The Real Deal

by Debbi Rawlins

  “I’m telling you it’s not gonna work.” Nick’s voice was close, and then suddenly he was entering the kitchen. His gaze went to the coffee station, and he lifted his brows in question.

  Emily poured the rest of the coffee into his cup and passed it to him.

  He mouthed his thanks, and then surprised her with a brief kiss. “Anyway, I have plans.” He frowned at Emily’s empty cup, opened a cabinet and got down a bag of Colombian coffee. “Look, I have to go.”

  Emily studied the fancy coffee station, finally realizing that she had no idea how to work the thing. It ground and brewed regular coffee, made espresso, steamed milk and probably drove him to the ballpark.

  “I’m not trying to get rid of you,” he said impatiently. “I have company.” He rolled his eyes. “No.” Paused. “I swear on a stack of bibles you don’t know her.” He made a sound of exasperation and wandered out of the kitchen, forgetting to take his cup with him.

  Emily could still hear him talking, but couldn’t make out what he was saying because he’d lowered his voice. Probably because he had to explain what had happened to his last girlfriend. And then reality struck Emily—his sister’s curiosity had nothing to do with personally knowing the woman he was with. She expected him to be with a celebrity, a famous model, a well-known actress. No wonder Nick had walked away. He had to explain that Emily was a nobody.

  “Sorry about that.” Nick strolled back in, arching his back, stretching out one arm, scratching his chest and sighing contentedly. “I figured we were better off with me taking the call. My sister would’ve kept at it the rest of the day.”

  “It’s okay. I have not one, but two sisters like that, so consider yourself lucky.”

  He smiled, grabbed hold of her belt and drew her to him. “I consider myself very lucky.”

  Grinning, she gave him a playful swat. “How do you ever have enough energy to play baseball?”

  He waggled his brows. “You think I go to the gym to stay in shape only for baseball?” He froze, his arms fell to his sides, his eyes filled with disgust and disbelief. “That was so friggin’ thoughtless. Damn. Slap me. I deserve it.”

  It took her a second to comprehend his reaction. “I’d be happy to slap you if that’s what you want, but frankly, I didn’t think twice about the remark until you went all squishy on me.”

  He blinked, frowned. “Squishy?”

  She laughed. “Think about it. And then show me how to use this stupid coffeemaker.” For heaven’s sake, she knew he hadn’t gotten that good at pleasing a woman without a lot of practice. Was she supposed to be upset about that? Still, she was so proud of herself. All composed and blasé. Kind of sophisticated. And she’d only been in New York for three days.

  She’d turned her back to open the bag of coffee and was startled when he picked her up from behind and spun her around.

  “Nick Corrigan, you are so lucky I don’t have that open bag of coffee in my hands.”

  He set her down and hugged her to his chest. “We’ve already determined that I’m one lucky bastard.”

  “Yeah, well don’t push it.” She tried to keep a straight face, but he was beaming like a ten-year-old and making her heart flutter like a chorus of butterflies.

  “Let’s forget the coffee. We’ll shower, then go back to your hotel so you can get fresh clothes and then we’ll go anywhere you want to go. The Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty…hell, we’ll go to the Eiffel Tower if you want.”

  “Um, I’m pretty sure that’s in Paris.”

  “Yeah? No wonder I got lost. Are you gonna quit being a smart-ass so I can finish?”

  “I’ll give it my best shot.”

  He pinched her backside, but the bulky robe prevented her from feeling a thing. The problem was he noticed and reached inside the robe. And helped himself to a whole handful of bare fleshy cheek and squeezed.

  “Hey.” She retaliated by tweaking his nipple.

  He yelped and circled both arms around her, biting her neck, his stubbled jaw chafing her skin.

  “Truce.” She tried to shove him away, but he held her too tightly. “I’m waving the white flag here.”

  “Tough.”

  “Seriously, your beard is—”

  He immediately released her and drew back to examine her abused skin. “Damn.” Rubbing his jaw, he winced. “I always shave first thing.” He lightly kissed the chafed area. “Sorry, Em.”

  At the nickname, her throat constricted with emotion. Her father had been the only one who’d called her that. She’d been so young when he died but that was one of the few things she remembered vividly. After he was gone, she’d refused to let anyone else call her Em. Not her mother, not her sisters, not even her beloved grandfather. That name forever had been reserved for her father.

  “I really am sorry,” Nick said, his eyes dark with concern. “I have some ointment that should help the sting.”

  She snapped out of her preoccupation. “It’s not that bad. Really. I was thinking about my dad. How he always used to call me Em.”

  “Used to,” he repeated slowly. “Does that mean—?”

  She nodded and shrugged. “He died a long time ago. I was eight.”

  “You’d said something yesterday about your mother?”

  “Oh, yes, she’s very much alive.” Emily chuckled. “She has a more active social life than I do. Although, pretty much everyone in the world has a more active social life than me.”

  He studied her thoughtfully, as though he had a grave decision to make, and she deeply regretted that the conversation had taken a serious turn. Without another word, he took her hand and led her back to the dining room, but they didn’t stop there. Ignoring the remains of their breakfast, his hand still wrapped firmly around hers, he kept walking through the living room, down the hall to the bedroom.

  She knew what was coming next, and a small part of her wanted to hurry him, beg him to satisfy the ache that had begun building when he’d started to disrobe her in the dining room. But the other part of her, the emotional side, was a bit disappointed that he sought comfort and fulfillment in sex.

  They had been on the verge of a meaningful conversation. She would’ve liked to have heard about his family, would’ve liked to have told him more about hers. But of course, this temporary union was never about building a relationship. It was vacation sex. They both understood the unspoken rules.

  He stopped near the foot of the bed, and drew her close before he pushed the robe off her shoulders. His kiss was brief, his eyes unreadable. “We’re gonna take that shower,” he said quietly, “go see the sights, then have a nice dinner at an obscenely expensive restaurant—” he stroked her cheek “—where I will seduce you into going to Vermont with me tomorrow.”

  12

  AT THE END OF THE DAY, they hadn’t chosen an expensive romantic restaurant as Nick had planned. After cramming in an exhausting day of sightseeing, Emily had suggested they keep dinner low-key since they wanted an early start tomorrow. When he tried to overrule her, she admitted that she didn’t have anything appropriate to wear to the type of restaurant he had in mind. Then he’d offered to take her shopping, and she flatly refused. He’d known right away to back off.

  Now he sat across the table from Emily, watching her intently study the dessert menu and wondering if he was doing the right thing by taking her with him to Vermont. The trip wasn’t about him wanting her to meet his family, and he hoped like hell she understood that. Emily was a nice lady and the last thing he wanted was for her to get the wrong impression and end up with her feelings hurt.

  Finally she looked up. “Everything sounds way too good. What are you having?”

  “I don’t know.” He hadn’t so much as glanced at the menu. He’d been too absorbed in watching her. Women didn’t often confuse him, but this one kept him on his toes.

  She gave a disapproving shake of her head. “It’s already late. We’re supposed to leave by eight o’clock tomorrow. We can’t spend an hour deciding o
n dessert.”

  “You’re kind of bossy, aren’t you?”

  She blinked, frowned briefly, and said, “Yes, sometimes. Not often, though.”

  He chuckled. “Seems to me you’re the one who’s had to read every last word of every description on the menu. We could’ve been out of here a half hour ago.”

  She laughed. “Okay, you’re right, smart aleck. But I’ll make up for it—” She glanced at the next table, where a couple had just sat down and ordered. Leaning forward and lowering her voice, she murmured, “I’ll stay in my hotel tonight so neither of us with be distracted from getting a good night’s sleep.”

  The way she leaned across the table made her sweater gape. She wore a pink lacy bra tonight, cut low, giving him a terrific view. “Okay,” he said with a straight face. “If that’s what you want.”

  That wasn’t the response she expected, nor wanted, judging by the way her lips parted and her eyes widened slightly. Then she lifted her chin. “It’s not a matter of what I want, it’s simply the sensible thing to do.” She moistened her lips. “Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Okay then.” Her gaze went back to the menu, and he noted that pouting made her dimple, too. “I decided I don’t want any dessert.”

  Nick grinned and discreetly signaled the waiter for the check. “We’re both going to get dessert. Count on that.” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, and he winked. “You’re sleeping with me. That’s final.”

  She pressed her lips together, pretended to be put out by his cockiness, but he saw the excitement sparkle in her brown eyes, noticed that twirling thing she did with a lock of hair when she was aroused.

  He pulled out some cash, knew it was too much, but impatient to wait for the bill, he laid the money on the table and then got into his leather jacket. As soon as he stood he drew the attention of the couple at the next table, and immediately saw the flicker of recognition in their eyes.

  They whispered to each other, and then the woman grabbed her purse and started rooting around inside for a piece of paper, while the man searched his sport coat pockets for a pen. Nick knew what they were doing because he’d witnessed the scene a thousand times before. In a second, they’d put their heads together and decide who’d approach him.

  He wanted to run. Grab Emily’s hand and make it out the door before they uttered the first word to him. He didn’t feel like being a good sport, didn’t feel like smiling and signing a couple of lousy autographs. Tonight he resented the hell out of the intrusion. For the first time that he could remember, he didn’t want to be Nicky Corrigan.

  Emily rose, and he quickly moved around the table to help her with her jacket. She’d already gotten one arm in the sleeve and gave him a funny look when he insisted on holding the jacket for her.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Corrigan? You are Nicky Corrigan,” said a timid feminine voice behind him. Apparently the wife had drawn the short straw.

  He hesitated, tempted to tell the woman she was wrong. His name was John Smith, visiting from Kalamazoo, Michigan, with his wife. For a second, he met Emily’s eyes, forced the smile in place and finally turned around.

  “Yes,” he said as pleasantly as he could.

  The older woman beamed, looking a bit relieved, which made him feel a degree of guilt. “My husband said it was you. May I trouble you for autographs for each of my two sons?”

  “Sure,” he said, tired suddenly, and took the two pieces of notebook paper from her.

  He could’ve quickly scribbled his name while standing but he sat back down, hoping to attract less attention from the other customers. She gave him her son’s names and he inscribed a line to each of them, while Emily waited and watched. By the time he was done and passed the autographs back to her, her husband had joined them.

  “Hate to bother you again, Nicky,” he said in a booming voice. “I got a nephew who wouldn’t mind—”

  “Sorry,” Emily interrupted, and touched Nick’s shoulder. “He’s on my time. I’m sure you understand,” she said to the wife. And then without waiting for a response, she smiled broadly at Nick. “Let’s not be late.”

  He smiled back. “No, honey, let’s not.” He gave the man an apologetic shrug and took Emily’s hand as they walked through the restaurant toward the door.

  Murmurs followed them as some of the patrons recognized him. A couple of people called out his name. He waved, but didn’t stop.

  “Who is that woman with him?” he heard someone mutter, and he kept walking.

  “Wasn’t he dating that Swedish model?”

  “Yeah, Ingrid something.”

  “No, she was last year. The other one.”

  They made it to the door, irritation clawing at the back of his neck, running down his spine. He seriously wanted to tell everyone to shut up and mind their own business.

  “I think this one is that daytime actress,” someone close to the door said. “No way.”

  “Yes, I guess she is a bit too plain.”

  He heard the last remark just as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. Livid, he wanted to turn around and pop the guy who’d been too friggin’ stupid to keep his damn mouth shut. But that would only embarrass Emily more. Besides, it wouldn’t be right going after a blind guy. He had to be. Emily was in no way plain. More than that, she seemed prettier and prettier the more he looked at her.

  He just hoped she hadn’t overheard the thoughtless jerk. But how could she not have? Nick itched to glance over, see if she’d reacted, though on the other hand, if he acted normal, maybe she would dismiss the chatter and assume she’d heard wrong.

  Damn it, he couldn’t stop himself. He stepped around her putting himself closer to the curb, and at the same time, slanting her a glance.

  She was smiling and blissfully sniffing the air as they passed a vendor roasting chestnuts and selling them from his cart. Maybe she hadn’t heard any of that crap, after all.

  “Did you want to walk back to my place or take a cab?”

  She burst out laughing.

  “What?”

  “You’re that sure I’m going to your apartment and not to my hotel?”

  “Look, if you want us to sleep in your hotel tonight, it’s okay with me. I’ll pick up my stuff—ouch.” He rubbed his side where she’d pinched him, chuckling because it hadn’t really hurt, but now she was giving him a cross look. “What was that for?”

  “The pinch was for acting like a six-year-old who has to have his way, and the glare is for not having the decency to have enough for me to pinch. Good grief, you don’t have a spare ounce of anything.”

  “You didn’t complain last night,” he whispered in her ear as they passed a teenage couple. “Shut up.”

  “Or this morning.”

  “Shut—”

  “Talk about acting like a six-year-old.”

  She stopped, giving him that sweet I-wouldn’t-hurt-you smile that said he was in physical danger again. In a preemptive strike, he folded his arms around her, brought her to his chest and kissed her on her surprised lips in the middle of the sidewalk.

  They got a couple of catcalls, but mostly everyone walked around and ignored them in general.

  She finally struggled free. “Good way not to call attention to yourself, you nutcase.”

  “It’s dark. We’re in the shadows. Now, is it gonna be your place or mine? And do we walk or cab it?”

  She shook her head in mock disgust. “Your place. We walk. It’s only ten blocks, right?”

  “Close enough.” He took he hand, and she gave it easily. “Have you been to Vermont?”

  “Nope. I went to college in Kentucky. Generally went straight home for the holidays, although I did splurge and go sightseeing in Washington, D.C., for spring break during my senior year. Other than that, I haven’t traveled much.”

  Wow, a real splurge. He hid his amusement. “Kentucky, huh? Why there?”

  She shrugged. “Money was a bit tight back then, and they offered me a full scholarship.”


  “No kidding.”

  She gave a small snort of derision. “You don’t have to sound so surprised. I had other offers from two other schools, I’ll have you know.”

  “I’m not surprised. Not in the least.” He laughed at himself. “I’m a jock, remember? You said scholarship, and I’m thinking baseball, basketball or football. I forgot you were a brain.”

  “Yeah, right, a real brain.”

  “Come on, admit it. Nothing to be ashamed of,” he said, cajoling her.

  “Well, it was an academic scholarship, but that doesn’t make me an egghead. Anyway, mister, I’ll have you know that I love sports. I ran track in high school, played volleyball in college and never missed a football game in four years. And I bet I could quote more baseball statistics than ninety-five percent of your fans.”

  “Now you’re pushing it.”

  “I didn’t say I know everything about the game, I simply have a good memory when it comes to statistics and trivia.”

  “I know a thing or two about statistics. I’ll test you on the way to Vermont tomorrow.”

  “You’re on.”

  He frowned, her confidence giving him pause. “You have a competitive streak in you.”

  “I do.”

  “What did you study in college?”

  She sighed. “I majored in linguistics, but after I got all my credits, I realized that wasn’t practical, so I dove into political science and then finally English lit. It took me five years to graduate,” she said sheepishly. “But I also picked up a teaching certificate, just in case.”

  “You majored in all three subjects and had enough credits?” In five years? Damn. He’d been half teasing when he called her a brain.

  She nodded. “What about you? What did you major in?”

  “Baseball,” he said blandly.

  She laughed. “Well, I assumed you got a scholarship. It would’ve been crazy not to take advantage of that, but what did you study?”