But that opened the door to other thoughts, to the doubts that she hadn’t quite managed to suppress. Was Nick trying to get rid of her already? Put a distance between them? Or was he just being diligent, focusing on work?
Last night, he’d said nothing to her about what he wanted from the relationship. It was her experience that men didn’t like to talk about emotions. They just expected you to observe them and figure out how they felt. And, when they no longer wanted you, they expected you to sense it and end the liaison, pretending it was you dumping them so they wouldn’t have to.
“Sure,” she said. “I’ll go.”
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Chapter Twelve
Nick was sitting with Peter Tomlinson in Crimson’s office, the insurance papers spread out in front of them, when the sound of approaching footsteps made him look up. Crimson stood in the doorway, dressed in a long raincoat, a dripping umbrella in one hand, her big tote bag clutched in the other.
“Crimson.” He pushed up to his feet. “You should have let me know. I would have picked you up from the train station.”
She’d been gone for three days. They’d talked on the telephone, but he’d kept the calls short. He’d told himself he was dreading telling her the bad news, but in truth he was scared of where they were headed—scared of removing the armor plate from around his heart and accepting the tender feelings that stole over him every time he heard her voice.
“I’m sorry.” Crimson balanced on her toes, as if preparing to flee, and gestured for him to sit down again. “Am I interrupting your meeting?”
“No,” he told her. “We were just about to finish.”
“Do you want me to…?” Peter stood up, fidgeting, looking uncertain.
Nick sank back in the chair and lifted a hand in dismissal. “I’ll tell her.”
He waited for Peter to walk out and for Crimson to take off her long raincoat and sit down facing him at the conference table. She patted her damp hair, tied in a neat ballerina knot at the nape of her neck.
“It’s foul out there,” she said.
So, they were talking about the weather now. The thought made Nick wince. He really was lousy at relationships. He should be leaping up to his feet, pulling her into his arms for a friendly hug that would be acceptable in the workplace. And later, when he gave her the bad news, he should cosset and comfort her, shield her from the blow.
He’d never been good at it. Even with Marcela. The squashed frog incident sprang to mind. Marcela had spotted the splattered remains of the slimy creature one evening as they crossed the road. She’d promptly burst into tears. He’d been at a loss. It was a frog, right? Frogs got squashed by cars. Worms got chopped up by lawnmowers. Birds got killed by cats. But, every time Marcela came across one of nature’s little cruelties, she’d break her heart and he’d never understood how to stem her flood of tears.
What was that old fashioned word? Cherish. He didn’t know how to cherish a woman. So, instead of even trying now, he decided to just give Crimson the cold, hard facts.
“I’m afraid we have problem. The cables on the Spur were cut. It was not an accident. The insurance company is refusing to pay. We’ve just lost half a million dollars.”
Brown eyes wide with shock, Crimson stared at him. And then she rallied. Her eyes narrowed into determined slits. “Cut? Who? How?”
“Vandalism. Intent to destroy.”
She sank in her seat, the initial surge of adrenaline ebbing. “Who would…those beautiful cars…on purpose?” Her gaze searched his, as if he could give her all the answers.
“We don’t know,” he told her.
“Have the police been?”
“Not yet. So far, just the insurance investigators, and we’ve made a report to the health and safety authorities. When it was thought to be an accident, it didn’t seem necessary to involve the police.” Nick made a rhythmic rap against the desktop with his fingernails. “Think, Crimson. This has made a serious dent in the profits. It will be almost impossible to meet the profit target. Who will benefit?”
“Sports charities?”
His restless fingers fell silent. “Forget charities. Too impersonal.”
“David Ballard?”
Nick gave a grim nod. “If he wants the company, he needs you to fail. According to the lawyer, my father negotiated a deal with him. David Ballard will have expectations. But, if he is behind this, he must have recruited someone inside the company. Someone who has access to the premises. Either he is paying an accomplice, or someone thinks they’ll be better off under Ballard Automotive than they are under Constantine Motors.”
He could tell the exact moment when the idea of a traitor hit Crimson. Her throat rippled and her nostrils flared. Her mouth drew into a tight line.
“No,” she said. “It can’t be. I mean…yes. Peter was the acting CEO for a while, and he may resent losing the position. And Hank loathed me to start with, but he’s come around. And Jorge has ambitions for a bigger job than we can offer him, but Ballard Automotive…would he really want to work for a parts supplier?”
“I don’t know. But if we bring in the police, there’ll be talk. It will poison the atmosphere within the company. It will start gossip and speculation within the industry. Both will impact business. It might be better to just take the loss and let it slide.”
Crimson frowned. “How can the insurance company refuse to pay? Does our policy not cover acts of vandalism?”
Nick shifted one shoulder, as if attempting to nudge away the burden of telling her. “The insurance company has come up with their own theory. We’ve made full disclosure of all relevant facts, including the prospect of putting the factory on a four day week. To them, it seems a little too convenient to have two accidents that destroy cars when we can produce more cars than we can sell. They’ve raised the possibility of insurance fraud.”
Anger flashed across her delicate features. “They’re suspecting us?”
“So it seems.” He shuffled the papers on the table, searching for the relevant letter. “The one piece of good news is that they have agreed not reopen the case of the fire. That’s accepted as an accident, and we can keep the payout. ”
“But this means…the profit target…it will be impossible…” Crimson stared at him, confusion and distress battling on her face. “We’ll lose the company,” she said, giving her head a small, defeated shake.
Nick didn’t speak. Tension bunched in his muscles, making his spine rigid, his jaws tight. He’d given it some thought—a lot of thought, in fact, in the past three days. He could straighten out the situation by marrying Crimson. The company would be his, free and clear, and he could take care of her, and both their mothers.
No, Nick, I don’t trust you.
That was what Crimson had told him. And if she now found out that he had rejected her as a marriage partner, even at the cost of losing his birthright, she’d muster up every scrap of hate inside her and fling it into his face. She’d never accept that he hadn’t rejected her. Just the idea of marriage to her.
Nick sighed. In his experience, women loved to get mad at men. He’d never known a woman to pass by an opportunity to vent her fury when she found even the slightest excuse to claim that a man had insulted her. Crimson would blow a casket, guaranteed. She would scream and shout at him, telling him to forget the idea of marriage.
And then she would never trust him again.
Damn. He watched her sitting beside him at the table, looking adorable as she bristled with indignation at the world. It moved something inside him, the way this valiant woman tackled impossible challenges. She was clenching her tiny fists now, mentally preparing for a fight, as if she, with her hundred and ten pound ballerina frame, could take on the incredible hulk and batter him to smithereens.
There was only one thing he could think to do in their situation. Put his worries aside for a moment, enjoy what they had between them. Forget tomorrow, think of now, this minute, this hour. Carpe diem, seize the day. A
nd that was exactly what he would do.
Take her home and make love to her.
****
Nick darted into his Panther through the pouring rain and stopped outside the office block entrance to let Crimson in. She had insisted on speaking to the management team and checking the repair schedule for the damaged cars before they went home.
Aching with the need to touch her, to kiss her, he drove with fierce concentration through Longwood. A bit too fast, but he had the skill, even on the waterlogged roads, with mud splashing beneath the wheels. The patter of rain on the canvas top filled the tense silence, as both of them sat without talking, equally aware of the reason for his haste.
Despite the rain, he left the car out in the driveway.
“Are you sure the top is waterproof?” Crimson asked
“If it leaks, you’ll find my complaint on your desk,” he said with a smile.
The rain drenched him as he circled the car, pulled her door open and ushered her up the terrace steps, one arm around her, trying to shield her from the deluge. In the hall, he could see the two mothers up on the galleried landing, lowering lengths of fabric over the banister. Nick slammed the front door shut, sending the colored streamers of material fluttering in the draft, blues and reds and yellows flashing and mingling.
“What’s going on with those two?” he muttered to Crimson. “It’s like having a bloody schoolgirl slumber party in the house. They giggle all night and get drunk on champagne. What’s happened to my mother’s cool reserve?”
“I know. It’s odd. I never expected they’d get on.”
“Yeah,” Nick said, shaking his head. “They might have started at the opposite ends of the social scale but now your mother looks like she belongs in the country club and my mother in roaring around in a pickup truck. It’s like they’re converging. If they continue, they’ll meet in the middle and fuse into one.”
His mother peered down. “Nicky,” she said in a demanding tone.
Nick raced up the stairs, pulling Crimson behind her.
His mother hurried forward. “I need to—”
He cut her off. “Later. Tell Soames we’ll want supper in my room. Tell him to leave the tray outside the door. We don’t want to be disturbed.”
“But Nicky—”
“Hush, Myrtie.” Esmeralda’s stage whisper would have carried to the back row of any theater in the world. “I think our children want to play doctors and nurses.”
“Oh…”
Nick tried not to laugh. He’d never seen his mother look so stunned. Crimson was blushing, bright enough to light up the landing. He yanked his bedroom door open and bundled her through. After he’d locked the door behind them, he stalked up to her.
“It was torture in the office, not being able to do this.” He cradled her face between his hands and kissed her. Deep, hungry kisses. As if they’d been separated for weeks instead of three days. His hands slid down and found her breasts, fingers splayed to caress their soft shape, to weigh and knead and tease and brush across the tightening nipples.
“Nick, we can’t…not here.”
“Hush,” he said. “Of course we can.”
Despite her scandalized whispering, and her flapping hands that oscillated between helping him and hindering him in the effort, it didn’t take Nick long to strip Crimson naked. Appearing to overcome her scruples, she joined him in the task of getting him equally bare.
As the last of their damp garments fell into a soggy heap on the carpet, Nick kicked the bundle of fabric aside and reached out for Crimson. He’d dressed in formal clothing that morning, to impress the insurance assessors, and it occurred to him now that the Armani suit might be ruined if not hung up properly.
He didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything but Crimson. His hands settled at her waist, slid down the curve of her hips and back up again. She was warm and smooth, her skin very pale, with a light tracing of blue veins beneath. One day, when he was not in such a hurry, he wanted to follow those faint lines like a map.
Reaching his arms around her, he plucked at the knot at the nape of her neck until it unraveled. Gently, taking care not to tug too hard, he ran his fingers through the long tresses and spread her hair to flow down over her breasts and her back.
“You are an amazing woman,” he murmured.
“Nick, we can’t, not here…they’ll listen…”
“With a champagne flute pressed to the wall.” He grinned at her as he pushed her backward until she toppled down on the quilted bedspread. Never in is life had a woman’s body held such fascination for him. He wanted to kiss every inch of her, touch every inch of her, wring from her a depth of emotion she had never experienced with any other man.
He crawled on top of her, his movements languid, as playful as a tiger with his mate. Dipping his head, took the rosy peak of a breast into his mouth. With consummate skill, he nibbled and tasted and suckled until he drew a low moan of surrender from her.
“That’s it,” he encouraged her. “Make noise.”
The hot wave of color that he always found so delightful flared up on her skin again, all the way from her breasts to her hair that now fanned in a swirl of platinum on his pillow.
“You’re terrible,” she protested. “Stop it.”
He let the wicked glint in his eyes be the only answer. Adjusting his position on the bed, he straddled her hips and sent his fingertips dancing on her belly. At the first flurry of tickles, she burst into a high pitched squeal, something between a startled shriek and laughter.
“They’re…listening…don’t do that,” she whispered. “They’ll hear.”
“Good,” he said. “Scream. Otherwise they’ll think I’m not doing it right.”
That caused her to dissolve in giggles. He used her moment of inattention to stretch out over her and fumble in the drawer of the nightstand. Smiling down at her, he pulled out a box of condoms and rattled it in front of her flustered face. “There’s five in here,” he told her. “And I promise you, I won’t rest until we’ve used them all.”
By the time he’d made good on his promise, the first fingers of dawn were sneaking trough the curtains, and the supper tray Soames had left outside the door served as breakfast.
****
Crimson tried to concentrate on the proofs for the print ads that would appear in car magazines, but it was almost impossible with Nick sitting beside her. Outside, crisp autumn sunshine had replaced the rain, and the world sparkled through the glass panels of the office.
Just as her mind sparkled. She couldn’t remember ever being so happy. Nothing could bother her today, not even the worry over the damaged cars, or the insurance company, or meeting the profit target and holding on to Constantine Motors.
Anna called from the doorway, glossy dark hair swinging across her shoulders as she peeked in. “Your mothers are on their way. Both of them.”
Oh my God. Crimson stifled a groan. She and Nick had sneaked out early that morning, to avoid two pairs of curious maternal eyes. She sent him a pleading look. “Can I hide in the filing cabinet?” she begged. “I can’t face them…I mean, they know…they’ll never believe I screamed because you were tickling me.”
His lips twitched. “You screamed for plenty of other reasons.”
“I…oh my God...here they are…”
“Relax,” Nick told her. “I have a way of getting rid of them.”
“Not murder, I hope,” Crimson said under her breath as Myrna and Esmeralda barged in, wearing identical beige chinos, as bouncy on their feet as a pair of toddlers.
Nick glanced at his watch. “Thanks for coming in. Right on time.”
“You invited them?” Crimson muttered, disbelief in her voice.
Ignoring her, Nick waved the two women to the conference table. Crimson breathed in familiar scents. The only thing that had survived her mother’s makeover was her Oscar de la Renta perfume, which had gained Myrna Constantine’s seal of approval.
“I’m sure you’re aware of th
e company’s financial difficulties,” Nick said with a formal air. “We all need to pitch in and do whatever we can to help.”
Esmeralda reached for the candy dish on the table and took one of the Lindor pralines in a red wrapper. “Hank’s wife said the insurance company is not going to pay.”
Myrna confiscated the chocolate and put it back in the dish. “Ray mentioned it too. We talk sometimes. I helped one of his daughters to find an apartment in the city.” Talk sometimes, Crimson thought. You use him to keep tabs on us, you mean.
“I’m sure you’ll be glad to do your part,” Nick said. “We can save a lot of money by getting rid of the catering company and running the cafeteria ourselves. Esmie, you’ve got the experience. Will a couple of people working for you be enough?”
Crimson watched her mother’s jaws fall open.
Nick turned to Myrna. “And we could really do with a receptionist in the lobby. I know you don’t have any qualifications, but your polished manner will compensate. And you already own suitable clothes.” He sent the pair a congratulatory smile. “When can you start? Will Monday morning be too soon?”
The women looked at each other, two sets of shocked blue eyes.
Esmeralda spoke first. “I…eh...the cafeteria?”
“Receptionist?” Myrna shivered with icy disdain.
“That’s it.” Nick beamed at the pair. “I knew you’d jump at the chance to contribute.”
“Actually,” Myrna said, a little stiffly. “We’re flying out to Paris on Sunday. And then on to London and Milan. It’s to do with our project. A terrible shame,” she added with a false air of sincerity. “We would have loved to do our bit.”
“But Mom.” Crimson stared at Esmeralda, who had used Myrna’s preoccupation to sneak a chocolate. “You don’t even have a passport.”
“Sure I do, honey.” Her mother pushed the ball of candy into her mouth and dipped one hand into her trendy cross-body handbag. Jaws masticating, she pulled out a small, navy blue booklet with PASSPORT in gold letters stamped above the eagle emblem and United States of America beneath it.
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