by Susan Sey
“I’ll rephrase,” she said. “Maybe I do still love the man you used to be. But you’re not him. Not anymore. You’re somebody different, somebody angry and wounded and too dangerous to love.” She forced herself to keep her eyes steady on his, her face clear and impassive. “I wasted years waiting for you to get over this, Ty. To come back to me. To yourself. But I’m done now. I’m moving on.” She rose to her feet. “I’ve moved on.”
She headed for the door on trembling knees. He let her pass but the heat from his body reached out and wrapped itself around her, made her want to weep with the dear familiarity of it.
“So that’s it,” he said. “You’re done with me.”
“No, there’s one more thing.” She put one hand on the door knob. She waited until she knew her eyes were clear and dry, then turned to face him. “Get Jass into the clinic, Ty. You had a hand in making this place what it is for these kids. You owe her that much. You owe them all.”
She closed the door behind her with a brisk snick, and though she wanted nothing more than to drop to her knees and howl with anguish and loss, she forced herself to march down the hall without looking back.
Erik exchanged nods with the tabloid photographer parked outside the clinic--Nixie’s version of an entourage--and hung up on Mary Jane’s voice mail for the fifth time that afternoon. Nixie wasn’t supposed to be on for another hour, but there she was as he pushed through the doors, her auburn hair glowing under the fluorescent lights of the receptionist’s pen. She had a pencil in her teeth as she pecked two-fingered at a keyboard and wiggled to some Top Forty trash playing on a boom box in the corner.
Energy bounced off her in happy waves, reached out to Erik and pulled at him even through three inches of bullet-proof plexiglass. He touched the ring in his pocket and sighed. Why the hell did he keep running into Nixie when all he wanted to do was propose to Mary Jane?
She looked up and smiled at him, warm and open and radiantly friendly. Friends, he cautioned himself as she buzzed him into the pen. Just friends.
“Where’d you hide the body?” he asked, sitting on the counter by her elbow.
“What?”
“I know the only way you’d be working days is if you killed Wanda and hid the body. So? Where is she?”
“You think I could take out Wanda? I’m flattered.” She paused and squinted at him. “I think.”
“No body, then?”
“Nope. Just a routine shift swap. Wanda’s nephew graduated from kindergarten this morning. We switched so she could be there.”
“Ah.” Erik checked his watch. “Is Mary Jane around? I haven’t been able to reach her on her cell, and thought I’d swing by.”
Nixie shook her head. “No. She actually took off on time today.”
“Seriously?” He frowned. “That’s not like her. She say where she was going?”
“Nope. She looked distracted so I didn’t ask. I think she’s tracking down Jass, though.”
“Jass?”
“The girlfriend of the kid who died. Homeboy ambulance arrival my first night?”
“Oh, her. Right. What about her?”
“She’s been missing prenatal visits, and I’m a little concerned. I asked Mary Jane to check into it.” Nixie nibbled at her pencil. Erik tried not to think about her mouth. “I wonder if I should ask around the neighborhood, too. Mary Jane is so busy. I hate putting one more thing on her plate.”
“No!” Erik paused, modulated his voice into something less horrified. “No, that’s not a good idea. Remember what happened last time you insisted on poking around the neighborhood?”
Nixie shrugged. “Nothing a shower couldn’t cure.”
Erik sighed. “You almost got mowed down by an El Camino, Nixie.”
“Which apparently is way less dangerous than a whole truck. Or so you’ve informed me.”
“And then you got flashed.”
“By a kid about as threatening as a stoned hamster.”
She made it sound so benign. What really stood out for him about that day was trying like hell not to kiss her. And failing miserably.
“Just let Mary Jane handle it, okay? You’ll only cause a riot.”
She turned up her nose and sniffed. “That’s very unkind.”
“And very true.”
A new voice boomed, “Boy, what’s your behind doing on my counter?”
Erik jumped guiltily to his feet. “Sorry, Wanda.”
“My daddy always said counters was for glasses, not for asses.”
“Amen,” Nixie said sweetly, with a superior look for Erik. She reached under the desk and retrieved a slouchy, colorful bag that was probably hand-woven by Nigerian orphans. “We’re all caught up here, Wanda. It’s been slow. How was the graduation?”
Wanda plunked herself into the chair which creaked forlornly. “You’d think the kid was going off to war the way his mama threw down for this party. Girl, they had a live band. A live band! For a five year old!” She shook her head and the beads in her braids clicked merrily. “Still, pretty good music. My dogs are barking.”
A vision of Wanda shaking her groove thing wandered into his subconscious and Erik blinked. Nixie smiled at him as if she could read his mind. He smoothed out his face and cleared his throat.
“Well, I guess I’m off,” Nixie said. “See you Wanda.”
“Later, girl.”
Erik propped open the door to the waiting room and motioned Nixie through as he hung up on Mary Jane’s voicemail again.
“You heading home?” he asked.
“Yep. I have a hot date with a large pizza and some mindless TV.” She grinned at him. “You want in?”
He touched the ring in his pocket and eyed her speculatively. Maybe fate wouldn’t let him propose to Mary Jane until he confessed to Nixie. It was worth a shot. At the very least, he could make sure she went straight home without a pit stop at the Wash to ask after Jass and get herself shot.
“Pizza, huh? I could eat.”
Nixie eyed the couch beside Erik, then folded herself cross-legged on the floor across the coffee table. Not that she was chickening out. Sloan’s advice had some merit--it was time to be bold. And she had been. She’d invited him over for dinner, hadn’t she? She just couldn’t figure out how to go from splitting a greasy pizza to seducing the guy.
She picked the mushrooms off her own slice of pizza and plopped them onto Erik’s plate. What had Sloan said? About keeping them fucked and keeping them fed? She’d start out with the feeding, she decided. Maybe later with the...rest of it.
She waited for him to dig in, but he stared at his plate, still and silent.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, reaching hastily for her discarded fungi. “Do you not like mushrooms either?”
“I like mushrooms fine. It’s not that. It’s just...I have to tell you something.”
Her heart skipped into an anxious patter. “What is it?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you for a while now, but I just couldn’t find the right time or place.”
“Oh my God.” Nixie’s mouth went dry and her mind leaped to the worst possible scenario. “You’re married?”
“What? No, of course not.”
“Thank God.”
“I mean, not yet.”
“You’re engaged?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“You have? When? Before, during or after all the kissing?”
He rubbed both hands down his face. “You’re angry.”
She jumped to her feet and started pacing the length of the room. “Oh, no. Of course not. I’m thrilled for you.” She crushed her napkin into a tight ball in her fist. “Who is she? This fiancée of yours?”
He paused, as if weighing his words. “Mary Jane.”
Nixie stopped mid-stride. She knew laughter was inappropriate, but she was so relieved she couldn’t stop the chuckle from bubbling up. “Mary Jane? Our Mary Jane?”
He nodded silently.
“I know
you said...” She shook her head. “You are not engaged to Mary Jane.”
“Not technically, no. But I will be.”
She crossed back to the coffee table, dropped to the floor and gazed at him over the greasy cardboard pizza box. “Have you even asked her?”
His eyes slid away. “Not exactly. I needed to talk to you first.”
A tiny trickle of joy welled up in her heart. “Really? Why?”
“Hell if I know,” he said, his eyes snapping back to hers. Irritation danced in them like blue lightning. “All I know is every time I put the damn ring in my pocket and go looking for Mary Jane, I find you instead.”
“And here I am again.” Nixie’s heart gamboled around her chest like a new puppy. “You’re one lucky guy.”
“I am?”
“Sure. Fate doesn’t give two shits about most people. There are whole countries fate forgot about. Believe me, I’ve seen them. But you try to marry the wrong woman and fate intervenes. It must have big plans for you.”
He stared at her. “I don’t know which part of that to scoff at first.”
“You don’t believe in fate?”
“Do I look like Karl to you?”
She laughed. “Point taken. But doesn’t it seem like life is pushing you in a certain direction?”
“Toward magazine covers and gossip columns and a complete lack of anything resembling a private life or personal freedom?”
She waved that away. “What, and you’re so free right now?”
“Freer than the girl whose political advisor plots her every move for maximum press coverage.”
“Hey, at least I quit,” said Nixie, stung. “You’ve spent your entire life doing the exact opposite of what your mother wants you to, right down to marrying the wrong girl. How does that make you any freer than I am?”
“You haven’t quit.” He shoved aside his pizza and stood.
“Excuse me?” She forced an even tone as temper snapped and simmered.
“You haven’t quit,” he said again. “You’re doing exactly what you’ve always done.”
She shot to her feet, rounded the coffee table and poked a finger into his shoulder. “That is so not true! Okay, so I’m throwing you a fundraiser but that hardly means I haven’t--”
“Jesus, Nixie, take a look at yourself, will you?” He frowned at her and rubbed his shoulder. “You’re taking James Harper to the gala next week so you can forgive him, your mother can slap his face and his father can call him rehabilitated. You’re whoring your personal life for the cause of the week while your advisor calls a press conference, just like always. You haven’t changed. You’ve had a change of venue, that’s all.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, hurt rolling over her in jagged waves. “That was a cheap shot. You think I want to make nice with James Harper?”
Erik shrugged. “I don’t know what you want, Nixie. I thought you came here to take back your self-respect, but you sold that to James’ daddy, didn’t you?”
“It was for a good cause,” she said slowly, an empty chill creeping into her chest. Had Sloan felt this way when she’d stolen James? “Your cause, wasn’t it?”
He looked away and shoved both hands through that thick, wheat-colored hair. “I’m not judging you, Nixie, okay? You have every right to draw your own boundaries between what you owe the world and what you owe yourself. We don’t agree on where they should be, that’s all.”
“I’m redrawing those lines every day,” she said. “That’s what this is all about, Erik. I’ve spent my life healing, sheltering, feeding. I need somebody to feed me, too. A like soul to shelter me. Heal me. Recognize me.” She took a deep breath then met his eyes. “Somebody to love me like I love you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Erik’s chest went hollow, then filled with a rush of conflicting emotions. Chagrin, resignation, terror, and guilt, all glued together with a bolt of pure, shining joy. God forgive him, he was joyful. The rogue part of him that wanted her body apparently wanted her heart, too. Christ. He was a fool.
“Nixie.” Her name came out more like a prayer than a reproach, and she reached out to put a hand on his wrist.
“I know you don’t want this, Erik. At least you don’t want to want it. But love isn’t like that. We don’t get to pick and choose. It happens, and maybe it comes with some trouble, but it’s always a gift.”
He slid his wrist away from her fingers. “You don’t love me, Nixie.”
She watched him, grave and unsmiling. “You don’t know what I feel.”
“You can’t love me.” He paced to the window and watched the Potomac snaking its lazy way to the Atlantic. “You’ve known me, what, three weeks?”
“So? I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m just asking you to consider me.”
“For what?”
“For your lover.” She crossed the thick carpet on silent feet. He could feel more than hear her coming, and when she wrapped her arms around him from behind and pressed her warm cheek to his back, he had to close his eyes against a staggering wave of want. “For your love.”
He drew in a breath, but it was dry and harsh. He stepped away from her and said, “This isn’t going to work, Nixie.”
“Why not?”
He forced himself to sigh as if it were his patience rather than his willpower wearing thin. God, she was beautiful. Skin like alabaster, hair like flame, and a heart so brave and courageous he ached for her. She had to break it every damn day.
“Your heart is like one of your orphans right now, all right? Banged around, beat up and half drowned. You told me once you were trying to build yourself a home here, but this is no home. It’s an orphanage. A safe place for you to hole up and heal for a while. We’ve loved having you with us, and it’ll be a sad day for us when you go, but you can’t stay here forever. And I’m not going with you when you leave.”
She smiled at him, and it was pure come-on. “Who’s asking you to?”
Erik stared at her, half baffled, half aroused as she slinked toward him, that heart-stopping mouth all curved up in promise. He tried to backpedal but found himself already against her ugly drapes. She stopped a bare breath from touching him, planted her fists in the drapes on either side of his waist and leaned in. The scent of lemons floated up to him and he actually felt weak.
“You’ll only hurt yourself,” he said, but when she turned her face up to his, the surge of desire blanked out the rest of his planned speech. She studied him, her mouth pursed into a quizzical rosebud that made him yearn to take a bite.
“I won’t get hurt, Erik.”
“Yes, you will.” He leaned his head back, tried to get some air that wasn’t full of her so he could think again. “You deserve somebody who’ll belong to you.”
“You could belong to me.” She pressed her mouth to the column of his throat. “We could belong to each other.”
He swallowed convulsively. “You’re America’s goddamn princess, Nixie. You already belong to them.”
Her mouth went still. “If you start in with the Nixie Leighton-Brace thing, I swear to God, I’m going to bite you.”
Everything in him flashed hot for an incinerating second and he said, “But you are N--”
He broke off as her teeth, sharp and just short of savage, nipped into his neck under his ear. She laved the sting with her tongue and for one wild moment, he thought about saying it again.
“It won’t work,” he said instead. “I can’t give you what you want.”
Her delicate fingers slipped his top button free and widened the V of his shirt. Her mouth landed on his collar bone, warm and sweet, and a groan rose up in his throat.
“You don’t know what I want,” she said, but he was beyond listening. He was caught in the haze of a blinding desire.
“I think I have a pretty good idea,” he said, but his hands had found the delicate indent of her waist. “I’m nobody’s Prince Charming, Nixie. You have to understand that.”
“I don’t want Pri
nce Charming. I want you.” Another button slipped free and she pressed a kiss directly over his heart.
His hands blazed up her back and he dug his fingers fiercely into the tumble of her hair. Some dim corner of his mind registered that it was silky cool. It ought to burn, he thought.
“Do you?” he asked, turning her face up to his.
She nodded solemnly and pressed her next kiss to his lips, sweet and gentle. “Not forever,” she said. “Just for now.”
“For now.” Lust kicked off its chains and he fell into her with something perilously close to desperation.
“Now, I can give you.”
Nixie’s entire body sang as his arms came around her like steel bands, and her knees sagged with a weird combination of desire and relief. Not relief that he’d finally given in, though that was part of it. Being bold wasn’t the piece of cake Sloan made it look like. But relief that the choice had finally been made.
Erik turned her into the wall, pressed her back against it, and took her mouth with a glorious air of purpose. She nearly smiled under his single-minded carnal assault. She’d forced him--forced them both--to confront this thing between them, knowing that once Erik made a decision, it was full-steam-ahead, damn-the-torpedoes. She gloried in the risky thrill of it, the thread of uncertainty and desperation that ran just under the surface. Maybe they were doing the right thing, maybe they weren’t, but she was done waiting around for somebody else to make the call. She wanted him, and by God, she was going to have him. For once in her life, she was being selfish and it felt wonderful.
She wound her arms around his neck and plastered herself against him, reveling in the hard press of his chest, the possessive cage of his thighs. His hands were big and fast, one cradling her jaw, the other cupping her behind and pulling her ever deeper into him.
Then he moved lower, dragged a moist kiss up the side of her throat and conscious thought evaporated. He was so fierce, this Viking doctor of hers--aggressive and gentle, demanding and generous. He’d tried so valiantly to resist her but he wasn’t resisting anything now. Now he was feasting on her, and her bones went to hot wax under his greedy, streaking hands.
