Addicted to Nick Page 5

  Nick winced.

  She sounded about as mad as he figured she should be, considering the shopping list he’d left on her dash. Possibly over the top—no, definitely over the top—but unavoidable. It had ensured that she would be gone long enough even if the veterinary operation didn’t go ahead. Long enough for him to get his plans back in order.

  As he carefully maneuvered his razor through the dip in his chin, he wondered how long her snit would last and how long it would take him to cajole her out of it. The notion set up a powerful thrum of anticipation. She could play tough and indifferent all she liked, but that kiss had given her away. He hitched a towel around his hips and headed into his bedroom to dress, his smile ripe with expectation.

  The sharp tap of her boot heels on the slate floor must have masked his arrival, so Nick leaned back against a kitchen bench and watched her crisscross the room, tossing packages into the fridge, then the pantry, muttering to herself most of the while. She turned and took several more strides before spotting him. Her gaze flicked from his face to his fingers, which were still busy fastening shirt buttons. Her stride faltered.

  “Oh. You are here.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t help you in with this stuff.” He gestured at the grocery bags stacked on the island. “You caught me just out of the shower, and I figured you’d prefer if I put some clothes on. Right?”

  Her gaze followed his hands as he tucked his shirt into his jeans. “Yes…um…right.” Then, with a mental snap to attention that was almost audible, she swung back to the bench and buried her head in a grocery bag. “You could help me put this away instead of taking up space.”

  “I could. But then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of watching you.”

  She rolled her eyes, clamped her teeth shut and continued stashing groceries.

  It hadn’t been a line—well, not entirely. The simmering temper suited her almost as well as the sweet-fitting jeans. There wasn’t a lot to her top, so when she delved into the next bag it rode up her back to bare an enticing sliver of skin. He imagined sliding his hands over the silky warmth of her skin and laying his lips against her smooth golden nape.

  As if his thoughts had been transmitted telepathically, she jumped sideways to put more space between them…and bumped her hipbone against a doorknob.

  His attention was diverted by the hand rubbing her hipbone. It was the hand she’d injured earlier. “How is your thumb?”

  “I’ll live,” she replied, with an abrupt little shrug.

  “Did you see a doctor?”

  “It’s a scratch, for goodness’ sake. Get over it.” She tugged a tattered piece of paper from her pocket. Nick recognized his shopping list. “I managed to find most of this stuff, eventually, but I had no idea what this—” she stabbed a finger at his scrawled handwriting “—this hieroglyphic was supposed to be. Some sort of schnapps.” She delved into the last bag and slapped a bottle down on the counter. “This is the best I could do.”

  “Is it butterscotch?”

  “Does it matter?” she spluttered, eyes wide and incredulous.

  Nick rubbed his chin as if giving the matter deep thought. Of course it didn’t matter. He’d added it to the list while still savoring the impact of that rich, sweet, heady kiss—a kiss with a kick at the end that had left him breathless. Exactly like butterscotch schnapps.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake! When I offered to shop for you I was thinking basics, not exotic liqueurs and fresh pasta and bloody Atlantic salmon. Riddells Crossing doesn’t exactly cater to gourmet tastes.” She snapped the last bag shut, crumpled it into a tight ball and strode over to the bin.

  He could actually feel the hot vibes of her anger blazing across the space between them, but he couldn’t help stoking the fire. “In my experience, shopping improves a woman’s temperament,” he said, tongue firmly in cheek. “Makes her amenable.”

  She spun around, eyes spitting green fire. “Amenable to do what? Cook for you?”

  “Some do,” he drawled. “Others just skip that step and head straight for the dessert tray.”

  “I’m sure they do. Me, I’ve never had much of a sweet tooth.”

  Nick laughed out loud. She was about as thorny as a full-grown prickly pear, yet that didn’t seem to matter. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so thoroughly entertained.

  “I’m all done here, so I’ll leave you to it,” she said.

  With a little jolt of alarm, Nick straightened off the bench. She couldn’t be leaving—not without giving him a chance at some heavy-duty cajoling.

  “But I haven’t thanked you for doing the shopping.” He moved closer, trapping her in the right angle where two benches met. He leaned nearer still, until he could reach around her to snag a bottle of wine from the bench top.

  “Oh,” she said, as if she had expected something else from his proximity. She moistened her parted lips. “I really have to go. My own groceries are in the car. They’ll be getting hot.”

  “Really? I didn’t think it was that hot. Are you hot, Tamara?”

  She shook her head.

  Liar.

  The heat softened the brilliance of her eyes and flushed her cheeks and throat. Nick focused on the rapid pulse beating in the hollow of her throat, and the need to touch his lips to that spot, to taste her heat, gripped him suddenly and intensely.

  Cool it, he told himself. Despite the heat sizzling between them, instinct told him she wasn’t ready for hot and heavy. With a wry half smile, he brushed the backs of his fingers across her throat. She swallowed convulsively and almost climbed backward onto the bench.

  “Please, don’t touch me,” she breathed, eyes wide and panicky.

  “You didn’t mind earlier, down at the stables.”

  “That was a mistake. I was upset with the accident and—” she took a deep breath that trembled “—it won’t happen again.”

  “Now that would be a pity.”

  “Oh, puh-lease! There’s no need to patronize me.”

  “I’m not. I enjoyed kissing you. I absolutely want to kiss you again.” He regarded her through narrowed eyes. “The enjoyment seemed mutual.”

  She looked away. “As far as kisses go, it was okay, but I’m not interested in taking this any further.”

  For a second Nick thought about pushing it, about proving that he kissed—they kissed—better than okay. Slowly he lifted a hand toward her face, but her swift intake of breath, the wide frantic eyes, made him pause. She was scared. Scared of letting him close? Scared of her own response? Scared of the powerful chemistry between them?

  It didn’t matter which.

  He wanted her leaning into him, meeting him halfway, as she’d done at the stables. He didn’t care to analyze why, so he simply moved away.

  Even after his retreat, T.C.’s heart continued to hammer against her rib cage. Feeling weak and hot and breathless, she lifted an absent hand to her throat, to where she swore the brush of his hand had blistered a trail right through her skin. She gazed longingly at the door. If only her weak, trembling legs could carry her there. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and decided to give them another minute before trying them out.

  “I think it’s time we had that talk, Tamara.” With an expert twist of his wrist, he decorked the wine, then laid the corkscrew on the bench.

  T.C. shifted her weight again. Left foot, right foot. Right foot, left foot. Her strength seemed to be returning. She should leave.

  Except her gaze was drawn to Nick as he poured two measures of Shiraz. He picked one up, twirling the glass in his long fingers so the liquid shimmered ruby-red in the light. He lifted it to his lips, took more than a sip, and a shiver of longing vibrated through her body.

  God help her, she wanted to taste that wine on his lips. On his tongue.

  Her gaze darted to the door. She had to leave before she did something stupid, like drinking the wine he’d obviously poured for her. With alcohol dulling her defenses it would be too easy to let him touch h
er again, to kiss her again, to turn her to mush with less than a casual fingertip. By purring her name, damn his too sexy, overconfident hide.

  The sudden flash of temper fortified her, and her legs held her weight when she stood up straight. “I’m going now.”

  “You don’t want to discuss this partnership problem?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then how about you take the wine into the front room,” he suggested smoothly, “while I throw a couple of steaks on the grill?”

  “No.” She shook her head emphatically. No way could she eat with him, drink with him, and concentrate on business. “I can’t stay.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Actually I’m going out.” Dave had asked her to stay for dinner. She had declined, but it seemed like the perfect time to change her mind. She cleared her throat. “I have a dinner date.”

  His glass paused midway to his mouth. “With your vet friend?”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Lucky guess.”

  T.C. considered his bland expression, the small movement of his hand that caused the wine to circle his glass in measured motion, and she knew luck had nothing to do with that guess. Indignation washed through her, hot and fierce. “Do I take it you spent the afternoon grilling Jason?”

  “We talked some.”

  “And Dave’s name just happened to crop up?”

  “We were discussing your nuisance calls,” he said evenly. “I asked Jason about ex-boyfriends, and the vet’s name came up.”

  “Dave is not an ex-boyfriend.”

  “Do you mean not an ex, or not a boyfriend?”

  T.C. ignored that. “You had no right to quiz Jase about my friends,” she said stiffly, although she could have used the singular form, such was the sad state of her social life. “There is no logical reason for the calls. Like I said before, it’s most likely kids mucking about.”

  “If that’s the case, they will stop. I ordered a silent number, and it’s already in place.” He pulled a piece of note paper from his pocket. “Don’t give it out to anyone you wouldn’t trust with your life. Okay?”

  As she took in his sober expression and his strong bold print on the note, T.C. felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She couldn’t put a name to it, but it had to do with someone watching out for her, and at that moment it seemed as scarily seductive as the soft touch of his lips. She grabbed the note and backed up, half afraid she might do something crazy—like leaning into his strength.

  “Thank you.” She swallowed, slid both hands along with the note into her back pockets. “That’s something I should have done. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”

  “Perhaps you’ve had too much else to think about.”

  Perhaps. That certainly sounded better than the alternative that sprang to her mind. She’d done nothing because she didn’t want to admit she felt scared and threatened, because she didn’t want to appear weak. How stupid would that sound if she tried to explain?

  “So, what else did you and Jason talk about?” she asked to change the subject.

  “Mostly about the horses, the stable routine. He’s a good kid. You did well choosing him.”

  “He was Joe’s choice, actually.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I sense there’s a story here.”

  “Not really. His mother used to do some casual work here as a housekeeper before her husband died. Jase got into a bit of trouble. Bad company, not enough to occupy himself. Joe gave him a chance, and he turned out to be a natural.”

  “He says he learned it all from you—that you’re the natural.”

  T.C. laughed self-consciously. “I told you I was good at my job.”

  “Yeah, you did.”

  He was watching her with serious eyes and the smallest hint of a smile on his beautiful lips, and her heart slammed hard against her ribs. Oh, help! She couldn’t think of a thing to say. Couldn’t move.

  “You know, I really enjoyed myself this afternoon. I’d forgotten that elementally satisfying thing about manual labor, getting dirty and sweaty for a purpose.”

  “You helped Jase clean out the yard?”

  He laughed, probably at the expression on her face. “No need to sound so shocked. With two of us, we got it done in less than half the time.”

  “So what did you do with all that time you saved?”

  His pause was infinitesimal—just long enough for T.C. to realize she wasn’t going to like what came next. “We shifted you back into the house.”

  “You shifted me…? You moved my things?” She pictured his hands on her clothes, her underwear, and felt both hot and cold at once. She sucked in a long breath, tried to summon some indignation. Unfortunately, all she could summon was a wishy-washy, “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  “I told you last night you were moving. Jase agreed it’d be easier if we presented it as a fait accompli.”

  “Jase wouldn’t know a fait accompli if it bit him on the butt!”

  His laughter was quick and unexpected and, like everything else about Nick Corelli, infectious. T.C. couldn’t help responding, couldn’t stop herself from grinning back at him. With a slow shake of his head, he caught her gaze, arched that one brow and said, “Damn, but you are a surprising woman. I thought you’d be going for my throat by now.”

  Her gaze skidded to the throat in question, and she felt that same hot-cold, heart-slamming response. How surprised would he be if she went for this throat with her lips and her tongue and her teeth? She swallowed the heat, the thought, the incredible temptation, and looked away. “I should be mad at you. I suspect, after I’ve stewed on it a while, I will be mad at you. I hate people touching my things.”

  “Yeah, you have a right to be angry,” he said slowly. Then, “How long d’you usually stew on these things?”

  Huh? She looked up, blinking, caught that hint of wickedness on his lips.

  “I’m wondering if I should lock my door tonight….”

  T.C. blinked again.

  “I’d hate to be attacked in my sleep with something else from your toy arsenal.”

  “I don’t have an arsenal. Jase’s cousin left that cap gun when he was here one day. I found it out back and put it in the tack room and forgot about it until the other night.” And why am I bothering to explain? He’s packed all my things. He knows exactly what I own and don’t own.

  “So I can sleep soundly tonight?”

  Oh great! All night she would be imagining Nick behind an unlocked door, Nick sleeping soundly with his arms wrapped around his pillow, his tanned back exposed by the low-riding covers….

  Brrriiiinnnngggg!

  The first buzz of the phone resounded through T.C.’s bones. She would have sworn her feet literally left the ground, and her gaze, wide and panicked, flew to Nick’s before she could censure herself. And as he reached for the cordless on the bench, his eyes told her exactly what she wanted to hear. Relax. You’re not on your own here. I’ve got this.

  “Yeah?” he barked into the receiver. Then the expression in his eyes, still focused intently on hers, softened. So did his voice when he said, “Lissa, honey, how’s things?”

  A slow smile spread across his face as he listened to Lissa, honey’s long-winded reply. T.C. noticed his whole body relax, and as if there had been some weird energy transferal, her own tension compounded until she couldn’t stand still.

  She mouthed “I’ll be going now” and gestured to the door. With one hand over the mouthpiece, Nick called, “Hang on a minute—I want to talk to you,” but she kept on moving. She didn’t stop until she’d slammed the door on the voice and the eyes that demanded she stay, even while some other woman, a woman trusted enough to have their new unlisted number, hung on the end of the telephone.

  Nick, honey, I don’t think so!

  “You gonna take that job over in the west now?” Big Will, who single-handedly ran the only licensed premises in Riddells Crossing, slid T.C. the beer she had ordered a
nd the question she had not been expecting in one smooth motion.

  “Did I miss something?” T.C. shook her head, not understanding where Will was coming from or, for that matter going to, with his opening gambit.

  “Now the son and heir’s finally shown up, are you gonna take that job you were offered?”

  “Ah, so Jase has been in here already tonight.”

  “You got it.” Will grinned. “Didn’t stay long. Red’s here.”

  T.C. scanned the bar and found Red Wilmot in the far corner, lounging against the silent jukebox. He had recently returned home from a lengthy stay in juvenile detention, and there was something about his cocky stance and sneering face that had her quickly turning away before he caught her looking. “Do you suppose he’s learned his lesson?”

  “I know Jase has, thanks to you and Joe.”

  “Jase is a good kid. Red was a bad influence, that’s all.”

  “You could have done us all a favor and brought this Corelli bloke in with you.” The loud, intrusive voice came from one of the tables to her right. Judy Meicklejohn, T.C. decided without turning around.

  “She’s going to dinner with Dave,” someone informed Judy. “She could hardly bring another bloke along.”

  “No kidding? I didn’t know you and Dave were playing kissy-kissy.”

  “We’re not,” T.C. replied. “We’re just friends.”

  When someone, probably Judy, made scoffing noises, T.C. shifted uncomfortably on her stool. She had told Nick she had a dinner date with Dave. She hadn’t bothered telling him they were just friends. And why is that, Tamara Cole? she asked herself. Because you wanted to scare him off, or because you wanted him to think another man found you desirable?

  “What’s the story, T.C.?” Will interrupted her thoughts with another of his questions-from-nowhere.

  “Which story would that be?”

  “Joe’s son from New York,” Rory Meicklejohn interjected. “Is he a big hotshot?”

  “Or, more to the point—is he big and is he hot?” T.C. didn’t recognize that female voice, and because her face had turned hot, she didn’t turn around to see who had made them all hoot with laughter.