“It’s going to be an adjustment, and I understand that.” She half turned to face him. “But time has an incredible way of—”
“Forget that,” he snorted. “Forget the sentimental thoughts. All time did was steal her away from me. What I don’t know is why the hell I’m trying to explain this to you anyway,” he said harshly. Nicki stiffened, recoiling from his intensity. “I never talk about this. Never.”
After Nicki pulled herself together, the revelation went through her like a flash. Jared wasn’t trying to shut her out of his life, he was trying to block out the pain.
“Some things just aren’t easy to talk about,” she said. “I understand. I don’t talk about my mom much, either. Or about how my dad left us.” His eyes shot to her face, his brow furrowing. “And yet…you know more about my mom and my situation than anyone. I guess, for both of us, this is a trade-off. Everybody has a past. Some are just a little more unpleasant than others.”
He nodded, grimly. “Yeah. Maybe.” He offered up a ragged smile before deftly changing the subject. “So, about this coat. Consider it an early Christmas gift. Or a payback. Kind of like barter. We’re helping each other get what we want. Maybe this year, it’s the only way to suffer through Christmas.”
Chapter Six
Something snapped in Jared after he’d unwittingly given Nicki a glimpse of his fears. He started feeling better about himself, about the whole prospect of bringing his child home again. It was kind of prophetic. Sandra had taken Maddy away at Christmas, and now she was sending her back at the same time.
He guessed, deep down in his gut, that Madison didn’t really want to come back. And he couldn’t blame her. They didn’t know each other. The divorce two years ago had upended Madison’s stable, secure world. This past year Sandra had moved every few months, and if anything went wrong in her life, she blamed Jared for it. He’d probably been portrayed as some vicious ogre, a being so far removed from the loving father that is every child’s dream daddy that Madison would probably arrive in Winter Park anxious and withdrawn.
He just wanted her to be happy…and he knew, as much as he hated to admit it, that Nicki had all the qualities he needed to bridge the gap and to make that happen.
St. Nick, as he most often referred to her, had an incredible smile, one that made her eyes go soft and luminous. As if there was a little candle light glowing from the bottom of her soul. She was a woman who was spiritually kind. The woman who keeps on giving—like a clock that keeps on ticking.
It was probably intrinsic in her genetic makeup. Either that, or a flaw. Men, without realizing it, used women like that. He couldn’t help wondering what kind of men had passed through her life. She’d dismissed her reference to her father, saying simply that he’d left them. It wasn’t hard to figure he’d left them high and dry. She’d never mentioned a boyfriend, a significant other, or an ex.
It really didn’t matter, save for the fact he intended to monopolize her time for the next few months—and he didn’t want anyone else muddying up the picture. He was paying for her time, and he inexplicably found himself wanting all of it. Maybe that was why he’d demanded she move in as quickly as possible.
Sure, he’d told her it was prudent to install her in his home—to save her the inconvenience of running back and forth, to get her life in order—and close up the condo and all that. But it rankled him, thinking of her in that antiseptic condo, knowing she wanted to get rid of it, knowing she had some sad memories she wanted to put behind her.
He could see it in her, how she wanted to get on with her life. She tried so hard, desperately hard. Look at how she was throwing herself back into the holidays. He suspected it was because she was trying to ease the pain of losing her mom. He knew, from what little she’d said, that her mom was all the family she had left.
Now she was alone in the world. Kind of like him.
The kiss they’d shared on the dance floor the night of the gala had rocked him. He thought about it at the strangest times. When he was going over orders for small appliances, when he was meeting with his paunchy CEO, or eating Chinese takeout from a cardboard carton. The impact of that single kiss amazed him.
He hadn’t believed he was capable of feeling that kind of physical reaction. For a moment he’d almost forgotten who he was and what he was doing. The world had closed up and swallowed him whole, leaving only Nicki and those precious little sounds she made when he’d parted her lips.
A few days ago, when he’d looked at her through the department store mirror, he considered how easy it would be to turn her around and persuade one more small intimacy from her tempting mouth. Another kiss. A little thank-you for the coat, he’d irrationally rationalized. A payment he genuinely didn’t want to receive.
Yet his body betrayed him, offering up dual reactions. He didn’t want emotional involvement, didn’t want to recognize the silky invitation of her walnut-dark hair or the low gurgle of seduction he knew she could offer. He didn’t want to press himself against her soft curves. Yet he’d memorized the sway of her perfect breasts as she’d bent to pick out those prints. Later, he’d used that blasted coat as an opportunity to splay his hands around her tiny waist, allowing his fingertips to ease onto the flare of her hips.
In the kaleidoscope of his imagination, he saw his hips bumping up against hers. He saw his limbs tangling with hers—knees bumping against thighs, her forearms pressing against his back, the arch of his foot tracing the sexy curvature of her calf. Sheets twining and twisting around them both. Silk sheets, satin sheets. Feather beds or water beds.
The woman was driving him crazy, tormenting him with lurid, taunting visions.
He wanted her. Or else he simply needed the intimacy of a sexual encounter. His body physically ached for a woman—and St. Nick aroused something in him he hadn’t felt for a long, long time.
He intended to put a lid on it. Tamp it back down and remind himself he wasn’t going there again, not with a woman who made him feel something.
Once she’d done her job, and Madison was the happy, healthy, well-adjusted little girl he wanted, she was out of here. Jared Gillette got custody, and Nicki Holliday got a handsome severance check. In the end, it would all work out. And certainly for the best.
Jared pulled in to the drive, a smidgen of guilt shredding his mind. It was the middle of the week, and he’d knocked off early. Something he never did, not during the Christmas season.
Irene was in the kitchen, up to her elbows in dishwater. Something smelled heavenly. Wednesday night. Pot roast, and all the trimmings. Fresh-baked bread.
“How do you do it?” he asked, dropping his briefcase on the island and shouldering out of his coat to drop it over the bar stool. “How did you know I’d be here early?”
She half turned, and arched a brow at him, rearranging some of the pulp in her round, mottled face. “I didn’t. But some of the people around here could sure stand to eat on time, and put a little meat on their bones.”
He frowned, confused.
“That child’s working too hard,” she said crossly. “Lugging boxes in and out all day. Trampin’ through the house. Packing, unpacking. Hauling that furniture around upstairs as if she worked for a moving company. More’s the pity, me seein’ people what’s got to work that hard around here. People just tryin’ to make a wage.”
Jared stopped short, taken aback by his housekeeper’s barrage. “St. Nick? I told her I’d get someone to do the heavy stuff.”
“Apparently she ain’t waitin’,” Irene grumbled. “This here dinner’s for her. You want some, you get yourself a plate.”
“Okay—” he started for the cupboard “—I can do that.”
“You want to eat nice,” she interrupted, wringing out a dishrag, “you carry the whole shebang into the dining room. Might as well get some use out of them nice Irish linen napkins your mama was partial to.”
“Well, we’ve got some napkins right…” He pulled out the box of paper napkins.
She
stared at him, pursing her lips, as if she dared him to defy her.
“We can use real napkins,” he amended, sliding the box back onto the shelf, “as long as you don’t mind the extra ironing.”
“You ever hear me complain?” she flung back at him, wiping her hands on the embroidered tea towel.
He shrugged, and stacked the plates, putting the flatware and two water glasses on top before he started for the dining room.
“And light them candles on the table while you’re at it,” she said. “Makes a person relax a little and feel good at the end of a long day.”
He turned around, intending to argue that the one thing he didn’t need at the end of the day was some flickering little flame dancing around a cavernous room, barely shedding any light on his food.
Then it hit him. She didn’t give a hoot what he wanted. The woman was thinking only of St. Nick, and her comfort.
Oh, God help him, Irene actually liked St. Nick. He was in trouble now.
“Dinner will be on that table in a half hour,” she said, pausing at the stove to lift the lid off a pot and peer inside. “Now get out of my kitchen. And, in the meantime, go see what you can do to help that child.”
Jared, somewhat grateful to be banished from the kitchen, quickly went into the dining room. He tossed the plates on the table and intentionally put the tableware awry. By the time he pulled the linen napkins out of the buffet, and plopped them beside the plates, he was thoroughly annoyed.
He didn’t eat with the help. He ate by himself. He didn’t eat off the dining room table anymore, he ate off the coffee table, in front of the TV. He didn’t use real napkins or candles. He used disposable paper products, and 100-watt bulbs. He didn’t want intimate conversation, he wanted dead silence.
Crud. Having another woman under his roof was already making a mess of his life. Okay, so he’d indulge them. Just this once. One time, and one time only.
He grudgingly placed the two water glasses near the plates, and determined that he’d use tonight’s dinner to give St. Nick a few last-minute instructions on Madison’s arrival. He’d outline the game plan for her, just so there were no surprises. He’d tell her what he expected in no uncertain terms. He’d delineate the importance of taking care of a child, his child. He’d explain, firmly, that he didn’t eat with the help.
Then he stalked upstairs to set his plan into motion.
He was six steps from the door to the nursery when he heard Nicki groan.
“Ohh-hh…I can’t…um-mm, yes…higher…”
What? The most ridiculous image torpedoed through his head…and exploded right below his belt buckle.
He quickened his pace, then halted at the open nursery door. “What, exactly, is it you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
Nicki, balancing on tiptoe on the seat of a straight-backed chair, startled then swayed. She looked over her shoulder at him. “I—I can’t get this up there…” she explained breathlessly before her knees buckled and her hips shifted. Her shoulders thunked against the wall, and the print she clutched slithered down her middle. “You scared me!” she accused, her chest heaving.
When her eyes shuttered closed, and she was safely braced against the wall, he strode over to her. Without giving it a second thought, his palms spanned her waist. Her eyes flew open.
“What’re you…?”
“I’m helping you down before you hurt yourself.” He effortlessly swung her down. Yet the gesture grated on him, and he endured another reminder of how lithe, how supple, the woman was. To top it off, he got a damn hitch in his groin. A sexual hitch.
“I didn’t plan on that, not until you snuck up on me and—” She chopped off the explanation and hefted the print in his direction. “I wanted to get these hung before you got home, but I couldn’t reach, and…”
“Here.” He took it from her, offering up his best imitation of an irate employer, and nudged the chair out of the way. He jammed the print against the wall, above the other three. “You want it where?”
“A little to the right,” she said shakily.
He moved it.
“No, a little higher.”
He moved it again.
“A little more.”
He glared down at her, then lifted the frame another quarter inch.
“Perfect,” she praised, her voice growing stronger, her fear of falling long past.
Suddenly the most profound irony struck him and his lips twisted. Then he snorted. Marking the spot with his thumb, he waited while she exchanged the print for a hammer and nail. He smacked the nail once, sinking it deep in the plasterboard. Satisfied, he took the framed print she offered, and hung it above the others.
They both stepped back to study the four carefully arranged prints.
Finally his head swiveled in her direction. “Do you consider it strange, Nicki, to realize that—somehow—I’ve ended up working for you?”
Nicki’s eyes widened, to expose clear blue irises.
Oh, roll those baby blues, he thought absurdly.
Then her jaw slid off center, diverting his attention to her quivering lips, the pale tinge of cherry gloss staining them.
“I didn’t know where to find a ladder,” she explained, “and I didn’t want to bother your housekeeper again. I’ve made a nuisance of myself so many times already.”
“Yes, well, you aren’t going to be much help to any of us if you fall off a chair and break your leg or something.”
“I wasn’t planning on it. In fact, I was doing just fine, until you came in to help.”
He ignored her pique. “I can see you’ve…” His eyes trailed the room. Boxes, all marked, were stacked against the far wall. The closet hung open, the racks emptied of the tiny baby gowns, the christening dress, the bonnets and sun suits and playsuits. The bright-colored toddler toys were gone, and in their place were board games and fashion dolls and a pale pink CD player. Jared’s heart wrenched. “You’ve done a lot of work,” he said finally.
The crib and bassinet and changing table had mysteriously disappeared, and in their place stood a twin-size bed. It was already made up, the softly swirled teal comforter, folded back at one corner to expose matching sheets embellished with tiny pink hearts. Regular pillows, heart-shaped, and bolsters in the same matching fabric were artfully arranged on the mattress.
“They delivered the bed today,” Nicki explained needlessly.
“I see that,” he mused. The oak sleigh bed, with its curved footboard and delicately carved headboard, resembled a safe haven. It was a good choice. Solid. Secure. Special.
“Is it okay?”
“It’s fine.”
“The other pieces will be delivered later in the week.”
“Fine.” He glanced at the bookshelves, and instinctively knew that the ABC books were gone. He noted that in their place, several large-print, beginner reader books scattered the top.
God, he’d missed so much.
“I didn’t get rid of anything,” Nicki said softly. “If you want it, I have it all labeled, and I can find it in an instant. Really. There were so many beautiful things, but I wasn’t sure which ones were the most special to you, so…”
His attention flickered back to her face. She was concerned—and for the first time he noted the dark circles under her eyes. She had been working overtime. Both at her home and his.
He shook his head. “Nothing’s special to me,” he said emphatically. “Nothing. Besides, I told you to box it all up. I’m just amazed at what an incredible job you’ve done, and in such a short time.”
A hesitant smile wobbled on her mouth, and for one insane instant he wondered what he could do to bring her dimples into full focus.
“How are things going at the condo?” he asked.
“I’m getting rid of some of the furniture, tying up loose ends. I brought a bunch of boxes over today. It’s funny the things that stop you when you go through stuff. I pick up a magazine and think about how my mom told me to read this article, or
I pick up the silver letter opener from the Chicago World’s Fair and think of how my mom opened every single envelope that came into the house with it.” Nicki sighed, her expression sad. “It’s slow going,” she admitted. “I should have had you come over and clean out my place. I mean, fair’s fair. It’s probably easier when there aren’t any memories attached.”
It was in him to shrug off the sentimentality, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “Yeah, it’s funny how a—” he struck “stranger” from his explanation “—how someone else can go through your stuff so casually. They take it at face value, I suppose.”
“I didn’t think it would be this hard, you know.”
She lifted her face to his for confirmation, and Jared, mesmerized by her honest sincerity, fell victim to her innocence, and said the first thing that popped into his head.
“No, neither did I, St. Nick. Neither did I.”
They tarried over the meal and, somewhere in the middle of it, Jared realized he hadn’t been this relaxed in years. He watched Nicki’s animated face, bathed in candlelight, and didn’t give the store or his responsibilities a second thought. Stress slid off his shoulders, and dripped off his fingertips—right onto the Irish linen napkins.
He leaned both elbows on the table, and pushed his plate aside. “So tell me about what you did before you were a Santa Claus,” he said. “Some art department or something I read in your file?”
“I was an illustrator. I did sketches for a greeting card company.”
“Impressive. No wonder you’re so creative.”
She smiled modestly, her dimples doing their job. “Everyone has some kind of talent. Mine just happened to be drawing. I spent a lot of hours doodling when my mom worked.”
The housekeeper came into the dining room clucking, a silver tray of desserts held high above her shoulder. “What?” she said, fixing Nicki with a stare. “You too tired to eat? You barely touched that pot roast.”
“Not true,” Nicki protested, dropping her hand across her stomach. “I’m stuffed. I haven’t had a meal like that since…”
The housekeeper waited expectantly.
The Nanny & Her Scrooge Page 7
