by Lissa- Sugar
Lissa stared at the screen.
“We’re building a restaurant. Something special. Handsome. Unique. And with a menu that will, I hope, match the view. It’s going to be called Basic Elegance.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“It’s going to be called what?” she said, and just as if he’d heard her, Nick repeated the name.
“Basic Elegance.”
Lissa punched the remote button. The TV went mute.
“Dammit,” she said, “dammit to hell!”
She’d been right about Nick Gentry all along. “Selfish” didn’t even come close to describing him.
Her idea. Her dream. Even her name. He’d stolen it all, he was going to use it all, and now she knew why he surely wanted to see her, because he was selfish but he wasn’t stupid and he figured he might run into some legal troubles if he stole a plan, a dream of a lifetime from her.
The doorbell rang. More flowers or chocolates, and she was not in the mood for either.
“Rat,” she said to Nick’s image on the screen as stalked to the door, undoing the locks without first looking out the peephole, behaving foolishly and unthinkingly because she was angry, beyond angry, beyond logic or reason. “Thief!” she snarled as she pulled the door open—
“Hello, Melissa.”
It was not flowers, not a letter, not a box of candy. It was Nick, and it took her all of two seconds to haul back her arm and punch him right in the gut.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The last time she’d hit him, he’d fallen back against the wall and slid to the floor.
Not this time, dammit.
He went “Oof,” and she knew that was mostly because she’d caught him by surprise, but he didn’t fall back; he didn’t even bounce. He was holding a cane in his hand—no, not a cane. A walking stick, but he wasn’t leaning on it.
He just stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, long-legged and narrow-hipped, his hair ruffled by the wind, end-of-day stubble on his jaw, and the only thing that made her feel good was that other thing on his jaw, the bruise, the swelling, and what a joy to know that a Wilde was responsible for it.
“Get out of my sight, Gentry! I have nothing to say to you.”
“I have things to say to you.”
“Save them for your lawyer. I’m gonna sue the pants off you.”
“Look, if it’ll make you feel better to slug me again, go for it.”
“I’m dead serious, Nick. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Yeah, well, if we’re being serious, Duchess, you might as well know that I don’t really want to talk to you, either.”
“Then what in hell are you doing here?”
“I’ll show you,” he said, and he let go of the walking stick, reached for her and drew her into his arms.
“Don’t,” she said. “Dammit, Nicholas Gentry, don’t you dare—”
He kissed her.
Kissed her, slipped one hand into her wet, tangled hair, cupped the back of her head so he could gain better access to her mouth, and she was lost.
The taste of him, the feel of him were everything she’d wanted to forget.
“Lissa,” he whispered, and her knees, her silly knees, buckled and he kicked the walking stick into her sad excuse for a foyer, swung her into his arms, elbowed the door shut behind him…
And staggered.
She put her hands against his shoulders. He let her down; her feet touched the floor, but he kept his arms around her and leaned his forehead against hers.
“Fine thing when a guy tries to make like Clark Gable and ends up like Dudley Do-Right.”
She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t. The best she seemed capable of was standing within the circle of his arms and framing his face with her hands.
“You stole my restaurant.”
It was the least of what he’d stolen, which made it the safest accusation to make.
“It’s your restaurant, or it will be, if you’ll accept it.”
“Mine?”
“Yours.” He raised his head, smiled into her eyes, then dipped his mouth to hers for another kiss. “Did I get the name right? Basic Elegance?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That’s settled. We can move on to more important things,” he said, and kissed her again.
“Don’t keep doing that,” she whispered, a little breathlessly, “or I’m liable to forget all the reasons that I hate you.”
“You don’t hate me,” he said, with that arrogant confidence that drove her crazy. “You love me.”
“I don’t love you.”
“Of course you love me.” He smiled, used his thumbs to wipe away her tears. “Not as much as I love you, because nobody can love anybody as much as I love you, Duchess, but we both know that you love me.”
What was the sense in denying it? Lissa decided she wasn’t even going to try.
“You changed your phone number,” she said.
Nick frowned. “Beverly changed it, you mean. And forgot to mention it to me. I didn’t even realize it had been changed. I just kept getting calls, but I had no idea they were coming to a new number.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “And I had no idea why there weren’t any calls from you.”
“When did you figure it out?”
“When I became impossible to deal with, when all I talked about was the fact that you hadn’t contacted me, Beverly suddenly said, oh, she’d changed my number and maybe that was the reason.”
“Beverly,” Lissa said.
“Uh oh.”
“Uh oh, indeed. I can’t hold it against her for being gorgeous and for waiting for you to come back to her, but—”
“She’s my publicity rep.”
“Your what?”
“Bev handles my publicity. She’s furious at me for disappearing, for never taking any of her endless calls and for not contacting her, but she’s accustomed to a little chaos in her life. Heck, when you have four kids and a writer husband who never tells you what he’s doing from one day to the next—”
“Are we talking about the same Beverly? The one who looks at you as if you’re a bowl of whipped cream?”
Nick grinned. “She looks at me as if I’m her major client, and I am.” He raised Lissa’s face to his. “But the only woman I want thinking of me as a bowl of whipped cream, sweetheart, is you.”
“Nick. I have so many questions…”
“Ask them.”
“You didn’t have my phone number?”
“No. Are you old enough to remember the good old days? Real telephones? Telephone directories? You could look up somebody’s phone number back then. Not anymore.” His expression changed, went from teasing to serious. “In between all of that, I’d had people working on putting me in contact with the families of those guys I’d been with in Afghanistan.”
“And?”
“And,” he said, his eyes darkening, “I’ve met with them. Such nice people, Melissa. Good people, the parents proud of their boys, the older guy’s wife so proud of her husband’s service and valor…” He stopped, cleared his throat. “You’ll like them.”
“I will? You mean I’m going to meet them?”
“Yes. We’re going to stay in touch. I want to, you know, do something to honor the two kids. And Bill. The older guy. The one they called Pop. His two little girls are going to need some help. Summer camp. College—”
Lissa rose on her toes and kissed Nick.
“I love you,” she said.
He drew her against him. “And I love you with all my heart.” She felt his mouth curve against her temple. “Brutus says to tell you that he misses you. So do the kittens.”
She smiled. “I miss them, too.”
“Don’t you want to hear how I found that not-so-small-country you Wildes call home?”
“Tell me.”
“Well, after good old Marcia flat out refused to tell me anything about you—”
“Some of the chefs signed with her
call her Marcia the Mean,” Lissa said, laughing.
“I said I’d get an injunction that would force her to give me what I needed.” Nick grinned. “She told me to go ahead and try it. She said the reputation of her agency was at stake. She finally offered to contact you on my behalf, but just about then I remembered something.”
“What?” Lissa said, leaning back in his arms.
“I remembered you said you’d grown up in Texas. On a ranch. And then I remembered that you’d said your old man was a four-star general.” He bent his head, brushed his lips lightly over hers. “Turned out to be a cinch, finding a four-star general named Wilde who owns a ranch in Texas.”
Nick winced as Lissa touched her hand lightly to his jaw.
“That was courtesy of your brother Jake.”
“Yes. Well, my brothers are, you know, kind of protective.”
“I’m glad they are.”
“And then Marcia gave you my address here?”
Nick smiled. “I called El Sueño from my plane, just before we took off from the Dallas airport. I told Jake that he had it all wrong, that I loved you and you loved me. He’d refused to let me get three words out when I saw him, but for some reason he listened to me when I called, gave me your phone number and address—and added that he and a bunch of other guys—it sounded like the roster of a rugby team—would happily take me apart limb by limb if it turned out that I was lying.”
Lissa brought Nick’s hand to her lips. He winced.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing.”
He started to tug his hand free. She hung onto it, looked at it…
“Your knuckles are swollen.”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
“Nicholas. Why are your knuckles swollen?”
“I had a slight run-in with somebody’s jaw.”
“But Jake said—”
“Not him. He slugged me and I figured, from his vantage point, I deserved it.”
“I don’t understand. If not my brother…”
“That guy named Raoul’s jaw looks a lot worse than mine.”
Lissa stared at her lover. “Nick. You didn’t.”
“I read what he said about you.” His eyes narrowed. “And I didn’t like it, so I decided to pay him a little visit. I stopped at his restaurant and confronted him and, you know, one word led to another…”
Lissa began to laugh. “Raoul has had a very difficult day.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I don’t want to talk about him now, not when I’m still trying to believe that you’re really, really here.”
Nick lifted her face to his.
“I’ll always be here, sweetheart. You’re everything I could ever need or want.”
“A happy ending after all,” she said softly.
“There’s no other kind for us.”
Lissa rose on her toes, caught his bottom lip between her teeth and bit lightly into the tender flesh.
“Prove it.”
His smile became the one she loved, sexy and arrogant and filled with wicked promise.
“Ah, Duchess,” he said softly, “and here I thought you were such a good girl.”
“That whipped cream I mentioned…” She fluttered her lashes. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any on hand, but I do have a box of delectable, delicious, easily melted chocolates.”
Nick kissed her. This time, his kiss was deep and hard and it told her that everything she’d wanted, everything she’d ever imagined wanting, was right here, in her arms.
“I love you,” he said. “And I love the idea of that melted chocolate.” His arms tightened around her. “But first you have to say the only word that matters.”
“What word?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, you’ll marry me. Yes, we’ll grow old together. And yes, you’ll let me do my best to make you happy for the rest of our lives.”
Lissa sighed. “For a cowboy, you drive an awfully hard bargain, Nicholas.”
He smiled. “Is that a yes, Melissa?”
Lissa wound her arms around her lover’s neck and gave him her answer with her kiss.
* * *
They would have been married right away. Nick didn’t want to wait and neither did Lissa, but Zach and Jaimie’s wedding was scheduled for May.
They scheduled theirs for June.
Two weddings, back-to-back.
Perfect, everyone said.
Each time, the bride was beautiful. Each time, the groom was handsome.
And El Sueño was, each time, at her brilliant best, the meadows carpeted with delicate lavender winecups when Jaimie and Zach took their vows, with crimson firewheels by the time Lissa and Nick took theirs.
Each wedding was exactly as the bride and groom had wanted it. Small, by Texas standards, with only family and friends in attendance.
Everyone was now looking forward to Fourth of July weekend at El Sueño. All the Wildes, including the general, would be home for the festivities.
He had come home, of course, in May for Jaimie’s wedding and then in June for Lissa’s, but only for a short time. He’d written, however, to say that he would also be home for the Fourth of July celebration, and that this time, he would stay a little longer.
And that he would be bringing a surprise.
“Some surprise,” the Wilde sisters said among themselves.
He’d bring the same gift certificates he always gave his children and now his daughters-in-law and sons-in-law and grandbabies, elegant gift cards from all the best shops in Dallas, and they’d all say “thank you” even though they’d have traded all those certificates for just one thing that had meaning, that would be a part of the general himself.
The Wildes, the Santinis, the Castelianoses, and old friends His Royal Highness Sheikh Khan and his wife, Laurel, arrived two days before the Fourth.
There was lots of laughter, lots of fun. The men played touch football; the women floated in the pool. Babies crawled on the lawn and were taken for rides on the backs of the most docile of the horses.
Emily and Caleb’s wife, Sage, oversaw the decorations inside the house; Jaimie and Jake’s Addison did the same for the fireworks displays; Lissa and Jennie, Travis’s wife, supervised the making and baking of endless goodies for the big party that would take place on the Fourth itself.
The day dawned bright, clear and, wonder of wonders, not too hot.
Jake, Caleb and Travis had arranged for a band. Two bands, really: a mariachi band and the same versatile six-piece group that had played at all the Wilde weddings. Virtually the entire citizenry of Wilde’s Crossing had been invited; umbrella tables dotted the lawn.
A line of grills was fired up; big tables groaned under the weight of four kinds of chili, steaks, ribs, chicken, and something not native to Texas but delicious all the same: lobster tails.
There was only one problem.
The hours sped by and still the general had not shown up.
“He’s not coming,” Lissa told Emily and Jaimie.
“Frankly, who gives a damn?” Emily said, but it wasn’t true.
For years, for decades, the Wilde offspring had waited for their father to turn up for birthdays, for Christmases, for every imaginable holiday.
He rarely had.
The weddings over the past few years had been exceptions to the rule. He’d been present for those, and the truth was, they’d been surprised that he had.
Now, as the hours passed, they began to accept the fact that this holiday would be no different from dozens of others.
Hard as it was to admit, they were disappointed.
Maybe it was because they were all foolish enough to keep hoping that he would change, or maybe it was simply that because all their lives had changed, they’d foolishly believed his would, too.
As the sun dipped behind the rolling hills, Jacob, Caleb, Travis, Emily, Jaimie and Lissa gathered in a small grove of trees behind the big Wilde house.
“He’s not coming,” Jaimie said.
“No,” Lissa said, “he’s not.”
Emily sighed. “Well, we might as well get the fireworks started. There’s no point in waiting any longer.”
Jaimie nodded and used her cell phone to instruct the specialists in charge of the display that it was time to get things going.
“But wait another five minutes,” she said, and she gave her brothers and sisters an apologetic smile. “Can’t hurt to give it just a little more time.”
“Right,” Travis said, and then smiled at each of his sisters. Jake hugged them. Caleb ruffled their hair.
It was nothing new, their father making promises and not keeping them, but they all sensed a different texture to it this time, the way the air feels different when a storm is rolling in.
Perhaps that was the reason the brothers looked at each other, laughed a little self-consciously and stepped into the kind of quick bear hugs often exchanged by men who love each other but aren’t great at saying it.
Zach, Marco, Nick, Sage, Addison and Jennie joined the little group. The babies were in the house, tucked away from all the noise that would accompany the fireworks.
Jaimie checked her watch. “Just another couple of minutes—”
“Here you are!”
The voice was unmistakable.
The general, resplendent in full uniform, a score of brightly polished medals and colorful ribbons pinned to his chest, was coming toward them through the rose-covered arched trellis that led into the little grove.
“Sorry we’re late,” he said briskly. “I hope we didn’t miss the fireworks.”
“We?” Lissa started to say, but as their father reached them, they could all see that he was not alone.
There were people with him. Two men, about the ages of the Wilde brothers. Two women, about the ages of the Wilde sisters. All four stood in a way that made them appear stiff and unyielding.
