by Irene Hannon
“You’ve done a good job with this place,” he said approvingly. “These older buildings are hard to decorate.”
He regretted the words the moment he said them, thinking she might interpret his comment as criticism, but he was wrong.
“Thanks. It’s amazing what a little paint, a needle and thread and some elbow grease can do.”
She seemed skittish, not offended, and Nick wondered if her husband was in the bedroom or expected soon. He’d better do what he came to do and get out, he decided, withdrawing the mirror from his pocket and holding it out to her.
“I think you forgot this.”
“Oh!” She gasped softly and reached for it.
“I thought you might be worried. It looks like it might be valuable.”
She shrugged. “I have no idea about its monetary worth. But it has a lot of sentimental value.” Her voice grew soft. “My grandfather gave this to my grandmother on their wedding day.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I forgot it.”
“Given the situation, I can. You were pretty upset.”
She looked at him and took a deep breath. It seemed foolish to deny what had clearly been quite apparent. “Was it that obvious?” she asked quietly.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Like I said, I’m not very good at handling that sort of thing. Would you like to sit down for a minute?”
“The offer is tempting,” he hedged, his eyes traveling around the room. “You’ve made this a very welcoming place.” His eyes fell on the dining table and he noted with surprise that only one place was set. So Laura was here alone. But why? He decided to probe, knowing it was a gamble. “It’s too bad your husband couldn’t join you today,” he said casually, strolling over to one of the overstuffed chairs. “That scene probably would have been avoided.”
His back was to her when he spoke, and as he turned he caught the sudden look of pain in her eyes. Then they went flat, and she turned away. “My husband is dead,” she said in a curiously unemotional voice. “Will you excuse me for a minute? I need to check something in the kitchen.”
Nick felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. He had wondered if she was divorced, although divorced women rarely asked to be called Mrs. anymore. Yet the idea that she might be a widow had never entered his mind. He’d satisfied his curiosity all right—at her expense, he thought, gritting his teeth. He jammed his hands into his pockets, his fists tightening in frustration at his lack of tact.
When Laura reappeared a few moments later, he turned to her, feeling that some comment was called for. “Laura, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She looked at him, startled, as if surprised he’d reopened the subject. Then she shrugged. “No reason you should have. Please, sit down.”
Nick hesitated for a moment, and then settled his large frame into a chair, noting that she perched nervously on the edge of the couch. Why was she so tense? Was it his presence that made her uncomfortable? And if so, why? He’d given her no reason to be nervous. In fact, since their first explosive encounter he’d gone out of his way to treat her with consideration.
“Laura, is there something wrong?” he asked quietly, knowing he was taking a chance but willing to accept the consequences.
The deep, mellow tone of his voice had a curiously soothing effect on Laura, and she looked down at the hands clasped tightly in her lap. At last she glanced up, aware that Nick’s relaxed posture was at odds with the intensity of his eyes, which seemed to say “I care.” And for just the briefest moment she felt tempted to pour her heart out to this man who was practically a stranger. But before the urge grew too strong to resist, she abruptly stood.
Nick seemed taken aback by her sudden movement, but he remained seated, waiting for her to speak.
Now that she was on her feet, Laura was at a loss. It was important that he leave, she knew that much. Never mind that she’d just invited him to sit down. Something intuitively told her that he represented danger. “No, everything’s fine,” she lied. “Except dinner. I’m afraid it will burn if I don’t get into the kitchen.” Her voice was pitched above normal, and even to her ears it sounded strained.
Nick remained seated. “It smells good,” he said with a smile.
Dear Lord, why couldn’t the man take the hint and just leave? Laura thought desperately. But she forced a bright smile to her lips. “Thanks. It’s an old family recipe. I really hadn’t planned to fix dinner tonight, but I didn’t get a chance to eat much at the party,” she said, trying to talk away her nervousness.
“Me neither.”
Laura stared at him. Good grief, he was angling for a dinner invitation! This was great. Just great. She was trying to get rid of him and he wanted to stay. They were obviously not on the same wavelength. But how could she ignore the blatant hint without sounding ungracious? After all, he had come to her assistance today, and he’d gone out of his way to return the mirror.
Logic told her to ignore the prickling of her conscience. But good manners—and something else she refused to acknowledge—told her to listen. She sighed, capitulating.
“Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Nick smiled, the tense muscles in his abdomen relaxing. “As a matter of fact, yes.” Then, suddenly, a shadow of doubt crept into his eyes, which narrowed as they swept over her too-thin form. “On second thought, maybe I won’t. I don’t want to take part of your dinner.”
This was her out! All she had to say was “Maybe another time,” and she’d be safe. But other words came out instead. “Oh, there’s plenty. I made a whole batch of sauce and I was going to freeze what I didn’t use. It’s just a matter of cooking a bit more spaghetti.”
Relief washed over his features, and he smiled. “In that case, I’ll stay.”
Laura smiled back. At least, she forced her lips to turn up into the semblance of a smile. But something told her she’d just made a big mistake.
Chapter Four
“What can I do to help?” Nick asked, his engaging smile making her heart misbehave.
“There’s really nothing,” Laura said vaguely, still off balance by the unexpected turn of events. A visitor for dinner was the last thing she’d expected—especially this particular visitor.
Nick placed his fists on his hips, tilted his head and grinned at her. “Were you going to make a salad? I’m not too great on cooked stuff, but I can handle a head of lettuce.”
Laura found herself responding to his lighthearted warmth, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Well, I wasn’t planning to. But since you offered…”
Nick gestured toward the kitchen. “Lead the way.”
Laura was conscious of him close behind her as she walked toward the tiny kitchen, and she was even more conscious of him as they worked side by side in the cramped space, only a few inches apart. She suddenly felt all thumbs as she stirred the sauce and put the spaghetti into the boiling water. Nick, on the other hand, seemed totally relaxed. He was humming some nondescript tune under his breath as he worked, detouring occasionally to peer in her refrigerator and withdraw some other ingredient. So far she’d watched him chop lettuce, cut up tomatoes, slice red onion, sprinkle cheese and add croutons, all with a dexterity that surprised her. She had never expected him to be so at home in a kitchen.
“Voilà! A masterpiece!” he exclaimed finally, turning to her with a smile. “I just hope your spaghetti lives up to the standards of this creation,” he said with an exaggerated French accent and an aristocratic sniff.
Laura found herself unexpectedly giggling at his comic antics, but her face quickly sobered when she saw an odd expression in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asked uncertainly.
“Nothing. It’s just that you should do that more often,” he said quietly, suddenly serious.
She frowned in confusion. “What?”
“Laugh. It makes your face come alive.”
Laura turned away, embarrassed, and stuck her head in the freezer on the pretense of looking for something. I
n reality, she hoped the cool air would take the flush from her cheeks. “Thanks, I think,” she said over her shoulder, her voice muffled.
“You’re welcome.”
Her eyes fell on a package of garlic bread, and she reached for it gratefully. “I thought I had some of this left,” she said glibly. “Should be perfect with our menu.”
“Looks good,” he agreed.
Suddenly the kitchen seemed even smaller than before. Nick leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, one ankle crossed over the other. His cool confidence unnerved her, especially at this proximity. He was so close that if he wanted to he could simply reach over and pull her into his arms, she realized, quickly trying to stifle the unbidden thought. But it remained stubbornly in place, and her heart rate took a jump.
“Um, Nick, maybe you could set another place,” she suggested. Anything to get him just a few feet farther away! she thought.
“Sure,” he said easily, straightening up and walking around to the other side of the counter. “If you hand the stuff through, I’ll take care of it.”
Laura breathed a sigh of relief, feeling somehow safer now that they were separated by a counter. “Okay.” She stood on tiptoe to open the overhead cabinet, unaware that when she reached up for the extra plate and glass, her T-shirt crept up to reveal a bare section of creamy white midriff and a perfectly formed navel.
Nick took a sharp, sudden deep breath and reached up to loosen his tie.
“Oh, you must be warm in that outfit,” Laura said innocently as she handed the plate through. “I’m sorry I don’t have the air on. I usually only run it during heat waves. Why don’t you take off your tie and jacket?”
Nick swallowed with difficulty. “I think I will,” he said, turning away, needing a minute to compose himself. Did Laura have any idea just how attractive she was? Even in shorts, her face now almost wiped free of makeup from the steamy kitchen, there was an appeal about her that he found strangely compelling.
He pulled off his tie and undid the top button of his shirt, slipping his arms out of the jacket and automatically rolling his sleeves to the elbows in his customary fashion. His hand hesitated for a fraction of a second on the cummerbund, and then he unsnapped it. He’d be a whole lot more comfortable without it.
Laura watched the cotton fabric of the shirt stretch across his broad shoulders as he went through these maneuvers, and a profound yearning surged through her. It had been so long, so very long…
With harsh determination she turned away and opened a cupboard to search for some cloth napkins. Her eye fell on an unopened bottle of red wine, a Christmas gift from a client. She’d been saving it for a special occasion. Thoughtfully, she reached for it, then hesitated. Was she asking for trouble? This wasn’t a romantic tryst, after all. It was just a thank-you, and Laura didn’t want Nick to read any more than that into this invitation. Still, wine would be a nice complement to the meal. With sudden decision, she grasped the bottle firmly and pulled it out. She was already flirting with danger merely by having him here. Why be cautious now?
Laura turned to find Nick in the doorway, and she paused, her eyes drawn to the V of springy, dark hair revealed at the open neck of his shirt. She clutched the bottle to her chest, suddenly at a loss for words, sorry now that she’d taken the wine out.
Nick glanced at the bottle curiously. “I’m surprised,” he commented. “After your encounter today, I wouldn’t think you’d be inclined to drink.”
“I told you, Nick. I have nothing against alcohol. Wine goes great with some food. But I can’t tolerate abuse. It freaks me out.”
“So I noticed,” he said, watching her closely, searching for a clue to the reason why.
Laura’s eyes flew to his, then skittered away at their intensity. “Well, shall we eat?” she asked a bit breathlessly.
He took the hint gracefully and dropped the subject, and Laura’s heart stopped hammering quite so painfully. Nevertheless, she was sure she wouldn’t be able to swallow a bite of food. Her stomach was churning, and even as he held her chair—an unexpected courtesy—she was fighting waves of panic. She was having a pleasant, intimate dinner with a man for the first time in more than a decade—never mind the circumstances. It would have been nerve-racking enough with any man. But it wasn’t just any man. It was Nick Sinclair, the man who only this afternoon had awakened her dormant hormones.
Nick sat down across from her and smiled. “Shall I pour?” he asked, picking up the bottle of wine.
“Yes, please.”
“Everything smells delicious,” he commented, aware of her tension, struggling to put her at ease. “Your grandmother must have been some cook.”
“Yes, she was.”
“Was she Italian?”
Laura found herself smiling. “Hardly. She just loved to experiment with dishes from foreign lands. And in Jersey, Missouri, Italy is about as foreign as you can get.”
“Jersey,” he mused. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”
“Not many people have. It’s a tiny town in the southern part of the state.”
“Is that where you grew up?” he asked.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“It must have been nice growing up in a small town. I’ve spent all of my life in big cities. I grew up in Denver.”
“Small-town life has some advantages,” Laura said. “But not many opportunities.”
“I suppose that’s true. So how’s the salad?”
Laura looked down in surprise at her half-empty plate. Nick’s gentle, nonthreatening conversation had made her relax and she’d begun to eat without even realizing it. “It’s very good,” she said.
“Well, you don’t have to look so surprised,” he said in mock chagrin.
She laughed. “Sorry. You just don’t look like the type of man who would spend much time in the kitchen,” she admitted.
“As a bachelor, it’s a matter of survival to learn some of the basics,” he said.
As the meal progressed, Laura found that the tension was slowly ebbing from her body. She realized how much Nick’s quiet, attentive, undemanding manner had calmed her. With a little prompting, she even found herself telling him about her work with Christian Youth Outreach and sharing her views about the importance of a Christian influence on young people and the difference it could make in troubled lives.
By the time the last crust of garlic bread had been eaten, Laura felt mellow and relaxed, and she smiled at Nick, no longer intimidated or frightened. He was easy to be with, she realized.
“I’m afraid I can’t offer you dessert,” she apologized. “I don’t keep sweets in the house. It’s just too much of a temptation.”
“Well, I have a suggestion.”
She looked at him curiously. “What?”
“How about Ted Drewes?”
Laura hadn’t been to the South Side landmark in years, but the famous frozen custard was considered the ultimate summertime treat for many St. Louisans.
Nick watched her surprise turn to delight, and he grinned. “Why do I think this won’t be a hard sell?”
She smiled back. “I must admit that I’ve always had a weakness for Ted Drewes,” she confessed. “But it is getting late.”
Nick glanced at his watch and let out a low whistle. “Is it actually ten o’clock?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Nick looked up and saw the disappointment in her eyes. “Well, this is the peak time for Ted Drewes on a Friday night,” he reminded her. “I’m game if you are.”
“Nick…are you sure?” she asked uncertainly. “You’ve already gone to so much trouble for me today…”
He reached over and covered her hand with his, his touch sending sparks along her nerve endings. “Laura, I’m doing this for me,” he said softly.
She looked into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, but all she saw was a warmth and tenderness that made her breath catch in her throat. His hand still rested on hers, and she loved the protective feel of it.
She’d almost forgotten that a touch could be so gentle.
“Well…in that case…okay,” she said, her voice uneven.
“Good.” He squeezed her hand and then released it. “I’m parked out in front.”
“Let me just get my purse,” she said, feeling as nervous as a teenager on her first date.
When Laura reached the sanctuary of her bedroom she groped in her purse for her lipstick and applied it with shaking hands. Then she ran a comb through her hair. All the while Nick’s words kept replaying in her mind. I’m doing this for me. They made her feel good…and scared, all at the same time. But maybe that was okay, she thought. Maybe it was the Lord’s way of reminding her to be cautious and move slowly.
When Laura returned to the living room Nick stood waiting, his jacket slung casually over his shoulder. He smiled as she walked toward him, and Laura felt nearly breathless. He really was a very handsome man. Maybe too handsome, she reflected.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
He opened the door for her and stepped aside as she carefully locked it, then followed her down the steps. When they reached the ground floor she found his hand at the small of her back as he guided her toward the red sports car, which was thankfully still in one piece, he noted.
Laura let him lead her to the car, enjoying his touch, impersonal though she knew it was. She sank into the cushions of the two-seater, the unaccustomed luxury making her smile.
“Nice car,” she said, reverently running her hand over the leather cushions.
Nick flashed her a grin. “Thanks. It was a splurge, but we all deserve those now and then, don’t you think?” He suddenly remembered her older-model hatchback and clenched his jaw, realizing that she probably had little discretionary income. He was afraid he might have offended her, but when she spoke her voice was friendly and conversational.
