“I know you will. You are a smart lady.”
If I’m so smart, then why am I so miserable?
Pointing to the steaming box on her desk, he added, “And I know you like anchovies.”
Sara waited for Mr. Papalardo to leave her office before moving the pizza to the top of a file cabinet. She dumped his records on her desk. In thirty minutes she had the papers sorted into manageable piles. Later she’d call Candy to tell her their favorite client had come in. And to ask after the grapes, and the inn, and Dexter’s new job with the Cleveland Browns, and Brody’s son, Carl.
She never asked about Nick, but when Candy mentioned him, Sara drank in the information as if it were the sustenance that kept her alive. Nick was still tapping away at his computer, digging with Brody on Mondays and fishing. Although some days he did putter around the press house. And he’d gotten his own cell phone and used it on occasion. Some days he even asked about her.
While Sara prepared for her first scheduled appointment, Emily Marshall fielded phone calls and eliminated interruptions. After two hours Sara longed for a diversion. She even admitted to an unexpected surge of relief when there was a knock at her door. “Come in.”
This time her assistant insinuated a mere three-quarters of her slim body through the opening. “I’m sorry to intrude, Miss Crawford, but this seems to be our morning for strange visitors.”
Sara sighed. “Who is it now?”
“There’s a man outside who insists on seeing you. He’s even more overbearing than Mr. Papalardo. He’s in quite a state and won’t take no for an answer. He says he hasn’t filed personal income tax for years, and he needs a good tax accountant to keep him out of prison.”
Emily pinched her lips together before adding in a coarse whisper, “He used the word prison.”
This change-of-pace problem might be an interesting diversion. “Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow and give him an appointment for the afternoon,” Sara said.
Emily Marshall grew more agitated. She tugged at the silk bow on her blouse. “I don’t think that will satisfy him,” she said. “He’s quite demanding. Frankly, he frightens me.”
Despite the fact that almost all men frightened her assistant, Sara had heard enough. She picked up the phone to call security. She had only punched in two of the four digits when Emily was propelled the rest of the way into the office. Sara stopped dialing and put the phone back on the receiver.
Precariously balanced on Emily’s left hand was a silver platter. “Now the man insists I show you this.”
Sara held on to the edge of her desk and stood. Disbelief made her dizzy, while hope made her heart race. She approached the shining platter and blinked hard to bring the familiar objects into clear focus. There, surrounded by a band of sparkling silver, lay a cluster of plump, oval, magnificent green grapes.
Sara reached out and grasped one between her thumb and forefinger. It was cool and firm and separated from its tiny twig with a succulent snap. She held it up in front of her eyes and covered her mouth with trembling fingers. Still, a gasp of profound awe escaped her lips and filled the office. It was followed by a spurt of joyous laughter. “They’re mine, Emily! These grapes are mine!”
“What nonsense…”
Sara popped the grape into her mouth and bit down. “Wonderful,” she said around the sweet, sloppy juice teasing her tastebuds. She grabbed her assistant’s arms, ignoring the look of terror on the woman’s face. “Where is he? The man who brought these—where is he?”
“He’s crazy,” Emily proclaimed. “Another crazy Eye-talian.”
The door opened all the way, revealing Nick leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest. “That’s just great,” he said. “This woman’s only known me ten minutes, and she’s already got me pegged.”
Sara’s heart seemed to stop beating altogether before returning with a vengeance to hammer against her ribs. Not taking her eyes off Nick, she absently removed the platter from her assistant’s hand and set it on the desk. Emily scurried toward the door and flattened herself against the frame—to avoid contact with Nick—while she made her escape.
He came all the way into the office and closed the door. “You busy?”
Giddiness left Sara weak and exhilarated at the same time. Nick looked spectacular. Tall, strong, ruddy with Thorne Island sunshine. No one had a right to look that good. He brushed his hair off his forehead, for a moment appearing almost shy.
“She’s right, you know,” Sara said. “You are crazy.”
He nodded. “But I’m getting better. Some people need help from a good therapist. I just need a sexy accountant.”
Sara flattened her hand against her stomach, trying to quell the trembling radiating from there to all her extremities. If it reached her knees, she knew she’d buckle. “Do you know where to find one?” she asked.
He stepped closer. “Oh, I’ve found one, if she’ll just give me an appointment. I’m not sure I deserve it, but I’m hoping she’ll take pity on me.”
Sara’s gaze dropped from the dusky pewter of Nick’s eyes to his chest, where a three-inch band of colorful fish swam all the way around the light blue background of his shirt. “Where did you get that?” she asked.
“At the Fort Lauderdale airport. As long as I’m in Florida, I should look like a Floridian.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said, suppressing her laughter. “But it does make me take pity on you.”
He put his arms around her and pulled her flat against the fish. “Good. I’ll take your pity and any other emotion you care to throw in.”
“How long do you plan to stay?”
“Well, that depends on you.”
“Really?”
She raised her face to accept his kiss. He slipped his finger under her chin and lowered his mouth. The kiss started slowly, a plea to forget the mistakes of the past. Sara answered with a building passion that soon fired the kiss into a hard, hungry demand to make up for lost time.
When it ended, she drew back and looked into familiar eyes that mirrored her own happiness. “Was it hard, Nick?” she asked. “Was it hard for you to leave the island and come here?”
“Every damn thing I’ve done in the last four months has been hard, Sara. Some of them even impossible—like trying to get you out of my mind. Only, right now none of them seems as impossible as trying to keep my hands off you and remembering this is a place of business.” He slipped his hand under her suit jacket and massaged her back over her blouse. “God, I’ve missed you.”
She nestled her cheek against his neck. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to tell Candy to give you the phone just so I could hear your voice.”
He kissed the top of her head. “We could have worked this out,” he said. “The more I thought about it, the more I realized that one of us was just too stubborn to give an inch.”
Sara threaded her fingers into the hair covering Nick’s collar. The coarse, dark curls twined around her nails. The style was different. Longer. Maybe he hadn’t even seen Gina since she’d been gone. “I agree with you,” she said, “only don’t tell me which one of us you think was the stubborn one. I don’t want to spoil this moment.”
He laughed softly in her ear. The rich, throaty sound hummed through every part of her, confirming that even the sound of his laughter fired her passion for him. She pulled his head down and met his mouth for another shattering kiss. “We’ve got to make this work, Romano,” she said. “Come floods or pestilence or bankruptcy…”
“Not bankruptcy,” he announced. “Money’s not a problem.”
She stepped away from him and smiled at his typically cocky expression. “I accused you once of robbing banks. Have you taken up the profession for real?”
“No, nothing like that.”
She studied his features more closely and realized he was being perfectly serious. He truly wasn’t worried about money. And then it hit her. “Don’t tell me you found the missionary’s treaure.”
>
“Well, yes, I did, but…”
Grasping his hand, Sara exclaimed, “Where was it?”
“I was working with Ryan in the fermenting room to get things ready for the grape harvest, and behind a crumbling section of the limestone wall, I discovered a leather pouch with Father Bertrand’s initials.” He chuckled. “Funny, after all the Digging Days I suffered through, I find out the coins weren’t buried at all.” He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a gold medallion and handed it to Sara. “Here’s a souvenir. Unfortunately someone got to the pouch before I did. There were only a few coins left.”
She studied the faded likeness of a human face surrounded by a wreath of flowers. “Did you tell Brody you found it?”
“No. I got him down in the cellar on false pretenses and let him discover the pouch himself. After all, the treasure hunt was his idea from the beginning.”
Sara pictured Brody’s excitement. “What did he do? Immediately transfer the coins to his safety deposit box?”
Nick smiled. “Actually, he didn’t. He put the pouch back behind the wall and let Carl Junior find it when he came for his first official Digging Day.”
“Oh, wow. How unselfish of him.” Sara rubbed her thumb over the coin. “Fatherhood has given Brody a new heart.”
“Something like that, I guess.”
Sara put the coin on her desk. “So, if there wasn’t a great fortune, what did you mean when you said money wasn’t a problem? It is for me. I’m still paying off my Home Depot charges.”
He peered over her shoulder at the tray of grapes. “Didn’t you notice what the grapes were lying on?”
“The platter?”
“No. The paper.”
Sara stared down at the tray. With care, she slid a leaflet of papers from under the fruit and held it up with both hands.
“Oh, my God, Nick!” She spun around to face him. “It’s a publishing contract!”
He grinned broadly. “A three-book deal. You might want to look at page two, at the part about the advance. I know it starts with a one, but there are a few zeros following it.”
The room spun, and the weakness that had been threatening Sara’s knees attacked with alarming ferocity. She leaned against the desk and concentrated on breathing. “I knew the books were wonderful.” She let a smile express her awe and the sudden realization that Nick had changed. “Nick, you’re making money.”
A lopsided grin communicated his embarrassment. “I guess making money’s not such a terrible thing.”
She looked at the contract again. “And you’re using your real name.”
“Yeah, but just so you don’t start commending me on my bravery, I should tell you that I checked up on the Golden Isles boys. They’re likely to remain locked up for quite some time. And since I’m using my real name, I’ve agreed to write a weekly column for the Plain Dealer, too. Looks like I’ll be going into Cleveland every week or so.” A wickedly innocent smile curled his lips. “Which brings me to my real reason for coming here today.”
Sara affected a suspicious frown. “Oh? I thought your real reason was to see me.”
“That, too. But if I’m going to Cleveland, I need a car. I thought maybe you’d let me use yours.”
He dodged the grape she hurled at him. “My car doesn’t go anywhere without me.”
“Then I’ll just have to marry you and take you with me. I need a car that much.”
She had raised her hand to fling another grape, but it never left her fingers. Instead, she just stared at the face waiting expectantly for her reaction. After several seconds Nick said, “I guess that wasn’t very romantic.”
A very unladylike whoop hovered just at the back of Sara’s throat. It was all she could do to keep it from erupting in joyous discord from her mouth. “No, it wasn’t,” she said. “Do better.”
He took the grape from her hand and entwined his fingers with hers. “Sara Crawford, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife and making a life with me on Thorne Island? And will you have babies and crush grapes and make wine for our table?”
She started to speak, but he popped the grape into her mouth. “And if you say yes, I promise to abandon my life as a recluse and travel with you wherever you want to go. Our world can be a cozy inn or the four corners of the globe. I only know that my world is with you.”
Sara reached for him. He stepped into her arms and held her close. “How many ways are there to say yes?” she whispered.
“Only one matters, sweetheart.”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
He gently pulled her arms from around his neck. “Before you get too enthusiastic, I should tell you that what your assistant said is true. I haven’t filed income tax in a long time. I really do need a good tax accountant.”
Sara rummaged through the papers on her desk. When she found the document she needed, she gave it to Nick. “Consult Chart A, Romano. In this country, if you are under sixty-five, you only need to file if you earned more than $8,800 dollars in one year.” She chuckled at the light that came on in his eyes. “I may not know everything about you, darling, but I could swear on the steps of the Treasury building that you fit the parameters of an IRS exemption from filing responsibilities. But thanks to your publishing wind-fall, you are indeed now a computer entry.”
He grinned down at her. “God, Sara, I love it when you talk dirty.” He’d just crushed his lips to hers when the office door swung open and Emily Marshall marched in with a security officer behind her.
“Good heavens!” the woman exclaimed.
Ending the kiss, but still holding Sara close, Nick whispered in her ear, “Jeez, Sara, doesn’t that woman know how to knock?”
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3633-2
THE MEN OF THORNE ISLAND
Copyright © 2003 by Cynthia Thomason.
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The Men of Thorne Island Page 24
