by Debra Dixon
“You’ve got twenty minutes to sell me on this shindig of yours. But I’m telling you straight out, the station has already slotted more public-service programming and PSAs than last year. I’m going to take some convincing.”
“Well, it’s really Mercy’s party,” Nick said. “I’m just sort of coming along for the ride. She can explain how the station can help much better than I can.”
For all his grizzly-bear posturing, Dan Harris, the station manager, was a pushover. Nick enjoyed watching Mercy play him like a two-bit piccolo. The meeting lasted far longer than twenty minutes and ended with a handshake and his promise to “get behind the project in every way possible.”
“That was painless,” Nick commented as soon as they were out of earshot of Dan.
“I told you it would be”—she allowed a little pride to creep into her voice—“if we did it my way.”
“Let’s hope the meeting with Kentucky Parents will be as easy,” he cautioned, tossing out the baited hook.
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“Because they’re a volunteer group.” Wiggle the hook and see if she’s interested.
“And …”
She’s interested. Keep it casual Don’t scare her off.
Nick rubbed the back of his neck as though he were perplexed by a huge problem. “I called them first thing this morning, but it looks like we’re gonna have some trouble getting everyone on their board together. The president’s a very busy family-law attorney.”
“I’d guess custody would have to come before charity.”
Wait and let her take the bait, Nick cautioned himself. “Yeah. Her schedule during the day is pretty tight for the next month.”
“Well, mine’s not.” Even in such a short time, Mercy knew she had invested too much effort in the project to let little details bog it down. “If they’re willing to help, the least I can do is make myself available whenever their board can meet.”
Hook, line, and sinker! Time to reel her in.
“Good. I thought you’d feel that way.” Nick checked the time on his wristwatch. “I didn’t think the meeting with Harris would last this long. We’ve got to get moving if we’re gonna make it across town in time.”
At his cryptic words, suspicion clanged noisily in Mercy’s head. She should have known that Nick was up to something. He’d let her off much too easily today considering how they’d parted last night, and now she knew why. All along he’d had Plan B waiting in the wings. Bracing herself, she asked, “In time for what?”
“Dinner. Our meeting with Susan Alastair, the busy attorney, and the Kentucky Parents board.”
Mercy stopped before they reached the door to the reception room and crossed her arms. “You’ve scheduled a meeting without even checking with me?”
“Yeah. I’m a nineties kind of guy. I have opposable thumbs and an independent thought process. Let’s go.
Pulling away from his extended hand, she told him, “Maybe I have plans.”
“What happened to ‘I’ll make time’?”
“Maybe I made plans before I said that!”
Nick frowned and decided that jealousy was a forgotten emotion that he didn’t particularly care to recollect. Her blue eyes held his, but their depths didn’t offer the slightest hint as to whether she was bluffing or if she really had someplace to go. Someone to go to.
“Do you have plans?” he asked bluntly.
When she hesitated, Nick made a frustrated snort and rolled his eyes. “I’m not asking you to endure torture, just dinner. Mon Dieu! We won’t even be alone. There’ll be four other people, one of whom is a peace cop … a police officer. If I try anything funny, you can have me arrested. So do you have plans or not?”
“No. Not really,” Mercy admitted. As soon as that smug, confident smile lit up Nick’s face again, she wished she’d lied. Not that lying would have done much good. He always seemed to be able to tell.
“Good.” He nodded in relief and approval. “We’ll go in my car.”
“No!” Going with Nick to dinner felt too much like accepting a real date. Separate cars would be a better idea. “You don’t seriously expect me to ride in that loud, dangerous, adolescent contraption? You said no torture.”
Nick pushed open the door to the reception area, which was empty now that quittin’ time had come and gone. As Mercy passed him he said, “I wasn’t aware it was torture to sink into leather seats and let your body soak up the vibration of power beneath you. It’s an experience, I’ll grant you. But not torture.” Nick slapped his forehead. “Aw, I forgot you’re not much on new experiences.”
Having endured enough shots to her ego in the last week and a half, Mercy whirled in the middle of the lobby, ready to fight. “Is there anything about me you do like? I mean, you’ve taken potshots at my plumbing, my dining-room chairs, my house, my lack of garlic, and you call me a coward every time I see you! It’s like you’re trying to get a rise out of me!”
“Seems only fair. You sure as hell get a rise out of me!”
“Oh.” Her lips formed the word, but she wasn’t sure she’d actually said anything until Nick replied.
“Yeah. ‘Oh’ is right. Now stop fighting me every step of the way and just accept that I want to jump your bones. It sure will make conversation a helluva lot easier. We wouldn’t have to argue about every little insinuation that way.”
“We wouldn’t have to argue at all if you’d forget about jumping my bones,” she snapped.
“That ain’t gonna happen, chère. And neither is anything else until you’re ready.”
Mercy togged the blue silk jacket closed over her white camisole-style blouse and tried to figure out if Nick had the patience of a saint or if this was a clever ploy. Irritably, she said, “The only thing I’m ready for is to get this dinner over with. You drive if you want, but you’d better not so much as break the speed limit.”
“Slow and easy, darlin’. On that you have my word.”
A shiver rippled through her body at his promise, but she ignored it. Silently, she walked out to Nick’s sleek, black Chevelle, but it wasn’t until she’d settled back into the seat and Nick turned over the engine that she knew she’d made a major tactical error.
EIGHT
Nick’s car assaulted her senses in a way that was purely sexual and impossible to ignore, much like the man himself.
She heard as well as felt the rumble of power created by the engine, the heart of Nick’s sleek machine. An incredible leather seat welcomed her body as though the spot had been made for her. Nick’s strong bronzed hands handled the stick shift and the steering wheel so sensually that Mercy was forced to lick her dry lips.
Before she made a fool of herself, she took her eyes off his hands and busied herself inventorying the contents of the front seat. A small wooden crate designed to hold cassette tapes balanced precariously on the console between them. Not surprisingly, Nick’s taste ran to hot, electric jazz, and zydeco, which she knew was Cajun soul music. On the dashboard lay an opened pack of cinnamon gum, confirming her suspicion that Nick liked everything hot—from gumbo to gum.
His preference for “hot” explained why he’d been attracted to Midnight Mercy, but not why he spent so much time with Mercy May, fixing her plumbing and screen door, walking her dog, and cooking dinner. Sometimes when he didn’t think she was looking, she saw that sadness he tried to hide. He said she made him forget. Forget what? The pain of losing his family? Being a stranger in a new city? The pressures of his career?
As they drove she admitted to herself that Nick’s career was an unresolved emotional issue rattling around inside her. Her logical brain reminded her of rule number three—never trust a doctor with your heart—and her heart told her the time had come to ignore rule number three. Looking at his incredible profile, Mercy tried to drum up some of her ingrained prejudice against doctors as companions, but she couldn’t.
Even if she disregarded the great biceps, smoldering black eyes, and killer Louisiana smile,
she could not manage to make herself think of him as a doctor. Nick Devereaux wasn’t like any doctor she’d ever met. In the last week and a half she’d spent more time with him than she had with her parents in four months.
If he was concerned about his reputation or image, he certainly didn’t show it. Despite his comment about making less money in emergency medicine than in some of the high-dollar medical specialties, Mercy knew he could still have afforded a prestige car if he had wanted one. Obviously, he hadn’t. Instead of a status symbol, he’d chosen to rebuild an old car that held fond memories of his youth.
He didn’t carry a beeper and hardly talked about medicine at all. He’d seemed detached that day in the emergency unit, yet she knew he cared deeply about the hospital and his patients. Why else would a doctor devote this kind of time to a hospital benefit? Why else would Sister Agatha approve of him? Whoa! Mercy cautioned herself. The man is not a saint. She’d better remember that this fund-raiser killed two birds with one stone for Nick. He was providing the hospital with a much-needed influx of cash and providing himself with a dandy reason to place himself squarely in her life now that she had committed to helping.
“You okay?” Nick asked, interrupting her reverie.
Startled, she looked up guiltily and said, “Fine.”
“Fine? I don’t think so. You’re too quiet for fine, Mercy,” he told her with a shake of his head. “Papa Jack said, ‘Never trust a quiet woman. It’s only the calm before the storm.’ ” Nick paused to negotiate a turn before telling her, “All that silence on your side of the car has got me scared about the storm you’re busy brewin’ over there.”
Mercy made a noise that was part laugh and part huff. “You’re not worried about any storm I might be brewing. I don’t think you’ve ever been scared by anything.”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong.”
“Oh, really? Then what scares a big ol’ hunk of man like you?” She angled a little bit to avoid straining her neck to see his expression. “Besides Sophie,” she said.
He grinned and answered, “Snakes.”
“Oh, come on. You don’t expect me to believe that. Every boy I ever knew loved icky, slithery things like snakes.”
“Well, I don’t. I hate ’em. Always have. Always will.”
Mercy was floored by the seriousness of his answer. He wasn’t teasing about this. “But you grew up surrounded by a swamp and snakes!”
“So? You grew up with doctors, and you hate them.”
“Touché.” Mercy winced at having left herself open for his verbal right hook. “You got me. If I can dislike doctors, you can dislike snakes.”
“Ah, chère, I don’t just dislike snakes. I absolutely hate ’em. Surprised the hell out of my mother early one September when she realized I’d been spending all my free time in the swamp.” He turned to watch her face as he said, “I mean in the swamp. Catching baby copperheads.”
For a moment Mercy just stared at him slack-jawed. Then she snapped her mouth shut and asked, “What in heaven’s name for? You said you hate snakes!”
Nick chuckled as he remembered his mother’s reaction had been similar to Mercy’s. “I was on a mission.”
“Why?”
“Baby copperheads grow up to be adult copperheads, and I was a helluva lot more scared of the adults than I was the babies.”
“You were crazy! Or stupid. Or both. Why would you want to catch them at all?” she asked, totally mystified by the convoluted logic of young boys. “They’re poisonous!”
“That’s exactly why I caught them. I thought I could eventually get rid of all the copperheads if I kept their young from growing up and reproducing.”
Mercy sat in awed silence for a moment, before she commented. “Of course, total annihilation. Why didn’t I think of that? Nothing else would do for Nick Devereaux. Didn’t it occur to you that besides being dangerous, getting rid of the snakes in a swamp was like trying to fill up a swimming pool with a thimble?”
“I was ten, chère. All I knew was somebody had to do something. It seemed worth a shot. I’ve always liked a challenge.”
Those last words were aimed at her, and Mercy felt her cheeks begin to flush with heat. “I believe you’ve mentioned that before.”
“I thought I’d mention it again.”
“No need,” she assured him primly. “I am very much aware that you’re an all-or-nothing kind of man. Black and white. No shades of gray. No holds barred.” Mercy changed the subject before he could reply. “How much farther to the restaurant?”
“As a matter of fact, we’re there. I mean here,” he corrected.
Nick smoothly pulled into the parking lot and mentally chewed on her opinion of him as he killed the engine. She’d nailed his personality all right. Black or white. All or nothing. He couldn’t have defended himself even if she’d given him the chance, because the woman was correct. He’d had years of nothing, and now he wanted it all.
A hostess led them through the dimly lit upscale Italian restaurant. Strings of tiny white lights, reminiscent of terrace al fresco dining, hung from the exposed rafters, and each table was covered with layers of starched white tablecloths that could be whisked away one by one as the tables were reset for new guests. Their party was the only group in a room filled with couples.
The hostess left them with the promise to send a waiter right over. Introductions were made in a round-robin fashion as Nick pulled out a chair for Mercy and apologized to the four people, “Sorry; our meeting ran longer than expected.”
“We really are sorry.” Light from table candles flickered as Mercy added warmly, “I hope all of you haven’t waited to order because of us?” She groaned as four heads bobbed in response to her question. “I feel terrible now! Will you forgive us if I tell you the meeting was worth every extra minute it ran over.”
A brunette whose voice sounded like a foghorn asked, “Does that mean good news?”
“The best. We’re in business. The station has agreed to give us the airtime and sponsor either a disk jockey or live music for the dancing.”
Murmurs of approval echoed from around the table as Nick took his own seat, between Mercy and Susan Alastair, the statuesque president of Kentucky Parents for Better Health. When he glanced around the table, he wanted to kick himself for being in such a rush to get Mercy settled. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry, he wouldn’t have pulled out the first available chair. He wouldn’t have plopped Mercy down right next to a man who was obviously either a single guy looking to get lucky or a married guy without a ring but with roamin’ in his eyes. Either way, Nick wasn’t happy about the situation.
Susan leaned forward, adjusted her stylish wire-rim glasses, and said, “Miss Malone, I’m sure I speak for all the board when I tell you that we appreciate your allowing us to participate in Ghouls’ Nite Out.”
“Please, call me Mercy. And don’t thank me, thank Nick. This fund-raiser is his baby.”
“It might be my baby, but it’s going to be a short pregnancy,” Nick announced firmly. “Mercy wants us to pull off this shindig by mid-August.”
“Wow. That’s quick,” uttered the man on Mercy’s left, and casually looped an arm around her chair. “But I want you to know that I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
His little speech sounded like the screech of a car alarm to Nick. Very deliberately, he caught the guy’s beady little snake eyes and stared him down, silently warning him that if he didn’t move that arm, he’d be wearing a cast on it. Under Nick’s watchful eye, the man—Paul, he thought—gingerly removed his arm and fiddled with his menu.
When the waiter appeared, Nick relaxed his vigil and stared at his own menu. Uncomfortably, he wondered if Mercy had noticed his slight slip into Neanderthal territory. She wouldn’t thank him for his macho display. No, Mercy wasn’t ready to admit he had the right to wine and dine her much less lay claim to her like some caveman.
In the absence of any pointed looks shot in his direction, Nick assumed he
was safe for now and breathed a small sigh of relief as he gave the waiter his order. After that, conversation and dinner were both served up at the speed of light. Nick enjoyed himself now that he was sure Paul, the overly friendly peace cop, had gotten the message about whom Mercy would be leaving with tonight. In fact, all he had to do was simply lean back in his chair and watch Mercy go to work.
She genuinely liked people, which made it easier for her to charm them into doing whatever she needed. And when people already wanted to help, it was like shooting fish in a barrel for someone with Mercy’s finesse. By the time dinner wound up, most of the details had been decided and delegated. The white tablecloth was speckled with red sauce, red wine, and assorted seafood-pasta sauces.
All of the board except Susan begged off dessert to head home to their children and spouses. When the commotion of departures had cleared, Susan and Mercy agreed to split one of the restaurant’s awe-inspiring concoctions of Kahlúa, pecans, and praline ice cream. When the dessert arrived, the three of them were chatting as comfortably as old friends. The women nibbled at the enormous dessert and ironed out a few inconsequential details while Nick glanced around the room, trying to figure out why he had that creepy feeling of being stared at.
He almost laughed as he realized that he was being enviously stared at by the men in the room because he happened to be enjoying dessert with two beautiful women. Little did they know that Nick would have been more than happy to share his good fortune as long as they didn’t expect him to share the dark-haired temptress on his left. While he might admire Susan’s style, she didn’t do a thing for his pulse rate.
On the other hand, looking at Mercy made him want to jump right out of his skin and into hers. Although she’d rather die than admit it, he suspected it was the same for her. She’d tried so hard to look completely different from Midnight Mercy today, but that thin white blouse she wore beneath her suit had been giving him fits for the last few hours. He wanted to know how the silklike fabric would feel beneath his hands as he caught a handful and tugged it out of her waistband.