by Jackie Braun
“But?”
“I don’t know.” Then, apropos of nothing, she said, “Tad stopped by today. He dropped off some wedding gifts from our side of the family that had been mailed to the condo.”
Not sure what else to say, Darcie replied, “That was nice of him.”
“He also brought a box of miscellaneous things you left behind when you moved out.”
“Oh.” Again, she was at a loss for words.
“I know you often felt second in line to his mother, but by calling off the wedding, well, I think you’ve made your point. I think things would be different now if you got back together. He...he really loves you.”
Darcie swallowed, wishing it were as simple as that. Wishing she could want the same suburban life her married sisters had so happily embraced.
“But I don’t love him, Mom. Not the way I should if I am going to spend the rest of my life as his wife.”
“He said he’s been trying to reach you but that you haven’t returned any of his calls.”
Four on her cell. All of which Darcie had let go to voice mail. “I know. And I will.”
“When?”
“When I get back.”
“Honey—”
“Mom, please. It’s over. You need to accept that and so does Tad. He and I, well, we want different things in life.”
“What is it that you want, Darcie?” Her mother’s tone had turned impatient. “What is it you think you’re looking for?”
It was her father who answered. “Stop badgering the girl. She simply wants more than what Tad can offer.”
Darcie closed her eyes. Bless her dad. He got it. He understood. Her mother, meanwhile, remained perplexed.
“Are you sure it’s not just a case of cold feet?” she asked. “A lot of brides get them. It’s natural.”
“I’m positive, Mom.”
And Darcie was, especially when she thought about Nick and all of the heat the man could generate inside of her with a single, simple smile.
* * *
The move to Nick’s house the next morning was accomplished easily. Darcie had only the one, forlorn-looking bag after all. She’d still heard nothing from the airline about her missing piece of luggage. With her luck, it would show up in Greece about the time she was to return home. Whatever. She was making do and, now that she didn’t have to worry about paying for lodgings, she’d decided she was entitled to make a few more wardrobe purchases. Already Nick had mentioned having dinner again. She couldn’t very well keep wearing the same dress. And she was starting to feel a little too touristy outfitted in T-shirts, shorts and sneakers. She might as well hang a camera around her neck and strap on a fanny pack to complete the cliché.
Once they arrived at Nick’s house, she stood in the driveway and breathed in the sea-scented air, looking forward to the stroll through town that he promised her. The day was warm, but the breeze kept the temperature from being unpleasant.
That was until they went inside and Nick offered a tempting smile and said, “We never got to the bedrooms yesterday.”
They hadn’t gotten to a lot of things while in his house the day before, Darcie thought, not sure whether it was relief she felt or something more damning.
Even so, she smiled in return and made a sweeping motion with one hand. “Lead the way.”
Three bedrooms opened up off the hallway at the top of the stairs. Each had its own bath. Two of the rooms, including the master, faced the harbor and sported private balconies. The master was large enough to accommodate a small sitting area in addition to a king-sized bed. The chairs were upholstered in a luscious aquamarine, which, when combined with the deep blue duvet cover, mimicked the colors of the harbor. The art on the walls featured nautical themes, although the works themselves were more abstract in nature. Darcie was no connoisseur, but the pictures appeared to be signed originals or numbered prints, all of which were expertly matted and framed.
Nick came up behind her as she gazed out at the harbor. She swore she could feel the heat from his body warming her back even though he stood a respectable distance away.
“This is a very, um, restful view,” she said.
“You would think so.” Dry humor tinged his voice. “Right now, I am feeling very restless, especially when I think of you sleeping in my bed.”
“About that.” She cleared her throat and turned. “I think I will take one of your guestrooms.”
“Are you sure? I spared no expense on that mattress. I think you would be more comfortable in here.”
She didn’t agree. Indeed, she had a feeling that she would toss and turn all night on the mattress in question, tortured by detailed fantasies and the lingering scent of his cologne. She wasn’t quite ready to slip into Nick’s bed—alone or otherwise.
Darcie chose the guestroom next door. It offered the same stunning view as the master and could hardly be considered small, even if it only had one chair rather than an actual sitting area. If she wanted to sit at all up here, she would do it on the balcony in one of the cushioned chaises.
It only took her a few minutes to unpack her clothes and toiletries, and then she met Nick downstairs, where he showed her around his home office. Like the rest of the house, the furnishings were modern with clean lines. The wooden desk was stained a deep brown. The bookshelves just behind it were glass and metal. Every electronic gadget one could wish for—tablet, laptop, digital printer and copier—would be at her disposal.
He showed her how to log on to the internet using his laptop, as well as how to access her own email account. With a few clicks of the mouse, he also brought up a raft of research sites that he used to locate collectible cars and determine their value. Given her current job, she was familiar with several of them. Then he opened a file on the laptop and pulled up a catalog from a previous auction at his warehouse just outside Manhattan. It had been created using software Darcie knew well. In addition to color photographs of the automobiles and the prices they were likely to bring at auction, the catalog included several paragraphs describing the vehicles.
Nick tapped his index finger against the screen. “This is the sort of thing I will need you to write for me. Facts tend to be bland. Bland does not generate interest, let alone bids. People need to be persuaded to part with their money, especially in such vast sums. The catalogs are sent out in advance and help generate not only interest, but excitement.”
She grinned. She knew where he was heading. “Trust me. The facts won’t be bland or boring when I get done with them. I’ll make those cars sound so sexy and irresistible that even you will be tempted to bid on them when they come up for auction.”
“That is exactly what I was hoping to hear.”
Darcie’s gaze fell on a framed picture of a younger Nick standing with another man in front of a race car. His uncle, she surmised, recalling their conversation from the day they met. This was the man who had kick-started Nick’s passion for cars and, ultimately, set into motion his career.
“Does your uncle still race?”
“No. He is retired. But racing is in his blood. He sponsors other drivers now.” Nick pointed to the photograph. “He still owns that car. He won a Grand Prix with it. He retired not long afterward and the car retired with him. He said he couldn’t part with it.”
“Is it difficult?” she asked.
“Is what difficult?”
“Parting with the cars that you like?” She sent him a grin. “It’s obvious that you have a weakness for a finely engineered automobile.”
“I do, but they are not my only weakness.” His gaze was on her mouth.
“Nick,” she said pointedly.
“What were we talking about again?” he asked.
“Cars. Selling them. Even the ones you would like to keep for yourself.”
“Ah. Yes. I rememb
er now.” He shook his head and shrugged. “I enjoy the automobiles while they are in my possession. That is enough.” His gaze was on her mouth again. “I do not need to own something to enjoy it. Not everything is meant to last.”
His words, the intensity of his gaze, caused a shiver to run up her spine. A vacation fling was the perfect example. Meant to be enjoyed. Meant to end. Darcie found the thought unsettling, but she shouldn’t have. If it was permanence she sought, she should have stayed with Tad. He was the man who’d offered for her hand. No, Darcie had other ambitions, newly revived ones that were just begging to be explored, exploited. Nick was giving her that chance. Anything else that transpired between them came without strings.
“Well, it had better be enough, because you’ll never see them again once I give them a write-up.”
He stroked the hair back from her face. Where a moment ago his expression had been intense, it was thoughtful now. “I heard it said once that writers are artists who paint pictures with words. So, you are an artist, Darcie Hayes.”
How long had it been since she’d seen herself that way? Since she’d last dared to see herself that way? Confidence—new and heady—swelled inside her.
“Thank you.”
“I do not want your gratitude.”
“But you have it,” she argued. He couldn’t possibly know what he’d done by giving her this opportunity. To lighten the moment, however, she rubbed her hands together and said, “I can’t wait to get started.”
“So eager.” He took her hands in his. “But tomorrow will be soon enough. Today we will enjoy ourselves. Are you hungry?”
“Starving. I skipped breakfast,” she admitted.
“That is no good. You should never deny yourself.”
The man had a point, Darcie thought. She had denied herself a lot the past several years—not food, but other things that, in some ways, were every bit as vital to her well-being. He still had her hands in his. He turned one over, brought it to his mouth for a kiss. A moan escaped. Who knew the palm was an erogenous zone?
Nick leaned toward her, their mouths met. Not far away was a bedroom, one with a mattress for whose quality he had already vouched. She edged back on a sigh.
“Lunch?”
He rested his forehead against hers. “I thought we had just established that you should not deny yourself.”
“You’re tempting me.”
“I should hope so.” His laughter was gruff as he stepped back. “But you are not ready and I promised that whatever happened between us would occur naturally and be mutually agreeable. The timing is not right. You need more romance, I think.”
She swallowed, liking the sound of that. “So, lunch?”
He swept a hand toward the door. “After you.”
* * *
They ate near the harbor, in a small bistro that Nick frequented when he was in town. The owner was a big man with craggy features and a booming laugh. He knew Nick by sight if not by name, so he smiled in welcome when they entered.
Lunch was a busy time, but since it was later in the afternoon, the crowd already had thinned. They took a table near the back of the small restaurant.
“Do you know everyone in Greece?” Darcie asked once they were seated.
“No, but I make it a point to get to know the people I like.” He reached for her hand. “Take you, for example. I find myself wanting to know everything there is to know.”
He said it lightly, but he meant it. He hadn’t felt this interested in anything besides automobiles in a very long time. But there was no denying he was curious about Darcie, not to mention intensely curious about the man to whom she so recently had been engaged.
“You want to hear the story of my life?” she asked on a laugh.
“Yes. I believe you promised to tell it to me that first day.”
“You already know I’m a magnet for disaster and cursed with bad luck. The rest, I’m afraid, is rather boring.”
“I will be the judge.”
“All right. But you go first.” When he blinked in surprise, she added, “It goes both ways, you know. I have a lot of questions I wouldn’t mind having answered, too.”
“So, we should satisfy each other’s curiosity. Is that what you are saying?”
“It’s only fair.”
“Ask then.”
Nick knew Darcie had chickened out when she inquired, “What’s your favorite color?”
“Red. My turn.” And he went for the jugular. “How long did you know your former fiancé?”
“Too long.”
“That is not an answer,” he chastised.
“Get comfortable then,” she teased. “And, don’t worry. I’ll wake you up if you fall asleep.”
The server came for their order. When they were alone again, Nick motioned with his hand. “Go on. I am wide-awake and promise to stay that way. For the record, I am always interested in what you have to say.”
Darcie swallowed. While it was a bit disconcerting to have Nick’s full attention focused on her, she liked that about him. He didn’t just pretend to listen to her. He really did, making it impossible to hide behind her usual flippant replies and offhand remarks. Who knew, maybe telling him about Tad would be cathartic rather than merely embarrassing. Maybe it would make it clear not only to Nick, but also to herself that the past was behind her and it was time to grab the present by the horns.
“Well, I met Tad during my senior year of college. I had a really bad throat infection and went to the clinic on campus to get it checked out. He was a first-year intern and working that afternoon.”
“He was your doctor? Kinky.” Nick arched his eyebrows.
“No! Well, I guess technically he was for that one visit, but I kept my clothes on. Remember, tonsils.” She pointed to her throat. “They’re up here.”
“I am well-versed in a woman’s anatomy.”
“I’m sure you are.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, the two of us got to chatting. My tonsils were enlarged, something that happened quite often. He thought they might need to come out.”
“You talked about enlarged tonsils and somehow still wound up going on a date?”
Darcie pulled a face. “It must have seemed romantic at the time.”
“If you say so. Go on.”
“There’s not much more to tell. Tad and I started dating and then, six years ago, he proposed.”
Nick’s eyes widened at that. “The two of you were engaged for six years? Did you live together the entire time?”
“No. I moved in once he agreed to a wedding date. That was two years ago. Tad didn’t want to get married until he was done with his residency and ready to start a practice of his own. Evelyn thought it would be too distracting.”
“His mother.”
Darcie frowned. “I tried to be understanding. She’s a widow and Tad is her only child. He’s all the family she has. But the closer our wedding came, the clingier and more demanding of Tad’s time she became.”
“What did your family think of him?”
“Ah-ah-ah. It’s my turn to ask a question.”
He bowed his head.
“Do you...like scary movies?”
Nick stashed his grin. She’d chickened out again. “No. What did your family think of Tad?”
She exhaled, clearly irritated. “My sisters liked him. I think they liked the idea of me being engaged and heading toward the altar even more than they liked Tad. My mom is still hoping this is just a case of cold feet. Tad was very sweet to her, always full of compliments.”
“And your father?”
She rubbed her chin. “Dad never really said anything one way or another while Tad and I were engaged, but I get the feeling he isn’t all that upset I called it off, even if he’s on the hook for a lot of nonrefu
ndable deposits now.”
“Let me guess, you gave up pursuing your career around the time you and Tad got engaged? Your father did not like Tad because he wanted you to follow your dream, and he knew you would give up on it forever if you married someone like Tad. You had taken a job checking facts rather than writing pieces whose facts other people would check for you.”
It made sense to him now how she wound up in a career for which she had no passion.
“That about sums it up,” she said.
“And so you ended things.”
“One week before ‘I do.’” Both her tone and her expression were grim. “Not exactly my classiest moment.”
“Better one week before than one week after.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it.” The server returned with their drinks. “My turn again.”
“All right.”
He figured she would wimp out again. So, he nearly spit out the mouthful of sparkling water when she said, “What are your feelings for Selene?”
“I have no feelings for her. She is marrying my brother. End of story.”
“Okay.” Darcie accepted the cryptic answer with a nod. Then she hit him with both barrels by asking, “What are your feelings for your brother?”
“I miss him,” Nick replied honestly, surprising himself.
EIGHT
Nick woke in his boyhood bedroom to the smell of fresh bread—the crusty variety that his mother and grandmother routinely made in an outdoor wood-burning oven that straddled the property line between their two houses. The scent wafted through the open window, drawing him upright.
He’d spent the past four nights under his parents’ roof after spending his days with Darcie. As promised, they divided their time between sightseeing and work. He was enjoying both and he thought she was, too.
Already, she’d presented him with research on three vehicles, including estimated values for the vehicles based on what similar models had brought at recent auctions. She was thorough, conscientious and professional, and damn if he didn’t find that all very sexy.
