by Nora Roberts
plane, hadn’t been able to face where it was going. The shame of that failure had drowned her in depression for weeks.
This time she’d gotten here, she reminded herself. She’d batted back the onslaught of the panic twice on the drive down and had been so certain she’d won completely.
She had won, she corrected. She was here, she was all right. She was back in control.
She’d been right to follow her impulse, to take the chore of returning Noah’s car herself. Even though it had caused difficulties with her grandparents, she’d done the right thing. Concentrating on the drive had gotten her where she’d wanted to go. Where she hadn’t been able to go for twenty years.
Or nearly gotten her there, she corrected, and, pushing the damp hair off her brow, she studied Noah’s house.
It wasn’t what she’d envisioned at all. It was pretty, almost feminine in the soft tones of the wood, the cheerful sweeps and spears of flowers.
His garden wasn’t some haphazard bachelor attempt to brighten up his real estate, but a careful, clever arrangement by someone who not only knew flowers, but appreciated them.
She slipped out of the car, relieved that her legs were nearly steady. She intended to go straight to the door, knock, give him his keys and a polite smile. She’d ask him to call a cab, and get out and on her way to her aunt’s as quickly as possible.
But she couldn’t resist the flowers, the charm of verbena, the fresh chipper colors of Gerber daisies, the bright trumpets of the reliable petunias. He hadn’t stuck with the ordinary, she noted, and had used the small space available on either side of the walk very well. Experimenting, she noted, crowding specimen to specimen so that it all tangled together in a natural burst rather than an obviously planned design.
It was clever and creative, and both the planting and maintaining must have involved a great deal of work. Still, he hadn’t been quite as conscientious with the weeding as he might have been, and her gardener’s heart had her crouching down to tug up the random invaders.
Within a minute she was humming and losing herself in a well-loved task.
Noah was so happy to see his car sitting in its usual spot that he overtipped the driver and bolted out of the cab.
“Oh baby, welcome home.” He murmured it, stroked a loving hand over the rear fender and had nearly executed a snappy dance of joy when he spotted Olivia.
The surprise came first, or he assumed the quick jerk in his stomach was surprise. Then came the warmth. She looked so damn pretty, kneeling by his flowers, a faded gray cap shading her eyes.
He started toward her, then hooked his thumbs in his front pockets because his hands wanted to touch. “This is a surprise,” he said, and watched her head snap up, watched her body freeze. Like a doe in the crosshairs, Noah mused. “I wasn’t expecting to see you weeding my gummy snaps.”
“They needed it.” Furiously embarrassed, she got to her feet and brushed garden dirt off her hands. “If you’re going to plant flowers, you should tend to them.”
“I haven’t had a lot of time just recently. What are you doing here, Liv?”
“Returning your car. You were told to expect it.”
“I was also expecting some burly guy named Bob behind the wheel. Not that I’m complaining. Come on in.”
“I just need you to call me a cab.”
“Come on in,” he repeated and moved past her to the door. “At least I can give you a drink to pay for the weeding service.”
He unlocked the front door, glanced back to where she continued to stand. “Don’t be a nitwit. You might as well. Damn it!”
Liv’s eyes widened as he leaped inside the door. She could hear him cursing. Curiosity won and had her following him inside.
He jabbed a code into a security panel just inside the door. “Just had this installed. I keep forgetting it’s here. If I set off the alarm again, my neighbors are going to lynch me. There.” He blew out a breath when the signal light blinked on green. “Another small victory of man against machine. Have a seat.”
“I can’t stay.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll just get us a glass of wine while you think of the reason you can’t sit down for fifteen minutes after driving all the way down the coast.”
“My aunt and uncle are expecting me.”
“This minute?” he asked from the kitchen.
“No, but—”
“Well, then. You want some chips with this? I think I have some.”
“No. I’m fine.” But since she was here, what harm would it do to have one civil glass of wine?
She thought his living room was sparsely furnished, no-frills male, but not unattractive. Then she remembered he’d told her his home had been trashed. It certainly explained why everything looked showroom fresh and unused.
“I was glad to hear your friend’s going to be okay.”
“It was touch-and-go the first couple of days.” And the thought of it could still give him a raw sensation in the gut. “But yeah, he’s going to be okay. In fact, he’s going to be great. He got his skull fractured, fell in love and got engaged, not necessarily in that order—in just over a two-week period.”
“Good for him, on two out of three anyway.”
“We just bought her a ring this morning.”
“We?”
“He needed guidance. Let’s drink to Mike.”
“Why not?” She touched the rim of her glass to his, then sipped. Then lifted her eyebrows. “Pouilly-Fuissé on a weekday evening. Very classy.”
His grin flashed. “You know your wine.”
“Must be the Italian from my grandmother’s side.”
“And can the MacBride half build a Guinness?”
“I imagine.” It was just a little too comfortable, being here, being with him. It smacked of old patterns. “Well, if you’d call—”
“Let’s go out on the deck.” He took her hand, pulled her to the sliding door. He wasn’t about to let her shake him off that quickly. “Too early for sunset,” he continued, releasing her long enough to slide the door open. “You’ll have to come back. They can be pretty spectacular.”
“I’ve seen sunsets before.”
“Not from this spot.”
The breeze fluttered in off the ocean, whispered warm over her face. The water was bold and blue, chopping in against the shore, then rearing back for the next pass. The scent was of salt and heat, and the light undertone of sunscreen from the people sprinkled along the beach.
“Some backyard.”
“I thought the same thing about yours when I saw your forest.” He leaned against the rail, his back to the view, his eyes on her. “Wanna come play in my backyard, Liv?”
“No, thanks. You’ve got a nice hand with flowers.” She flicked a finger over the soapwort, johnny-jump-ups and artesisa sharing space artistically in a stone tub.
“It shows my sensitive side.”
“It shows you know what looks good and how to keep it that way.”
“Actually, I learned out of compassion and annoyance. My mother was always planting something, then killing it. She’d go to the nursery, and the plants would scream and tremble. Once, I swear, I heard this coreopsis shrieking, ‘No, no, not me! Take the Shasta daisies.’ I couldn’t stand it,” he continued when she laughed. “I started having nightmares where all the plants she killed came back to life, brown, withered, broken, trailing dry dirt that crumbled from their roots as they formed an army of revenge.”
“Zombie zinnias.”
“Exactly.” He beamed, delighted with her, fascinated by the way her face warmed when she was amused and relaxed. “Vampire violas, monster marigolds and gardenia ghouls. Let me tell you, it was pretty terrifying. In fact, I’m scaring myself just thinking about it.”
“As a naturalist, I can certify you’re safe. As long as you keep them alive.”
“That’s comforting.” He trailed a finger down her arm, from elbow to wrist, in the absentminded gesture of a man used to touching. She stepped back,
the deliberate gesture of a woman who wasn’t.
“I really have to go. I called Uncle David from Santa Barbara, so they’re expecting me by now.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Just a few days.”
“Have dinner with me before you go.”
“I’m going to be busy.”
“Have dinner with me before you go.” As he repeated it, he touched her again, just an easy slide of fingertips along her jaw. “I like seeing you. You wanted to start with a fresh slate. Give me a chance, Olivia.”
She could see it clearly, standing there with him while the sky exploded with sunset, music drifting out, something quiet with a throb to the bass. And while the sun turned red, while it melted into the sea, he would touch her as he had before. Cupping his hand on her face. He would kiss her as he had before. Slow and skilled and sexy.
And she’d forget why he was doing it. She’d forget to care why.
“You want a story.” She shifted away from his hand. “I haven’t decided if I’m giving it to you.”
“I want a story.” Temper simmered in his eyes, but his voice was cool. “That’s one level. I said I liked seeing you, and I meant it. That’s another level entirely. I’ve thought about you, Olivia.”
He made a small move, a reangling of his body, and caged her between him and the rail. “I’ve thought about you for years. Maybe I wish I hadn’t, and you’ve made it clear you’d rather I didn’t think of you at all.”
“It doesn’t really matter what I’d rather.” He was crowding her, and along with the irritation from that was a sly lick of excitement.
“We can agree on that.” He set his wineglass on the rail. “Do you know what went through my mind when I got home and saw you out front? This. Just this.”
It wasn’t slow this time. She could taste the bite of temper as his mouth crushed down on hers, the snaps of frustration as his hand fisted on the back of her shirt. Just as she could feel the hot surge of need that pumped from his body to slam against hers.
It was as primal as the world she lived in, as elemental as the sea that crashed behind them. As inevitable as the quest to mate. Want. Had she always wanted him? And had the wanting always been so savage?
She had to take. She had to feed.
She understood the feral, and threw herself into the edgy demand of the kiss. Her hands gripped fistfuls of all that thick sun-streaked hair, her tongue slashed against his. The vicious heat that burst in her blood told her she was alive and could seize whatever she wanted. As long as she wanted.
Power plunged into him, feeding off her reckless response. The taste of her was a rage through his system, shearing away everything else. He wanted to gorge himself on her in fast, greedy gulps until the frantic, clawing hunger was sated.
But the more he took, the more he craved.
He pulled back far enough to see her face, the wild wash of color, the sharp edge in her eyes. “If you want me to believe you’re pissed off about that, you’re going to have to stop cooperating.”
She thought anger was probably the only sensation she wasn’t feeling. “Back off, Brady.”
“Look—”
“Just . . .” She blew out a breath, lifted a hand to his chest. “Back off a minute.”
“Okay.” It was a surprise how much it cost him to step away, to break that contact of body to body. “That far enough?”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t expect that or wasn’t looking for it on one of those levels you were talking about. I have some basic kind of attraction to you. I didn’t intend to act on it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not smart. But . . .” She picked up her glass again, or perhaps it was his, and sipped while she studied him. “If I decide to be stupid, then we’ll have sex. I’m not against sex, and I think you’d be pretty good at it.”
He opened his mouth, shut it again. Cleared his throat. “Excuse me while I restart my heart. Let me get this clear in my head. You’re considering being stupid and having sex with me.”
“That’s right.” Good, she decided and sipped again. Damn good. Finally she’d thrown his rhythm off. “Isn’t that where you were heading?”
“In my own bumbling way, yeah, I suppose so.”
“There was nothing bumbling about that kiss.”
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Had he actually thought he was getting to know her all over again? “Why do I feel like I should thank you?”
She laughed, shrugged a shoulder. “Look, Noah, why clutter up healthy animal instincts with emotions and excuses? I don’t indulge in sex very often because, well, I’m busy and I’m picky. But when I do, I consider it a natural, sometimes entertaining act that shouldn’t be tied up with a bunch of sticky pretenses. In other words, I approach it like a man.”
“Yeah, well. Hmmm.”
“If you’re not interested on that level, no hard feelings.” She finished the wine, set it aside. “And I do recall you mentioning a vow of chastity, so maybe this conversation is moot.”
“I wouldn’t call it a vow, exactly. More like a . . . concept.”
“Then we both have something to think about. Now I really have to go.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“A cab’s fine.”
“No, I’ll take you. A drive might clear my head. You’re fascinating, Olivia. No wonder you’ve been stuck in my mind for years.” He took her hand again, a habit she was almost getting used to. “Your stuff’s still in the car, right?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s go, then. Keys?”
She dug them out of her pocket, handed them over as they walked through the house. “Aren’t you going to set the alarm?”
“Shit. Right.” Conversation, he thought, after he’d punched in the code and locked up. Fresh conversation because he didn’t think his system could handle any more on the subject they’d just discussed. “So, did you have any trouble finding your way down here?”
“I had a map. I’m good at reading maps. And this is a great ride,” she added as she settled in the passenger seat. “Handles like a dream.”
“You open her up?”
She gave him a wisp of a smile. “Maybe.” Then she laughed, enjoying the rush of wind as the car picked up speed. “It’s a bullet. How many speeding tickets do you collect in the average year?”
He winced. “I’m a cop’s son. I have great respect for the law.”
“Okay, how many does your father have fixed for you during the average year?”
“Family doesn’t keep track of small acts of love. You know he’d like to see you while you’re here. My mother, too.”
“I don’t know what plans my aunt may have made, if there’ll be time.”
“I thought you didn’t like pretenses.”
She picked up the sunglasses she’d left on his dash, slipped them on. “All right. I don’t know how I’ll handle seeing him. I don’t know how I’ll handle being back here, even for a few days. I decided to come to find out.”
She balled her fists in her lap, then deliberately relaxed them. “I don’t remember Los Angeles. All I really remember is . . . Do you know where my mother’s house is? Was?”
“Yeah.” He was working on the current owners to let him take a tour.
“Go there. I want to go there.”
“Liv, you can’t get in.”
“I don’t need to. I just need to see it.”
Panic was a whisper inside her head, an icy caress along her skin. But she made herself stand at the gate. The walls surrounding the estate were tall and thick and brilliantly white. Trees and distance screened the house, but she could catch glimpses of it, brilliantly white as well, with the soft red tile of the roof.
“There are gardens, I’m not sure I knew how many. Elaborate,
