Extreme Measures

by Brenda Harlen

  He kissed her again, the pressure of his lips on hers more intense now, more urgent. Nikki responded to his demands, met them with her own. She didn't want a seduction. She didn't need to be coaxed or persuaded. She wanted Colin, and the fulfillment only he could give her.

  She hadn't realized he'd found the zipper at the back of her dress until she felt him unfasten her bra with a quick, practiced move. His fingers skimmed over her shoulders, sliding the straps of her bra and her dress down her arms. Then he tore his mouth from hers and trailed hot, hungry kisses along the column of her throat, over her collarbone, down to the slope of her breast. Her head fell back in surrender, her breathing already fast and unsteady, her muscles quivering.

  This was what had been missing from her life.

  Excitement.

  Anticipation.

  Desire.

  Wondrous, glorious desire.

  He pushed the dress over her hips, the fabric whispering softly as it pooled at her feet. His hands skimmed lower, over the curve of her buttocks.

  "You're so beautiful, Nicole."

  She exhaled slowly, her nervousness alleviated somewhat by the obvious appreciation in his voice.

  "Even more beautiful than I remembered," he told her.

  Still self-conscious about her seminaked state, Nikki decided to level the playing field. She tugged his shirt out of his pants, her fingers unsteady as they worked the buttons.

  She already knew this was a mistake. From the first time he'd kissed her, she'd known that no other man could ever make her feel the way Colin did. But she was beyond caring. She would take what he was offering and worry about the consequences later.

  She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, ran her palms over the hard, muscular planes of his chest. His skin was hot beneath her hands and she could feel his heart beating a furious tattoo beneath his ribs. This proof of his desire aroused her, emboldened her. She nipped at his throat, flicked her tongue over his earlobe. Colin groaned and pulled her closer to kiss her again.

  She buried her fingers in his hair, held his mouth to hers. Their tongues danced, mated. She could feel the evidence of his arousal, and the throbbing response between her own thighs.

  He lifted her into his arms easily and carried her the short distance to the bedroom. They fell together on top of the bed, a tangle of limbs and needs.

  He tore his mouth from hers and lowered his head to her breast. He ravished the tender flesh with his lips and teeth and tongue until Nikki could hardly breathe. He seemed to be touching her everywhere at once, his fingers and his lips gliding, stroking, teasing, until she was quaking with need. She arched toward him, urging him to hurry, but he continued at the same torturously slow pace, driving her closer and closer to the culmination of her own pleasure. Her hands roamed restlessly over his back, tracing the strong muscles through the heated dampness of his skin.

  "Colin … please." She was all but begging, but she didn't care. She only knew that she'd never needed anyone as much as she needed him, right here, right now.

  He pulled away from her and started to shed his briefs, then swore.

  She sat up, automatically tugging at the edge of the bedspread to cover her breasts. "What's wrong?"

  He scrubbed his hand over his face and laughed, but the sound was without humor. "I wasn't prepared for this to happen."

  He was talking about birth control.

  The realization jolted her back to reality. Even when they'd been married, he'd been almost fanatical about protection. The one time—the only time—they'd ever made love without any barrier, she'd conceived their daughter.

  He kissed her—a brief, hot kiss full of passion and promise. "Just give me a minute to go downstairs and—"

  "No." Nikki shook her head and slid off the bed. She moved quickly to the sitting area, picked up her dress from the floor and slipped it over her head.

  "Nic."

  She started at the sound of his voice right behind her, again when his hand settled on her shoulder.

  "Please don't go."

  She didn't turn—she was too embarrassed to look at him. Or maybe she was too afraid that if she looked at him, her already weakened resolve would completely crumble. Instead, she kept her back to him and zipped up her dress. She took another few seconds to straighten her skirt and strengthen her determination, then she finally faced him. "This was a mistake, Colin."

  He shook his head. "The mistake is in pretending it didn't mean anything."

  "It didn't," she said. "It was just the heat of the moment, and the moment has passed."

  But even she knew it was a lie. Because if the heat of the moment had passed, why was she still burning up inside?

  Colin knew he could prove her wrong. All he had to do was take her in his arms and kiss her again, and the heat of the moment that she'd so easily disregarded would be upon them again.

  Nicole was running scared, and they both knew it. Hell, the intensity of the passion that had flared between them surprised him, too. Even after more than five years apart, he hadn't forgotten anything about her. Not the sweetness of her scent, the silkiness of her skin, or the passion of her touch.

  The one thing he had forgotten, the single fact that was only now becoming clear, was how empty his life had been without her in it.

  Unfortunately, he knew that she'd been right to step back. There was too much at stake to lose themselves in the passion of the moment, too much still unresolved between them. And, as Detective Brock's phone call had so painfully reminded him, there was too much that was out of his control.

  "I have to get back," she said, not meeting his eyes.

  "I'll call you … to make arrangements to see Carly."

  She nodded, then moved quickly to the door.

  Colin let her go. There was no point in pushing her to acknowledge something neither of them was ready for.

  He'd hurt her once, and it was understandable that she'd be wary. But he was afraid, too—of the feelings she stirred inside him, of the emotions he'd never experienced with any other woman, of the vulnerability he'd never wanted to know again. Coming back to Fairweather had forced him to face his past—the only woman he'd ever loved, and the child he'd never known.

  Would things have been different if he'd known about Nikki's pregnancy?

  That was the question she'd thrown in his face. He wanted to be able to say yes, loudly and unequivocally. But he wasn't so certain. Five years ago, his life had been in turmoil. He'd been given a second chance at a career that had once mattered to him more than anything. What he hadn't realized, until it was too late, was that it hadn't mattered to him as much as Nikki did. He loved the game, all the pressures and excitement, but he loved her more.

  He'd made a choice.

  The wrong choice.

  He hadn't come back to Fairweather to change the past. He'd needed to see her again, but he hadn't expected the attraction between them to be as strong, as volatile, as he remembered. He hadn't expected the desire that hit him so hard, so fast. He hadn't expected to need her still.

  And he hadn't expected that she would betray him.

  Nikki had been right about one thing. He was angry. What she couldn't know was that at least some of that anger was directed at himself, because he knew it was his decision to end their marriage that had cost him the woman he'd loved and the opportunity to share in the first five years of his daughter's life. And although he was back now, even he didn't know for how long. If Detective Brock was right, if Parnell had hired someone to kill him, then the threat was far from over.

  Chapter 5

  The sound of another knock at the door offered a reprieve from these disturbing thoughts.

  This time, when he opened the door and found his brother on the other side, he wasn't at all surprised. Although the large cardboard box Shaun carried was a puzzle. Colin decided to ignore the carton for the moment.

  "Was that Nikki I just saw leaving?"

  Colin nodded.

  Shaun set the box down
on the coffee table. "How did things go?"

  "Not quite as I'd expected," Colin said.

  His brother frowned at the cryptic remark. "Have you made arrangements to see Carly?"

  "Not yet," he admitted, unaware of the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "We got distracted with other things."

  Shaun shook his head. "Nikki is the one who will end up hurting when you walk out again."

  The argument was close enough to everything Nikki had been saying about his relationship with Carly to annoy him. "Why is everyone so convinced that I won't stay?"

  "Will you?" Shaun challenged.

  His anger deflated quickly, and he sank down onto the sofa. "I don't know."

  The truth was he'd never intended his visit to Fairweather to be anything other than temporary. And while finding out about Carly made him want to stay, there were other factors to consider. Not the least of which were the questions and concerns raised by Detective Brock's recent phone call.

  He'd hoped Parnell's quest for revenge had been satisfied by the bombing in Texas, but the loss of two more lives in Maryland suggested otherwise. Until Colin knew for certain that the danger was past, he couldn't promise to stay. He wouldn't stay if his presence could endanger Nikki and Carly.

  "I do know that I want to get to know my daughter," he said.

  "But?" Shaun prompted.

  Colin shouldn't have been surprised that his brother could read him so well. Still, it wasn't easy to voice what was on his mind. "But … what if she hates me?"

  "She's not going to hate you."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I know her."

  Although he knew it wasn't intentional, Shaun's response put Colin firmly back in his place—on the outside of the cozy little family scene Nikki had created. For the four-and-a-half years of her existence, the only family Carly had known were her mother and Shaun and Arden. Now Colin was back in town and demanding to be part of his little girl's life, and for the first time, he thought he understood some of Nikki's reluctance to let him in.

  The understanding, however, did nothing to lessen his resolve.

  "She thinks I'm her uncle, too," Colin told his brother. "And I'm thinking it might be easier to let her believe that."

  "She needs her father," Shaun said.

  "But…" The single word was all he managed, as a lifetime of doubts and insecurities jumbled together in his mind.

  "What?"

  Colin shook his head. "I've never really been good at anything. Except hockey. And I even managed to blow that."

  "How can you blame yourself for the injury that ended your career?"

  "If I'd gone to college, I might have had something to fall back on."

  "Ah." There was a wealth of understanding in that single syllable. "I never thought you paid too much attention to anything the judge said."

  "I tried not to," Colin admitted, "but it's hard to block out something that you hear so many times."

  Shaun nodded. "I found something in the attic that I thought might interest you."

  "What?"

  His brother pointed to the box Colin had almost forgotten was there. Now his curiosity was piqued. "What is it?"

  "Open it."

  He pushed to his feet, an odd sense of expectation raising goose bumps on his flesh. He pulled the dusty box to the edge of the table and folded back the top flaps to reveal an array of carelessly packed trophies. He couldn't imagine where his brother had found them. He'd thought all the mementos from his hockey career were in storage in Texas.

  His fingers wrapped around the gold-colored figurine atop an imitation marble pillar. He pulled it from the box, only then realizing that the figure depicted was a goal-tender. Colin frowned and glanced down at the engraved brass plate at the base of the trophy.

  Richard MacIver—Fairweather Falcons

  Colin was stunned. "The judge played hockey?"

  "He didn't just play. He was an all-star." Shaun reached into the box and withdrew an old scrapbook. He opened the cover carefully. The pages of the book were brittle and yellowed with age. "These clippings date back to his first year playing Select."

  Colin took the book. He didn't recognize the child in the picture, but the caption said it was Richie MacIver, goalie for the Fairweather Falcons.

  "Richie?" His lips curved. "Who would ever have guessed that His Honor Richard MacIver was once a little boy called Richie?"

  "I was as surprised as you are," Shaun admitted.

  "I can't believe he kept all these things," Colin said. He felt as if he was trespassing, but he couldn't stop thumbing through the pages, desperate for some insight into the man who'd been his father. A man he'd barely known.

  He pushed the book aside. "If he played, why couldn't he understand how much it meant to me? Why didn't he show any interest?"

  "I think he did understand. Too well." Shaun reached past him to flip to the end of the scrapbook. "I think he was afraid of how much you loved the game."

  Colin stared at the headlines.

  Falcons Goaltender Out for Play-Offs.

  He skimmed farther.

  Richard MacIver, the Falcons starting goaltender and their most promising draft prospect, will miss the rest of the postseason as a result of an unfortunate accident in last night's close contest against the Madison Mustangs. MacIver, a highly touted prospect for the upcoming NHL draft, suffered a broken arm when one of his own teammates fell on top of him as MacIver scrambled to cover a loose puck at the side of the net. The Falcons won the game and will advance to the semi-finals, but MacIver won't be behind them.

  Colin didn't want to feel any empathy or grief for Richard MacIver, but the surge of emotion was instinctive, inescapable.

  "Why…" He cleared his throat. "Why didn't he ever tell us about this?"

  "I don't know."

  As much as Colin wished he'd known, he wasn't surprised that the judge hadn't shared this part of his past with his sons. There wasn't much that he had shared. "I always thought he and I had nothing in common. I envied you so much—the bond you shared with him."

  "And I envied that you were so independent. You always did your own thing, without seeming to need or want his approval."

  Colin had wanted his father's approval desperately, he'd just refused to admit it. "I wished I'd known about this before he died. Now it's too little too late."

  Shaun nodded. "He should have told you a long time ago. But that doesn't mean you have to make the same mistake."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You and Nikki."

  "How does this—" he gestured to the array of mementos "—relate to my situation with Nikki?"

  "It's about regrets," Shaun said. "About finding out the truth too late to change things. It's not too late for you and Nikki. Talk to her. Work things out."

  "Why do you care whether Nikki and I work things out?"

  "Because I care about both of you. And Carly."

  Colin packed his father's trophies back into the box. "I'm so afraid of failing her."

  It was hard to admit his fear aloud, but he knew he needed to talk about his concerns. He needed to know that he wasn't going to screw up Carly's life by wanting to be a part of it.

  "Failing who—Nikki or Carly?"

  "Both."

  "Why do you think you would?"

  "Because I've never been good at relationships. Any kind of relationships."

  "Do they matter to you?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you'll make it work," Shaun said confidently.

  Colin sighed. "I already screwed up with Nikki once." He sank down on the sofa, propped his feet on the coffee table.

  "You both made mistakes."

  "What if I'm more like him—the judge—than I thought? Nikki once said I had the same dedication to my career that he did."

  "I don't think that was a criticism. She admired that you didn't give up when you were told you couldn't play hockey anymore. She was so proud of you when you got th
e offer to coach in Texas."

  Colin remembered. Just as he remembered that it was Nikki's support and encouragement that convinced him to take the chance on a new job. He wasn't sure he could have done it without her. And yet, when he'd made it—when he finally got where he wanted to be—he'd turned his back on the woman who'd believed in him.

  "I don't want to be like the judge," he said fervently. "I don't want to neglect my family for my career."

  "Then don't."

  Colin wasn't convinced that it was that simple, especially after Nikki's comment about his obsession with hockey. He'd often referred to his father's job as the same thing, and he'd wondered if he would have been better off without a father than with one who showed no interest in him.

  Even now, knowing why his father was so opposed to his choice of career, he couldn't forgive that indifference. And he wondered if that was why Nikki had thought he wouldn't be interested in their child.

  Well, as soon as he confirmed that Nikki and Carly weren't in any danger because of his presence, he was going to prove otherwise.

  On Saturday, needing a reprieve from her uncertain thoughts and chaotic emotions, Nikki allowed herself to be persuaded to spend the afternoon with Carly and Arden at Shaun's house.

  An avid swimmer, Carly was thrilled to be able to spend the day at Uncle Shaun's pool, and she was already unbuckling her seat belt as Nikki pulled into the driveway behind Shaun's Lexus. As if he'd been watching for their arrival, Shaun came around the side of the house, dressed in a pair of tan cargo shorts and a plain white T-shirt.

  "Uncle Shaun!" Carly launched herself into his arms.

  He scooped her up and swung her over his head. "How's my favorite girl?"

  "Good."

  "And how are my other favorite girls?" Shaun asked, turning to smile at Nikki and Arden.

  "Ready to relax and unwind," Arden answered for both of them.

  "The pool's open." He set Carly back on her feet.

  "Can I go swimming?" Carly asked her mother.

  "If Auntie Arden goes with you," Nikki told her, removing the cooler from her trunk.