for more than just a glancing caress. He shuddered as my nails gently raked his scalp.

He felt hard against my thigh and if he ached half as much as I did that it had to be unbearable. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been touched, the last time I'd been loved. And even then, those moments felt tepid compared to this.

Nate's lips slid from mine to rain kisses across my cheeks and down my chin before he swept back up to dive into my mouth. His fingers tentatively grazed the hem of my sweater before sliding up underneath. He wrapped his hand around the curve of my waist. The skin to skin contact stole the air from my body.

I wrenched my mouth free and gasped for breath. "I want you to make love to me."

Nate dropped his head to feast at the nape of my neck. His lips travelled hotly to my ear, leaving me dizzy with pleasure.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I fully intend to."

I shivered as his whispered words danced over my skin.

To be continued...

"Sail Away" is one of my favourite songs of all time and David Gray's music is very much the soundtrack to my life. If you choose to download it, please do so legitimately. Artists of every medium deserve your support. Thank you ~ firstkiss