"Oh, I don't know," a new voice said. "If you move it left and then right and maybe back and forth a bit, you'll probably get it about right."
Startled, Kate let go of the tree and turned abruptly, her bottom hitting the ground with a jolt.
"Nick!" Laura's voice went from coolly disinterested to coyly feminine in a heartbeat. She tilted her head to look at him with blatant adoration.
"Hey, munchkin." He grinned at her. "How are you doing?"
"Fine." Laura batted her eyes at him. "Do you like my dress, Nick? It's brand-new."
He gave the pink cotton dress with its full skirt and lace-trimmed bodice careful consideration before answering. "I think it's the prettiest dress I've ever seen."
"I wore it just for you." The come-hither look she gave him would have put Mae West to shame. Kate was amused to see color tint his cheekbones.
This was the first time she'd seen him since Brenda told her about how he'd lost his family. Watching him with Laura, she found herself wondering if the little girl made him think of his son, who would have been about the same age if he were alive.
"You look very nice," he said. "I heard your mom calling you a minute ago."
Laura looked deeply put-upon. "I'm s'posed to go see Great-Aunt Edith," she said. Her sigh was worthy of the stage. "She pinches my cheek and calls me cutie pie."
Nick glanced at Kate, his eyes full of laughter, but his expression was suitably solemn when he looked at Laura. "She sounds nice."
"She is mostly." Laura sighed again. She looked at him from under her lashes. "But I'd rather stay here and talk to you."
Kate bit her lip to hold back a smile. Oh, to be six and too young to worry about hiding your feelings from the object of your adoration.
"I'm not going to leave town while you're gone," he assured the child. "Now, you'd better scoot home before your mom decides you've been eaten by an alligator."
"Okay, but there aren't any alligators here, you know," Laura told him as she turned reluctantly toward home. "They're all in the zoo."
"She always has to have the last word," Kate said as the little girl disappeared in the direction of her home.
"She is a trifle willful," Nick agreed.
Kate could have added suspicious, truculent and generally hard to get along with but decided there was no real point to it. A sudden gust of wind reminded her that she had more important things to do than dwell on the faults of her six-year-old nemesis.
"Would you mind helping me get this tree straight?" she asked him.
"What's wrong with kind of left but a little right?" he asked, looking surprised.
"Just a little more detail would be helpful," she said dryly. "It should only take a couple of minutes."
"I don't have any appointments with destiny that I know of. Take your time."
"Thanks." Kate turned and crawled under the tree. She was immediately conscious that he was seeing her from a less than flattering angle. She shoved the thought away. It didn't matter what angle Nick saw her from because she didn't care whether or not he found her attractive, she told herself firmly.
"It needs to come to the right and back a couple of inches," Nick said, and Kate focused gratefully on following his instructions. One or two more adjustments and he pronounced the tree to be standing perfectly straight.
"Thanks," Kate said breathlessly as she began pushing soil in around the root ball.
"You look like you could use some help," Nick said, and before she could protest that she was doing fine, he was on his knees on the other side of the tree, using his hands to push dirt into the hole.
"You don't have to do that. You'll get dirty."
"I wash. Trying to keep all the fun to yourself?" he asked, smiling at her.
Those dimples should be illegal, Kate thought despairingly. How was it possible to pack so much charm into a single smile?
"I didn't know you'd consider this fun," she said, forcing herself to ignore the tingle of awareness in the pit of her stomach.
"Playing in the dirt?" Nick's brows rose. "How often does your average adult get the chance to do that?"
"I think the dirt is about to become mud," Kate said, feeling the first light spattering of rain against her back.
It was a race between them and the storm, with the storm coming out the clear winner. They both pushed dirt into the planting hole and tamped it down as quickly as they could, but they couldn't beat the rain, which increased rapidly from a gentle sprinkle to a downpour.
When the final layer of soil had been pushed into place and tamped down, they both crawled out from under the little tree. The rain was coming down in sheets, but Kate paused long enough to take a satisfied look at the young tree.
"It looks at home, doesn't it?" she said, raising her voice to be heard over the roar of the storm.
"The only thing that would look at home out here is a goldfish," Nick shouted back.
He took hold of her elbow and rushed her toward the steps of the gazebo. Since the roof leaked in several places, it was only marginally dryer inside than out. Rain drummed against the roof, as if trying to beat its way through the old wood.
Breathless from the short run, Kate held her arms out from her sides. They were covered in dirt past the elbow. Her clothes were streaked with dirt and she could feel her hair pulling loose from its pins to fall in a soggy tangle down her back. When she glanced at Nick, she saw that he was just as dirty and wet. Their eyes met and they were both suddenly grinning.
"Still think this is fun?" she asked.
"It beats a poke in the eye with a sharp stick all to hell," he said.
Before she could respond, a soft groan had them both turning their heads. Leroy lay under an ancient three-legged table, completely dry and sound asleep. They looked from the dog—dry, clean and comfortable—to each other—soaked to the skin and covered in dirt. Kate bit her lip, but a moment later, she was giggling.
"Leroy's smarter than both of us," she said.
"It looks that way," Nick agreed, laughing. "He's certainly cleaner."
"That's not saying much. You look like you've been foiling in the dirt."
"You think you look any better? Even your face is dirty." Forgetting his less than pristine condition, he reached out to brush his thumb across her cheekbone and then grimaced as he managed to add to the dirt already on her face. "Oops."
"Oops?" Kate inquired politely. Without giving herself time to change her mind, she reached up and dragged her fingers down his cheek, leaving behind a smear of mud.
Nick's eyes widened in surprise. "I can't believe you did that."
"I can't, either," she admitted but spoiled her regretful look by giggling. "You look like you're wearing camouflage paint."
"You realize, of course, that this means war." He took a step toward her, his muddy hands raised in threat.
Kate backed up a step. "What about turning the other cheek?"
"If I turn my other cheek, you'll probably cover it with mud," he said, moving forward.
She retreated again. "I wouldn't do that. Honest." She widened her eyes and tried to look sincere.
"Liar, liar, pants on fire."
The childish taunt had her dissolving into helpless laughter. She eased back another step. "I never understood what the connection was between telling a lie and having flaming pants," she got out between giggles,
"I think it's symbolic." His tone became deeply pompous. '^Probably filled with deep, powerful meaning going back to our most primitive days on the savanna."
"Georgia?" she asked politely.
"Pearls before swine," he said, his sad tone at odds with the laughter in his eyes.
"Sorry." She backed another half step and gave a startled gasp when her ankle connected with something.
"Careful." Nick's hand shot out, catching her arm and pulling her forward. "This place is a death trap."
"It just needs a few repairs," she said.
"It would be easier to tear this place down and rebuild from the ground up." His
thumb moved against her upper arm in an absentminded caress that made her skin tingle.
"But it wouldn't be the same," Kate said breathlessly. She should pull away, she thought. Not that his touch bothered her, because it didn't. Not at all.
"You're right, it wouldn't be the same," Nick said. "It wouldn't be a termite-ridden dump."
Had he moved closer or had she? Kate's vision was suddenly filled with the width of his chest. The damp fabric of his T-shirt clung to every muscle, delineating them like a drawing in an anatomy book. She swallowed.
"I should..."
"You have a smudge of dirt right here." He tilted her head and brushed his fingers over the curve of her cheek.
Kate looked at him helplessly. She knew the air was chill, but she was warmed by a heat that came from within. Standing here with the rain drumming on the roof and forming sheer curtains around the open sides of the gazebo, it seemed as if they were the only two people in the world. The sense of isolation was dangerously seductive.
She grabbed for her self-control, only to have it slip out of reach when Nick's fingertips brushed her cheek again, sliding across her skin with a gossamer touch that woke nerve endings to tingling life. Kate put up one hand in protest—she was sure it was in protest—but somehow her palm was resting against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the damp knit of his T-shirt. He jerked at her touch, and she felt a swift thrill of feminine power. He could make her tremble, but she could do the same to him. There was excitement in that knowledge.
Afterward, she could never be sure who moved first. She wanted to believe it was Nick, wanted to think that she hadn't been so completely lost to reality that she'd stepped closer to him. But it was a moot point, really. He moved—or she did. His hand cupped her cheek, tilting her face up. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him.
And then his mouth came down on hers and the world spun away. There was nothing tentative in the kiss, no hesitant moment of exploration, no gentle coaxing. It was pure hunger and need. His mouth opened over hers, his tongue demanding entrance, demanding surrender. And she gave it to him, meeting his demand with her own hunger, her own needs.
She didn't know how long she stood there, wrapped in his arms, her body curved into his, her hands clinging to his shoulders. It felt so real, so right, that time seemed to stand still, gifting them with a space where the real world had no meaning, where all that mattered was the feel of Nick's hands on her body, the taste of his mouth on hers.
When he lifted his head, she sighed in protest. Her lashes felt weighted as she forced her eyes open and looked at him. His eyes were dark with hunger, and if that hadn't been enough to tell her how much he wanted her, she could feel the taut length of his arousal pressed against the soft curve of her belly. She shifted instinctively against him, driven by a primitive feminine need to get closer to that rigid length.
Nick's breath caught on a groan and his hands dropped to her hips, his fingers biting into her skin as he pulled her close with a quick, convulsive movement that told her just how badly he wanted her. Kate felt a deep, hollow ache inside, a painful hunger that formed a knot in the pit of her stomach. She'd never felt like this before—had never felt so physically empty, as if only this man could fill that emptiness and make her complete. Not even Gareth had ever—
Kate sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes widening in stunned disbelief as she looked at Nick. What was she doing? Gareth. How could she have betrayed him like this?
The hands that had been clinging to Nick's shoulders were suddenly pushing against him, her breath catching on something perilously close to a sob as he released her. She took a quick step back and was immediately—shamefully—aware of a feeling of loss.
"Kate." He stretched out his hand and she backed away as if the touch of it might bum her. And it would, she thought. One touch and she just might tumble into his arms, all sense of right and wrong forgotten in the overwhelming need to be a part of him.
"No." In her mind, the word was a shout, but what came out was little more than a whisper. She backed up another step and said it again, louder this time. "No.''
"Kate—"
She didn't wait to hear what he might say. She gave him one last, frightened look and then turned and ran, fleeing into the cool rain as if chased by demons, all the while aware that what she most feared, she carried within her.
Nick took a half step after her and then stopped. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he hunched his shoulders against the chill and watched her out of sight, his expression set, his eyes cold and bleak.
❧
"Rain always makes me hungry," Harry said as he walked into the kitchen. "I was thinking about ordering a pizza for dinner. You want to split it with mer'
"Am I going to have to watch you pour a pound of dried red pepper flakes on it?" Nick asked, reaching for a towel to dry his just washed hands.
"You can close your eyes," Harry offered generously. "You want pepperoni and mushroom?"
"Sounds good." Nick draped the towel carelessly over the piece of wire that was serving as a towel rack until he got around to replacing the old one, which was broken. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out two beers, listening with half an ear as Harry called in their order. He set one of the bottles on the counter for Harry and twisted the top off the other.
"They said it will be here in half an hour," Harry said as he hung up the phone.
Nick wasn't really hungry but eating a pizza with Harry was better than sitting around by himself, brooding about what had happened with Kate this afternoon. He'd already had more than enough of that. He'd spent the afternoon with his thoughts circling endlessly about how good she'd felt in his arms, how right it had felt to hold her, to kiss her.
He took a swallow of beer without tasting it No matter how many times he reminded himself that she was engaged to marry his brother, he couldn't forget those few moments in the gazebo this afternoon. Kate would probably try to deny it but he knew she'd felt the same thing, the same sense of rightness, of belonging.
For those few minutes, when they had been alone in the storm, she'd been his. There had been no past, no future and the present had been reduced to only that moment, only the two of them. It had felt so good, so right.
Only it hadn't been right. Even if she hadn't already been promised to Gareth, the last thing he needed or wanted was to get involved with someone. His fingers tightened around the bottle and his mouth tightened into a grim line. He wasn't ready for that— wasn't sure he'd ever be ready again.
With an effort, he shook himself out of his thoughts and turned to smile at Harry. "So, how is the book going?"
"Not bad. I've been going over old clippings and letters. It's amazing how much you forget." Harry was writing a book about his years as an attorney. Now's the time, he'd said, I haven't gotten so senile that I can't remember, but everyone likely to take a contract out on me or sue me to within an inch of my life is dead. Nick figured that, if Harry could write a story as well as he could tell it, he was destined for the New York Times bestseller list.
"The rain was a nice surprise today," Harry said as he twisted the cap off his beer. "Kind of late in the year for it. I figured we wouldn't see rain again until November or so."
"I guess, even in California, the weather can surprise you." He took a drink of beer and tried to think of a new topic. Talking about the rain made him think of Kate. Not that he needed any reminders to think about her, he admitted reluctantly.
Harry cleared his throat. "I see Kate planted that tree she liked next to the gazebo," he said casually.
Too casually? Nick wondered, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the old man.
"It looks nice there," Harry continued. He turned his beer bottle restlessly between his fingers, keeping his gaze on the movement. "Looks real nice." He shot a quick glance in Nick's direction. "I can see it from the guest house, you know. Good place for a tree."
Nick debated about whether or not to pick
up the bait. Obviously, Harry had seen some, if not all, of what had happened between him and Kate this afternoon. Equally obviously, he had something to say about it.
"Spit it out, Harry," he said tiredly.
"I don't want to interfere," Harry protested.
"Who are you kidding?" Nick was ruefully affectionate. "You live to interfere and we both know it."
Harry's smile was perfunctory. "I don't want to see you get hurt, that's all. I wonder if you know what you're doing."
"I'm not doing anything." Nick's fingers tightened around the beer bottle until the knuckles showed white. "What happened this afternoon was an aberration. It doesn't mean a thing."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive," he lied. "Kate's engaged to my brother. End of story."
"I hope you mean that," Harry said, looking only slightly relieved.
Nick hoped he did, too.
"I'd hate to think that my asking you to come back here could end up causing problems for you. I'd feel responsible."
"If I was stupid enough to make a play for another man's fiancee, it would be my responsibility, not yours." Nick watched the almost empty bottle swing like an amber pendulum between his fingers.
"I'm the one who brought you back here," Harry insisted.
"So you did." He lifted his eyes from the hypnotic motion of the bottle and looked at his old friend. "Did you ever have any intention of selling this place, Harry?"
"Of course I did," Harry blustered after a telling moment of silence. "I still do."
"Going to move to a condo and play golf?"
"What's wrong with that? Perfectly acceptable activity for an old codger like myself."
"There's nothing wrong with it," Nick agreed. "Except for the fact that you don't know a nine iron from a tire iron."
"I can learn." Harry took a quick drink of beer and then coughed as it went down the wrong way. "Lots of men my age take up golf."
"Uh-huh." Nick kept his eyes on the bottle swinging between his fingers.
"Good cardiovascular activity," Harry muttered.
''So I've heard."
''Golf's a civilized game—lots of skill and strategy involved."
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