by Lisa Kleypas
“Did either of them ever try to get help?”
He shook his head. “Even if one of them had, it’s almost impossible to get sober when you live with another alcoholic.”
The conversation had acquired a sense of carefulness, boundaries being tested, tricky territory.
“They were always that way?” Lucy asked.
“For as long as I can remember. As the kids got old enough to leave in turn, we got the hell out of there. Until only Alex was left. And now…”
“He’s an alcoholic?”
“I’m not sure where to draw that line. But if he hasn’t crossed it yet, he will soon.”
No wonder he was afraid of commitment, Lucy thought. No wonder he had a problem with relationships that went beyond the physical. Having one parent as an alcoholic was enough to ruin a family. The children would always have to be on guard, dealing with constant manipulation and abuse. But when both of them were drinkers … there was no safe place. No one you could trust.
“With your parents’ issues,” Lucy asked, “did you worry about getting into the wine business?”
“Not at all. Just because my parents were drunks doesn’t mean I can’t love wine. Besides, I’m not as much of a winemaker as I am a grape grower. A farmer.”
Lucy was privately amused. With his laid-back sexiness, wearing those dark aviator sunglasses, Sam couldn’t have looked less like a farmer. “What do you like most about being a grape grower?”
“It’s a mixture of science, hard work … and a touch of magic.”
“Magic,” Lucy repeated, staring at him closely.
“Sure. A vintner can grow the same kind of grapes in the same patch of soil, but it turns out differently every year. The flavor of the grapes tells you about the soil composition, how long the sun shone, how cool the nighttime breezes were, how much rain fell. It’s the unique expression of a place and a season. Terroir, the French call it.”
Conversation was momentarily interrupted as the waitress brought their entrees and refilled their water glasses. As lunch continued at a leisurely pace, Lucy found herself relaxing and enjoying herself even more than she would have expected. Sam had a way of focusing on a person that was immensely flattering, especially to a woman with a bruised ego. He was smart, self-deprecating, and so charming that she could easily have been lulled into a false sense of security.
But she could not let herself forget that he was the kind of guy who would find his way past your guard, take what he wanted, and convince you that it was what you wanted as well. He would run you in circles, put mileage on you, and then go on to his next conquest without a backward glance. And you wouldn’t be able to complain, because he hadn’t put up a pretense of being anything other than what he was.
Eventually the waitress brought the check, and Sam put his hand over Lucy’s as she began to reach for her bag. “Don’t even think about it,” he told her, and gave the waitress his credit card.
“Friends can go Dutch,” Lucy protested.
“It’s a small price to pay for the pleasure of your company.”
“Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I’ve had a wonderful time. In fact, I’m in such a good mood, I don’t think anything could spoil it.”
“Don’t jinx yourself.” He knocked on the table.
She laughed. “Are you superstitious?”
“Of course. I’m an islander. I was raised on superstition.”
“Such as?” Lucy asked, entertained.
“The wishing stones on South Beach. You know about those, right? No? People are always looking for them. Smooth stones circled by white bands. If you find one, you make a wish and throw it into the sea.”
“Have you done that?”
“Once or twice.”
“Did your wishes come true?”
“Not yet. But wishes don’t have expiration dates.”
“I’m not superstitious,” Lucy said. “But I do believe in magic.”
“So do I. It’s called science.”
“I believe in real magic,” Lucy insisted.
“Like what?”
Before Lucy could answer, she caught a glimpse of a couple entering the outside seating area. All the color drained from her face. “Shit,” she whispered, the glow of well-being fading rapidly. A sick feeling rushed over her. “You were right. I jinxed myself.”
Following her gaze, Sam saw Kevin and Alice. He frowned and reached for her nerveless hand. “Look at me, Lucy.”
She dragged her gaze to his and managed a bleak smile. “There’s no way we can avoid them, is there?”
“No.” His grip was firm and reassuring. “There’s no need to be scared.”
“I’m not scared. I’m just not ready to deal with this yet.”
“How do you want to play it?”
Fixing him with a desperate stare, Lucy made a spontaneous decision. “Kiss me,” she said urgently.
Sam’s eyes flickered with mild surprise. “Right now?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of kiss?”
“What do you mean, what kind of kiss? Just a regular kiss.”
“A friendly kiss, or a romantic kiss? Are we supposed to be going out together, or—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she exclaimed, and pulled his head down to hers.
Eleven
Sam responded without hesitation as he felt Lucy’s small hand grip the back of his neck. He had wanted her all during lunch, fascinated by her prickly vulnerability, the way her smiles never quite reached her eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way she had glowed when she’d talked about her work, her fingers unconsciously stroking a sheet of glass as if it was a lover’s skin.
He wanted to take Lucy to bed and keep her there, until all the wary tension was gone and she was soft and satiated in his arms. Needing to taste her, Sam increased the pressure of the kiss and touched the tip of his tongue to hers. The glassy softness aroused him instantly, filling him with hard-charging heat. Her body was fine-boned but strong, not quite yielding to his. That hint of resistant tautness made him long to grip her, force her close until she was molded against him.
Realizing the public display of affection was going to spiral out of control—at least on his part—he broke off the kiss and lifted his head just enough to look into her dazed green eyes. Her porcelain skin was infused with color. Her breath struck his lips in hot surges, teasing his senses.
Lucy’s gaze shifted. “They’ve seen us,” she whispered.
Still absorbed in thoughts of what he wanted to do with her, Sam felt a surge of annoyance. He didn’t want to deal with that pair of idiots, didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to do anything but take his woman to bed.
A warning chill raced through him. His woman…? He’d never thought such a thing in his life. He was not the possessive type. The need to claim one particular woman, to insist on exclusive rights to her, was just not in him. And it never would be.
So why the hell had he made such a slip?
He slung an arm around Lucy’s shoulders and turned to face Kevin and Alice, who wore near-comical expressions of dismay.
“Nolan,” Kevin said, not quite able to look at Lucy.
“Pearson.”
Awkwardly Kevin made an introduction. “Sam Nolan, this is my … friend, Alice.”
Alice reached out a slender arm, and Sam shook her hand amid a clatter of stacked bracelets. She was as fine-boned as Lucy, with the same rich dark hair. But she was matchstick-thin and angular, teetering on high-heeled cork wedges, her cheekbones as prominent as guardrails. A heavy application of makeup had left her raccoon-eyed and disconcertingly shimmery. Although Sam was predisposed not to like Alice, he felt a touch of sympathy. She gave him the impression of a woman who was trying a little too hard—a woman whose insecurity was revealed by her zealous efforts to conceal it.
“I’m his fiancйe,” Alice said in a brittle tone.
“Congratulations,” Lucy said. Although she was trying her best to look ins
crutable, hurt, anger, and vulnerability chased over her features in quicksilver progression.
Alice looked at her. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”
“I’ve already talked to Mom about it,” Lucy replied. “Have you set a date yet?”
“We’re looking at the end of summer.”
Sam decided that was enough conversation. Time to end it before any fireworks started. “Good luck,” he said briskly, urging Lucy with him. “We have to be going.”
“Have a nice lunch,” Lucy added in a monotone.
Sam kept Lucy’s hand in his as they left the restaurant. A weird, distant expression had appeared on her face. He felt somehow that if he let go of Lucy she might wander off somewhere in a daze, like an abandoned shopping cart rolling through a grocery store parking lot.
They crossed the street and headed in the direction of the art studio.
“Why did I say that?” Lucy asked abruptly.
“What?”
“‘Have a nice lunch.’ I didn’t mean it at all. I hope they have a terrible lunch. I hope they choke on it.”
“Believe me,” Sam said dryly, “no one thought you meant it.”
“Alice looked skinny. Not happy. What did you think of her?”
“I think you’re worth a hundred of her.” Sam switched places to walk on the curb side.
“Then why did Kevin—” She broke off with an impatient shake of her head.
It took Sam a moment to answer. Not because he had to think of a reason—he already knew why. But Lucy had the damnedest effect on him, provoking odd rushes of tenderness and liking and a nameless sort of something … he didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t like it.
“Kevin went for your sister because he feels superior to her,” he said.
“How do you know that?”
“Because he’s the type who needs a dependent woman. He has to be the one in control. He was attracted to you for obvious reasons, but it was never going to work out long-term.”
Lucy nodded, as if that had confirmed something she’d already thought. “But why rush into marriage? When I talked to Mom, she said that Alice had lost her job recently. So maybe Alice doesn’t know what else to do. But that doesn’t explain why Kevin’s going along with it.”
“Would you take him back?”
“Never.” A desolate note entered her voice. “But I thought he was happy with me, when he obviously wasn’t. Not great for the ego.”
Sam stopped at the street corner and turned her to face him. He would have loved nothing more than to take her back to the condo and show her a few of his ideas about how to restore her wounded ego. As he looked down into her small, sensitive face, it occurred to him that this was something new in his experience … an attraction that seemed to gather momentum from the weight of each second he spent with her.
But how much would he have hurt her, when it was over? With amused self-derision, Sam realized that his instinct to seduce her was equally matched by the desire to warn her away from him.
Smiling slightly, he lifted his hand to trace the delicate edge of her jawline. “You take life seriously, don’t you?”
A frown tugged between her brows. “How else am I supposed to take it?”
Sam grinned. Using both hands, he turned her face up and brushed a slow, soft kiss against her lips. Her skin was hot, the throb of her pulse a swift, strong tattoo against his fingers. The contact, limited though it was, aroused him more than it should have, faster than he could have anticipated. Lifting his head, he struggled to moderate his breathing, to will away the gathering ache of desire.
“If you’re ever interested in a meaningless physical relationship that’s heading absolutely nowhere,” he told her, “I hope you’ll let me know.”
They walked in silence until they reached Lucy’s art studio.
Lucy paused at the threshold. “I’m interested in the condo, Sam,” she said carefully. “But not if it’s going to lead to a difficult situation.”
“It won’t,” Sam said, having just come to the conclusion that as much as he wanted to have a fling with Lucy Marinn, there was no way it could end well. He offered her a friendly smile and a brief, platonic hug. “I’ll get the information from Mark, and call you.”
“Okay.” Drawing back, Lucy gave him an uncertain smile. “Thanks for lunch. And even more for getting me through the first encounter with Kevin and Alice.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “You would have gotten through just fine on your own.”
“I know. But it was easier with you there.”
“Good,” he said, and smiled at her before leaving.
* * *
“It’s crooked,” Holly announced in the morning, entering the kitchen.
Sam looked up from pouring a bowl of cereal. “What’s crooked?”
The child turned around to show him the back of her head. She had asked Sam to arrange her hair in two ponytails, a painstaking process that began with drawing a perfectly straight part down the back. The ponytails could not be too low, too high, too loose, or too tight. Usually Mark was recruited to do Holly’s hair, since he had the knack for doing it the way she liked. But Mark had spent the night at Maggie’s house, and was uncharacteristically late getting back that morning.
Sam examined the part at the back of Holly’s head. “It’s as straight as a cat’s tail.”
She gave him a mildly exasperated glance. “Cats’ tails aren’t straight.”
“They are when you pull them,” he said, and gently tugged one of her ponytails. He set the bowl of cereal on the table. “You’re going to be late for school if I have to redo it.”
Holly heaved a sigh. “I guess I’ll have to go around like this all day.” She tilted her head at a compensating angle.
Sam laughed, nearly choking on a swallow of coffee. “If you hurry through breakfast, we might have time to fix it.”
“Fix what?” came Mark’s voice as he entered the kitchen. He went to Holly and knelt by her chair. “Good morning, sweetheart.”
Her arms went around his neck. “Good morning, Uncle Mark.” She kissed him and pressed a grin against his shoulder. “Will you fix my hair?”
Mark gave her a sympathetic glance. “Did Sam do it crooked again? I’ll take care of it. But first eat your cereal while it’s still crunchy.”
“How’s it going?” Sam asked, while Mark emptied the coffeepot and strainer basket. “Everything okay?”
Mark nodded, looking weary and perturbed. “Great dinner with Maggie last night—everything’s fine—we’re just trying to figure out some tricky scheduling.” He paused, his dark brows drawing together. “We’re trying to set the wedding date. Maybe move it up a little. I’ll tell you more later.”
“Why the rush?” Sam asked. “It’s not like there’s a time limit on your engagement.”
Mark filled the tank of the coffee machine. He slid Sam a guarded glance. “There is, actually.”
“I don’t get it. Why…” Then it hit him. Sam’s eyes widened. “We’re talking about a nine-month time limit?” he asked gingerly.
A slight nod.
“Is Maggie going to have a baby?” Holly asked around a mouthful of cereal.
Mark turned away and swore quietly, while Sam gave Holly an incredulous glance. “How did you know what I was asking?”
“I watch the Discovery Channel.”
“Thanks, Sam,” Mark growled.
Sam grinned and gave him a back-slapping bear hug. “Congratulations.”
Holly leaped from her chair and bounced up and down. “Can I help take care of the baby? Can I help name it? Can I have a day off of school when it’s born? When’s the baby coming?”
“Yes, yes, yes, and we don’t know yet,” Mark said. “Sweetheart, is there any way we can keep this private for a little while? We’re not at the point where Maggie wants to start telling people yet.”
“Sure,” Holly said brightly. “I can keep a secret.”
Mark and
Sam exchanged a rueful glance, knowing that everyone at the elementary school would know by day’s end.
After Mark had dropped Holly at school, he came back to find Sam staining the newly installed wainscoting in the living room. The smell of the stain, a dark walnut color, packed a hefty punch even though Sam had opened the windows to provide good ventilation.
“Don’t come in unless you want a buzz,” Sam said.
“In that case, I’m definitely helping you.”
Sam smiled quizzically as Mark entered the room. “The news was a shock, huh? You two weren’t planning on this?”
“No.” Sighing, Mark sat beside him and picked up a paintbrush.
“This wainscoting’s a son of a bitch to stain,” Sam said. “You have to get it into all the grooves. So how did you react when Maggie told you?”
“One hundred and ten percent positive, of course. I told her it was the best news ever, and I loved her, and everything’s going to be great.”
“So what’s the problem?” Sam asked.
“I’m scared shitless.”
Sam laughed quietly. “That’s normal, I guess.”
“My biggest worry is Holly. I don’t want her to feel shoved aside. I wanted some time to focus on her, for me and Maggie to do things with just her.”
“I think Holly needs just the opposite,” Sam said. “I mean, hell, Mark, she’s had the two of us—and sometimes Alex—focused entirely on her for a year. The poor kid could probably use a break. With a baby coming into the picture, Holly will have some company. She’ll love it.”
A doubtful glance. “You think so?”
“How could she not? A mom, a dad, and a baby brother or sister—a perfect family.”
Mark worked the stain into the wainscoting. A couple of minutes passed before he could bring himself to admit what was really bothering him. “I hope to God I can be good enough for them, Sam.”
Sam understood. When you came from a family as dysfunctional as theirs, you had no idea how to do things. There was no template, no trove of memories to call on when you needed to know how to handle something. You wanted a guarantee that you wouldn’t somehow end up like one or the other of your parents. But there were no guarantees. There was only the hope that if you did everything the opposite of how you were raised, maybe things would turn out okay.