But that was one pleasure she couldn't allow herself. Not when she was so hopelessly conflicted. How had her cunning scheme managed to backfire so completely? Nick was a hired hand, for heaven's sake! She was paying him to do a job!
Last night had changed things irrevocably. Never one to delude herself, Amanda was forced to admit the astonishing, dismaying truth.
She'd fallen in love with the hired hand.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"What? Yes. Of course." That was how their first conversation had started, she recalled, in his cab back in October, with Nick asking her if she was all right.
She frowned. Strange thing for a cabbie to ask, simply because she'd been muttering to herself. It was almost as if he'd been looking for some way to break the ice. But why? Certainly not to hit on her. He'd shown no sexual interest in her at all that day.
Amanda looked at Nick, now forking up a mouthful of pancake and listening to Liv, on his other side, describe the latest art exhibit at the Nassau County Museum, where she was an important donor. Amanda knew so much more about Nick now than when she'd initiated her fake-fiancé farce, but suddenly she had the uncomfortable feeling she didn't know him at all. Not in the ways that mattered most.
She watched as Mike, Sunny's surly former boss here at Wafflemania, approached his onetime employee and started griping about the waitress who'd replaced her.
"I don't want to hear it," Sunny said. "You're just used to the way I did things, that's all. Give her a chance."
"She don't know how to work the tables when we're busy like this," he complained.
"So train her!" Sunny gave Mike a playful smack on the arm. "She hasn't had twelve years to get it right like I did."
Mike spread his hands. "Come back to work, Sunny. I'll raise you fifty cents an hour."
This was met with gales of laughter from everyone who knew the new Mrs. Kirk Larsen. As if she'd give up raising her stepson, Ian, and taking courses at the local university, just so she could go back to serving up the He-Man Special in that hideous Pepto-Bismol-colored, polyester waitress uniform.
Sunny gave him a consoling pat on the arm. "Work with her a little, Mike. She'll get the hang of it."
He shambled off, grumbling about the ingratitude of some people.
Amanda didn't like the knowing looks her parents and the others had been giving her and Nick all morning, as if they knew what the two of them had done last night. Had they heard something? Certainly she'd never been that uninhibited in her life. Just how thin were her walls?
Damn it! she thought, feeling her face heat. She had to get this blushing thing under control!
An hour and a half later, she and Nick stood in her driveway, waving to the last of her houseguests, her parents, as they pulled onto the road, headed back to New Jersey. Perry and Liv had been like young lovers last night and this morning, cuddling at every opportunity, sharing whispered endearments, stealing little kisses.
Amanda thought again about the role Nick had played in her parents' reconciliation. She was still so incredibly touched by his willingness to get involved, by his sincere concern for her and her family. Several days after that scene with Connor, Nick had delivered to Liv the balance of the money Connor had swindled her out of. Connor hadn't bothered her in the five weeks that had elapsed since then, and Nick seemed certain Liv had seen the last of him.
Once Nick and Amanda were back inside the house, he faced her. "You sure you won't join me in the city today? It's supposed to stay nice and mild like this all day."
"Nick." Amanda's gaze slid to the glass-topped console table and the pile of engagement presents her friends had forced her to unwrap. "Things have gotten a little … sidetracked."
He laughed!
She scowled at him. "This isn't funny."
"No, it's not funny, but how can you expect me to take you seriously when you come out with a statement like that after what we shared last night?"
She let out a long exhalation. "That was… It's so…"
His expression turned serious. "Are you telling me you regret it?"
Amanda couldn't lie. "No. How could I regret…" She closed her eyes for a long moment, gathering her thoughts. "You gave me something last night, Nick. I don't know how to explain it. You showed me something about myself and…" She offered a bittersweet smile. "Well, let's just say I'll never again blame myself for other people's, shall we say, inadequacies."
A smile tugged at his mouth. "In the bedroom."
"Or in the shower." She couldn't restrain a full-fledged grin.
"Amanda, you have more passion and feeling and—" he groped for the right word "—and heart than anyone I know. How could you have ever sold yourself short?"
His assessment warmed her, but it didn't change the basic facts. "I don't regret what we did, but we—we can't let it happen again. In a few days…" Amanda took a second to compose herself. "In, uh, let's say a week, ten days, I'll tell my friends that we've called off the wedding."
He said nothing, but his dark eyes never left her face. She directed her gaze to the duster of landscape watercolors over her modular sofa. "Nothing has changed between us," she said.
Nick's voice was quiet and certain. "You can tell yourself that all you want, but it doesn't change the facts." She tried to turn away; he held her shoulders and made her face him. "Things have changed between us, Amanda. I love you."
"No, don't—"
His fingers tightened on her. "I love you and I'm pretty sure you love me. It wasn't part of your grand scheme, but it happened and we're going to confront it." He released her. "You're not the type to deny the obvious. Don't start now."
Amanda dropped into the nearest chair, a sleek, contemporary armchair upholstered in pale peach raw silk. She cradled her head in her hands.
Slowly he knelt in front of her. He pulled her hands away and held them in his. "What are you afraid of, Amanda?"
She pulled in a shaky breath. She looked at him. "I know now that losing Roger, and Ben, well, they were no great loss. But with you…"
He squeezed her hands, mutely urging her to finish her thought.
"It is scary," she admitted. Tears pricked at her eyes. "I keep wondering how long … how long it will take you to discover how unlovable I really am."
"Oh, honey—"
"Nick, I know how pathetic that sounds. I'm not trying to go for high drama here, I just want you to understand." In a small voice she said, "I don't have a very good track record when it comes to choosing men. You already know all about that."
"Well, you've obviously improved." His smile was teasing. "You chose me."
She smirked, even as she wiped her eyes with her fingertips. "That doesn't count. You're playing a role."
"I was playing a role. Somewhere along the line, it became real life. For you, too. You have feelings for me. Don't deny it."
"I won't. I can't. Last night never would've happened if I didn't care for you."
"Well, see, now we have to get married."
"I know we didn't use any birth control, but it's a little soon to make a pronouncement like that, don't you think?"
"I'm not talking about pregnancy, I'm talking about that unfortunate habit of yours."
Her brow wrinkled. "That unfortunate… Oh, you mean…"
"You sleep with a guy, you drag him to the altar. And we've already established you're a creature of habit." He spread his arms in a well-here-I-am gesture.
Amanda couldn't help laughing. How did the man manage it? She could be practically slitting her wrists and he'd find a way to jolly her out of it.
"We have the date," Nick continued, "the J.P., the guest list, the band. The flowers are ordered, so are the invitations, and the menu's set. We don't even have to go shopping for a ring." He indicated his grandmother's platinum-and-diamond filigree ring, which Amanda had worn almost constantly since he'd placed it on her finger two weeks earlier. "The only thing we have to decide on is the honeymoon. I vote for Lake Tahoe. If y
ou can't ski, I'll teach you."
She stared at him. "You're serious."
"As far as I'm concerned, this wedding's a go."
"You're certifiable! This is a fake engagement, Nick, remember? It's not for real!"
Quietly he said, "Why couldn't it be?"
Amanda swallowed hard. "This is so… We can't just…"
"Everything's all settled. Including the most important part." He took her hands again. "Which is that I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And you love me." His expression dared her to deny it.
"Yes." Her voice was wobbly. "I love you."
The gentlest smile touched his eyes. "Then marry me."
It sounded so sensible when he put it like that, so right. She averted her face. It was difficult enough to try to make sense of all this, but when she was staring into those warm, dark chocolate eyes of his…
"Amanda."
She looked at him.
"I'm not those other losers," he said. "All I can tell you is it's a good thing Roger and Ben made themselves scarce, because if they hadn't, I'd have had to kill them to get to you."
Giddy laughter bubbled forth from Amanda. How had she lived the first thirty years of her life without this remarkable man in her life?
Could she really go through with this?
Her thoughts must have been plain on her face. "Third time's the charm," Nick said. "At least, that's what I've heard."
She couldn't do worse than the last two times. But mostly, she couldn't bear the thought of letting Nick walk out of her life in a week or two.
She said, "I must be crazy."
"Sanity is highly overrated. What'll it be, Amanda? Don't make me stand here all alone on March tenth with my boutonniere getting limp."
She responded with a bark of laughter. "Ah, the lady's snorting. That's always a good sign."
"Yes," she said, grinning so hard her face hurt. "We're both probably certifiable, but yes, Nick, yes, I'll marry you."
* * *
Chapter 13
«^»
"When will you get the pictures back?" Amanda shed her down-filled suede jacket and glanced around Nick's apartment. He took it from her and hung it on a coat tree in the corner, along with his navy peacoat.
"I'll take the film to the lab tomorrow morning," he said. "I should have them Tuesday."
"I'm dying to see how the ones I took of that fence come out."
There was an iron fence in lower Manhattan that had been there since colonial times. During the Revolutionary War, American soldiers had knocked off the finials, which had been shaped as symbols of the British monarchy. The fence had been repainted regularly since then, but one could still see the irregular tops of some of the fenceposts where the finials had been removed.
Using Nick's camera, Amanda had taken pictures of the fence from various angles, as well as other details of New York City's historical architecture, while Nick had concentrated on photographing people. Between them, she felt they'd captured the essence of the city.
After agreeing to marry Nick—for real this time—she'd gladly accompanied him on his jaunt into the city. It had been a long, exhausting, thoroughly enjoyable day. They'd covered a good part of lower Manhattan on foot and gone through four rolls of film. And yes, they'd lunched al fresco on dirty-water hot dogs, later dining at the wonderful Greek restaurant Nick had told her about.
Amanda could be herself with Nick. She didn't have to be Amanda Coppersmith, CEO. She didn't have to be Amanda Coppersmith, arbiter of style and taste. Most of all, she didn't have to be Amanda Coppersmith, Ice Queen.
Nick appreciated her, the real her, as no man ever had. They'd explored the city and held hands and fed each other hot dogs and made faces for the camera and planned their honeymoon, and she couldn't remember ever having enjoyed a day more.
Coming up behind Amanda now, Nick slipped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. She smiled, leaned back into him and turned her face up for his kiss. His lips felt soft and cool.
"How about some hot chocolate?" he asked.
"You're going to make me fat. All this eating."
His hands roved over her stomach and hips, sending a thrill of expectation through her, sparking memories of last night. "An extra pound or two wouldn't hurt."
She smiled. "Ah, the criticism starts already."
"Never. You're perfect, Amanda. You'll always be perfect, even if you gain a hundred pounds."
"Good answer."
His arms tightened around her, fractionally. In a sober tone he said, "We need to talk about something."
She turned a little to see him better. He wore the strangest sad smile. "This sounds serious. Should I be worried?"
He didn't answer immediately, and Amanda felt her pulse quicken. "Nick?"
He gave her another light kiss and released her. "It's not like that—nothing to worry about. I'll get the milk heated up. I make my hot chocolate from scratch—you'll like it. It'll be a couple of minutes, then we'll talk."
Amanda watched him disappear into the kitchen. Whatever was on his mind, she wasn't worried. Nick was the most candid, most sincere guy she knew. Whatever he wanted to discuss, it couldn't be too earth-shattering.
She strolled around his living room, examining the South American tapestry and the black-and-white photographs displayed over the low, burled-wood cabinet. He'd added a couple of pictures since she was last here over two months earlier. She ran her fingers along the glossy top of the cabinet, once again impressed by the craftsmanship. From the kitchen came the sounds of the refrigerator opening and dosing, a pot banging against the stove.
A large, leather-bound book sat on the end of the cabinet, some sort of album. More of his photos, no doubt. Flipping it open to the first page, Amanda was surprised to see that the two five-by-sevens displayed there were in color, not black and white. And they weren't slices of city life but front and back views of eight identical wooden chairs, lined up in a row. The chairs had clean Shaker-type lines but a bit more style, and were made of some pale wood. They lacked seat cushions but otherwise were ready for someone's dining room.
Why did Nick have pictures of chairs in his photo album? She turned to the next page and saw an armoire made of dark walnut, photographed from various angles. The next set of pictures showed a coffee table and matching lamp table.
Nick called from the kitchen, "How sweet do you like your hot chocolate?"
"Not overly," she replied. "More chocolatey than sugary."
"Good, that's how I like it, too."
She started to ask about the album, but her voice was drowned out by the whine of a blender.
Turning to the next page in the album, Amanda saw photographs of the very cabinet she stood before.
"Oh!" This had to be a portfolio displaying furniture Nick had constructed, probably to give prospective customers an idea of his skill. He'd told her he did a little carpentry on the side, a laughably modest description of his work, she now realized. These pieces had been executed by a true artisan.
The next few pages contained photos of a built-in bookcase—probably the one in his bedroom that he'd squabbled with Mrs. Konstantopoulos over—a desk, and a diminutive child's table-and-chair set. She turned the page and froze. The shock of recognition stole Amanda's breath. She knew that cedar chest. There couldn't be two like it. It was massive, with rounded edges, decorative joints and distinctive, heavy brass hardware.
And it belonged to her brother, Jared. More precisely, it belonged to Jared's wife, Noelle. Jared had commissioned the piece for his bride-to-be five and a half years ago, just before his wedding. Amanda had been present when the piece was delivered to her brother's home. She'd never seen anything like that hand-crafted chest, which was exquisitely detailed and redolent with the heavenly scent of fresh-cut cedar. Even now, as she held the photos in her hands, she could almost smell the sweet, woodsy aroma.
Nick had made this chest for Jared. Which meant that—
"Do
you want nutmeg?" Nick called.
—the two men had already met each other, years before she'd introduced them at her birthday party. Her heart slammed into her rib cage. Nick yelled from the kitchen, "Amanda?" The chest had been delivered by the craftsman himself, she recalled. The man had dark hair, longer than Nick currently wore it. He'd carried the heavy chest without assistance; ropy muscles had stood out in his arms. She didn't remember much more about him, because her attention had been on his splendid workmanship. She'd opened the chest, breathed deeply of its perfume, run her hands over the smooth surface of the wood, tracing the reddish striations of the grain.
At the time, she'd thought of Nick not as a mere carpenter but as an artisan, a woodworking genius who employed old-world techniques to create magnificent, one-of-a-kind pieces like that cedar chest.
Amanda didn't look up from the photos as Nick came into the room. He said, "You didn't say, so I gave you a sprinkle of nutmeg." She heard him set the mugs on the coffee table. "What have you got there?" he asked.
Then there was only silence. She looked up and saw him standing close. He lifted his somber gaze from the album to her face.
"It wasn't a chance meeting." Amanda felt the blood drain from her face. She stared at him, her eyes wide and unblinking. "That day back in October. It was no accident that I found myself in your cab."
"No," he said quietly. "It was no accident. Amanda, let me—"
"It was a setup from the beginning. I was supposed to think you were just—" Her throat constricted. She felt woozy. "And I fell for it. I walked right into it."
"Amanda, please…" He reached for her arm. She shook him off and staggered to the coat tree. Suddenly she couldn't seem to fill her lungs; she had to get out of there.
"It wasn't my idea to do it that way," he said, as she grabbed her jacket and purse. "But they didn't give me any choice."
They? Jared was involved in this somehow. She remembered asking Raven, Sunny and Charli if they'd enlisted her brother in whatever scheme they were cooking up. They must have found Nick through him. "The Wedding Ring did this," she said dully. "They were behind it from the beginning."
FIANCÉ FOR HIRE Page 14
