Hot Property

by Susan Johnson

  “It’s probably not just the empty house,” Janie drily remarked. “So give me a clue. What are you gonna say?”

  “Promise not to laugh.”

  “Hey—no way I’d laugh. I think you’re perfect for Nick. Haven’t I been saying that for a long time now?”

  “Yeah, thanks . . . you’ve been great—listening to my whining, bucking up my spirits.”

  “My pleasure.” Janie dipped her head toward the paper Zoe had unfolded.

  Zoe shot a quick glance around to see if anyone was close enough to hear, but everyone was at the tables. The counter was empty. “Okay, it goes something like this . . .”

  When Zoe finished, Janie was supportive as usual. “You go, girl,” she asserted, giving Zoe a high five.

  Zoe blushed. “This is still kind of embarrassing, but I’m tired of waiting around and just hoping something will happen.”

  “You’re right. Why wait? Go talk to Tony. What do you have to lose?”

  “Not a whole lot considering I’ve been spending every night watching TV.”

  “Exactly.” Janie glanced at the clock over the door. “You might catch Tony now. He sometimes works on reports in the morning.”

  The minute Zoe left the coffee shop, Janie reached for the phone. “Just listen, Tony,” she said when he answered, “and don’t give me any crap. Zoe Chandler’s coming over to give you a heartfelt little speech. So do your cousin a favor and tell her where he’s holed up. You know as well as I do that Nick’s never taken a woman with him up north. So it’s not business as usual for him.”

  “There were extenuating circumstances,” Tony gruffly said.

  “More reason for him to leave her behind with trouble on his tail. Capiche?” Janie knew everything: NASA could only hope to have her access to information.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “What you can think about is Nick killing himself with alcohol somewhere down the line. And it’ll be on your head.”

  “Christ, don’t lay that on me.”

  “It’s the freakin’ truth. Look, I’ll bet you five hundred bucks I can’t afford that you and I will be invited to their wedding if you do the right thing.”

  “Crap.”

  She knew that meant he was thinking. She knew he was thinking she was right. “Just tell her, okay?”

  Caught between a rock and a hard place, Tony was slumped down in his chair, grumpy and out of sorts, when Zoe walked in.

  He looked up, saw her sweet smile that went with all the rest of her sweet, blonde, beautiful self, and said, “You know, I was thinking maybe Nick wouldn’t mind if I told you where he was.”

  Her thanks were on-top-of-the-world effusive and so damned enchanting that Tony thought if Nick didn’t give this babe a chance, he might be tempted.

  “I’ll give Jerry Dolan a call,” he said, reaching for his phone. “He can fly you up there. I would, but I have to testify in court this afternoon.”

  Forty-three

  At first Nick ignored the sound of a bush plane approaching. This was fishing country; resorts frequently flew their clients north for choice sport. But he took notice when the plane began its descent.

  He ran to the cabin to get his binoculars and a rifle.

  As the seaplane pulled up to his dock, he watched from his porch. The plane was from Burntside Resort, but that didn’t mean anything. Friend or foe could hire a plane, although he didn’t think he had enemies left. Even if he did, they wouldn’t have come in so boldly.

  “Hey, Nick!” Jerry Dolan waved from the dock. “I brought you some company!”

  Nick waved back, but he didn’t move and his rifle stayed in his hand.

  When Zoe stepped out onto the pontoon, he blinked. How many drinks had he had today? Then she smiled and he knew she was for real. Dropping his rifle, he took the porch stairs in a flying leap.

  She started running when she saw him.

  They met halfway up the mossy grade and came to a stop— both hesitant and uncertain. Neither sure of their welcome.

  “Nice company,” Nick murmured, speaking first.

  “You’re a hard man to find. I finally convinced your cousin Tony I’m harmless.”

  “Not exactly.” Nick grinned. “You’re the cause of all my discontent.”

  She smiled. “Maybe I could fix that.”

  “No doubt.”

  He opened his arms, she walked into them, and the world disappeared.

  Jerry Dolan didn’t stick around; he was a polite man. After unloading Zoe’s luggage, he shouted good-bye and took off.

  “How long can you stay?” Nick murmured, as the plane disappeared into the sun.

  “As long as you can stand to have me.”

  His smile was slow and easy. “That long.”

  “Yup. So what should we do first?”

  “Silly question.” His erection was jammed against her stomach.

  Her brows rose faintly. “Here or somewhere else?”

  “Not here. I must be gettin’ old,” he wisecracked. “Let me get your luggage and I’ll show you my bed.”

  She followed him to the dock, and helped him carry her bags up the hill. “I hear there’s no TV, no lights, no nothing up here. Is this like the last frontier?”

  “Depends. I like to think of it as a little bit of heaven”—he shot her a look—“especially now that you’re here. And don’t worry about the no TV. I’ll keep you busy at night.”

  “Oh, good; I forgot batteries for my vibrator.”

  He gave her the once-over, jungle fever in his gaze. “You won’t be needin’ that, babe.”

  “Perfect.” She gave him a sideways glance. “And just in case, I brought condoms.”

  “I hope you brought a lot. I’ve been missing you like crazy— not that kind of crazy. Actually, I’m pretty laid-back up here.”

  He looked it, he sounded like he was, he even smiled differently—less smart aleck, more boyish charm. Although the moment she’d seen him, dressed in his usual cargo shorts and T-shirt with cutoff sleeves—all power and brawn and swarthy beauty—she was a goner, wiseass or not.

  He’d let his hair grow; it was longer, his dark, ruffled curls pulled back behind his ears.

  “You let your hair grow,” she said. Her frontal lobes weren’t working and everything she thought, she said.

  “I’ve been lazy. Cut it if you like.”

  Samson and Delilah, she thought, but thank god she had brains enough not to say it this time. Still, it was sweet of him to make the offer. “It looks good long,” she politely said—all civilized constraint—like she hadn’t been thinking about his sexy, virile, muscled strength. And how Caravaggio would have really done him justice.

  “A gazebo,” she murmured, pointing at the new addition to his property as they moved up the path to the cabin. “You’ve been building.” It was obviously new, the smell of cut lumber still in the air.

  “I knew you liked the one at Jackfish. Not that you were here—although sometimes it seemed like you were.” He shrugged as they moved up the porch stairs. “It doesn’t make much sense.”

  “Ta-da!” she said with a flourish. “Here I am.”

  He smiled. “Maybe dreams do come true.” Reaching out, he opened the cabin door and held it open for her.

  The instant she walked in, she smelled the pinks. She scanned the room: there, in a vase on the kitchen table. “I love that smell,” she breathed, inhaling deeply.

  “I know. I was trying to forget you and not wanting to forget you at the same time,” he said, setting down her bags. “The flowers reminded me of you.”

  Dropping her duffle bag, she closed the distance between them in two quick steps and wrapped her arms around his waist. Holding on tight—being where she most wanted to be she decided in a flash of naked instinct—she rested her chin on his chest and looked up. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but you’re going to have a real hard time getting rid of me.” She smiled. “Just a warning.” It had taken courage to face Ton
y and even more to come here uninvited. Now that she was here, she didn’t feel like quibbling over her feelings.

  “Music to my ears, babe. I was thinking about keeping you prisoner anyway.”

  Maybe there really are soul mates. “So we’re both in a possessive mood,” she said, knowing better than to mention the word soul mates.

  He grinned. “That’s a nice way of putting it.” His mood was slightly more feudal and proprietary.

  This was a case of two people sailing without a compass— going slow and easy when it came to exposing their susceptibility.

  “Then you should be nice back to me,” she softly said.

  Unwrapping her arms from around his waist, he took her hand and pulled her along. “Come on. I’ll show you nice.”

  His outpost camp at Trygge Lake was small, consisting of a single room that served as kitchen and living room, to which was attached a smaller bedroom and a minuscule washroom.

  “No plumbing,” Zoe murmured, standing beside Nick and surveying the bedroom. “Just like my Amazon days.”

  “I hope that’s not a deal breaker.”

  “You don’t understand, darling,” she said, looking up and directing a pointed look his way. “I’m here for the duration.”

  In the past, he would have run or completely shut down at those words, but instead, her comment warmed his heart, beguiled his romantic sensibilities—long defunct—and induced him to say something he never thought he’d say again, “We should maybe talk about getting married somewhere down the road.”

  Talk about—somewhere down the road? Against the advice of the little voice inside her head screaming at her to shut up, Zoe put all her cards on the table. “What do you mean—talk about?”

  He pulled her around and held her lightly in his arms. “How many languages would you like it explained in?”

  “Show-off.”

  “Okay, marry me.”

  “Okay.”

  He grinned. “I love your warm, fuzzy, romantic side.”

  She smiled. “While I like your really hard . . . just teasing. Look, if you have a couple hours, I’d be happy to tell you every last thing I love about you.” Her eyes flared wide for a moment. “Wow. Love.” She’d never actually used the word with Nick, thinking more in terms of can’t-live-without-him hot sex and feeling good. “Are you sure about this getting married stuff?” It was a shockingly lovely idea, but she wasn’t altogether certain he hadn’t been teasing.

  “I’m pretty sure. Unless you dye your hair black and start teaching Slavic languages. That might be a no-go.”

  “Bad marriage, hey?”

  “Turned out that way. I got my divorce papers when I was lying half dead in a hospital bed in Germany.”

  “Tell me about it,” she muttered.

  “You’re divorced, too? Along with 16.7 percent of the country.” He grinned. “I just read that statistic last week.”

  “In my case, it was good riddance. Max couldn’t keep it in his pants. He’s on his third marriage and I expect there’ll be more.”

  Nick’s brows rose. “Trish is on her third, too. Maybe they know each other.”

  “Maybe they’re married to each other. Wouldn’t that be poetic justice?” She had a moment of panic. “How many times have you been married?”

  “Calm down, babe.” He recognized panic better than most after his hellish months with Harry. “I’ve only been married once. How about you?” He was guessing from her recent panicked query she wasn’t on number five, but full disclosure never hurt.

  “Just once. I don’t share well.”

  “Glad to hear it. Neither do I. In fact, I’m thinking maybe I’ll handcuff you to my wrist and keep you close.”

  “Ummm . . . you sure know how to sweet talk a woman,” she murmured in a low, sexy undertone, leaning into his strong, hard body.

  He looked at her from under his lashes. “Maybe I mean it.”

  She grinned. “I should be so lucky.”

  “It’s not as though I haven’t had plenty of time to fantasize about you up here. And think about other stuff, too. Maybe that’s where the marriage talk came from.”

  It wasn’t to her advantage to be overly inquisitive, but she couldn’t help it. “You have to be sure. Not just sort of sure if you’re talking marriage.”

  “I’m sure, babe. You can take it to the bank.”

  “Speaking of warm fuzzies,” she sardonically murmured.

  He grinned. “Okay, roses are red, violets are—”

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him, because bottom line, she didn’t care about tomorrow or next week or warm fuzzies right now. He was holding her close and that was about as good as it got.

  “I’ll do warm fuzzies later,” he whispered as his mouth lifted from hers, already pulling her T-shirt over her head. “Right after I show you how much I love you.”

  He was really good at warm fuzzies, too. He actually knew a Robert Herrick poem, and while she was real tempted to ask him why he’d happened to memorize those lines, she had sense enough to keep her mouth shut. She would pretend he’d never, ever uttered those words to another woman and continue floating on her soft, pink cloud.

  But she was convinced he was a master of the warm fuzzies when he undressed her slowly, like he was opening a special Christmas present and had to be careful not to tear the paper or ribbon because he was gonna save them. And afterward, gazing at her lying nude on his bed, he said softly, “I just have to look for a second. I’m still not sure you’re for real. Say something.”

  Then what was even sweeter was when he was lying atop her, resting his weight on his arms like he did so his body was barely touching hers, and he whispered, “If we’re going to get married, let’s not worry about condoms—okay?”

  Wow. That’s even more of a commitment than a marriage proposal. “Are you sure?” she whispered back like a complete idiot when the man of her dreams, her Prince Charming, maybe even the most beautiful man on the face of the earth, was asking her to have his child. Okay, okay, so looks aren’t everything, but still . . . she began picturing a little boy with dark hair or a little girl or wouldn’t twins be just perfect—actually a dream come true. She’d always wanted twins or at least a brother and sister. “I want two children,” she said, half dizzy with love and half calculating, figuring why not find out now how he felt while the issue of condoms was still under debate.

  “Me, too.”

  “Being an only child leaves a lot to be desired,” she said with chagrin.

  “What—are we soul mates?”

  “Don’t joke.”

  He smiled. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist, but it’s a great idea. You’ve got my endorsement. At least two kids.”

  “Hey, don’t get carried away,” she protested.

  “You’re really fun to tease,” he said with a wide grin. Then his smile disappeared and he spoke with a solemn gravity she’d never heard before. “It’s up to you, darling. One, two, none, whatever you decide. I just want you, that’s all.”

  Tears came to her eyes, and if there really were heart-strings, it felt like hers were being tugged. He was so sweetly earnest in that calm, unruffled way of his that paradoxically only confirmed his intrinsic power and strength. Which also made her weak in the knees, flipped the switch on every one of her sexual receptors, and seriously shifted her focus from conversation to other amusements. “Let’s decide afterward,” she whispered.

  “On?” He was being well-mannered. Are we still talking about condoms?

  “On the number of children,” she clarified.

  He grinned. “Because you can’t wait.”

  “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting.”

  “Oh, yeah, I do. Since May twenty-ninth.”

  “You remembered,” she murmured, smiling sweetly.

  “I’ve really missed you.”

  She pulled his head down and kissed him hard. “So what are you waiting for?” she heatedly breathed a moment later. “Show me what you g
ot.”

  He laughed at the words he’d spoken the first time they made love in his kitchen. And looking back on it now, it probably was love even then. Which went to show that love at first sight wasn’t just fiction.

  The consummation of their love that day and night and into the morning was definitely not fictitious. It was profoundly real, passionate, tempestuous, and so stubbornly insatiable that they finally found themselves lying side by side, panting for breath, yet ravenous still.

  “What are . . . we . . . gonna do,” Nick gasped.

  “We . . . have to . . . stop.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Make me breakfast. I’m starving.”

  “You gotta be kidding. I’m still burnin’ up.”

  “Please?”

  Taking a deep breath, then another, Nick exhaled and said, kind and gallant, “Sure. How about pancakes?”

  “I would adore pancakes.” Along with you for the next thousand years. But she didn’t say that because any little thing might turn him on and she really was hungry.

  Their summer at Trygge Lake was perfection. They lived simply like pioneers in the wilderness and in that purified life, they found a kind of happiness both deep-felt and joyous.

  They didn’t fly home until the ice started setting on the lake. By that time, they’d come to truly know what love was.

  And while maybe it was impossible to completely escape one’s past, in time, Nick’s nightmares diminished and left him more whole. As for Zoe, her future research projects avoided those areas of the art world where exposés might prove dangerous.

  Eventually, the man traps around Nick’s cabin were dismantled.

  It was the advent of a cloudless, unafflicted reality.

  It was visible evidence of the healing power of love.

  And two years later, when their twins were born, the young Mirovic family entered a new realm of well-being and contentment.