by Leanne Banks
* * *
Two hours later Olivia parked her overwrought body in a plastic orange chair near the front desk in the emergency waiting room. She wished she could park her mind. Her head was spinning. Since she couldn't get inside Clarence's house to get her clothes, she was wearing an old sweat suit a relief worker had given her. She had no idea where she would sleep tonight, let alone next week. Then there was the matter of her Western Civilization exam today.
Every other minute, she felt a slice of panic. She could have died in that fire. She might very well have died if Nick Nolan hadn't pulled her out. Thanking him was incredibly insufficient, as was offering him a ride home, but of all the things on her mind, Nick Nolan was on top.
He'd been hurt because of her. Her stomach twisted at the thought. She took a deep breath and couldn't help overhearing the conversation between the two admitting clerks.
"He's Richmond's studmuffin of the year, and when the press gets word of him rescuing his neighbor, the women will go after him like a cat after cream."
Olivia's attention was first caught by the words "rescuing his neighbor." Then the rest of the woman's words filtered through her mind. "'Studmuffin of the year'?" she echoed under her breath.
"The other lawyers don't call him studmuffin," the older admitting clerk said with a sniff. "Most of what they call him shouldn't be repeated. My brother is a bailiff and he told me that when lawyers find out they're going to be facing Nick Nolan, they don't go to court without putting on athletic cups."
Olivia felt a jolt of surprise.
"That man would be hard to handle, maybe impossible."
"Yeah, but it sure would be fun to try."
"Here comes the wounded warrior, now. Stop drooling."
Still digesting the conversation, Olivia watched Nick walk through the emergency waiting room with gauze-wrapped hands. She took a moment to look at him. There was almost a ruthless edge to him now, she thought, so very different from the boy she'd known on Cherry Lane
. Tall, with broad shoulders and a lean, muscular frame, he projected power and strength. The strength appealed to her. The ruthlessness made her wary. The powerful image was amplified in the chiseled bone structure of his face. His stubborn jaw, intent gaze and posture emanated a masculine confidence that bordered on intimidation.
She could tell this man was no longer bullied into anything. She wondered if he could tell her the secret. Olivia had dealt with bullies, often unsuccessfully, during her entire life.
Refusing to bow to her own feelings of intimidation, she made herself stand a little straighter in the oversize sweat suit. "I thought you could use a ride home," she said.
His gaze met hers and he hesitated a second before he slowly nodded. "Thanks. I was just about to call a cab."
"It's the least I can do," Olivia said, leading the way to her car. "You did save my life." She glanced at the slight bump on his nose and winced. "My track record's not very good with you. This is the second time you were hurt while rescuing me."
He briefly touched his nose with his bandaged hand, then shot her a wry glance. "The first rescue was a turning point for me, and the fire wasn't your fault."
She opened the passenger car door for him and watched him fold his long legs into her economy automobile. She paused, looking into his eyes. "I'm very sorry about your hands."
He met her gaze for a moment, then glanced down at his bandaged hands and frowned. "Apology accepted. It'll be more of an inconvenience than anything. Who knows? Since I'm not one for random acts of kindness, maybe this will be the one thing that keeps me out of hell."
Humor, but no softness, Olivia thought, and concluded once again that the man was totally different from the kid she'd known. Although she was bursting with curiosity during the drive to his house, she kept her questions to herself when she watched him close his eyes. On impulse, she rode though a drive-thru window and bought a biscuit and coffee for him. When they arrived at his two-story home, he struggled with the key and she took it from him. She opened the door, and he swore colorfully. Olivia couldn't blame him. Bulky from the bandages, his hands were nearly useless. "How long do you have to wear the bandages?" she asked.
"A week or two," he nearly growled, then added, "Thanks for the ride and breakfast."
She could tell he would rather chew nails than ask for help. "I'll just take your newspaper and the bag into your kitchen." Passing through the spare formal foyer, she followed him to the kitchen. In a corner of her mind, she noted the neatness and lack of clutter. Neat freak, she thought with a trace of snooty disdain and grudging envy. It was her opinion that by nature of their personalities, neat freaks missed out on some of life's funniest serendipitous experiences. They also, however, always knew where their car keys were.
It wasn't her mission to help Nick Nolan have fun, she reminded herself. Tossing the paper onto his kitchen table, she glanced at the picture and caption on the front page. "'Prominent Attorney Saves Neighbor,'" she read out loud. "'Recently named Bachelor of the Year by Richmond Magazine, prominent attorney Nick Nolan rescued his neighbor from a burning—'"
Nick scowled. "Just what I need. I've already had to get an unlisted number because of that Bachelor of the Year bull, and—"
The phone rang. Olivia looked at Nick as he glared at the phone.
"Would you like me to answer it?" she asked after the fourth ring.
"No," he said. "If it's important, I'll get a page."
"Why don't you sit down and eat the biscuit, and I'll scoot on out the door? Do you have any oversize plastic bags?" she asked, pulling open the drawers.
"Top left drawer. Why?"
Olivia found them and pulled two out. "Because they'll protect your bandages." She quickly unwrapped his biscuit, put the oversize plastic bags on his hands, and stepped back. Feeling his curious, brooding gaze, she wished she were wearing something other than a borrowed, baggy sweat suit. Something along the lines of Christian Dior. Or armor. She stepped back and mustered a smile. "There you go."
"What are you doing in Richmond, Olivia? College?"
Surprised, she nodded. "Yes, how did you know?"
He took a bite of his biscuit, then his gaze briefly swept over her again. "Lucky guess. Clarence usually rents to college students."
Olivia fought her recurring twinge of self-doubt about college. A twinge was far better than a mountain, and she'd worked hard to whittle her lack of confidence down to a twinge. "I got a scholarship. I love my classes, but it's been a long time since high school, and it's a little tougher than I'd planned."
"You'll get back into it. What have you been doing since high school?"
"Styling hair in Georgetown."
He chuckled, and Olivia blinked. It was the first expression resembling a smile she'd seen cross his face.
"Why am I not surprised?" Nick murmured. "Didn't you butcher your dolls' hair when you were a kid?"
"I didn't butcher," she corrected him as he finished the biscuit and gingerly lifted the coffee. "That was an early design phase. Pre-genius," she said tongue-in-cheek. "What about you? An attorney. You go after the bad guys?"
He took a quick sip of coffee and his smile faded. "I like to think so. Others would debate it."
"'Others' being the ones you've beaten in court."
"Yeah, I guess."
Complex, she thought, strangely drawn. Fascinating. His gaze gave the impression he could burn through the bull to the heart of a person, to the heart of a woman. Her heart gave an inexplicable trip. "Mighty Warrior Commando or Evil King of the Underworld?" she asked, referring to the days when they'd traded comics.
"Depends on the day," he told her. "I do what it takes to win."
Again she admired, even envied, his confidence. What kind of woman would he choose for his pleasure? she wondered. A cool, sophisticated, undemanding blonde, she imagined, and smiled to herself. If so, she was safe.
He cocked his head to one side, studying her. "That amuses you?"
Not q
uite, she thought, and felt her cheeks heat. "I was just thinking about Warrior Commandos. I should let you get some rest," she said. "Is there something I can do for you?"
He shook his head and stood. "Where are you staying?"
"I haven't really decided. The emergency services rep mentioned a couple of shelters."
"A shelter," he repeated in a quiet voice that oozed disapproval.
Olivia registered his slight frown and a secret part of her marveled at his control. All the men in her life had only known one volume for revealing their negative emotions. Loud. Backing away, she shrugged. "It's not a big deal. It'll just be for a few—"
"Stay here," he said.
He issued the invitation or order in such a reasonable tone, as if he wasn't a man who would be dangerous to any woman. Olivia stumbled, and Nick reached out to steady her, grimacing as his bandaged hands connected with her shoulders. She fell against his chest.
Upset that he'd hurt his hands trying to break her fall, she pulled back. "You've got to stop doing this rescue thing with me," she told him. "I've fallen lots of times before and gotten back up just fine. Staying at a shelter for a—"
"I didn't pull you out of that fire for you to stay at a shelter," he told her.
"I can't believe you're this protective on a regular basis," she said, wishing her heart rate would settle down.
"You're right. I'm not. Consider it a latent Warrior Commando urge. Stay here—" He broke off when the phone rang. "When you're not in class, maybe you can break the damn phone."
After those final words, he strode out of the room. With the phone ringing like an annoying song that never ends, Olivia watched him climb the stairs and couldn't help thinking that Nail 'em Nick Nolan couldn't hide the truth from her. He'd grown into a Warrior Commando.
She was safe with him. Wasn't she?
* * *
Chapter 2
« ^ »
"You say you know there's a dozen women already calling him, but you want to be at the front of the line," Olivia said in a voice laced with amusement. "Actually, it's more than a dozen, but I'll be sure to give Mr. Nolan your message. 'Bye now."
From just outside the kitchen, Nick watched her hang up the phone. He hadn't rested long. His hands had kept him awake, and he resisted taking the pain medication that would send him on a long trip to lala land. Nick guarded his privacy and solitude fiercely, so he wasn't sure what had possessed him to insist Olivia stay at his house. It must have been some insane protectiveness left over from childhood.
It had nothing to do with seeing her naked or rescuing her last night. Nothing, he told himself. When he took a second glance at Olivia's baggy sweat suit, however, he remembered the way her bare curves had gleamed with oil under her bedroom light. The sweat suit, he thought, should be buried.
"That's number seventeen," she murmured, clearly unaware of his presence. "I wonder if he's setting some kind of record."
Nick bit back a groan. "Not by choice."
Olivia jumped, and swiveled around to stare at him through the bangs that fell over her eyes. "I didn't know you were downstairs," she said, her gaze softly reproving. "I thought you were still sleeping."
"I don't need much sleep," he told her. Good thing, he thought, since he had more than his share of insomnia.
"Hands hurting?"
Dismissing the pain, he shrugged. "Who left the messages?"
She flipped through several sheets of paper. "Four local television stations and three radio stations want interviews. The rest were women with—" she cleared her throat "—assorted requests. Starting at the top. Kathleen, Melissa, Joan, Jennifer, Becky, Camille, Amy, Janece, Helen—"
"Helen," Nick said. "You can toss the others. What did Helen want?"
She glanced at him curiously. "Helen Barnett. Oh, she was the one with a sense of humor. She just said for you to call after you get some rest. Nothing urgent." She bit her lip as if she were fighting a grin. "Ms. Barnett suggested I tell the rest of today's callers to order a pizza from China. They would get a quicker response."
He gave a short laugh. "That sounds like Helen."
"Her number is—"
"I know her number."
"If you need me to dial it, I can," Olivia offered.
"She's on speed dial."
Olivia's eyebrows shot up. "Oh."
"Helen's probably one of the most important women in my life," Nick admitted, and waited half a beat for that to sink in. "She's my secretary."
Olivia blinked. "Oh."
Watching her changing facial expressions was so entertaining it almost distracted him from the pain of his hands. "You thought there might be some romantic involvement."
Olivia lifted her shoulder in discomfort. "Well, after all the calls I took from women who want to—" she pursed her lips together, looking as if she were searching for the right words "—terminate your bachelor status, I thought perhaps…" She muttered, then shrugged again. "I hate to think Kathleen, Joan, Jennifer, Amy and all the rest are pining in vain."
"They'll get over it," Nick said, walking toward the kitchen. "That kind always does."
"'That kind'?" Olivia said, following him. "What if one of these women is your dream woman?"
Nick snorted in disbelief. "I don't have a dream woman," he said. "I don't have time."
Silence followed, and he glanced at her, expecting a lecture on the importance of love and romance.
Instead she nodded slowly. "I can understand that. Romance isn't a priority with me right now, either."
Surprised, he cocked his head to one side. "Your priority is school."
"Yes."
"But wouldn't you secretly like Prince Charming to come along so you don't have to go to school?" he asked, having repeatedly heard the common fantasy.
She smiled sweetly. "No. I would secretly like to graduate magna cum laude," she said in a husky voice that made his nerve endings ripple.
"What if your dream man comes along?" he continued, because she wasn't exactly what he expected.
"Good things come to those who wait," she said, then grew serious. "I want equal ground with any man when there are lifelong vows involved."
"This wouldn't have anything to do with beheaded Barbies, would it?"
She laughed. "Some," she conceded. "My father was hard on Butch. He had a tough time growing up. Difficult brother," she said.
"He was a difficult human being," Nick muttered. "Out of morbid curiosity, I wonder what he's doing now."
"He works in a nursery."
"With children?" Nick asked, appalled.
"Trees," Olivia said, a smile flirting with her lips again. "He's married and has three daughters."
"Outnumbered by four females," Nick said. "Justice at last."
"He's a little protective of his family, but I think his bullying days are mostly over." She studied him carefully. "When are you going to take your pain medication? You're hurting."
He shook his head. "Not that much."
She stepped closer and lifted her fingers a half breath from his face. For some reason, he held his breath. Her scent was both clean and sultry. He thought of the oil and felt his gut tighten.
"You keep doing mini-winces with your eyes. Let me get you some water," she said, turning toward the counter.
Uncomfortable with her help, he frowned. "No. I haven't decided to take it yet."
She turned around to look at him. "You're not one of those martyr types, or one of those men who thinks it's better to suffer?"
"It will knock me out for hours," he said.
"Isn't that the idea? I don't blame you for being grouchy," she said with a smile of understanding. "Your hands are bothering you."
A nurturer in a siren's body. If she were a little less emotional and a little more worldly, he might be in trouble.
"Some people think I'm always grouchy," he said.
She lifted her eyebrows. "They must not know you very well. Maybe you need a girlfriend, after all."
&nbs
p; He felt impatient with her confidence that he wasn't a grouch. For all she knew, he could have grown into an ax murderer. He could tell she wanted to believe the best of him, and the knowledge bothered him at the same time it soothed him. "Are you volunteering to be my girlfriend?" he said to goad her.
He saw surprise, then a slight flicker of sensual assessment in her dark eyes before she quelled it. "I think you have more than your share of volunteers," she said in a smoky voice, then turned away and filled a glass with water. "Take your medicine. You want to sleep. You know you do," she said with a witchy smile.
When he looked at her mouth, he thought of all the ways she could use it to pleasure a man. Nick swallowed an oath. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Maybe he did need some sleep.
"I'll take the medicine," he said, "and call Helen before it has a chance to kick in. The doctor said if I take two of these, I shouldn't be feeling pain or anything else for a while."
As soon as he swallowed the pills, he pushed the speed dial for Helen and discussed the crisis du jour. This time, the opposition was trying to play musical chairs with the court dates. He studied his calendar and made a compromise.
"What a nice guy," Helen remarked with surprise.
"I'm just letting him pick the day he's going to die," Nick said with a slight grin.
He continued the conversation with some notes on a new client. Within minutes, though, he started to feel fuzzy.
At the beginning of his call, Olivia listened to the tone of his voice. It took her a few moments to identify what she heard. Passion. Nick had a passion for what he did. She had frequently heard that having a passion was one of the secrets to success. She wondered how Nick had discovered his passion. She wondered if she could learn something from him.
Watching him, she could tell the moment the medicine took affect. Nick rubbed his eyes with his wrists, then shook his head from side to side. Shifting around, he rested his head against the wall and began to nod in response to his secretary's conversation. Olivia waved her hand in front of his face.
He blinked, took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his bandaged hand over his face. "I gotta go, Helen. The light's about to go out. Page me if there's an emergency. I'll check in later." He dropped the phone into the receiver, then stood stiffly.