Page 12 of The Woman at the Funeral (Costa Family #11)

Blair

Honestly, I guess I could thank Ronny for one thing.

Her random drop-in at my old place was what had me finally make the jump on the condo in Nico’s building.

I’d been hemming and hawing it.

But one more Ferraro drop-in had me taking the leap.

Luckily, it was a condo, not a co-op, so the process had been quick, since both the seller and I were eager to get things over with.

And despite some initial worries about being in the same building with Nico, I had to admit it was the best decision I had made for myself since before I met Matthew.

First, it was gorgeous. With its light wood floors, crown molding, built-ins, generous kitchen, and the oversized primary bed and bath.

Barbara had been right. The previous owner had redone just about everything inside.

No expense had been spared. And their taste and mine just so happened to coincide.

It was the perfect mix of clean modern and warm, classic touches.

There was a ton of light. And I didn’t know who had to sacrifice their firstborn to some demon somewhere, but there was clearly some sort of magic going on with how quiet the building was.

It already felt more home-like within a few days than my old place did after years of living there. Maybe because, for the first time, I wasn’t considering anyone else’s preferences but my own.

That blush-colored throw blanket that Matthew thought somehow impacted his sperm count or something with how violently he objected to it? Yeah, it was draped over the back of my couch.

My throw pillows had been rescued from their vacuum-sealed preservation packs. They were sitting carefully at the ends of the sofa.

My art? Hung.

The closet? All mine. No stinky gym shoes or oversized hoodies taking up precious closet real estate.

No beard whiskers in the sink or all over the floor.

No feet or drinks on my coffee table.

The vanilla-scented candle that Matthew hated? Burning on the island as I made my coffee.

It was heaven.

Did I feel a twinge of guilt still at being so happy right after my husband’s murder? Of course. But each time those thoughts popped up, other ones now chased them.

About him letting me go years thinking something was wrong with me, that I could never become a mother, while he knew all along he wasn’t capable of making babies.

So many nights crying in the bathroom.

So many feelings of inferiority and insecurity.

All based on a lie.

And if those weren’t bad enough thoughts, I remembered that he let me wear a fake ring all these years. When I’d offered to invest in my own. When Nico had given him more than enough money to get a real stone.

There was nothing wrong with a fake ring. If both parties knew about it. I actually even knew several very wealthy clients who wore fake replicas of their real rings in certain situations, despite having the real jewelry insured.

The problem was the constant dishonesty.

The problem was he didn’t see anything wrong with stealing from his friend about what the money was going to.

What kind of person was comfortable with all their relationships being full of lies?

What else had he been lying about?

That second question was one that had been keeping me awake at night.

Paranoia had me chronically checking my bank and investment accounts, had me double-checking all my bills and my credit score. I’d even hired one of those companies that monitor your identity to make sure nothing weird popped up.

“Ugh,” I grumbled, putting my coffee cup in the sink.

My mind refused to stop focusing on the what-ifs that morning. I needed to get out. Get some exercise. Clear my head.

But just the thought of going for a run had my stomach clenching, memories rushing back.

The fear.

The adrenaline.

The fall.

The hand on my ankle.

I’d been using the gym around the corner from my old apartment since the whole incident. It just wasn’t the same.

And I couldn’t let that kind of fear win.

So I dragged myself into my room, changed into my workout gear, strapped on my sneakers, grabbed my phone, and headed out.

But I paused outside of the elevator, having trouble putting one foot in front of the other.

Nico’s words came back to me then.

About if I ever needed a running buddy.

I didn’t want to have to rely on someone else to feel safe in my own city. But if it helped me get out there just this one time, maybe it would be worth the uncertainty I felt when I wound up at Nico’s door.

I hesitated, knowing it was a bit early for most people, but then lifted my hand and knocked softly.

“Coming,” a voice called from within.

It totally didn’t make a shiver move down my spine.

There was the slide of the locks then the door opened.

And there was Nico.

In nothing but a low-slung pair of light gray sleep pants.

I forgot my own name.

I’d certainly assumed that Nico was fit beneath his nice suits. But assumption and reality were two completely different things.

There was no way to keep my gaze from sliding down from his handsome face, taking in his wide shoulders, his strong chest, the indents of his abdominal muscles that just begged to have a finger traced down them.

My own hand itched to do just that. I had to curl them into fists to make sure I didn’t.

I knew I needed to stop tracking down.

But there was no way to deny myself.

My chest started to feel tight as I spotted those deep V lines that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.

I felt a twinge, then a tightening as my gaze took in the outline of his cock against the material of his pants. The light gray color and thin fabric were leaving very little to the imagination.

And I’d clearly woken him.

Because he was still half-hard.

I wasn’t sure if the little whimper I felt was one that stayed contained or escaped me. Because all I could think about was him grabbing me, pulling me in, yanking down my pants, and slamming deep inside me.

“Blair?” Nico’s voice was coaxing, but deep, thick with sleep and his evident partial desire.

My guilty gaze snapped up.

Despite my dry mouth, I managed to stammer a sentence out. “Sorry! I woke you. Go back to bed.”

I turned to walk away, desire pinging off every nerve ending.

But Nico’s hand shot out, grabbing my forearm.

This time, I was relatively sure the little needy sound did make its way out of me.

“I was awake. Just hadn’t crawled out of bed yet,” he said, pulling me just a little closer.

I knew when I lifted my head that my desire had to be clear on my face. But I couldn’t keep staring at my feet. Or, heaven forbid, look at his body any longer than I already had.

When I didn’t say anything, Nico’s head tipped to the side a little.

“Did you want someone to run with?” he asked.

“I, uh, I was going to see if you were up—er—awake.” Part of him was certainly up .

“Well, I’m up,” he said, and the hint of humor in his tone make me think he knew exactly what I was thinking. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll get dressed.”

His hand released me, and he turned to walk toward his bedroom.

Did I watch his back and ass?

Yes, yes, I did.

Then I needed to sit down, thighs pressed tightly together, to try to ease the ache building between.

True to his word, Nico was back less than ten minutes later. He’d changed into black basketball shorts, a black tee, and some mildly beat-up running shoes.

“Do you need a water?” he asked, waving toward the fridge.

“Uh, no. No, I’m alright.”

“Where did you want to run? Do you want to do the whole Loop again?”

“Is that too much?” I asked.

“Not at all. I’ve been lazy with the gym this week. I can use a good workout.”

With that, we were off.

Nico was significantly taller than me, his long legs capable of a much longer stride. But he paced himself to me, staying right at my side, mile after mile. As we both started to sweat and our breathing went faster.

Despite what he said, the man clearly dedicated himself to the gym. Not just evidenced by his physique, but his stamina.

By the time we finished the Loop, he was sweaty as hell, but not huffing for breath.

“Do you want to do the North Woods?” he asked, watching me, somehow reading me. “So you don’t feel like you have to be afraid of it?” he added.

“Do you mind?”

“What’s another mile or so?” he asked, shrugging.

Then we were winding our way through the same uneven paths I’d run the last time, seeing the same thick foliage, hearing the same bubbling and crashing water.

As we neared the arch, I felt my heartbeat quickening, felt my chest tightening.

“I’m right here,” Nico said, sensing the change. “No one’s going to touch you.”

I sucked in a deep breath and forced myself to keep going.

This time, though, as I closed in on the arch, I didn’t slow my pace, some part of me just wanting to power through, to hell with the danger.

It wasn’t until I felt myself tipping, then falling toward the water, that I realized my mistake.

But like he’d assured me, Nico was right there.

His hand shot out, grabbing me and yanking me. It was an overcorrection, and the momentum had me slamming into him. His firm lines met my softer ones. And suddenly, my breathlessness had nothing to do with the near-fall, the panic, or the exertion.

“You’re okay,” Nico said, his arm going around my lower back.

And, God, it felt good to be held.

But that comforting feeling was quickly overpowered by the renewed desire at the closeness, at the delicious scent of him.

My arms went around him of their own accord. My face pressed into his chest.

“Hey, you’re alright,” he murmured, his other hand lifting to start gliding up and down my back, mistaking my reaction for fear. “I’ve got you.” His arms went tight around me then, holding me close. And I could have sworn I felt his lips on my hair.

“Ah, can I get by?” a voice called, breaking the little spell we’d been trapped in.

I tried to spring away, but Nico had me held tight, only releasing me slowly, inch by inch.

“Sorry,” he murmured, not sounding apologetic at all as he walked us through the arch.

We paused at the exit, letting the man run past.

“You alright?” he asked once the runner was gone, watching me with those gorgeous blue eyes of his.

“Yeah. Yes,” I said, sucking in a deep breath. “I wasn’t paying attention,” I admitted, trying to shrug it off.

He gave me a nod. “Do you want to run or just walk the rest of the way?”

“Maybe walking will be better.”

That was what we did, taking some time to enjoy the sights. I hesitated in the spot where I’d fallen, where I’d been grabbed. But we made it past the Pool and out the exit where I’d run toward Nico just a few weeks ago.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked as we walked back to our building.

“Better.” About the park, that was. Not about my unexpectedly overwhelming desire toward him. “I think I just needed a little help to get back out there. I don’t know if I’m going to be doing the North Woods by myself often, but I’m glad I could go back through there.”

“Good. I’m glad. And if you ever need a little support—or just some company—I’m happy for the push.”

“Thanks, Nico. Really,” I added as we stood in the elevator.

“Anytime,” he said as the car stopped at my floor. “I mean it,” he added as I exited. “Anytime.”

With that, the doors slid closed and I made my way to my apartment.

I had my key in my hand.

But as I went to stick it in the lock, the knob turned.

My pulse pounded hard once, twice.

Had I forgotten to lock it?

Been that distracted by the idea of seeing Nico again?

It was possible.

Not like me, but possible.

With my throat tight, I eased my way into my apartment, moving through it room by room, terrified someone might jump out at me.

But there was no one.

And as far as I could tell, nothing was askew.

I must have just been careless.

A strange discomfort clung to me for the rest of the day, though.

Eventually, long enough time passed that I forgot all about it.