WICKED INTENTIONS { Completed}

Chapter 9

Thank God, I didn't throw myself at him!

Shakira had been very close though. If Nathan had asked her to go home with him, Shakira had no doubt that she would've done it. Everything about the man was appealing. Her senses had preened at his unwavering attention. Her mind had consumed every morsel of information he'd given about himself and reveled in sharing parts of herself.

And her body had buzzed – oh, it had buzzed.

Every smile he sent her way, every time his eyes met hers, every graze of his hand against hers; it'd felt like his every move was like a switch that kept on sending electric jolts through her. His effect on her was as strange as it was consuming. She'd never felt this kind of connection with anyone. Not even Charlie.

Immediately her mind conjured up the image of Charlie.

"Bastard." Shakira kissed her teeth. She didn't even want to think of the man who'd almost destroyed her life and the time she'd wasted on him. If she was thinking with her vagina instead of her brains she would never have dated Charlie. They were too much alike.

He was the quintessential good boy, an accountant and had pulled himself from dusty beginnings – like herself. They'd met at McPherson's, where he was freelancing, on her first day there. He wasn't the coolest kid in the yard or the suave Casanova. He was just this average looking, bespectacled, sweater-vest wearing nice guy that every girl in the office had friend-zoned.

Shakira had been as surprised as anyone when he'd mustered the courage to hit on her. She'd been on the verge of saying no until Eve had shown up at the office and pronounced Charlie the most boring man she'd ever met. That sealed it. If Eve didn't like Charlie then he was perfect for Shakira.

Boy, had she been wrong.

His memory was enough to make her tag her yoga pants a little harder than she should have.

Riiiiiiiiiiip. The tearing sound filled the interior of the car

"Damn it!" she cussed as she turned her head slightly only to see a gaping hole winking at her where the side-seam was supposed to be. "Damn it."

She considered reaching for another pair of pants but searching her duffel bag would take another ten minutes, so would changing, and she just wanted to go to sleep and dream of Nathan. That decided it. The torn yoga pants were staying. She reached for her white t-shirt. She was just about to slip the t-shirt over her head when she heard it.

Rap. Rap. Rap. The rhythmic tapping was loud enough that she turned wide eyes towards the driver-side window. And almost had a heart-attack!

Nathan? He stood by the car, leaning slightly forward as if trying to peer into the car while his knuckles rapped on the glass. Her first reaction was panic. This is not happening. He is not here.

"Shakira!" The faint sound of his voice pierced the glass as he rapped again.

You're not real. Shakira gathered the t-shirt close to her chest and stared at the window willing him to disappear. You're not real.

He was. "Shakira." His nose was mashed right against the window, his breath leaving a slightly layer of mist on the dark glass. "Shakira."

The glass was tinted enough that she was sure he couldn't see more than shadows playing in the car. Go away. Please.

"I'm not going away."

Shakira sat still watching him as he kept on rapping on the window. He would get tired soon, wouldn't he? She couldn't let Nathan see her like this. She wanted him to see her as the vivacious, well made-up career girl he'd just had dinner with, not the torn sweatpants sleeping-in-cars broke girl she really was.