Untied: A Mastermind Novel Read online

  His chest warmed at the thought of holding her in his arms. Nodding, he led her to the bed and drew back the covers. She slid under the sheets and smiled up at him, but he hesitated.

  Part of him feared if he shut his eyes he’d wake up and she’d be gone. “I feel like I’m in a dream. Promise you won’t disappear.”

  Her throaty laugh broke the silence. “You’re a strange man, Elliot. Come hold me. I’m cold.”

  His fingers unbuttoned his shirt and he hung it carefully over the back of the chair, then awkwardly slid under the covers. She snuggled close to his side and he kept his eyes open as long as possible, but eventually, exhaustion defeated his strength of will.

  Sometime later he awoke to a soft chirp of the door and opened his eyes, squinting at the unfamiliar surroundings. Budapest. Disoriented and unsure of the time, he blinked and searched for a clock.

  “Where did you go?” He must have slept soundly. He hadn’t felt or heard her leave the bed.

  “Did you sleep?”

  “Like the dead.” He stretched under the covers, taking her in with his eyes, and scooted over, inviting her to sit. “Where were you?”

  “I went shopping and stopped home to pick up some things.” Placing the last of the bags she carried on the chair, she came to the bed and sat beside him. She wore a skirt, which was quite different from her usual dance attire.

  “You look nice.”

  She grinned. “I found some of my old clothes. I haven’t worn this dress in years.”

  “Any word on my luggage?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  He sighed.

  “I bought you some things. I hope you don’t mind.”

  He frowned. “You didn’t have to buy me anything.”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  She shouldn’t be wasting her money on him. “I can pay you back—”

  “Consider it my gift to you for being so kind and bringing me here. You were so upset about your luggage. I wanted to do something nice for you after all the nice things you’ve done for me.”

  “You went clothes shopping for me?” Embarrassed she’d seen the side of him that could so easily get bent out of shape over lost luggage, he tried not to focus on his earlier behavior.

  “Yes. I might have gone a little overboard, but I think I did well. I think Bruce Wayne would approve.”

  He laughed, touched she would take time away from visiting family to do something so thoughtful. “Thank you.” He’d figure out a way to repay her for the money she spent, but the gesture… It was so incredibly thoughtful. His attention drifted to the drawn curtains. “What time is it?”

  “Almost midnight. You slept most of the day.”

  The time change disoriented him. “How’s your aunt?”

  Her smile turned sad. “Not well. She doesn’t have much strength left.”

  “I’m so sorry, Nadia.” He took her hand in his and squeezed. She shifted, filling the space at his side as she lay down on the bed, facing him.

  Her fingers pulled at the sheet, lowering it to his ribs and his nipples tightened. Her fingers teased his chest, her breath feathering over his skin. “It’s good I’m here. It makes her happy. The house seems so sad I can only bear it a little at a time. I like being able to come back to you for an escape.”

  “Then I’m glad I came with you.”

  Her fingers explored, treading softly from his chest to his jaw. “I’m not used to seeing you with facial hair.”

  “I need to shave. I should shower and see about finding food.”

  “My nagymama sent something for you.”

  He grimaced. “Not more horse, I hope.”

  She laughed. “No. A sandwich. She makes the bread herself. You’ll like it.”

  “I like that you know what I like.” For the most part.

  “I’m learning.” She settled and sighed, appearing tired.

  He, of course, was wide-awake. “We seem to be on opposite sleep schedules.”

  “Mmm,” she answered, and he tipped his chin, seeing her eyes had closed as her cheek rested on his chest.

  He lightly touched her hair and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He could probably sleep some more if he had something to eat. “Where did you say the sandwich was?”

  She didn’t respond.

  Sliding out from under the blankets, he replaced his chest with a pillow. She didn’t flinch. The woman could sleep.

  Eyeing the bags, he didn’t see anything that looked like food. He’d find it later. Right now he needed something quick.

  After using the bathroom he dialed room service and ordered a plate of what he hoped was eggs. While he waited, he shot his mother an email.

  She worried whenever he traveled and emailed him twice already, asking if everything was okay. Email was the most dependable form of communication when overseas and typically he’d have checked in when he landed, but he usually traveled alone. Nadia had distracted him. He apologized for the delay but avoided any mention of his travel companion—certain more talk of Nadia would only get his mother’s hopes up.

  He’d begun to explain his frustration with the airlines and the hassle of losing luggage, but then deleted his comments, no longer as irritated by the situation. Despite the absolute inconvenience of it, he was surprisingly … over it.

  He paused from writing his email and blinked. His mind worked to fathom this unfamiliar, inner calm he felt. His gaze drifted to Nadia. Was she responsible for this strange sense of tranquility? Usually, he was wound tighter than a top, but at the moment his body was relaxed, at total ease regardless of the unexpected hiccups of the trip. How strange.

  He concluded his email with a peculiar everything’s going great. It wasn’t his typical tone, as he often complained to his mother—the one person who never seemed to tire of him. But today, he had no complaints. With a strange grin, he closed his laptop.

  He showered but decided to shave in the morning. Room service delivered two eggs, one hard-boiled, the other poached. There was also toast, beans, and several slices of questionable meat.

  He picked at the toast then went searching for the sandwich again. She was right. He liked it. The bread was fresh and the meat was mild. There was some sort of sauce he suspected was made from avocados, but all in all, it was filling and delicious.

  Nadia slept soundly. He’d removed her sandals and covered her with the blanket, supposing she’d stay there the night. It was too late for her to drive back alone.

  Passing time, he checked the rest of his email and stocks and then caught up on some of the shows he’d missed that week. By three o’clock he was dozing off, so he placed his iPad on the nightstand, folding his hands over his chest as he stared into the darkness.

  Nadia sighed and nestled deeper into his body. Her natural affection showed a softer side he adored. She never hesitated to touch him or kiss him. So why was he restraining himself?

  He studied her under the shadows for several minutes. Lifting his arm he carefully draped it over her narrow shoulder. She sighed and her slight weight nestled closer. This was not at all what he expected a week after running into her, but his expectations were shifting, his standards climbing. He was considering things he was afraid to even admit, even to himself, fearful those expectations would somehow turn to disappointments and this would somehow blow up in his face.

  His hand tightened on her shoulder as he leaned down and kissed her temple, breathing her in. His mind drifted to images of her family … her … fiancé. The man didn’t pose much consequence, being that he was here and they were leaving in a few days, but Elliot didn’t like the way he groped Nadia. Hopefully, now that his position had been clarified, there would be no more issues there.

  It was one thing to pretend to be her boyfriend, but now that he actually was… There would be no other men touching her—especially not a Hungarian beast twice his size.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Your body is not who you are. The mind and spirit tra
nscend the body.”

  ~Christopher Reeve

  “This shirt is plaid.”

  Nadia peeked out from the bathroom, a towel twisted on top of her head like a turban. Her body an absolute distraction. “Yes.”

  “I don’t own plaid.”

  “Now, you do.”

  He frowned and rummaged through the bags. “Why are all these pants so narrow?”

  “That’s the style in Europe.”

  “Wonderful,” he mumbled. “Did you get any ties?”

  “I bought you some sálak—scarves.”

  “Scarves?” While James Bond could pull off an ascot, he could not.

  Pulling out one of the many scarves, he frowned. There were a lot of patterns happening here. “How am I supposed to know what goes with what?” Everything clashed.

  She stepped out of the bathroom, ripping his attention from the clothes in his hands to the damp towel swathed tightly around her body. “You are being fussy, Elliot. It will not kill you to try something new. Here.”

  She took the plaid shirt out of his hand and bent to dig in the bag of pants. Her tapered thighs peeked out beneath the terrycloth as she rummaged and he swallowed.

  Rising, she turned and held out a handful of denim “Wear these.”

  “Jeans?”

  “Yes. Jeans.”

  His nose crinkled at the sight of all that denim. “I’ll look like a cowboy.”

  She snorted. “Trust me, you won’t. Get dressed. I promised my nagymama I’d be home for lunch.” She returned to the bathroom and he sighed.

  I should sue the airport for losing my luggage.

  Sliding into the stiff pants that left little breathing room, he grimaced. The shirt didn’t help matters and the pattern made him dizzy. “I look like a reject from a Gap commercial.”

  Nadia tsked and approached. She’d dressed and he considered how unfair it was that she would look good in anything. “You are supposed to cuff the sleeves. Stop frowning. This is very in style right now.”

  She fussed with his clothing and then ran her fingers through his hair, sifted the strands out of order and destroying his part.

  “I just combed—”

  Her lips pressed to his, silencing him. His lashes lowered and he caught her waist, his body responding instantly to her nearness. She slowly pulled away.

  “You were saying?”

  What had he been saying? “I forget.”

  “You look very handsome, mister. Let’s go.”

  When they returned to Érd the house was full of unexpected guests. Apparently, in Nadia’s culture when a person was on their deathbed, the family hosts a sort of living wake before the relative passed. Food was spread out on every open surface and numerous people mingled around the small home.

  His ears had adjusted to the sound of Hungarian, but his brain was still frustratingly slow at picking up the language. Though he could decipher short sentences, whenever anyone spoke more than a few words at a time he was lost. So many strange names and unfamiliar faces, he found it best to sit in the parlor and simply watch.

  Nadia stayed by her aunt’s bedside, only coming out to refill the pitcher of water or check on him. He’d assure her he was fine and she’d smile, the other guests learning to ignore the strange American in the corner.

  As he observed, he noted many qualities of Hungarian people. They were, overall, a serene bunch, relaxed and laid back. One woman even tried to help him with some common phrases, which he appreciated. He could see where much of Nadia’s generosity stemmed from and thought it a shame that so many years had passed between now and her last visit.

  As the sun set, the crowd thinned. He’d lost track of what day it was, realizing he’d probably recover from feeling jetlagged just in time to get home and back on American time. But it was worth it.

  Thinking the last of the visitors had left, he gathered some dishes from the parlor and carried them to the kitchen where Nadia’s grandmother and mother tidied up.

  “Elliot, akkor nem kell tisztítani,” her grandmother said, taking the dishes out of his hand and tsking. He sensed he was being yelled at so he went to find Nadia.

  She wasn’t in her aunt’s room or any of the other rooms he passed. Returning to the kitchen, he asked, “Hol van Nadia?”

  “Garázs,” her mother said, pointing out the window to the shed in the back. That was where they kept the spare freezer and much of the folding tables he’d helped bring inside that morning.

  Traveling through the house, he let himself out the front door and followed the broken path to the backyard. His nose twitched at the familiar and irritating scent of aftershave. Frowning, he stepped softly onto the crabgrass and stilled at Roland’s deep voice.

  The man spoke quickly, his tone level, but not necessarily kind. When Nadia spoke, her voice sounded harried and almost waspish, causing Elliot to take a quick pace forward.

  She stacked folding chairs against the wall. Elliot scowled at the way Roland towered over her, not offering a single hand to help her move the items. Roland’s face was set in disapproval as he rattled off too many Hungarian words for Elliot to decipher.

  He grit his teeth, recognizing a phrase about America and definitely something about family and marriage. This guy needed to back off.

  Nadia turned, not noticing his presence at the door. Her glare hardened on the other man and her shoulders stiffened. “Elég! When will you get it? This is not my home and I am not yours.”

  The man scoffed. “Because of your American boyfriend? You come here, with your fancy English. I speak English, too. I hear him asking you all his silly questions. The man does not have a clue about our culture.” He crept closer. “You need a real man, Nadia.”

  As his hand closed around her upper arm, an indignant rage took hold of Elliot and he growled, “Don’t touch her.”

  The moment the words left his mouth, bearing more threat than he could uphold, he regretted speaking. Fear snaked through him, snapping with knee jerk regret and worry for his safety. It was a response he hadn’t suffered since high school, but so ingrained in him, so familiar and beaten into his memory that his insides recoiled and he had to swallow back the bile rising in his throat.

  He tried to soften his tone without sounding like a total pussy. “She…” His words withered and Nadia yanked her arm out of the other man’s grip.

  Roland glared at him. “You’re not invited here.”

  Certain this man could knock him out with one flick of his fat fingers, Elliot panicked but didn’t back down. Gritting his teeth, he stepped into the shed. “I… Nadia asked me to be here.” If his heart beat any faster he’d pass out.

  Roland laughed. “This is not America, little man. You are in my home.”

  Nadia scoffed and slammed a metal chair against the others. “This isn’t your home.”

  Roland squinted at the ceiling, his gaze traveling through the shed door as he craned his neck. “It is if I pay for it.”

  Elliot didn’t know the extent to which this man helped her family and didn’t want to damage any agreement that benefited them, but he would not stand by and let him harass his girlfriend. He knew a bully when he saw one.

  Elliot held a hand out to Nadia and she took it. Pulling her out of the shed and a safe distance from Roland, he met the man’s stare and swallowed back his fear. “Touch her again and you and I are going to have a problem.”

  Roland’s harsh laugh mocked him. “I’d like to see you try to give me a problem.”

  Burying his anxiety, he edged her toward the yard. “Come on, Nadia. We can deal with this later.”

  Without sparing the man a second glance, they returned to the house and he fought the urge to puke. Once they were inside, he turned to her. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Are you okay? I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  “I’m fine,” he lied. “Excuse me.”

  By the time he made it to the hall, he was trembling with adrenaline. Locking himself in the bathroom, he
turned on the faucet and gripped the lip of the narrow sink, catching his breath. His pulse was wild and his neck was sweating. Glancing over the frames of his glasses, he looked at his reflection. He was white as a sheet.

  “Fuck,” he breathed, shutting his eyes, trying to steady his breathing.

  Dragging a hand down his face, he pulled off his glasses and collected himself. He wouldn’t survive another run-in with a man like that. He could be many things, but he was not a fighter. Bullies terrified him for good reason.

  Closing his eyes he suffered through countless recollections of run-ins with people similar to Roland. He could smell a bully’s stink from a hundred miles away. And though the bruises always healed, the scars under the surface never seemed to fade.

  “You’re safe,” he whispered, the words hardly carrying a sound as he forced out a breath. “You’re a grown man. You’re successful. You’re in charge of your life.” His heart rate gradually slowed.

  Shutting off the faucet, he dried his hands, took a galvanizing breath, and opened the door, taken aback by the sight of Nadia waiting for him in the hall.

  Her brow pinched as her eyes showed regret. “Are you okay?”

  His gaze darted away from hers. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t have to involve yourself with him. I can handle Roland.”

  Was she insinuating he couldn’t handle the asshole? She was right, but he didn’t want her making such assumptions. “He shouldn’t put his hands on you.”

  The other man’s entitlement made him livid, but aside from empty threats, there was little he could do to stop him.

  “He means nothing, Elliot. I just ignore him.” Despite her blasé attitude, he could tell the other man had upset her.

  “He shouldn’t bother you anymore,” he offered lamely, almost laughing at himself for sounding so arrogant and equally ignorant. They both knew Elliot’s threat hadn’t intimidated Roland one bit, but he wanted to pretend it had. God, he was such a pussy.

  Her head tipped as she studied him for a moment, a peculiar curve to her lips. “Do you want to get out of here for a while?”

  Yes, he wanted to get as far away from there as possible. “Sure.”