But Lilly just looked at her, one brow high with skepticism.
"I guess I needed a reason to keep from putting my heart on the line." She certainly hadn't offered any compromise. She'd been as stubborn as he had. It had been her way or the highway, too. She hadn't even told him she loved him. Had barely let herself realize it. When he'd asked her to go away with him, she'd slammed the door to the idea. The truth was, she was grateful to have her work crisis as an excuse. Why else hadn't she driven to his boat and made love to him and worked out a way to be together right then?
"It's not just you, Miranda," she said. "Nick knew how important your work was to you. He could have given a little."
"But work isn't everything." She needed love, too.
"So take your own advice. What did you tell me? 'If you love each other you can find a way'?"
"Yeah. Sounds like me."
"Call him. I'll go order another shipment of rose petals," Lilly said, and marched off.
Miranda stood there thinking, riveted to the floor of her lab, frozen in front of her charred oven. Could she risk it? If Nick loved her, yes. But did he? He was so stubborn he might not admit it. She couldn't call him. Too humiliating. She had to see his face. She'd have to get past his pride to what he really felt. She had to get his attention, test his feelings. And she thought she knew exactly what would do the trick.
"Don't you get enough of cooking at Ricardo's?" Charlie asked him, swigging a long-neck while he watched Nick pour the perfectly blended chocolate mixture into the miniature soufflé pan.
"I'm trying out something new. You should be grateful."
"Grateful? I'll have pans I've never heard of to clean up after this. Why don't you take that offer and stay?"
Ricardo had told him he was planning on opening a second restaurant and offered to make Nick head chef.
"I'm not sticking around long enough for that," he said, shaking his head. Strangely enough, the idea had had a definite appeal. Charlie must have picked up on his enthusiasm.
"Come on, pal. I know you. You don't want to sail away. You think you have to on principle. Because of Miranda."
"Not true," he said, shaking his head firmly.
Charlie muttered something about peas in a pod, then spoke up. "You know what your problem is?"
"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."
"You've got to give people a break. Being a cop makes you hard. That's what my Mary taught me, God rest her soul. Everybody's not a perp in the making, my friend."
"I know that."
"Just stop being an ass and admit you love her. Give a little. She's waiting for you to say the word."
"Miranda? I don't think so."
"Oh, yeah. She told me."
"She what? She said that?" He slopped a little chocolate onto the counter. His heart thunked in his chest. What a sap he was.
"Not in so many words, but the woman misses you so much she practically burned down the Palm View. Talk about a cry for help."
"Oh, for God's sake, Charlie." His heart resumed its normal rhythm and he slid the pan carefully into the oven. "Everybody doesn't get a soul mate like you and Mary. Miranda Chase is in another world. One where I don't belong. I already went through that once with Debbie. I'm not doing it again. I could never please her. She'd try to change me."
Charlie caught his eye with a look.
"Okay, okay." Miranda wasn't like Debbie. He knew that. But she'd kept poking at him that time, tried to tell him he didn't want to leave, that he wasn't a simple guy. She'd nag him to improve himself, put on a suit, buy some stocks. She wouldn't be able to stop herself.
He was better off out of this. Better off leaving. "Let's dig into that Chilean sea bass. I tried a new stuffing."
Charlie sighed, crossed himself as if he was about to enter combat and tromped back to the dinette. The man had no appreciation for the finer things in life. At least Miranda had valued his cooking. But you couldn't make a life out of good meals and good sex. God help him, but sometimes, late at night on his now-lonely boat, he was willing to try.
The next day, he picked up his mail at the dock and started flipping through it. Circulars, a letter from the dockmaster in Ensenada. And a linen envelope emblazoned with the frilly logo of Chase Beauty addressed to him in Miranda's hand. He ripped it open, his heart thudding in his chest. It was a short note: "Your ticket to the Sea of Cortes." Wrapped in the note was a check. A huge check.
Even though he'd told her he didn't want her money. Damn the woman. She'd never heard a word he said. She was trying to help him, or she wanted to get rid of him. Either way, she was wrong. He'd never take her money, no matter how much he wanted to leave. He started to tear up the check, then he stopped.
He'd tell her what he thought of this. He'd tell her she couldn't buy everything she wanted. And then he'd tear up the check. In her face.
As he stomped to the Jeep, he got madder and madder. All the while, he tried to ignore the hunger to see her that hummed in his blood.
Charlie was away from the desk parking cars when he arrived, so he headed for the elevator. He'd surprise her. One last time. He was about to knock on her door when he heard scuffling sounds. Was something wrong?
The door was unlocked. He ran down the hall toward the noise and found Miranda in the kitchen kneeling on the chest of a skinny teenager, drowning him with the water sprayer. Splattered on the floor—and all over the kid—was some green glop.
"Cut it out!" the kid said, choking.
"How dare you break in here again!" she said, still squirting.
"I brought … phft! Phew! … the stuff back." He coughed and gasped.
"What's going on?" Nick said.
Miranda looked up at him. "Nick!" Relief filled her face. "This is Thad Tims, the rat who stole my formulas and broke into my safe."
"Get her off me, man," Thad pleaded. "I brought back the stuff. Look in the pack."
Seeing she had control over the kid, Nick went to the backpack a few feet away, opened it and found a tangle of jewelry and a pile of gold coins.
"You brought stuff back?" Miranda asked, releasing the sprayer trigger.
"All but a couple hundred bucks," Tims said, spitting out water. "Now get off me."
Miranda slowly slid off his chest.
Tims swiped at the green goo still in his hair. "What is this crap?"
"That's one-hundred-fifty-dollars' worth of chamomile stress pack."
"Well, it stings," he said. "Call me an ambulance. I need treatment."
"Relax. It'll purify your pores. Though it can't do a thing for your conscience."
"Help me, man," the kid said, looking pitifully at Nick.
"Listen to the lady," he said, trying not to burst out laughing.
"Are you telling me you want to make good on your crime?" Miranda asked Tims.
"Sort of."
"Because if you do, maybe we can work something out."
"Well, I—"
But Miranda didn't wait to hear what he had to say. She was spinning out her idea—a community service project at the Palm View that included walking Dexter, carrying bags, taking some of the burden off Charlie. Nick's heart melted at her spunk, her spirit, her fire.
He couldn't let this lady go. If for no other reason than just to see what the hell she'd do next.
Being around her made him feel alive. Away from her these weeks he'd been a dead man walking. She reached him where he didn't think he could be reached. His life would be empty without her. He hadn't missed the important things about her. He knew them all … to his soul. If this crazy world of cosmetics was what she wanted, then he'd come along for the ride.
Maybe he had been running away from a world that had disappointed him. What did it hurt to have hope like Miranda did? If an occasional look through rose-colored glasses got Miranda back in his life, then he was on it. Because one thing he knew for certain—without Miranda he had no chance of happiness at all. He could sail the world and all he'd be was lonely.
When the police arrived to collect the kid, he looked almost grateful to get the cuffs on and leave.
After they were gone, Nick walked close to Miranda. "I can't believe this," he said, faking a frown. "I leave you for a few days and I come back to find you beating up defenseless burglars again."
"Sorry," she said, grinning from ear to ear.
"Don't be sorry. I think you should consider a career in law enforcement."
"That's your specialty," she said, her eyes bright as she looked at him. He could see she was glad to see him. That was a start.
Now what? He didn't have time to figure it out, so he just said what was on his mind. "I love you, Miranda. And I can't live without you."
"Nick!" Miranda started to throw herself into Nick's arms out of sheer joy, but she stopped when he held up his hands.
"Hold it. We've got some things to work out first."
"Sure. Whatever. Anything." Her plan had worked. She knew everything would be fine.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out her check. "Like this." He ripped it in half. "Bad idea. I don't want you flashing your money around me. I pay my way. No one keeps me."
"I know."
"You know?"
"Why do you think I wrote the check? It was bait. If you came back to yell at me, then I knew we had a chance."
"You set a trap for me?"
"Absolutely. I learned from the master. Besides, you're too stubborn for anything else to work."
"I'm too stubborn? What about you, lady?"
"I admit, I've been a bit forceful about my opinions, somewhat overly firm."
"You mean pigheaded?" But he was grinning.
"Hold on. You're not exactly Mr. Flexibility."
"Okay, okay. Let's not start arguing again."
"You're right. We're both stubborn, so let's make that work for us." She took his hands and led him to the sofa, where they sat, knee to knee. "Remember when you said that you thought I'd be indomitable about love?"
"Yes."
"You're right. I was just afraid, I guess, to believe you really loved me, and I buried myself in work to stay safe. But now that I know you love me, I'll do whatever I need to do to make this work."
"Really?"
"Really. And I have a plan."
"God, no," he said, crossing himself, his dark eyes alight with amusement and love, "Not another plan." Then he perked up. "Unless there's a closet involved … and maybe one of those teddies…"
"Stop it. I'm serious. The way I see it is that we've both got to compromise a little. First of all, I may have been too harsh about you thinking Theo and Lilly were the culprits. As a cop, you're trained to look for the bad in people, so I have to understand—"
"No, you were right. I have been kind of sour on things. Charlie pointed that out to me. Maybe getting almost killed scared me more than I wanted to accept. And losing Debbie the way I did didn't help my faith in people. So, I may have been too quick to assume the worst."
"You're agreeing with me? Oh, my God." She touched his forehead to see if he had a fever.
"Not so fast. Your brother is still an ass."
"Granted, but he's still my brother and I love him."
"As long as I don't have to. Miranda—" he took her hands and looked into her face, his eyes the open, warm brown she remembered from the boat "—I'll never put on those rose-colored glasses of yours, but you can describe what you see through them and I promise to keep my heart open."
"Oh, Nick," she said, cupping her hands around his strong face. The tears in her eyes made his face waver before her. "And I'll try to be more realistic about things." She brushed away her tears. "Now, about my cosmetics… I know it's frivolous to you, but—"
"It's part of who you are, I know. I respect that."
"Good." She breathed a sigh of relief. "And I know that sailing is part of who you are, too."
"Right, except I've decided that—"
She couldn't let him interrupt her or they might start arguing again. "I figured out that once I get things under control at Chase, nothing says I can't work from the Pacific. I'd just need more space."
"Miranda, listen—"
"I don't mean you'd have to sell Nick's Lady. Maybe just expand the kitchen area."
"You don't expand a boat, Miranda." His eyes twinkled and he was clearly fighting laughter.
"Okay, how about a second boat then? Something with both our names on it. Nick and Miranda's Home Away from Home, something like that?"
"That's no name for a boat. It'd cover the damn hull. Listen—" He put his fingers over her lips. "I don't need to sail away to be happy, Miranda. I just need you. We can take trips—long trips—but I'm staying here. Ricardo's offered me a chef position in his new restaurant. Who knows, after I've learned the business I might open my own."
"How wonderful, Nick. I'm sure we could get financing for you and—"
"Uh-uh. I make my own way, Miranda."
"Of course. I just mean … I'm so happy … you're staying. That's so wonderful." She wanted to say everything at once.
She studied him, his face warm with love and adoration and finally felt all right. Gone were her doubts about what made a good man for her. He was right here on her sofa.
"Now, there is one thing that I insist on," Nick said.
"What's that?"
"We're getting married on Nick's Lady. At sunset."
"Getting married? Just a minute." Her heart pounded high in her throat. "You're forgetting something, Nick."
"Not negotiable," he said firmly. "I'm already doing a lot of things your way, putting up with cosmetics everywhere and, I'm pretty sure I'll be testing out more of your men's nonsense, and—"
She put her finger to his lips. "Shut up, you big lug. I just mean you forgot to ask me."
"Ask you what?
"To marry you, remember? And to swear your undying love, all that … junk."
"Oh. Right." Blush pinked his rugged features. "I see your point." He cleared his throat. Then with elaborate care, and with a wince because of his sprained ankle, he slid off the couch, lowered himself onto one knee and took her hands in his. "Miranda. I love you with everything I've got. You're all the woman I want. I want to be the all the man you need. Will you marry me?"
The knot in her throat was so tight she couldn't speak.
"So say yes, for God's sake," he hissed, wincing. "You're killing me here."
She nodded and blinked away tears. "Yes," she said, and threw her arms around him. Then she said the words she'd been afraid to admit even to herself but now felt as real and true as the heart beating in her chest. "I love you, Nick."
And then they kissed, long and slow and glorious as a night sail on the lake, and Miranda knew they'd find a way to blend their lives into the perfect formula forever.
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LIPSTICK ON HIS COLLAR Page 17