To be fair, she was probably finished with the two chapters she had offered to let Nick read. She’d been over them and over them, and planned to give them only one final read. At some point she had to stop editing and call it done.
Other chapters weren’t so polished. Those, she wouldn’t let even her mother or Deedra read, much less Nick. And she wasn’t trying to impress her mother or Deedra.
Did that mean she was trying to impress Nick?
Of course she was, she admitted, working a dab of styling gel into her shoulder-length hair. She wanted him to like her work so he would let her interview him, so he would want to be included in the project and have a chapter about himself.
Frankly, she just flat out wanted him to like her. Nothing wrong with that, was there?
Then there was the other. The sharp physical attraction.
Call it what it is, Shannon—red-hot sex.
She couldn’t deny their attraction, but what made her nervous was that she greatly feared she had overestimated her ability to keep business and pleasure separate. They weren’t separate when the man was the same for both. She wanted to interview Nick, and she wanted sex with him. If somewhere in the back of her mind she wanted more than that—if she wanted to be close to him and let their togetherness chase away her loneliness—well, that was her problem, not his. If she wanted more time with him—weeks, months—it wasn’t going to happen. She had to go home. She had a life she wasn’t willing to give up for anyone, not even Nick.
Not that he had asked her to give up her life and stay with him. Ha! That would be the day.
On the other hand, if she was going to write books instead of articles for the Times, she didn’t have to live in New York. She could write anywhere, couldn’t she? Tribute was a nice little town, friendly, clean.
“Oh, no, you don’t.”
The sound of her own voice echoing in the bathroom made her jump.
“Did you say something?” Nick called.
She couldn’t even turn around and face him. Not with what she’d just been thinking still bouncing around in her head. “No.”
“Are you sure? I could have sworn I heard you say something.”
“Just talking to myself.”
She finally worked up the nerve to peek over her shoulder and found him hunched over her laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration.
She swallowed. What did that look mean? Did he like what he was reading? Did he hate it? Was he going to let her interview him or tell her to get lost?
She turned on her hair dryer, praying her new gel lived up to its promise.
Before coming to Tribute, she had already decided that if she didn’t find Nick, or if he wouldn’t cooperate, she would still include him in the book, but in the “Oh, and by the way” chapter where she discussed the rescue workers she hadn’t been able to reach.
He wouldn’t like that. Neither would she, although for different reasons. He wouldn’t like being included at all, if he decided against the interview, whereas she wouldn’t like relegating him to the catchall chapter. She wanted to do a full chapter on him.
She turned off the dryer and finger-combed her hair. What was taking him so long out there?
Nick stared at the words on the screen thoughtfully. Knowing Shannon as he did, he didn’t know why he was surprised to realize that she was doing something worthwhile with her book. It wasn’t sensationalist tabloid journalism, as he had feared, before he’d known her. It was a thoughtful, thought-provoking look at the downstream effects of 9/11 on various individual rescue workers.
She didn’t make them come across like sappy fools. They were real. They suffered, they made progress, they lost ground. They were ordinary people who faced a horrendous task and suffered horrendously for it. Some learned to cope better than others. Each person had to figure out for him-or herself the best way to live with the nightmares, the flashbacks, the overwhelming grief.
He wasn’t alone. He hadn’t given it much thought before, but he wasn’t alone. Hundreds of other men and women were fighting the same daily battles he did.
Did that make it any better? Did it ease something inside him?
He thought about it for a long moment and decided that yes, yes it did, in some small way.
That didn’t mean he was eager to answer Shannon’s questions, but the two guys he’d just read about swore that talking about it helped. “What the hell.”
“Are you talking to yourself?”
Nick stared at the screen for another moment, then closed the files and exited the program. Only then did he turn to face her. “All right. What do you want to know?”
Shannon nearly collapsed in relief. “Thank you, Nick.” She crossed the room and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know this is more or less a leap of faith for you, and I truly appreciate the trust you’re placing in me.”
He grimaced and rubbed the end of his nose. “Is that the best you can do?”
“Oho, you mean you want a proper thank you?”
He wiggled his brows up and down. “That’d be great.”
“Fine.” She smiled and held out a hand. “Mr. Carlucci, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for agreeing to allow me to interview you for the book I’m working on. I promise not to take up too much of your valuable time.”
“Ha ha ha.” He took her hand, shook it one time, then pulled on it until she ended up in his lap. “Let me give you my version of ‘you’re welcome.’”
“Remind me,” Shannon said lazily, with a satisfied smile on her face, “to never thank you in public.”
“This isn’t going to end up in your book, is it?”
With her face buried against his shoulder, Shannon couldn’t see his expression. Was he serious? Did he actually think she would? She raised her head to look at him, but his eyes were closed. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Please tell me you already know the answer to that.”
His eyes popped open. “Hey, I was kidding.” He rubbed his hand up and down her back. “If I thought you might use this, what we do behind closed doors, I never would have stepped foot behind your closed door. So to speak.” He jiggled her with his arm. “It was a joke, Malloy.”
Relief swamped her, made her feel weak. “Boy, talk about your role reversal. Two days ago it was me swearing we could keep business and pleasure separated. Now you’re joking about doing the opposite.”
He shrugged lightly. “I decided to go along with you on the interview, so that’s that. When do we get to that part of it? Frankly,” he said, scooting up to lean his back against the headboard, and taking her with him, “I can’t imagine what else there is for you to ask that we haven’t already talked about.”
“Oh, I’ve got all sorts of questions.”
He groaned. “I was afraid of that.”
“But not tonight,” she said.
“A reprieve?”
“I want to go over the notes I made before I came here, see if I need to make any changes. I don’t want to overlook anything. And I’d like to do it on more or less neutral ground.”
His lips quirked. “You aren’t going to question me while we sweat up the sheets?”
“Fat chance. I’m not ashamed to admit that when you and I are sweating up the sheets, as you so romantically put it, I don’t have a single functioning brain cell.”
“No kidding?”
This time it was her turn to groan. “There goes your ego, expanding to the tenth power.”
“That’s just about the most complimentary thing a woman’s ever said to me.”
“That you’re egotistical?”
He poked her in the ribs and made her squeal. “That I scramble your brains. Imagine that.” His chest swelled. He all but thumped it with his fist. “Smart lady like you, and I scramble your brains. That’s pretty good.”
“Proud of that, are you?”
“Darn right. And I guess it’s only fair to say that you take my breath away.”
Shannon felt everything in
side her go still. “I do?” Oh, and how pathetic did that sound, like a little girl unsure of her welcome.
“You don’t even have to touch me.” He ran his thumb along her jaw and leaned toward her. “You don’t even have to be near me. All I have to do is think about you and everything inside me goes all funny.” His lips hovered just above hers.
She couldn’t stand it. She stretched up until she tasted him, his sweet, soft lips. The kiss was long and slow and easy.
“Funny,” she whispered against his mouth. “I think I like that. But…” She trailed her hand down his ribs, his belly, his hip and over to his newly aroused flesh. “Oh, this is not at all funny. And may I just say, thank you very much.”
Against her lips, he smiled. “Oh, you are so welcome.” He rolled them across the bed until she lay beneath him, and he thought, yes. This was how it should be. The two of them, together, loving each other.
He’d never thought about a woman this way before. About how right they were together. About them.
Because he knew they would never work, could never last, he took his time and lingered over every kiss, every inch of her fine, pale skin. He kissed every freckle.
He loved her scent, fresh from the shower but still uniquely her own fragrance. He loved the softness of her skin and the sharp contrast against his darker, coarser flesh. He loved the little moans she made, and when she murmured his name, his heart twisted a little.
If he had a working brain cell left in his head, he would get up and walk out the door. He was getting way too attached to this woman, and that way lay disaster. He had agreed to the interview, and when that was done she would leave. He feared she would take the best part of him with her. When the sound of his name on her lips made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, he was in trouble.
But his hands were fisted in her hair and his lips were fused to hers, and every cell in his brain was fried. He wasn’t going anywhere except over the edge of the world. With her. He slipped inside and lost himself in her hot, sweet depths. Reality, and brain cells, could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he belonged to Shannon.
Chapter Seven
Friday was both Spirit Day and Homecoming Day at Tribute High. The halls and classrooms were a blur of red and white. Teachers and students alike were revved up for the football game later that evening. The football team was cocky; the cheerleaders giggled whenever they saw one another; and anyone who made it from one end of the hall to the other without getting a pom-pom in the face was one lucky individual. Nick had been “accidentally” assaulted twice so far, and there was more than an hour left before classes let out.
Nick tried to remember if he’d ever been as excited over anything as these kids were. Two occasions came to mind: Christmas morning as a kid, and his first day with the Fire Department of New York.
That old association with FDNY had reached out and tapped him on the shoulder when he’d been walking home from Shannon’s in the wee hours of the morning. It happened every year the night of the bonfire. Somehow, without planning it, Nick always ended up walking past the remains of the fire after everyone had gone home, just to check. To make sure there were no glowing embers ready to flare up again if given half a chance, like a puff of wind, a dry twig, a piece of paper.
He’d never found a problem on his little walk-bys. The fire department might be mostly volunteer, but they were no slouches. He’d seen them in action and they knew the job. They stared into the belly of the beast, walked into it when necessary. They saved lives, saved property. They had no trouble dousing a bonfire. He just couldn’t stop himself from checking.
He didn’t usually think about fires, about fighting them. He refused to let himself. That part of his life was over and done with.
But since Shannon had come to town and stirred up old memories—just in time for the bonfire, which didn’t help—he felt the old urge rise up in him, the urge to be a part of the brotherhood again, to work alongside his fellow firefighters, to serve the people in his community.
Now he was going to deliberately allow Shannon to poke at old wounds. Man, when she left town, he was going to have to pick up the pieces and put himself back together again. He might have to warn Aunt Bev to keep a close eye on him so he didn’t dive back into the nearest bottle. He didn’t trust himself to stay sober on his own. Not with all those memories stirred up and brought out in the open. But he knew he wouldn’t drink in front of Aunt Bev. She had watched her grandfather drink himself to death. Even at his lowest, Nick couldn’t—wouldn’t—put her through anything like that again.
Still, he was so much stronger these days, he might be all right on his own. While old memories still haunted him on occasion, and would again, he hadn’t been tempted to drink in a long, long time.
Maybe, but when Shannon leaves town, what are you gonna do, pal?
He was going to do nothing, he told himself. Go on with his life. She was terrific. A blast to be with, smart, funny, generous in bed and out. But he’d known from the start that she was temporary. He hadn’t even liked her at the start, he remembered with a silent laugh.
And would you look at that mess. Some idiot had obviously shaken a warm cola before opening it. Nice brown splatter decorated half a dozen light tan lockers and a good stretch of the floor before them. Syrupy. Sticky. Great.
Kids. The bane—and, okay, the delight, sometimes—of his existence.
If he wanted something to keep his mind off Shannon—both the lover of the night before and the reporter meeting him at Dixie’s after school—scrubbing lockers was as good as anything. Toilets, now, that would do it.
Shannon got to Dixie’s Diner ahead of Nick on purpose. It was neutral territory, but she wanted to make the space her own as much as possible. She felt the need for any advantage she could find for her interview with Nick.
The diner was filling up rapidly with people dressed in red and white, as she was, wanting to eat before the big football game at seven this evening. She suspected that nearly everyone in town would be at the game. Nick had asked her to go with him and she was looking forward to it.
It was the interview that had her on edge.
It was silly, the damp palms, the slight tremor in her hands. She had interviewed countless people in her job. She knew Nick in a way she hadn’t known any of them. That should make this process easier, shouldn’t it?
Yet her stomach was jumping around like a tap-dancing Chihuahua on a caffeine overdose.
Oh, good grief, now I’m starting to sound like I’m from Texas.
Okay, she could still laugh at herself. That was good. She wanted to do this interview. She wanted to write about Nick, about what he’d been through, how he’d come to be where he was now. Anticipation, that’s what she was feeling. Nothing more. Except raw nerves over what he might think of the questions she asked. Would he think she was silly, trivial? Too intrusive? Should she care what he thought?
Suck it up, girl. This was an interview. That it was with Nick was going to make it easier, not more difficult. Maybe. But it was business. It had nothing to do with the personal side of their relationship. That was her story, and she was sticking to it.
She was checking the contents of her bag, on the floor beside her chair, for the third time—tape recorder, batteries, notebook, pen, backup pen—when the oddest thing happened. The air around her seemed to change. The quality of it, the sound. They were…different somehow. The air both softer yet nearly vibrating with excitement. The sound sharper, clearer, and at the same time quieter.
She knew, without looking, that Nick was there.
Slowly she straightened in her chair, and saw him threading his way through the tables toward her. And just like that, her nerves melted away, leaving her calm and warm, and oh so glad to see him. “You made it.”
“Yeah, it was rough, what with the crosstown traffic, and the buses running late.”
Shannon pursed her lips. “You could have taken the subway. It never runs late.”
Nick pulled
out the chair across from her when what he wanted to do was round the table and kiss that sweet mouth of hers; but instead, he sat down. “Just my luck, the mass trans workers picked this day to go on strike. But I made it anyway, and on time.”
She batted her lashes at him. “My hero.”
He felt a little lurch in the vicinity of his heart. What he wouldn’t give…But he wasn’t hero material. Not anymore. “No,” he told her. “Just a man.”
“And humble, too.”
“That’s me.”
Dixie arrived with ice water and menus. “Hey, Nick, catching a quick meal before the big game?”
“Looks like. What are you doing here so late? You usually go home by now.”
“We’re swamped. I thought I’d better stay and help out. Hi,” she said to Shannon. “Shannon, isn’t it?”
“You’ve got a good memory. What’s good for dinner tonight?”
“Pops made a pot roast this afternoon that’ll fall apart on your fork, with a flavor to die for.”
“That’s for me,” Shannon said.
“Me, too,” Nick said.
They finished off their order with salads, side dishes and two bottomless glasses of iced tea. Dixie brought the latter quickly, then left them alone.
“Was it a madhouse at the school today?” Shannon asked.
“It always is, but I doubt that’s what you came all the way from New York to ask me.”
“No. No, it’s not. You’re ready, then?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Okay. We can get some preliminary questions taken care of before our meal arrives.” She reached down into her bag and started pulling out the items she needed. “You don’t mind if I record this, do you?”
The cassette recorder surprised him. It probably shouldn’t have, Nick admitted. And really, what difference did it make? It was an audiotape, not video. And this was Shannon, not some jackass tabloid reporter.
Still, he had to ask. “This tape is just for you, right? I mean, you’re not going to let anyone else have it. I’m not going to hear it on the radio, right?”
Finding Nick Page 9
