by Gayle Kasper
Nick would like to skip the small impromptu party they had planned and spend tonight alone with Fiona. He’d enjoyed this afternoon with her. Very much. He hated reality intruding, the reality of this wedding that he knew his little cuz would be all for.
She and Auntie would have their heads together the minute she got there, plotting and planning down to the last orange blossom.
Maybe he could get Camille alone for a moment, for a small family discussion, and make her see this matrimonial idea of Auntie’s for what it was—one big mistake.
It was worth a shot, he thought, but given the fact that Camille saw the world through rose-colored glasses, he wasn’t holding out much hope of making her see reason.
Maybe Fiona had the best idea after all. Set them down and talk turkey to them—each separately, of course. Together they tended to gaze besottedly at each other—and no amount of reasoning could win out over that.
He glanced over at the two women as he made his way out of the parking garage and onto the airport road. Camille was relating some wild adventure about how she’d slept on the luggage rack in a train car and eaten biscuits out of a knapsack while she traveled into India’s remotest regions.
Fiona was listening raptly. Every time he looked at her he remembered this afternoon, the reverence in her eyes when she’d touched the small jewelry box, the look of disbelief on her face when she realized he’d bought it for her. He’d never been in the habit of giving such gifts to the women who passed through his life, but Fiona was different. Fiona was special. He wished that realization didn’t strike such terror into him.
But it did.
He caught Fiona’s soft laugh of amusement at something his cousin had said. What, he didn’t know. He was content merely to listen.
The traffic was unusually light on Sahara for this time of day. He leaned back into the Mercedes’s soft, plush leather, one arm draped over the wheel, while he breathed in Fiona’s hypnotic scent. She was muddling his mind, overloading his senses—and he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about it.
He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about her.
By the time they reached Auntie’s, the two women were fast friends, leaving Nick feeling like the uninvited guest at a wedding.
A poor pun, he thought with an agonized groan.
Furthermore, he didn’t like feeling unessential in Fiona’s life. It was a petty emotion and one that surprised him.
The woman was usurping too much of his peace of mind.
Everyone was gathered around the pool when they got there. Camille gave appropriate responses over the balloons tethered to everything stationary, and hugged Walter, already accepting the fact that he would soon be part of her mother’s life.
Auntie had invited half of Las Vegas’s permanent population, it seemed. Guests milled around everywhere. Nick avoided them, hovering by a potted palm, and quietly sipped his drink.
Fiona was being duly presented to friends, old and new. He watched her move gracefully through the crowd, her hair shimmering a glorious russet under the patio lights. It brushed the tops of her creamy shoulders, left bare by the shirred top of her iris-colored dress.
Only two tiny straps kept the dress decent, he realized as his imagination played with the idea of sliding them down her arms.
He’d undress her slowly, very slowly, until he could feast his eyes on every lovely inch of her. Their lovemaking would be fevered and fierce, then they’d play it out again. This time he’d take his time, the way it ought to be. He’d dreamed of making love to her, perhaps from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her.
“She’s beautiful, cousin,” Camille said, apparently having escaped the group to come and interrupt his parade of thoughts.
“Who?” he asked, feigning innocence.
“The woman you haven’t been able to take your eyes off of all evening.”
He took a hard swallow of his bourbon, the ice cubes clinking against his teeth. “Camille, you’ve been out in the sun too long.”
“Oh, you’re smitten, all right. I noticed it right off.”
“How clever of you.” Nick didn’t intend to give an inch. “I think instead of observing my love interest, you need to consider your mother’s.”
Camille raised an eyebrow. “Walter? He’s precious. And perfect for her.”
“Somehow I thought you’d say that.”
“You don’t approve of this wedding, do you?”
Nick snorted. “Definitely not.”
“Might I ask why?”
“It’ll be all over within six months, and then Auntie will be brokenhearted. And very possibly broke as well. She wouldn’t ask Walter to sign that prenuptial agreement I drew up.”
“Bully for Mother!” Camille’s eyes narrowed. “And she should fire you as her attorney for even suggesting it.”
He groaned. He was three for three. Three women who opposed his very practical suggestion. Auntie, Fiona, and now Camille. Seemed to be a trait of females.
There were any number of clients in his practice who’d have been better off today if they’d only thought ahead. He frowned. “Fire me for caring? Looking out after her?”
Camille stabbed a finger at his hard chest. “Walter will be doing that from now on.”
Nick finished off his drink in one big gulp, then stared morosely into the ice at the bottom of it. “Yeah—Walter.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She didn’t wait for his answer, just launched into a list of the man’s virtues.
There was only one that held any water as far as Nick was concerned—he was Fiona’s father. The man couldn’t be all bad.
“I think I need another drink,” he said.
“And I want to talk to Fiona.” Camille smiled smugly. “Since you won’t tell me what’s going on between the two of you, maybe she will.”
“There’s nothing going on.”
“Yeah, and I’m the queen of India.”
Fiona glanced around the patio and caught sight of Nick frowning at his cousin. They were clearly arguing about something. And it didn’t take much to guess what it was. The wedding.
She turned back to the couple she’d been talking with, old friends of Winnie’s—Madge and Sol. Or was it Midge and Sal? She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember half the people she’d been introduced to and was wishing she could escape.
Just then Camille interrupted. “Excuse us a moment, Madge, Sal. I need to talk to Fiona.” She spirited Fiona away from the couple, toward an umbrella-topped table at the edge of the pool.
Whatever it was she and Nick had been arguing about seemed to have been forgotten. Camille’s blue eyes were bright, smiling.
Fiona pulled out a white pool chair and sat down across from Camille, happy to give her feet a respite.
“So, are you meeting everyone?” Camille asked, tucking a strand of her long, dark hair behind one ear. “Mother’s friends can be daunting sometimes.”
Fiona slipped her toes out of one shoe and wriggled them. “Let’s just say I’m glad for a break.”
“Good. I thought we could talk.”
Fiona cupped her chin in one hand, wondering if Camille was here to woo her over to her side in the argument she and Nick had been having. She let her glance stray across the patio to Nick. His gaze was on her, hot and silky, then with a half smile, he saluted her with his drink.
She wanted to get better acquainted with Camille, but a part of her wanted to slip across the patio and into Nick’s arms, feel his warm breath against her cheek. She’d enjoyed their closeness this afternoon; she yearned for it now.
“Fiona, Nick doesn’t approve of this wedding. I need to know how you feel about it.”
Camille’s words drew her back to the present in a very real way, back to the reason she was here—her father’s and Winnie’s intended nuptials, not Nick and being with him.
She was losing her focus. Nick was doing that to her. “How do I feel about it?”
&
nbsp; “Yes. Are you for or against this marriage?”
Fiona studied Camille’s earnest face. She didn’t want to say anything against Winnie. She liked Winnie. It was just that she wasn’t convinced her father and Winnie knew each other well enough to take such a serious step. “Camille, I’m going to be honest with you.”
“Good. I want you to be. I’ve been gone for a year and a half. I don’t know what’s really been going on in Mother’s life.”
Fiona leaned forward. “I’m not sure I do either—in my father’s life, that is. This wedding came as a total surprise to me. And I haven’t had much of a chance to adjust to the idea.”
She didn’t add that Nick kept her too off balance to think, to search out her deeper feelings. “Camille, I’m not against the wedding, at least not completely. I guess what I’m worried about most is that they haven’t known each other long enough to take this step.”
She thought back to her conversation with Nick that afternoon and what she’d told him about her near disaster with Adam. Had she jumped into a hasty marriage with him, she’d have let herself in for a whole lot of heartache.
She didn’t want that for her father. Or for Winnie.
“But they seem so happy,” Camille protested. “Look at them.”
Fiona’s glance followed Camille’s to the couple. Winnie was talking animatedly to the small group that had gathered around them.
Winnie was clearly holding court, wrapped in a swirl of iridescent-colored silk. Her dark hair, streaked with silver, was fashioned into a twist at the side of her head and studded with a bright feather that looked like it had just been plucked from an unsuspecting peacock.
Fiona turned back to Camille. “My mother was a very different kind of person than Winnie is,” she said softly, remembering the woman who had nurtured and loved her, the woman she still missed very much. “She was warm and sweet—not that Winnie isn’t,” she added hurriedly. “But in a different way entirely.”
“You mean, she baked cookies,” Camille interjected. “I grew up thinking cookies came out of a cellophane package.” She paused, smiling. “You’re very lucky, you know. Mother kept things lively around here, but I often wondered what it would be like to have a mom who headed up the Brownie troop, instead of one who made Auntie Mame seem tame.”
Fiona laughed. She guessed she was very lucky. She’d never wished for something other than the childhood she’d had.
“I’m afraid that in my father’s golden years he’s searching for something different, something other than what he had with my mother,” she said.
“And you think that something different won’t be as good.”
“That it won’t … last,” she clarified.
Camille grew thoughtful. “You loved your mother very much. I can see how this would be hard for you.”
Fiona batted at a “welcome home” balloon, fluttering at half-mast from its mooring at the back of her chair. “And how do you feel, Camille?”
“Walter’s sweet, precious. I liked him right away.” She smiled. “And despite the fact that Nick thinks I should send my mother on an all-expenses-paid trip to the moon until she comes to her senses, I think they’re going to do what they planned—get married. With or without our blessings.”
Fiona nodded. Camille was no doubt right. Very right.
“But enough about their affair. I’m curious to know what’s going on between you and that hunk of a cousin of mine.” Camille’s voice was low, hushed, urging girl-sharing confidences.
Fiona leaned back in her chair, maybe to distance herself from the question. “There’s nothing going on.”
Camille gave her a hard don’t-expect-me-to-believe-that look. “I may have been out of the country, but I’m not out of touch with reality. And the looks that man’s been sending you across the patio all evening are very real.”
Fiona opened her mouth to deny it, but the truth was she’d caught Nick’s gaze on her more than once. She’d wanted to wrap her body in its heat. Every inch of her tingled from it.
She’d sought him out, too. She’d known where he was every second of the evening, as if by some sort of feminine radar that the military could patent. But she wasn’t ready to admit any of this to the all-too-perceptive Camille.
“I think you have an overactive imagination,” she said, then punctuated her statement by scraping back her chair and offering Camille her best innocent smile. “I’m going to find a cold drink. Can I get one for you?”
Camille wasn’t going to be dissuaded. “I’m seldom wrong. I know Nick very well, and you have him acting like he’s been hit by a truck.”
Fiona knew the feeling, but she didn’t need to say so to Camille. Instead she turned toward the bar at the corner of the patio, leaving Camille grinning after her.
Halfway there, Nick intercepted her. “What’s the matter with you? You look like you’re trying to escape a firing squad.”
Fiona glanced up into his tanned face. It was the first time all evening she hadn’t been sensually aware of his location, and she’d nearly collided with him. She had Camille to thank for that.
She didn’t want to think what Nick Killian meant to her, how he had begun to affect her life. She wanted to forget that drink she’d come after and get out of there instead. “Is it possible to sneak away from one of these little soirees of Winnie’s?”
Nick gave her a wicked grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Fiona wanted to go back to her hotel, indulge in a long shower, and crawl into bed. She wanted to forget about this wedding and forget about Nick. But from the look on his face, he had something else in mind.
The thought of sliding between the covers with Nick sent her pulse pounding. Her throat went dry. And the desert breeze that had cooled her all evening seemed to have heated up into a furnace blast. She was certain her cheeks were fire-hot just thinking about what this man could do to her body.
She banished the thought and gathered her wits. “That’s not what I meant. Besides, you can’t leave—Winnie’s counting on you.”
He glanced toward Winnie, her hand on Walter’s arm as they chatted easily with a clutch of friends. “They’ll never miss us,” he said.
“What about Camille? This is her first night home.”
“She won’t miss us either.”
“Wanna bet?” The words slipped from Fiona’s mouth and she regretted them the moment Nick’s brow rose curiously.
“Oh?” His monosyllabic reply was a question.
Fiona frowned. “If we leave, she’ll draw conclusions about us.”
Nick smiled, a smile similar to the one he’d worn the first time she saw him, surrounded by a bevy of interested females at the baggage carousel as he gathered up his undies. “What conclusion might that be?”
“The, uh, obvious.” She brushed the air with her hand, hoping that answer would put a stop to his growing amusement.
It didn’t.
“The obvious? You mean that we’re sneaking away to make hot, passionate love together?”
“She could draw that conclusion.”
Fiona didn’t like this conversation and wished she could start it over. She’d damn well make sure it came out differently. She’d say something glib, something casual, something that couldn’t be misinterpreted.
“Maybe we shouldn’t let a good conclusion go to waste.”
He teased a wisp of her hair that blew across her fevered cheek, and Fiona sucked in a breath at his touch, the intimacy of the gesture further heightening her feelings.
The image of sliding between the sheets with Nick returned full force, swamping her senses, firing them to a heated pitch. His nearness was overpowering. The velvet torture of his words wafted on the air, full of dangerous promise.
Succumbing to Nick was a very palpable threat, one she doubted she had the strength to fight. Or the will. “Nick, I—”
Fiona never knew what she was about to say because at that moment everyone’s attention was drawn to Winnie a
nd her father.
Winnie clapped her hands for quiet. She wanted to make an announcement.
“Uh-oh,” Nick uttered beside Fiona.
“What do you mean, ‘uh-oh’?”
As Winnie began to speak Fiona realized fully what he meant. Winnie glowed, her cheeks adazzle with color, her eyes soft, her smile wide and excited.
“Boys and girls, friends and family,” she said, smiling out over the party. “Walter and I want you to know that our little wedding that had been postponed is on again.”
A rush of murmurs went through the gathering. Beside her, Nick groaned, a sound Fiona felt all the way to the deepest part of her. She reached for his hand. He squeezed it in his, his palm hot against hers, his fingers laced through her fingers, until she felt bound to him.
They were together in this, she realized. The only two against the group of happy well-wishers, two reeds in the wind—and they didn’t stand a chance.
Winnie went on. “You are all invited to come and help us celebrate this special occasion. Day after tomorrow. Six o’clock in the evening.” She turned to Walter and pecked him on the cheek, one quick kiss before they were deluged with congratulatory wishes.
SEVEN
“Well, I guess there’s nothing left to do but break out my tux,” Nick said as he paced the length of the white-latticed gazebo.
“And I’ll have to shake the wrinkles out of the pink linen suit I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to unpack,” Fiona returned. She sat on the gazebo’s wooden bench, knees drawn up, chin resting on them.
They’d sneaked away while everyone was offering their best wishes to the couple. It was quieter here, the laughter and gaiety muted, as if the party were only a dream in the distance.
A soft breeze whispered through the sides of the gazebo, ruffling the ends of her hair, teasing the hem of her skirt. The moonlight shining through the latticework cast little squares of light over everything, dispelling the darkness of the night.
“We tried, we lost,” Nick said in defeat, continuing to pace in front of her.
