by Day Leclaire
He took a swallow of coffee and studied her with a thoughtful air. "You were a bit young to take on such a burden, don't you think?"
Privately, she was in complete agreement. Aloud she said, "They didn't trust anyone else."
"Ah. That old issue of trust rears its ugly head."
"Can we move this along?" she asked, reaching for another muffin to hide behind.
She wanted to get off the subject of the past. Badly. And since the future was just as uncomfortable a topic, that left the present. To her secret disgust, the idea of telling him about the Miracle Box actually held some appeal. Quite a change from how she'd felt before last night. If she wasn't careful, she really would start to trust him.
"I still have one or two questions about the past," he said, a hint of steel appearing beneath the congenial surface. "Your aunt made a reference to an incident that happened six or seven years ago and involved you. What was that about?"
"It wouldn't interest you," she replied with deceptive calm. "What's the problem, Jonah?" she couldn't resist taunting. "I thought you'd want all the gory details of how I'm being a coldhearted Scrooge and refusing to give my relatives their money. Instead, you're obsessing about a chapter of my life that's over and forgotten ages ago."
He didn't take the bait as she'd hoped. "Over, perhaps. But not forgotten." He allowed an uncomfortable silence to descend before adding, "You're not going to be able to duck a discussion of the past forever. You realize that, don't you?"
"I don't realize that at all." She fixed him with a determined look. "What I am willing to do is explain my current actions since they're of such importance to you. But my past and my future can't be of any interest."
He simply smiled. "You'd be amazed at what interests me."
Flustered, she made a production of dumping another spoonful of sugar into her coffee. "There's no point in getting too involved with each other's lives. Ours is a temporary arrangement, remember?"
"All too well." He leaned forward and caught her hand before she could spoon any more sugar into her mug. "I'll make you a deal. You stay out of the sugar bowl and I'll stay out of your past."
"Deal," she agreed instantly.
Amusement gleamed in his eyes. "At least I'll stay out for now. In the meantime, tell me about this investment."
"Right. The investment." Wriggling her fingers free of his hold, she stood and crossed to the sink, adding more coffee to her cup to dilute the abundance of sugar. "My dear aunt and uncle have been offered the unbelievable chance to own the exclusive local franchise on something called a Miracle Box."
"Never heard of it."
"Really?" she drawled in exaggerated surprise. "But it's a brilliant invention. Absolutely everyone is going to want one."
"What does this Miracle Box do?" he asked warily.
"Let's see if I can remember it all...." Turning to face him, she leaned against the counter and took a quick sip of coffee. She fought to hide her grimace of distaste. It needed more sugar again, but she'd cut off her hand before reaching for that bowl. "It's part fax/modem, part telephone answering machine and part cable TV receiver and VCR all in one convenient, plug-into-the-wall device."
"And I'll bet it washes dishes and gives change for a dollar, too," Jonah said drily.
"Not yet. But only because the inventor hasn't thought of it." She frowned. "The problem is that this Miracle Box sounds just close enough to what's already on the market or soon to be available that to people like Ernie or Selma it appears quite believable."
"Interesting scam."
She gave a short laugh. "Oh, but I haven't told you the best part yet."
"Well? Don't keep me in suspense. What's the best part?"
"My aunt and uncle can have this exclusive franchise for the rock-bottom price of fifty grand."
She'd stunned him with that one. "You're kidding."
"I'm dead serious. Not only has he conned them into believing this box will make them a fortune, but he's buffaloed my cousins, as well. Which means that everyone will be so busy selling the Miracle Box, they'll neglect Ernie's Beanery."
Jonah shook his head in disgust. "By the time they realize it's all a scam, business will have bottomed out."
"And my family will be under investigation for fraud. If neglect doesn't succeed in destroying their café, lawyers' fees certainly will. But the bottom line will be the same. They will have happily paid fifty thousand dollars to put Ernie's Beanery out of business and themselves into bankruptcy."
"I'm sorry, Nikki. I should have—"
She cocked an eyebrow. "Trusted me?"
"Something like that," he conceded.
"That's all right. I have a bit of trouble in that department, too." She dumped the remains of her coffee in the sink and rinsed the mug. "Well, I'll tell you how you can make it up to me..."
"You want me to tell them they can't have the money," he said in a resigned voice.
She hid a smile. "Why, thank you. I accept. Shall we go into work now or shall I introduce you to the Beanery?"
"You say that as if I have a choice."
"The Beanery it is." She didn't bother to hide her grin. "Tell you what. I'll let you do the talking this time."
Jan opened the office door and poked her head in. "Sorry to disturb you, Nikki."
Nikki shoved aside the papers she'd been working on and glanced at her secretary. "What's up?"
"There's a man on line two who insists on speaking to you. He won't leave his name or number and this is the third time he's called. Do you want to talk to him or should I try to find out who it is again?"
Nikki shook her head. "No, don't bother. I'll take it, thanks." She reached for the phone and punched the appropriate button. "Nikki Alexander," she stated automatically. She'd certainly grown accustomed to using her married name, she realized with a bittersweet smile. She'd better hope she found it just as easy to get unused to.
"Ah, Mrs. Alexander. At last. You're a very difficult woman to get hold of."
"Who is this, please?"
"Timothy T. Tucker. I'm sure you've heard of me."
Nikki straightened in her chair. "I don't believe it. Mr. Miracle Box himself."
"The one and only. I spoke to your aunt and uncle this morning and there seems to be a small problem."
"Oh?" she drawled. "And what might that be?"
"Ernie's having trouble getting his hands on the money to invest in my proposition."
"And he gave you my number?"
There was a small pause. "Several of them," he said deliberately.
Her eyes narrowed. What did that mean? Had Uncle Ernie been foolish enough to supply this man with her number at Jonah's apartment? She stirred uneasily. And what about the brownstone? The idea of Tucker having Krista's number was very unsettling. "What do you want?" she demanded.
"I want the money Ernie and Selma promised me. Fifty thousand to be exact."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Tucker. Perhaps my aunt and uncle neglected to mention it. They've chosen not to invest in your scam—" she deliberately paused before correcting herself "—I mean, in your invention."
"I don't think you understand—"
"No, it's you who doesn't understand," she informed him crisply. "My aunt and uncle may be gullible, but I'm not. I've examined your prospectus and plan to hand it over to the appropriate authorities."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
She swiveled in her chair to face the office window. "I'm talking about fraud. The technology you claim to have doesn't exist."
"My box—"
"Your box is as phony as you are. Goodbye, Mr. Tucker."
"I wouldn't hang up if I were you! You better give your uncle that money, or you'll regret it."
"I don't think so."
"Oh, no? Your aunt and uncle aren't just gullible. They're also very talkative. And I'm a great listener. In all my conversations with them, they were quite full of their brilliant niece." His deliberate pause was an exact copy of her own. "Brill
iant now, that is."
She slowly straightened. "Get to the point, Tucker."
"You weren't quite so brilliant seven years ago, were you? I think the LJB committee would be very interested in the details of that little escapade, don't you?"
Her hand tightened on the receiver. "Are you threatening me?"
"Oh, no. I'm making you a one hundred percent guarantee. You ruin my deal with your aunt and uncle, and I expose that nasty little skeleton in your closet. Look at it as an investment in your own personal Miracle Box. Fifty grand in exchange for a box that does absolutely nothing. You have my personal guarantee that it won't make so much as a peep." He laughed raucously at his own joke. "So, is it a deal?"
Nikki closed her eyes. All she'd worked for over the past seven years, all she'd done to try to make up for that one horrible disaster would be for nothing. She knew the interpretation people would put on that incident. Not only would the award committee take away her nomination, she'd undoubtedly lose her job, as well. But to pay this slime fifty thousand in the hopes that he wouldn't say anything?
"Not a chance," she whispered. "I don't pay blackmail. Do your worst, Tucker."
"I plan to," he snarled and slammed down the phone.
Nikki hung up, staring blindly out the window. So what did she do now? Without conscious thought, she crossed to the office closet and pulled out her box of gardening supplies. For the next hour, she worked and weighed her options. Briefly, she considered going to Jonah for help. It was possible he'd understand. After all, he'd understood about Krista. He'd also understood about her aunt and uncle. He'd even gone to them and explained that Tucker was a con man, all the while handling the situation with a diplomacy she couldn't have emulated on her best day.
Then he'd taken his assistance one step further. He'd supported her advice that they use their savings to open a second Ernie's Beanery and employ her cousins to run it. By the time he'd walked out of the cafe, they'd all fallen in love with him.
Just as she had.
The breath stopped in her throat and she closed her eyes, fighting the sudden and inescapable knowledge. No. She couldn't be that irresponsible. She couldn't truly love him. Love was for fools. Love forced a person to give up control. Love didn't work for her; she'd resigned herself to that fact. But she'd never lied to herself before and didn't intend to start now. Slowly, carefully, she searched her heart. And there she saw the truth.
She didn't know when or how it had happened. Perhaps it had come on her bit by bit without her even being aware. Still, that didn't change the fundamental truth. She did love him, with a bone-deep intensity. Where once she thought her heart and soul irreparably damaged, now she saw they'd been healed. And that healing was due to one man.
Jonah.
But to have fallen in love. She shook her head. How foolish of her. Because if she loved him, that meant she trusted him. And if she trusted him, she'd have to tell him about...
Tucker.
She shuddered. She couldn't dump this on Jonah, couldn't watch the green fire in his gaze turn to gold ice. Perhaps if he loved her in return, she'd take the risk of telling him about the past. But the painful fact of the matter was.. .he didn't love her. Oh, he wanted her. And he'd make sure she found their time together special, no matter how brief. But in the end, he'd leave and she'd be alone once again.
Which still left the main question unanswered.
What did she do now?
Nothing, she decided at last. She couldn't be certain that Tucker would make good on his threat. By doing so, he risked exposing himself. And slime like that preferred operating in the safety of the shadows. Too much light brought too much attention.
A peremptory knock sounded at her office door. "Nikki? I wanted to talk to you about—" Jonah stepped across the threshold and stopped dead, staring at her in astonishment. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Potting plants," she replied with a self-conscious shrug. "Or rather, repotting. I do it whenever I need to think."
His narrowed gaze swung to the empty windowsill and back again. "So, you weren't killing them. You were saving them."
She glared at him indignantly and started to put her hands on her hips. Just in time, she remembered she still wore her gardening gloves. "You thought I was killing plants?" she demanded, stripping off the gloves and tossing them to the protective tarp. "On purpose?"
"You'll have to forgive my ignorance," he said gently. "At the time I came to that conclusion, I didn't know what a maternal soul you had."
His assessment gave her an odd feeling. She'd never considered herself the least maternal. She was a career woman first and foremost. Any fleeting thoughts she might have indulged with regard to children had been just that. Fleeting. Besides, she had Keli. She bit her lip. Had being the operative word. Soon she wouldn't even have that, not if her plan succeeded.
"What are you thinking?"
She avoided his gaze. "Nothing important." Removing her apron, she began loading her supplies into the box.
"You were thinking about Keli, weren't you?"
His perception dismayed her. "Yes," she admitted, aware that denials were pointless.
"Haven't you ever considered marrying?" He edged his hip onto the corner of her desk, his trousers pulled taut across his thighs. "For real, I mean? Having children of your own?"
"Once."
"Ah. Seven years ago again. We really must dear the air about that."
"Did I mention? I'm beginning to like coffee unsweetened." She shoved the box in the direction of the closet, hoping that would close the subject. "I assume you came in here for some reason other than to annoy me."
"Not really." His large hands closed around her waist and he lifted her aside. "Allow me." With an ease she could only envy, he hoisted the box as though it were weightless and deposited it in the closet.
"Thanks," she murmured.
"No problem." Turning, he scrutinized her with unnerving intensity. Almost hesitantly, he reached out and swept a stray lock of hair from her temple. Then with a muffled exclamation, he thrust his hands deep into her topknot. Her hair came loose, spilling in heavy waves about her face. "Temptress," he muttered, drawing her close.
"Jonah—"
But his mouth stopped her incipient protest. And then it stopped all thought. It had become easier and easier to give in to him—especially when his demands so closely matched her own desires. She wrapped her arms around him, not the least surprised when he crushed her along his hard length, tugging her between his legs and against the very heart of him.
"Am I interrupting something?" an amused voice asked from the doorway. They both spun around. Eric stood there, leaning against the jamb. "You took so long getting that update on the Dearfield account," he addressed Jonah, "that I decided to come looking for you."
Jonah swore beneath his breath. "Right. The Dearfield account."
Hot color swept across Nikki's cheekbones. "I have the update with my files. Let me get it for you."
"I guess the honeymoon's not over yet, huh?" Eric asked innocently.
Nikki stared at him in horror, unable to say a word.
"What the hell does that mean?" Jonah growled, shooting her an uneasy glance. "We're not on our honeymoon."
Eric shrugged. "That's not what it looks like to me."
"You—you're wrong," Nikki managed to say.
"Of course I am." He stepped into the room, grinning. "Good thing I'm not a client, though. Not very professional, you know, making love on the office floor. Or were you planning on using the desk?"
"Go to hell, little brother," Jonah snapped. "The day I need a lecture from you about professionalism—"
Eric held up his hands. "Okay, okay. Though at least allow me to suggest you lock the door next time."
Jonah's hands balled into fists. "Why you—"
"Stop it!" To Nikki's horror, tears pricked her eyes. Stress. It had to be stress. Between her family problems, her marriage and Tucker, it was a wonder she hadn't gone
completely insane. "Here's the update," she said, tossing the file onto her desk. "Now, if you'll excuse me?" She didn't give either man a chance to reply, but swept from the room before she disgraced herself completely.
Jonah started to follow, but Eric caught his arm. "She won't thank you for going after her. Women prefer to conduct these crying jags in private."
"What! She was crying?"
Eric shrugged. "I thought I caught a glimpse of tears."
"Damn." A resigned expression crossed Jonah's face. "Mind telling me what makes you such an expert all of the sudden?"
"Just using a little common sense for a change. And as long as I'm so full of it, so to speak, I'll offer you some more advice. Give her time." He paused a beat. "The first year of marriage can be tough on a couple."
"And I told you this isn't—"
"It's as good as. You can't count your first year. You didn't spend any of it together," Eric argued reasonably.
"I... she..."
"Yes?"
"Forget it!"
Eric slanted him a sly look. "Your wife sure was upset."
Jonah's gaze followed the direction Nikki had taken. "Bad, huh?"
"Has to be stress," Eric pronounced thoughtfully as he headed for the door. He glanced over his shoulder. "I mean, it can't be sexual tension. Now can it? Not after what I just saw." The door quietly closing punctuated his observation.
"It can't be sexual tension. Now can it?"
In the three days since Eric had made the comment, Jonah had been consumed by that thought to the exclusion of all else. Sexual tension. He pushed his fork around his dinner plate, cursing beneath his breath. Oh, he was tense all right. Very tense. Very, very tense and getting tenser by the minute. He scowled across the table at his wife. Not that she noticed.
Nikki stared at her plate, struggling to work up sufficient enthusiasm to eat. For the past three days, she'd been consumed with thoughts of her husband, and of love and trust and horrible men who made horrible threats. She'd also spent the time trying to decide how to handle the predicament she'd gotten herself into. In fact, it had become a daily battle—whether or not to trust the man she loved, despite the fact that he didn't love her. She peeked at Jonah from beneath her lashes. Not that he noticed.
