“It’s done. It’s fine. There’s a delivery arriving this afternoon.”
“She said something about you having a chef to help out?”
“Summer Costello. Declan’s sister. She’s staying with me at the moment. She’ll help me with everything.”
Dermot Logan looked impressed. “I remember her. Fine girl.” His shrewd look saw right through Nick. “You always had a thing about that girl.”
He had. He did. And there was no point in denying it. “Yes. I always liked her.”
“So? Is there romance in the air?”
A couple of hours ago he’d known the answer to that question. But now? “I don’t know, Dad. Do me a favor, play the whole thing down with Mum, will you?”
*****
Fella stood up and trotted into the hall a minute before the front door opened.
“I’m in here!” Summer clicked the plastic top onto the container she’d just filled with her special cranberry and orange sauce.
Nick strode in. “Sorry I’m so late—there’s no such thing as a quick cup of tea at my parents’ house.”
She walked over and hugged him. Just because she could. “What time do we have to be there?”
“We have about an hour.” He puffed out a breath. “I’m exhausted.”
“So, is everyone there?”
“More or less. My brother Finn and his wife live in Dublin so they’ll be there. But my brother who lives in New York isn’t coming after all—blaming the pressure of work.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “So of course, there was much discussion about staging an intervention. It’s not as though Adam is a drinker or a druggie, he’s just in love with the wrong woman.” He scowled. “I don’t know why Mum and Amy think they have to go and get involved. They should just leave the poor sucker alone.”
His relaxed mood of earlier seemed to have evaporated. “Why don’t you have a nap or something? I’ll wake you up.”
“I don’t want a nap.” His eyes were bleak. “How about sex?”
There was something off. His mood was unreadable, and he’d never been so matter-of-fact about making love with her before. “Sex sounds good.”
She thought she knew his every mood, but this was a new one. Nick didn’t want to talk, didn’t tease her or smile as he peeled her clothes from her body the moment they were inside the bedroom.
“Is everything okay?” she whispered the words, desperate to know how she could get the old Nick back. The old, carefree lover she’d begun to fall in love with.
“Fine.” His gaze was shuttered—he was keeping something from her. Words wouldn’t cut through the wall he’d erected, but maybe touch would.
She shoved her hands under his heavy sweater, and stroked his hard abs. Leaned back a little so he had room to strip it off his tee-shirt. Then her hands went to his belt.
He’d pleasured her so many times, but she’d never tasted him—he’d never let her.
“Summer.” He grasped her upper arms, but she wouldn’t be diverted.
“Let me. I want to.” She undid his jeans, and shoved them down. The outline of his cock pushed against the soft cotton of his trunks, so with one hand she freed him, sliding from base to tip with a firm grip.
“Shit.” He groaned.
Before he could reach for her again, she dropped to her knees and took him into her mouth. Her hands wrapped around the back of his thighs, a tremor went through her fingers. She licked, she sucked, she stroked him with her tongue, feeling the sweet sting of victory as his hands buried themselves in her hair, holding her close.
He couldn’t hold back, and she didn’t want him to. Her nipples peaked in the chill air of the bedroom, and wetness flooded her at the noises he made.
Her hands tightened around his thighs as she took him deeper than she ever would have thought possible.
“I can’t…” He flexed.
Her head moved back and forth, faster, faster.
Until he couldn’t hold back any more.
Afterwards, they curled up together in the big bed.
“You kill me, do you know that?” Nick’s arm tightened around her. “I don’t have any control where you’re concerned.”
His hand smoothed down her back, across the curve of her hip. “What’s happened between us is crazy. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and in a couple of weeks you’ll be gone. Back to your life. I’ll miss you.”
It felt as though a boulder was lodged in her throat, blocking words. “What if I didn’t go? What if I stayed?”
“You can’t.” Nick’s tone held a note of finality. “I know that, and you do too. You’re an award-winning chef with a Michelin-starred restaurant. A woman with a glittering career. What could you do in Brookbridge, work in the coffee shop?” His laugh was harsh. “I’d love you to stay, but I couldn’t ask you to give all of that up.” His mouth brushed the top of her head. “We never planned any of this, and for good reason. There are a thousand reasons why we can’t be together.”
He pulled away and threw back the blanket that covered them. “We should get ready to go.”
Tell him. Now. It was the perfect time. The only moment. And yet she stayed silent. Revealing that the restaurant was gone now, when she’d let so many opportunities pass her by, would be wrong. What they had couldn’t even be called a relationship—and announcing out of the blue that there was nothing binding her to London any longer, she was free and planning to move back to Brookbridge in the near future, would come across as a demand to take their relationship to the next level.
She couldn’t tell him like this.
She needed time before she made that sort of a commitment. She’d never wanted anyone as much as she wanted Nick, but…
“Are you getting out of that bed, or do I have to come in and drag you out?”
Chapter Sixteen
Ellie Logan was in her element. She fussed around everyone, welcoming Summer and Fella into the family with open arms—and dog treats. “He’s gorgeous.” She rubbed Fella’s ears. “When Amy told me you’d adopted a dog I managed to get to the local shop to buy him something—if you’d let me know earlier, I’d have got a bone from the butcher’s for him.”
“He doesn’t need a bone, Mum.”
“He should have one. It’s Christmas.” She leaned down and spoke to the dog. “Shouldn’t you, Fella? I’ll get you one.”
It was almost as if the dog understood—his tail wagged like crazy, and he panted with his mouth open.
“He’s smiling.” Ellie straightened, smiling herself. “He’s lovely.”
Summer had been dragged off by Nick’s father to be introduced the other members of the family.
Ellie leaned close. “So, what’s the story with you and Summer?” Her eyes were bright. “I like her a lot.”
“You’ve only just met her.” Nick glanced around, looking for a savior to rescue him from his mother’s laser-like attention. A die-hard romantic, Ellie was always trying to set her children up with someone or other, and the pool of single Logans was a rapidly shrinking one.
“Well?”
He’d already told the story of how he’d met Fella—which of course included how he’d discovered Summer alone in her parents’ house. “I couldn’t leave Summer up there in the house alone without electricity.”
“Of course not.” Ellie patted him on the back, in very much the same way as she’d petted the dog. At least she didn’t add “Good boy,” although she was doubtless thinking it.
“And Declan asked me to look after her—to make sure that she didn’t spend Christmas alone.” He crossed his fingers at that one.
“Isn’t she living with a man in London?”
It seemed nothing would deflect his mother’s determined digging for the truth. But which truth to tell? The story Summer’d spun to her family, which he’d believed false up until he’d seen Michael at the airport—or the story she’d told him, that they were over?
Split second decision. “That’s over. I think Summer’s re-eval
uating her life at the moment.”
“No better time to do it than at the end of the year.” Ellie nodded. “She can start the new year fresh.” She stood up straighter as the front door opened. “Ah, here’s Finn and Val!” Leaving a waft of Chanel in her wake, his mother shot across the room in search of new blood.
Finn’s wife, Val was a photographer, and she’d come armed. Her Nikon hung around her neck, and within moments, Ellie was organizing photographs.
Summer wandered over. “There’s an awful lot of your family, aren’t there?”
“Not really.” Growing up the house had always been full to bursting. Friends of the Logan children were always welcome, and Ellie and Dermot’s friends gravitated to the house where the kettle always seemed to be on the boil, and a fresh, warm, loaf of bread always ready to be sliced.
His parents were so gregarious they always had people over. Most of their nieces and nephews popped in regularly if they were in the area, and they had a wide circle of friends. But the best time of the year for both of them was Christmas, when every Logan was encouraged to come home from wherever in the world they’d settled.
“I guess I’m used to it.” Nick looked down at Fella who sat at his feet. “I’m surprised he’s not more freaked-out.” He peered closer. His mother was right; the dog was definitely doing his best to smile.
“Right. You three.” Ellie bore down, her hand curled around Val’s arm.
“Hi, Val.” Nick kissed her cheek. “This is Summer, and Fella. How are you?”
“Good.” Val smiled back. “Busy.”
“Now, squash in, with Fella between you.” They obediently shuffled close.
“Arm around her.” Ellie directed. “Say cheese.”
They did as she asked while Val snapped away. Glanced at each other, smiling wide.
“That’s great.” Ellie looked around the room. “Dermot!” Grabbing Val’s arm again, she set off across the room to her husband.
“I’ll send you a link,” Val called over her shoulder.
*****
“Val and I arranged the table like this deliberately,” April Logan, wife of Matthew, confided. Across the table, the three Logan brothers sat shoulder to shoulder. “They should be appreciated in triplicate—don’t you think?” Humor glinted in her eyes.
“Oh, definitely.” Summer hadn’t had so much fun for years. Both April and Val were so easygoing, it was easy to like them. And she was right—individually Nick, Matthew and Finn were devilishly good looking, but together…they were enough to give a woman a heart attack.
She didn’t know Matthew, but Finn had been such a flirt he’d been impossible to forget. He was younger than her, younger than Nick, but he’d blazed through the female population of Brookbridge like a comet. Before he met Val at a speed-dating event and became a one-woman man.
“They are very good looking,” she whispered to April.
“You’re welcome.” April passed over a bowl of mashed potatoes. “Just remember, if you’re ever in charge of the table settings, this is the way we like to do it.”
“Understood.” She took the bowl, helped herself, and passed the bowl on to Val on her left.
“So, what do you do, Summer?” Val asked.
“I’m a chef.”
“Thank God for that.” Val passed the bowl of potatoes down the table, and reached for a bowl of carrots. “You’re here on Christmas Day?”
Summer nodded.
“I’ve never eaten anything Nick cooked—we’ve all been wondering how on earth he was going to manage producing anything edible—and I’m not much better. Matthew’s the best cook of all of them.”
“I’m sure he can’t be that bad…” In her experience most people could cook if they had the right recipe, and followed it. “I’m not letting him off the hook by being here, I’ll just supervise.”
Val leaned close. “I think he lives on baked beans.”
A memory of Declan and Nick seated at her mother’s kitchen table with plates of beans on toast flashed in Summer’s memory. Maybe Val was right…
“He did order a turkey. And it was the right weight.” Across the table, she caught Nick’s eye and smiled.
Everyone was eating, drinking, talking. The three Logan brothers were delivering a triple whammy of hot, but she only had eyes for Nick. He’s by far the hottest.
“Did you say something?” Val leaned near.
“Jesus, did I say that out loud?” Summer’s hand went to her heated cheeks.
“You did.” Val grinned. “As long as you were talking about your Logan and not mine, you’re safe.”
My Logan. If she believed in Santa, she’d ask for her Logan for Christmas. “Well, I’m not sure he’s mine, but I was talking about Nick.”
Val surveyed Nick across the table with shrewd eyes. “Oh, I reckon he’s yours alright. You’ve hooked him; you just need to reel him in.” She reached for the bottle in the center of the table. “More wine?”
After dinner some members of the family drifted to the sofas next to the fireplace and began to play charades, while others stayed at the table, deep in conversation.
Summer’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen surreptitiously under the table—Michael. Again. She bounced the call, and a moment later it rang again.
She rejected the call.
“I’ll just let Fella out for some fresh air,” she said to Val.
If she didn’t call him back, he would doubtless ring again. And the last thing she wanted was to have a conversation with her ex while Nick was within earshot.
So she called him.
“Summer. Thank God. Where the hell are you?” His voice was shrill—demanding. “I’ve been trying to track you down for days.”
“I don’t think my whereabouts are any of your concern, Michael.”
“You’re in Ireland.” Satisfaction in his tone. “I know that much. I had to ring five of your friends to discover that you had gone home for Christmas. I flew out today and drove all the way up that bloody mountain to find the house empty.”
What? Summer swiped her tongue over her dry lips. “What are you talking about?”
“I flew over to see you. I can’t believe you didn’t let me know the restaurant is up for sale. You should have told me.”
He was unhinged. Delusional. “You and I are history; I didn’t have to tell you anything. You made your feelings clear when you asked me to move out.” Her hand was clenched tight, the tips of her nails digging into her palm. She opened her fingers wide and tried to calm down. “I don’t want to see you. I suggest you go straight back to the airport.”
“Where are you?”
“None of your business.”
“Summer.” He spoke her name, soft and pleading. A tone that once upon a time would have forced her to listen. Not anymore. “Please. I need to talk to you. I’m in the Brookbridge Hotel. Just an hour. Give me an hour of your time. You owe me that.”
She owed him nothing, but curiosity spiraled through her. “I can’t tonight.” She blew out a breath. He was stubborn—there was no way he’d leave before he had seen her. She could rise early in the morning, get it over with…”I’ll meet you tomorrow morning. One hour. No more.”
“I’ll be waiting.” He hung up.
She shoved the cell phone into her pocket and went inside.
*****
Nick had watched from across the room as Summer checked her phone a couple of times. He knew who’d be calling. It had to be Michael.
She’d stood up, made some excuse, and headed into the kitchen.
He should just leave her alone—let her make the call in private, if that is what she intended. But instead, he excused himself from the group around the fire, and followed.
She was outside the back door, illuminated by the light that came on automatically anytime anyone went into the garden. Fella was sniffing around the perimeter. As Nick suspected, she was talking on the phone.
He couldn’t make out the words, but she d
idn’t look happy.
Frustrated, Nick strode to the wine rack and pulled out another couple of bottles of red.
The door opened. “Ah, there you are.” He forced his voice to sound casual. “I was just getting…” He held up the bottles.
“I was letting Fella out.” She avoided his eyes. Made no mention of the phone call. Then she walked to his side and linked her arm through his. “So, are we playing charades?”
“I guess.” If she’d been talking to Michael, she should tell him—should be honest. But forcing her into a corner wasn’t his style. Maybe she needed a little time—he could give her that. “We’ll make our excuses in an hour or so—I don’t know about you, but I’ve just about reached saturation point.”
*****
The following morning, Summer parked outside the Brookbridge Hotel and then strode inside. Michael was sitting in the lobby, nursing a cup of coffee. The moment he saw her, he stood up and waved.
As if they were friends.
Every step toward him was like a step into the past.
He didn’t fit here at all. His skin was lightly tanned from his regular sunbed sessions. His black, Hugo Boss suit fitted him to perfection, and he wore a dark pink paisley tie with his expensive white shirt. His shoes were so shiny; she bet if she peered closer she could see her face in them.
As she came closer, his hands came up as if to touch.
Hers came up too, palms first, in a don’t-even-try-it gesture.
“Darling.”
She arched a brow.
“Let’s talk in my room.”
She shook her head. “Here will be just fine.” She sat on one of the leather tub chairs and placed her hands one over the other in her lap. “What is it, Michael?”
She was prepared for him to beg. For him to demand she came back to him and forgave him for throwing her out. But his next words shocked the hell out of her.
“You remember Marlon?”
Marlon White. Michael’s wealthiest client. The man she’d wined and dined both at their home and at Summer’s Kitchen. She liked Marlon, but they had never been friends.
“Of course.”
“He told me Summer’s Kitchen was for sale.” Michael’s mouth tightened. “It was damned humiliating to have to admit I knew nothing about it.” He glared at her as if he expected an apology.
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