“One message.”
She held up his phone, which was still dark until it recognized his face and opened. “Not worried about what I’ll find on here?”
“I’m an open book.” Besides, he was more curious about what was on hers. “Ready. Set. Read.”
He should have known. The last message had been from her grandmother.
Delinda: We need to talk.
Following his gut, he decided to keep it simple and wrote: I love you. I’ll call you later.
Nicolette’s whoop stole his attention from her phone. “Sandra wants to know when you’ll be in Cincinnati again. She had a filthy dream about you that she wants to act out.”
This might not have been my best idea. A moment like this called for a man to either fold or go all in. “Be kind. She’s always been good to me.”
Nicolette frowned. Was it too much to hope she might be jealous? “You really don’t care what I say to her as long as it’s nice?”
Goodbye, Sandra. Cincinnati was nice, but I have a feeling I’ll be moving on now.
“Relationships don’t have to end ugly. I’ve never understood the desire to destroy someone just because things didn’t work out. We’ve never been serious, but I wouldn’t want to see her hurt.”
While looking down at the phone, Nicolette said, “I feel bad now. I don’t want to hurt her, either.”
“Then go to the next message.”
She touched the screen, then rolled her eyes. “Kim wants to know when she’ll see you again. Texan nights are hot, but hotter when you’re there. Seriously? Do you have a woman in every state?”
“No.” Then he grinned. “There are some states I’ve never visited.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Not if you do it right. Oh, you’re talking about my lack of monogamy? I never promised them more than a night of intense pleasure, and evidently, I live up to my own hype.”
She lowered the phone. “So when you came over to me at the wedding, you were looking for Miss London?”
Sometimes the less a man said, the better. “Maybe you should give my phone back.”
“No,” she said, moving it into her other hand, the one on the far side of the car. “You said I could answer one message. You never stipulated, though, how many I could read before deciding which one to respond to.”
Damn, a loophole he hadn’t considered. Now that he thought about it, there wasn’t anything on his phone that would improve her impression of him. He was a healthy male who had engaged in a satisfying amount of casual sex. Nicolette didn’t need more confirmation that his cock worked. “Here, take your phone back.”
She smiled. “Oh no. This is too much fun.” She read through a few more messages; then her cheeks reddened again, and she shot a glare at him.
That’s not good.
“Lon wants to know if you’ve gotten laid yet. Real nice.” Her expression turned confused, then softened as she worked her way back through the conversation he’d had with Lon. When she finally lowered the phone, she searched his face without saying anything at first. “And he said that your father is not happy that you’re with me.”
Great. How does he even know I’m here? Alessandro? “My father is never happy.”
“My mother was worried when she heard that we’d left the wedding together.”
“Because I’m a Taunton.”
Nicolette tapped her fingers on her knees. “She has this crazy idea that you’d pretend to be interested in me only to get close enough to hurt my family.”
Well, no wonder she wants me to leave. “And what do you think?”
She searched his face. “I don’t know.” She handed his phone back to him. “I’m not a good judge of much anymore.” That sad look had returned.
He had no idea how to make her smile this time. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
She looked down at her phone and read the message he had written to her grandmother with a combination of confusion and irritation in her eyes. “I knew this was a bad idea. Oh my God, she’ll probably come here now. We don’t use the L word.”
“Maybe you should.”
“You don’t understand.” Nicolette’s eyes narrowed. “Delinda is an emotional shark. You can’t show weakness around her. As soon as you do—she’ll shred you.”
“And your mother is worried about me?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and challenged, “Didn’t you say your father’s a total dick? Maybe you should worry about your own family before you worry about mine.”
So defensive. Too bad I see past that to the fear behind it. “I wasn’t judging you.”
The corner of her mouth curved with a hint of a smile. “I was totally judging you.”
Ah, there she is. That’s the snarky woman who could laugh even when she’s hurting. No grappa necessary. “You’re right. I don’t have much of a relationship with my father anymore.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is.”
She uncrossed her arms and leaned toward him ever so slightly. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
He shrugged. That time in his life wasn’t something he ever spoke of. It had happened. It was done.
She touched his arm. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to stare at you for an awkwardly long time until you crack under the pressure?”
Cute. Maybe the truth would help her trust him. “My father and I had a falling-out when my mother became very ill. Call it an irreconcilable difference of opinion.” He wasn’t going to say more, but she was watching him so intently he thought she might be looking for answers to her own questions in his experiences. If all it did was show her that she wasn’t the only one who struggled with family issues, his story was worth sharing. “My mother was a kind, gentle soul. I don’t know what she saw in my father, but she loved him. He said he felt the same, but it didn’t show in the way he retreated from her when she needed him the most. That’s not love—not any kind of love I want in my life.”
She nodded. “That’s how I feel about my mother and how she cheated on my—her first husband. She took a vow. Didn’t that mean anything?”
“When did you find out about that?”
“When Delinda told Spencer that his father was the man my mother left Dereck Westerly for. Spencer’s older than I am. You can imagine what my first question was.”
“So is Dereck your father?”
“That’s literally the billion-dollar question. Or would be if I wanted his money. My mother doesn’t know. She left Dereck twice.” A tear escaped and ran down her cheek. She wiped it away impatiently. “I’m a cliché. I used to sit on our porch when my father was scheduled for visitation and wait all day for him to show up. He never did. My mother would take us to see him sometimes, but I wanted him to come to me. Even though I was little, I knew what it meant that he didn’t.” She shook her head. “I used to have this fantasy of him driving to my mother’s house and demanding to see me. Back then, I believed my mother was blocking him from visitation. The truth is, he probably didn’t want to see me. He doesn’t know if I’m his, either, so why should he care about me?”
“I’m sorry.”
She sniffed. “No. I’m sorry. You were talking about your mother, and I went off about myself again.”
“You need to let it out. Have you talked to your family about how you feel?”
“I’ve tried. They tell me it doesn’t matter, but it matters to me. Mark, my mother’s second husband, was a great guy. I still miss him, but he never felt like my father. In my heart, Dereck was my father even if I never saw him. What if I’m wrong and my real father died without ever knowing I was his? What if the man I thought was my father didn’t come because he had no reason to?” She let out a shaky breath. “I could get a blood test and know for sure, but—I’m scared. It’s not about the money. I want—”
“A dad,” Bryant said in a low tone.
Her eyes flew to his. “Yes. Pathetic as that may sound, I want him to
walk up that driveway and demand to see me.” She wiped another tear away. “God, I’m such an idiot.” Her hand curled into a fist on her lap.
He laid his hand over hers. “Then I am as well. I don’t talk to my father. When we don’t speak, I’m not angry. So we don’t speak.”
Her hand opened, and her fingers laced with his. “Well, we’re quite a pair. I did run away from London. I’m not proud of that, but it’s not the first bad decision I’ve made. I just want to do better from now on, you know? I want to like the person I see in the mirror.”
“You will, Nicolette.” He gave her hand a supportive squeeze.
A look came into her eyes that he couldn’t resist. He tipped her chin up with his other hand and kissed her lightly, just a brush of his lips over hers, then tucked a loose tendril of hair back behind her ear.
She looked adorably dazed. “I’m meeting a retired couple on Main Street. They said they had something to show me. Would you go with me?”
“What are their names?”
“Shelby and Jackson Nelson.”
The Nelsons. Everything he’d read in Alessandro’s background check made them sound like nice-enough people. “I’d love to.”
“This doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about you staying . . .”
He started up the car. One thing at a time.
Chapter Seven
Talk about not knowing what I want—I just told him to leave, then asked him to stay, then made sure he understands he’s still leaving.
Nicolette studied Bryant’s profile as he drove. He glanced her way and laid a hand on her thigh in a move that may have been meant to comfort her but instead sent waves of heat rushing through her. The touch of a stranger shouldn’t feel this good—this right.
He can’t stay. He looked her way again, and the desire in his eyes shook her confidence in that claim. I’m 75 percent positive he can’t.
His hand moved a little higher on her thigh. She squirmed, fighting an urge to encourage him to keep going. Memories of the kisses they’d shared the night of the wedding came flooding back. She could feel his hands moving over her, remember how good his excitement felt surging against her stomach. Her sex tightened in anticipation of his touch as she imagined his strong fingers undoing the fastening of her jeans, slipping beneath her panties and between her folds.
Oh God, he was barely touching her, and she was already on fire for him. It was crazy.
He pulled into a parking spot on Main Street. She scrambled out of the car and onto the sidewalk before he had a chance to say anything. Pull yourself together, Nicolette.
He was beside her in an instant, while she was still trying to shake herself free of the fantasy of the two of them rolling naked in the park behind them. Or fucking against a wall in an alley between any two buildings.
“You okay, Nicolette?” he asked.
She raised a hand and motioned like she’d gotten carsick. No way was she about to explain what she was actually suffering from. She’d never considered herself a sexually adventurous person. She normally couldn’t turn off her brain enough to really let go. Thinking wasn’t a problem with Bryant. All he had to do was look at her, and her body made a strong argument for acting first and thinking later. She now understood how couples might choose a stairway, hallway, closet.
It was exciting to think she was capable of that kind of abandon.
But it was equally terrifying.
Getting drunk had felt good, but she’d paid for it the next day. That was the problem with giving in to something she knew she shouldn’t—there were always consequences. Always.
She took a deep breath and met his eyes. “Sorry, just got a little dizzy there for a minute.”
He leaned closer with concern. “That could be something serious. Has it happened before?”
Finally, something she could be honest about. “No, this is a first.” She straightened. “I’m fine, though. All I needed was some fresh air.”
He didn’t look as sure. “Your cheeks are flushed. Why don’t I take you back—”
“No,” she said firmly. “I’ll feel better once we’re walking around.”
He looked as if he wanted to argue the point, but he didn’t. When she started walking, he fell into step beside her and placed a hand on her back. It was an intimate gesture that she was getting used to from him. Slowly, gently, he was laying claim to her.
And I shouldn’t be okay with it, but Lord help me, it feels good to be wanted for the person I am—not for who they think I am or for who they hope I’ll become.
Just me.
As they walked, she tried to focus on why she’d come to Iowa. MacAuley was a quaint town. Both sides of the street were flanked by brick-front buildings from the 1800s. Some were still in use; others were boarded up. It had the feel of a place that had once been an important local community. Trees lined one side of the street, giving refreshing shade to those on the benches below them.
“Feeling better?” Bryant asked as they made their way down the street.
She nodded, not yet ready to talk. She was still working through her thoughts. We are two single, consenting adults. Maybe I’m doing what my family constantly accuses me of—making a big deal out of nothing. I want him. He wants me.
A night with him might be exactly what I need to get my mojo back.
One night.
He took her by the arm, bringing her to a halt along with him. “We talked about some pretty heavy things earlier. Are you okay?”
In a move that surprised her as much as it did him, she silenced him with a body-to-body, arms-around-his-neck, close-in kiss. All the emotion of the day came out in a glorious release of passion. For just a moment, the wayward daughter who had left her brother’s wedding without saying goodbye disappeared, along with the culmination of every time she’d disappointed herself or her family. Instead, she was a woman cuddled in the arms of the man she wanted—pure, primal, freeing. She dug her hands into his hair, writhed against him, and moaned with pleasure.
“Should we say something or come back?” a woman asked from beside them.
“If I go home, my ass is staying on the couch,” a man answered.
Nicolette and Bryant broke off the kiss and stepped back from each other like two guilty teenagers. Bryant looked as shaken by their kiss as Nicolette felt.
They looked at the older couple, then back at each other. A slow grin spread across Bryant’s face.
She forced herself to hold his gaze. Kissing him had only confused her more. I came here to find myself, but I could lose myself in something that powerful. Then what?
He turned to greet the couple who were still standing there. “You must be the Nelsons. My name is Bryant Taunton. I’m a friend of Miss Westerly’s.”
“If that’s what you want to call it,” the man said in a dry tone. He was well over six feet and thin, with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard.
“Jackson, stop. We were young once, too,” the woman at his side said as she held out her hand for Nicolette and Bryant to shake. Her golden-brown hair was swept back in an ivory flowered headband that matched her dress. She could have stepped out of a 1950s sitcom. They both could have. “I’m Shelby, and this is my husband, Jackson.”
“Nicolette. Thank you so much for coming out to meet us.” She and Bryant shook their hands.
Shelby tucked herself comfortably into the circle of her husband’s arm. “Paisley speaks highly of you. We hope we can be of some help today.”
Bryant’s hand returned to the base of Nicolette’s back. She glanced up at him. There was a twinkle in his eye that hadn’t been there earlier.
“They don’t want a tour, Shelby.”
Nicolette gave herself a mental shake. No matter where things went with Bryant, she couldn’t let him distract her from the reason she’d come. She tore her attention from the man beside her to reassure the Nelsons. “I’m sorry. Please. Can we start over? I really do want to see what you have to show us.”
“Me too,” Bryant said with conviction.
Shelby nodded and waved a hand. “Main Street is pretty much what you see is what you get. We don’t have a movie theater anymore, and the bank manager said it’s only a matter of time before this branch closes. Everything is relocating to where more people live, but we still have some local shops. But if business returned to this area, the infrastructure is there for a booming Main Street.”
Together, they walked down the street. Nicolette stopped in front of the large glass window of a toy store. “These are incredible. Everything looks handmade.”
Jackson said, “It is. The Bakkers are third-generation Dutch American toy makers. No plastic. No computers. They make toys your grandchildren will save for their own children.”
“Do you mind if I steal that quote?” Nicolette asked. “When I create a website for MacAuley, that would be the perfect way to describe the Bakkers’ shop.”
“Great idea.” Bryant moved to stand beside her. “You don’t see workmanship like that anymore.” He peered closer. “And the prices are outrageously low considering the work that must have gone into making each item.”
“There’s no one here to buy them,” Jackson said.
“There are people who would snap up their entire inventory,” Bryant said.
“We just have to find them and put the Bakkers on their radar.” Nicolette typed Jackson’s quote into her phone as she spoke. “‘Toys your grandchildren will save for their own.’ That would resonate with suburbanites.”
“I’d raise the prices, use organic materials, and market them to people in cities as well. With the right spin, there’s no reason those toys couldn’t fly off the shelves.”
With a huge smile, Shelby chimed in, “They’re such good people. I’d love to see that happen for them. Now, if you like handmade, you’ll love Smits’s furniture. The two families moved to this area around the same time and have been in a sort of quality-of-workmanship competition since. We’ve been spoiled by both. We grew up with toys by the Bakkers and furniture by the Smitses. You won’t find better anywhere.”
Runaway Heir Page 10
