Just Like Heaven Read online

  Just Like Heaven

  By Steven Slavick

  Amazon Edition

  Copyright, 2012 by Steven Slavick

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Steven Slavick

  Romantic Comedy

  Just Like Heaven

  Falling For You

  Romantic Suspense

  Lost in the Shadows

  City on the Edge of Darkness

  Never Remember, Never Forget

  Justine Bryce Series

  The Streets of Broken Dreams

  The City of Broken Shoulders

  CHAPTER ONE

  At the diner where she waited tables, Nina Gilford had tried chatting up the sandy-haired man in his early thirties with the sexy stubble on his angular jawline, but he hadn’t removed his gaze from the artwork in his notebook. He’d only mumbled “coffee and toast,” crumbled up a page, and added it to the eight other ones that lay across the table.

  Since then, when she’d strolled by with a cheery smile to refill his coffee mug, he’d only nodded and thanked her without looking up from his work. She felt stupid for trying to attract the attention of someone who had no interest in her (a recurring theme throughout her life). Then again, after he failed to transfer the vision in his mind to the page, she preferred to think that he’d blocked out all external stimuli.

  So if he didn’t even notice her existence, why did she find this man so captivating? No doubt, his rugged good looks and passionate artistic endeavors would have made most women swoon. But while Nina appreciated beauty just like any other woman, she had never allowed this trait to dominate what she needed from a relationship: a sense of humor, kindness, strength of character, and a conviction that family came first. But since the stranger hadn’t uttered one word to her, Nina couldn’t pretend that these characteristics conveyed why she found him so…compelling.

  Once more, his intense green eyes failed to convey the image he hoped to put onto paper. He crinkled another page with an exasperated sigh and tossed it aside. The tightly knit ball slipped off the table and fell onto the floor.

  Having just served breakfast to a family of six, Nina took that as her cue to once more draw him into conversation. She picked up her pace, intent on beating him to the artwork, which might also give her a chance to examine his artistic talent.

  He glanced at the ball with a grimace and tilted his body to retrieve it.

  But Nina swooped in and snatched it. “You know, littering is a crime. I could call the cops.”

  “Sounds like a wise decision,” he said, his voice like honey and containing the irresistible allure of complete confidence. “I might concentrate better in jail.” He looked into her eyes, and the corners of his lips perked upwards. “Fewer enticing distractions.”

  The notion that he found her attractive set her pulse racing. “But would you enjoy the intimate, late-night rendezvous with your fellow inmates?”

  “Yeah, I get the impression they might not be too…passionate or sensual. And those are pre-requisites for me.”

  “Don’t be so quick to judge. Who knows, your cell-mate might be a romantic.”

  “Hmmm, I don’t think they’d allow candles and scented oils behind bars. Besides, you can’t really cozy up a room with only a bunk bed and only a toilet. My biggest obstacle is that I find the female body the most beautiful piece of art in the world.” He lifted an eyebrow, insinuating naughty desires that conflicted with his charming demeanor.

  Those two contradictions made Nina lose her breath. Even worse, the mirth in his eyes penetrated her soul, stripping away her deepest fears, the ones she couldn’t reveal to her closest friends: difficulty in trusting others, which stemmed from past romantic relationships gone awry; her inability to make her dreams a reality; and the lifelong dread that she may never find The One.

  “Besides,” he said, “each time I’ve been sent to prison, I was lucky enough to fight these… gentleman callers. Now, don’t get the impression that I’m a permanent fixture in the county pen. I mean, I’ve only been incarcerated four times.”

  That admission shocked Nina into silence.

  “The first time I got put away for shooting an intruder who had burglarized our home. I mean, how is that even fair? I have a license and permit for my revolver, but I get locked up for shooting someone who enters my home and steals my stuff – just because he was trying to get away? I’m the one getting victimized, am I right?”

  “You shot someone?” Her stomach dropped. Her mouth went dry. And an alarm sounded in her head.

  “Not just anyone: a criminal. There’s a difference. Oh, and the second time? This one was actually kind of funny—”

  “Um, I’ve got to go,” she said, turning to walk away.

  “Come on, do I look like a convict?” He cracked a smile. “I don’t even own a gun.”

  The tension in her shoulders relaxed at the joviality in his voice. She spun back to him. “That wasn’t funny.” But she battled to keep her lips in a straight line.

  “So you’re saying I should give up moonlighting as a comedian? That’s harsh.”

  His lighthearted tone made her smile. Beyond all reason, every second he stared into her eyes unleashed other aspects of her personality that acquaintances had to earn: that when she gave her heart, she didn’t hold anything back; she never betrayed someone’s trust; and she treated others the way she wanted to be treated.

  But still, unless he had ESP, which allowed a person to receive information not recognized by the five senses but with the brain, he could never snatch snippets of her personality. And while she knew he couldn’t infiltrate her mind to collect her thoughts, so why did it feel like he’d done just that? She didn’t know which idea frightened her more: that he’d found a key to unlock her thoughts, or that he’d used the key to steal her thoughts.

  But one final concept matched those two bizarre convictions: Nina didn’t mind that he’d somehow reached these conclusions. It had been so long since she shared herself with a man, and just the prospect of doing so set her pulse racing with excitement. But then, realizing that she may have already given away the upper hand, she decided to shutter her emotions. She put up a vacant stare, steadied her body language, and closed off thoughts from entering her mind.

  Yet, his gaze lingered, slipping down to her lips before once more caressing her eyes.

  Oh, it’s been so long since someone looked at me like that.

  That thought and the loneliness that usually accompanied it had somehow gotten redirected. The stranger’s disarming smile returned, and his eyes promised something beyond a mere hookup. But she couldn’t quite identify his intentions. And this dichotomy, along with the possibilities that might result from getting to know him made her quiver with anticipation.

  Only now, after steadying every muscle in her body, did she realize that she’d misinterpreted his insight into her psyche. He didn’t have an uncanny aptitude to read her mind. She only wished he had, so she wouldn’t feel so alone. But Nina had never attributed this thought to any other man in her life…at least not so quickly after meeting him. So why had she chosen this man? What about him spoke to her on such a deep level? And why did she feel so connected to him? None of it made any sense.

  His boyish grin returned, revealing that he knew the effect his charm had on women. And in any other instance, Nina might have turned her back on him and walked away. But looking closer, she saw something surprising: he wanted her to believe that he bedded a different woman ever
y day of the week. But why? How could that benefit him?

  While Nina never had (and never would have) a fling, the idea of a spontaneous hookup had always been her favorite fantasy, but she was a “relationship girl,” a term she coined as a teenager, which now seemed quaint considering her age. If anything, she was kind of a prude – at least that’s what a couple of her girlfriends told her. And while she acknowledged the truth in that critique, she didn’t place too much emphasis on whether or not she attracted tons of men on a lonely Saturday night. She was more concerned about whether or not one of those men would stick around on Sunday morning. And in order to live by those values, she had to place more emphasis on sharing her life with someone than by looking for a night of excitement.

  Besides, having worked as a bartender for the past five years, Nina had seen all of the unseemly behavior men engaged in just to get laid, and she couldn’t help but let these experiences, albeit far removed from her own values, affect her outlook on dating and relationships.

  At first, Nina presumed he wanted to give the impression that, since other women found him attractive, he could do without her, which would go along with conventional wisdom. But something told her that, in this case, something about her intimidated him. She peered into those eyes with an unrelenting curiosity, urging him to disclose why he might feel that way. A few seconds later, his smile dipped into a moment of uncertainty, and he broke eye contact with her, providing proof that she’d hit the target.

  Catching that slight bit of doubt, she wanted to probe deeper to discover what about her made him feel the least bit uncomfortable. “I’ve got to hand it to you: the whole prison concept is a new one.”

  It took a long moment before he met her gaze again, but this time his smile evoked twice as much presence as it had before. “I prefer originality…with an edge.”

  The way he looked into her eyes made her knees weak. “Mission accomplished.”

  “Saying the word, ‘prison,’ made you so pale that I thought you were Casper the Friendly Ghost.” He dropped the smile and leaned forward. “Wait, you are friendly, right? I don’t need any Paranormal Activity going on. It freaks me out big time.”

  Nina placed both hands on her hips. “For your information, I’m—”

  “The ‘ghost with the most:’ Beetlejuice?”

  “No. I’m—”

  “That hideous looking-chick from the Ring movies? She’s kind of thin, so I can see how she’d fit inside those old televisions, but a flat screen? Come on.”

  “Will you just—”

  “Don’t tell me you’re that freaky chick from the Grudge films.” He opened his mouth and let out a long creaking sound.

  “I never said—”

  “I got it! You’re that chick from the Exorcist. Just don’t spin your head around, okay?” He drew closer, preparing to confide in her. “Oh, wait. You’re better looking than her.” He checked her out. “You’ve got a better figure, too.” Then he met her eyes again. “But Beetlejuice? I hate to say it, but he gives you a run for your money in the looks department.”

  “You think you’re really funny, don’t you?”

  “I don’t have to think it. I know it.” He winked at her. Then, adopting a more serious expression, he returned his attention to the page.

  And just like that, the heightened emotional charge between them vanished. It left behind a trail of intensity similar to the way a candle wick spewed forth tendrils of smoke after someone smothered the flame. She wanted to feel the heat of those dazzling green eyes again, so she could burn their image into her mind. Just for a few seconds. Just to tide her over until she met a man she could count on, the kind that cherished the idea of growing old with a woman he took pride in calling his wife.

  Nina just stared at him, wondering what to say, what to do. She hadn’t felt this insecure since middle-school, when she “flirted” with boys by ignoring them and looking at them only after they walked away. (What about that strategy seemed ingenious? And what about that approach would have encouraged boys to approach her?)

  She reflected on those questions as this man resumed his work without further comment. With no other way to get his attention, other than pestering him while he didn’t want to be bothered, she decided to un-wrap the sketch she held to find out what he’d drawn.

  Without even looking her way, his hand shot out and clutched her wrist.

  Alarmed by this quick reaction, she almost jerked back. Who grabbed a stranger like that in public? And how had she mistaken him for a charming artist? She was about to retract her arm and bolt away from him, but when she met his gaze, she saw gentle eyes that pleaded with her to refrain from looking at his draft. Then his grasp slackened, and he narrowed his eyebrows, overcome with a sensation she couldn’t read.

  She may have failed in that endeavor, but it turned out that she didn’t need to analyze his feelings. She felt them. Everything about this interaction seemed strange: first, his disinterest in her and an unwillingness to even look her in the eye, followed by moments of great humor and now he searched her eyes with an appeal of …what exactly? These hot and cold emotions both fascinated and startled her because, despite his unnerving behavior, she still found him intriguing.

  Nina didn’t have freaky fetishes. She didn’t have any sexual hang-ups like using whips, chains, or even handcuffs. She simply enjoyed sensuous physical affection: soft, deep kisses that made a soul connection; the tantalizing sensation of lips pressing against her neck and shoulders; the graceful caress of fingertips across her stomach, her inner thighs, and…

  She shook off the stirrings of a fantasy that often enticed her and concentrated on the matter at hand: why did this man affect her? She didn’t even try to convince herself to leave. And she didn’t know why.

  He set his gaze on her again, making her stomach flip. She couldn’t look away. She tried, but with his searching expression so full of curiosity, she wanted to see whatever conclusions he arrived at. His fingers stroked her skin as they slipped up her forearm, sending bolts of excitement through her.

  Then, as if realizing that he’d engaged in inappropriate behavior, he released her and flinched as though breaking that connection stung him with the rapidity of an electric shock.

  Nina looked at him, astonished. He looked at her, not like he knew her, but like he understood her in ways that only came upon after years of deep friendship. Just as astonishing, she couldn’t understand how a simple touch could send a current of elation through her veins.

  The man also seemed astounded by their chemistry. He raised his eyebrows and drew back from her, as though she’d chanted a Wiccan spell. “What was that?”

  She just shook her head, raising both hands to biceps that were toned from daily workouts at the gym. Without his touch, she felt cold. Not physically. But emotionally.

  He glanced at his hand and turned it over to inspect his knuckles. Seeing nothing supernatural or worrisome, he remained serious, “Do we know each other? Have we met before?”

  “No.” This situation made no sense. But on an elemental level, she felt comfortable, if a little uncertain, by the prospect of whatever this bond might mean. How could a look and a touch evoke such chemistry? She’d experienced a similar yearning before with a few other men – how could she not after twenty-six years? But even if she multiplied the power of each of those instances by one-thousand, the result wouldn’t come close to the magnetism she felt with this man: her entire body tingled with an awareness that made it seem like, until now, she’d been walking around all these years half-asleep.

  “Then why do I feel like we know each other?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. My name’s Nina Gilford.”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar. I’m Nick Malloy. I went to Ellis Middle School. After that, Elgin High. Then I got my Bachelor’s at Western Illinois University. Could we have met at any of those schools?”

  “No. I went to Wredling Middle School. Then East High before going to Northwestern.” She lo
oked at the wrinkled page in her hand, but the rendering was on the other side. For some reason, she didn’t want to turn it over to look at whatever he’d sketched. Doing so now felt like an invasion of his privacy. Yet before meeting his gaze and making physical contact, she wouldn’t have felt the least bit awkward about taking a look. “This must be pretty important: you tossed it away like trash, but when someone picks it up—”

  “Not just someone…you.”

  That comment should have made him seem creepy. But the unguarded way in which he looked at her made her consider him endearing. And once again, she felt that unadulterated awareness that told her that she could trust Nick. Despite having only just met him, she couldn’t get over the inexplicable assumption that failing to trust him would result in sadness…for both of them.

  “I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.” He shook off the weird sensation they had experienced. “But I can’t get what’s in my head onto the page. That’s never happened before. I’ve never been locked up like this. And then…you.”

  “Oh, thanks. Such a charmer,” she said, cracking a smile. She downplayed her interest to prevent placing too much emphasis on the connection they both experienced. “But you’re not doing it right. Try this.” She scowled the way the Evil Queen might upon crossing paths with Snow White and said, “You!” Then she broke into an easy smile. “See the difference? That’s how people usually react around me. But be prepared; it’ll take hours of practice to perfect it.”

  “I could never look at you that way.”

  Nina’s attempt at humor had fallen flat. But she appreciated that he revealed his sincerity. And she knew that he would never look at her with hatred, curse at her, or raise a hand to her.

  “I don’t believe people frown at you,” he said.

  “Only when I tell them about my dreams of making it as a musician.”

  “Really?” He let loose a warm smile. “Tell me about it.”

  “I sing. And write lyrics. I also play the piano and the violin.” She looked down, pushing aside some imaginary dirt with her shoe. “I’ve always wanted to cut a record deal, but I realize now that it’ll never happen.”