"Not long." Rose pressed a kiss on Angelica's forehead. "Go get something to eat. I'm hungry just looking at you. You're like skin and bones, working all the time."

I lifted an eyebrow, but did as I was told and turned toward the kitchen in search of apple fritters. Rose liked to tell me I was skin and bones, but I was not. I was a size eight and healthy with a pleasant tummy pooch in the middle. I liked to think it made me cuddly.

I slipped my hand under the shirt of my scrubs and was scratching aforementioned pooch when I walked into the kitchen, to the coffee machine, and stopped, immobilized.

Before me was the sight of Nico, shirtless and in black boxer briefs, making apple fritters. He was standing at the kitchen table spooning apple goo into a waiting dough shell. Flour speckled his chest and stomach. I noted his stomach was pooch free.

Watching a shirtless Nico Manganiello bake was something that belonged in Playgirl magazine.

He was obscene, and the scene was pornographic. Between the smell of coffee and apple fritters, the still-lingering arousal from my Nico-beach dream, and finding him in the kitchen all hot and domesticated, I thought I might orgasm on the spot.

I certainly would if he touched me.

Don't let him touch you!

Chapter 16.

I stared at him and his . . . everything. Just. Freaking. Everything. And I might have drooled a little bit. In fact, I know I did because I felt drooly water fall to my arm. It was enough to wake me from the Nico-domestic-porn trance. I wiped my arm and hand on the pants of my scrubs and-with every ounce of self-control I had within me-tore my gaze from him and his . . . fritters.

As luck would have it, Nico appeared to notice me at the exact same moment. "Hey, Elizabeth. Want a fritter?"

"Uh, nope." I noted that the color of the kitchen walls were pale gray.

He crossed to me, holding a golden pastry. "Sure you do." I lifted my eyes at his approach, was slapped in the face with the unrealness and unfairness of his perfect physique.

"No. I'm good. Really." I turned slightly and backed up, unthinkingly trapping myself between the island counter and the sink.

He lifted the pastry to my mouth and said, "Open up."

I leaned backward over the sink, my arms flailing, and forced him to stop his advance. "Hey buddy-you want to put that junk away?"

Nico glanced down at his black boxer briefs. "What are you talking about?"

"The torso of magnificence and thighs of splendor. You want to cover up?"

Nico placed the fritter on the counter to his side; his other hand rested on his chest, and he issued me a soporific smile. "Torso of magnificence?" His hand moved down the front of his chest, over the ridged plane of his abdomen then slowed just above the elastic of his briefs, hovered there. I watched the movement of his hand as though it were a snake ready to strike.

Bad, bad, bad analogy!

"Am I distracting you, Elizabeth?"

"No, no you're not. You're just-you just shouldn't walk around half- or mostly naked when people are out and about. That's all I'm saying."

"Do you have a problem with male nudity?"

"I don't have a problem with male nudity." I shook my head. "I have a problem with your male nudity-in this apartment."

"This is my apartment."

"Yes, I know. But there are women and children in this apartment, in the other room watching cartoons."

"She's my niece."

"I know that."

"And my mother."

"Yes, I'm aware of that fact as well, but I'm not related to you."

"No . . ." His grin was less lazy, more focused. "No, you're not related to me."

"No . . . I'm not . . ." I was trapped in his gaze for a moment and may have swayed forward a few inches before catching myself and averting my eyes. "I'm not and we've already established that fact and I'm going to leave the kitchen now." I tried to move past him, but he shifted to the side; my arm made contact with his bare chest, and I recoiled as though burned.

"Well, let me just get out of your way." He said though he purposefully filled the entire space between the two counters, ensuring that I would have to touch him and his torso of magnificence-if not his thighs of splendor- in order to pass.

"Very nice, very nice-" I rolled my eyes at his antics and attempted to navigate a path through the small space without rubbing against his impressively proportioned and well-chiseled body.

"You know, maybe you would be more comfortable if you took your clothes off." Nico shifted and caught me against the counter between his arms; his hands rested on either side of my hips. "I think if you took your shirt off then you wouldn't feel like things are so uneven." He was the only person I'd ever met who could swagger while standing still.

"Would you please just-please just move out of my way?"

"I mean, you don't have to take your bra off, you could just take your shirt off."

"Oh, really? Did you want me to administer the infusion to Angelica with no clothes on? Would that be appropriate behavior?"

His grin intensified. "Elizabeth, I can think of many things I want you to do without your clothes on, but administering an infusion to my niece is near the bottom of the list."

"Oh? Okay, what other things can you think of that would be near the bottom of the list?"

"Let's talk about the top of the list."

"No." I forgot for a moment that I was trapped and found myself thoroughly enjoying the unexpected turn of our conversation. "I want to talk about the bottom of the list first."

"Okay, at the bottom of the list of things I want Elizabeth Finney to do with no clothes on is," Nico glanced at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused as though deep in thought, then he abruptly returned them to me. "Hug another guy."

"Really?"

"Yeah, yeah. That's near the bottom of the list."

I placed my index finger on my chin. "Well, what about washing a car?"

"No, no-that's high on the list. Very, very high."

"Oh, it is?"

"Lower on the list would be something like cleaning up poop."

An involuntary laugh burst forth. "Okay. I can see that. I can see why that wouldn't be so great."

"How about you?"

"How about me what?"

"What would you like me to do with no clothes on?" His eyes searched mine, intense and intent.

Heat swelled within me, and I knew-beyond a shadow of a doubt-that he wasn't asking, he was offering. I held my breath, knew that any response would likely result in us getting naked on the counter.

Teetering on the precipice of ruin, I was sure he saw the silent answer to his offer. I was sure because it was plainly observable in my eyes, shallow breathing, parted lips, and the thundering of my heart. However, just as his fingers slipped under my shirt, brushed against my stomach, Rose's voice sounded from just beyond the kitchen.

"Elizabeth it's almost six and I think Angelica is awake enough for you to start."

We quite literally jumped apart. I jumped up on the counter, sitting very awkwardly on the edge of the sink, and Nico jumped to the far side of the kitchen, back to his station by the apple fritter assembly line. I can't say with certainty whether he managed to accomplish the task with one giant leap, but I do know one minute his knuckles were searing my skin and the next minute he was across the room, spooning apple goo into dough.

Rose shuffled in, still in her bathrobe, and meandered to the coffee pot. "I turned on another cartoon, just until the procedure is over. I think I'll send her back to bed after." Rose, either purposely ignoring the tension in the room with an impressive display of acting ability or completely blind to it, sleepily moved to the refrigerator and pulled out some cream.

Meanwhile, I endeavored to surreptitiously rein my rapid heart and raging hormones, pointedly stared at the counter across from me and count the number of spatulas in the utensil container. There were eight. Who would ever need eight spatulas?

I was not looking at Nico and his flawless olive skin. I wasn't looking at the gracefulness of his movements, the way his back muscles bunched and flowed or the fact that he had the most perfect man-butt in the history of all time.

Period. End of story. Goodnight.

"Lizzybella, where is your coffee? Do you want cream?" Rose was suddenly standing in front of me, eyeing me with open concern.

I blinked at her dumbly then released the breath I'd been holding for maybe over a minute. Gingerly, my feet touched the ground as I slipped off the edge of the sink.

"I . . ." I released another breath; it was audibly shaky.

She glanced between Nico and me and muttered in Italian, "Chi ha l'amore nel petto, ha lo sprone nei fianchi[4]."

Nico's shoulders tensed.

I frowned. "Pardon me?"

"Are you feeling well?" Rose pressed her hand to my forehead.

"Yes. I'm fine."

Without turning around, Nico joined the conversation. "I was just asking her the same thing. She looks hot." He stressed the T, and I was immediately frustrated by the calm in his voice and the double meaning of his words.

Freaking Nico!

"I'm fine," I said and politely refused Rose's offer of creamer. "I don't take anything in my coffee."

"Hmm. Nico takes his black too. I can't drink it like that, I need it a little sweet."

"Elizabeth is already sweet." Nico mumbled, just loud enough for us to hear, and my chest constricted at his sweet sincerity. I wanted to evaporate and disappear. I hated that he did this to me.

"Yes she is. She is an angel."

Rose's agreement caused me to groan inwardly. The blood pumping in my veins felt anything but angelic. It felt downright sinful.

Anxious to leave my fan club, I ducked my head, darted around Rose, and said over my shoulder, "I better go get started."

"What about your coffee?" Rose called after me.

"I'm perfectly awake!"

Nico caught my eye as I passed. Instead of a smug smile, his features were solemn, sober, and his eyes hot with intent and promise.

It stung me with an awareness that lingered, made me cognizant of where the worn cotton touched my skin, and was the reason I took a cold shower as soon as I returned to my apartment.

My palms were actually sweaty as I approached the penthouse for the 2:00 p.m. infusion. I needed to never be alone in the same room with Nico ever again. My skin was still on fire, and I was honestly worried what I would do if presented with any opportunity to maul him.

But when I entered he was nowhere in sight. Angelica was coloring, Rose was knitting, but Nico-Rose explained-was out with Quinn, Janie's fiance. This thought made me frown.

Quinn and Nico, roaming around Chicago together-no good could come of it.

Rose invited me to stay and knit, but I hastily declined. I administered the infusion, conducted Angelica's daily exam, then rushed out of the penthouse, worried that I might run into Nico if I dawdled. Arriving back to my apartment, coming face-to-face with the silence of solitude, I immediately regretted not staying with Rose and Angelica.

So, I took a nap and, predictably, dreamt of Nico and his . . . apple fritters. I may or may not have been licking the sticky sugar and apple juice from his bare stomach to his collar bone and he may or may not have been bringing me to bliss while forcibly restraining me.

I awoke hot and sticky and with my legs, middle, and arms tangled in sheets-which explained the restraint by force portion of the dream-and decided I needed another cold shower.

I stumbled across Nico's mixtape CD when I was getting dressed. Man scrawl stared at me from the inside of my underwear drawer where I'd, unthinkingly, placed it for safekeeping. At first I ignored it, pulled out some very white cotton underwear and a sports bra.

I dressed myself in yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt with a chemistry joke about methane inscribed on the front; crude chemistry jokes were my favorite, followed closely by Star Trek puns. I pulled my hair into a tight pony tail and attempted to busy myself-and hopefully center myself-with some yoga.

But thoughts of the CD in my underwear drawer, touching my underthings, kept me from focusing. After fifteen minutes of mental arm wrestling while trying and failing to do a firefly pose, I stomped over to the drawer, pulled out the CD, and pushed it into the player connected to our stereo.

I waited, breathing hard for no apparent reason, hands on my hips.

Freaking Nico.

The first notes of the first song startled me. A single cello followed by a group of violins played in abrupt unison-one over the other-and created a solid yet stunted rhythm. Then a woman's voice, thick and rich and familiar, sang the opening words.

As the song unfolded, a heady modern bass beat resounded in the background. I recognized the song and the singer-"Where Do I Begin," Shirley Bassey-and further recognized that it was a remix and that the remix was masterfully done; a solid, modern, edgy reimagining of an old standard.

I walked back to my exercise mat now feeling curious. Music, quality music, flowed over me, and I easily centered myself. I spent the next half hour doing yoga, holding poses somewhat longer than typical. I strained to listen to the words of the songs or held my breath in anticipation of what would come next.