by Day Leclaire
"I don't know," she said. "I'd hoped to see Nikki."
He grinned, a charming, boyish sort of grin. "I don't think this is a very good time to talk to her, do you?"
"I guess not." She studied him, finding bis gentle appeal impossible to resist. Besides, lunch might be the perfect opportunity to pump him for a little information. "Okay. Let's go."
"Great." Warmth gathered in his hazel eyes along with something else.... Masculine appreciation, she finally discerned with bemused astonishment. It had been so long since she'd experienced it, she almost hadn't recognized that sudden, explosive attraction. He reached for the doorknob, then hesitated. "I guess I should tell you that I used to be very attracted to your sister. Nothing happened, you understand," he added hastily.
She hid her amusement. "I understand."
"Besides, I just realized something."
"What did you realize?"
"That while Nikki's perfect for Jonah, she'd have been a bit much for me. Besides, she's a career woman and I'd really like a more traditional wife." A slow smile lit his gaze and he opened the door. "So tell me, Krista. How do you like children?"
She laughed. "Funny you should ask."
Nikki entered her office and banged the door closed behind her. Never in the twenty-eight years of her existence had she been so furious. And it was all due to one infuriating, impossible man.
Her husband.
She paced the office, trying to calm herself, struggling to regain control. It didn't work. Nothing worked—not staring out the window and counting cabs, not reorganizing her well-organized files, not even tidying her already-tidy desk. Only one thing would calm her. Grimly, she crossed to her office closet and dragged out a large carton. After removing a huge tarp from the top of the box, she spread it on the floor. It was followed by a whole array of equipment—a special blend of soil, fertilizer, gloves, snippers, atomizer, an assortment of ceramic pots and an apron. She laid everything out with military precision, then crossed to the window to gather up her plants.
They'd been given to her by various staff members, all of whom had one thing in common—black thumbs. She took pleasure in nursing the plants back to full health before returning them. As always when she worked with her plants, the fury of her emotions eased, dissipating until she was once again in control. She worked straight through lunch, happily repotting.
An hour later, she finished. Feeling much more relaxed, she rocked back on her heels and tossed her gloves onto the tarp. She nodded in satisfaction as she gathered up her supplies. Two of her specimens could be returned by the end of the week, she decided. And undoubtedly, there'd be several others to replace the ones she gave back. She made a mental note to sweep the office for more casualties. With Christmas fast approaching, she didn't doubt she'd be kept quite busy. Just as she finished cleaning up the clutter, the phone rang.
"Nikki Ashton," she said without thinking, then made a face. "I mean, Alexander."
"Nikki, dear. It's Selma."
"Hello, Aunt Selma." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled in genuine pleasure. "How are you?"
"Wonderful. Excited. In urgent need of advice."
Nikki brightened. "You know I'm happy to help."
"I know you are, dear. That's why we always call on you."
"So what's up?"
"Ernie and I have had the most delicious offer." Excitement bubbled in her voice. "Of course, we want to discuss it with you before we act."
Some of Nikki's pleasure faded. This didn't sound good. But then, Selma and Ernie's ideas seldom did. "Why don't you drop by the office tomorrow? Is noon convenient?"
"No, no. It has to be tonight. We're much too excited to wait any longer. Besides, time is of the essence. We'll come to your place."
Nikki straightened abruptly. "I don't think—"
"Krista says your apartment is gorgeous and we'd love to meet that new husband of yours. Shame on you for eloping, by the way, and doing us out of the pleasure of a big wedding." There was a delicate pause and then Selma asked, "What time, dear?"
Nikki thought fast. "How about six?" she suggested, unable to dream up a reasonable excuse for changing the venue.
"Six it is. See you then."
Hanging up, Nikki leaned back in her chair. It would work out, she attempted to reassure herself. With any luck, Jonah would work as late tonight as he had every other evening this week and she could meet her relatives without his interference. At least he'd better not interfere. Not again. Not when Aunt Selma and Uncle Ernie required such delicate handling.
She closed her eyes, tension creeping back. Maybe she'd better sweep the office for more plants right now. Why repot tomorrow when she could repot today?
"All we need to do is put up fifty thousand and we'll have the exclusive franchise," Selma said, clasping her hands together enthusiastically.
"But it's a limited-time offer," Ernie added. "If we don't get the money together by the day after tomorrow, we're going to miss the boat."
"This is one boat it wouldn't be such a bad idea to miss," Nikki muttered beneath her breath.
"What's that, dear?" Selma asked anxiously.
"A note. I didn't want to miss making a note of the date. The day after tomorrow," she repeated, writing Wednesday in large block letters. "And what's the name of this man who wants you to invest?"
"Timothy T. Tucker. Such a delightful man, isn't he, Ernie?"
"Really knows his way around numbers. Had our heads spinning. Why the way he has it figured, we can triple our investment in under a year."
Nikki tossed down her pen. "Uncle Ernie, even I can't do that."
He patted her hand. "Yes, sweetheart. We know. But we won't hold that against you."
"You do your best, I'm sure," Selma maintained stoutly. "We're all very proud of you."
Nikki groaned. "How did you meet this man? What do you know about him?"
"He walked into our coffee shop right out of the blue."
"A red-letter day that was," Ernie pronounced, folding his hands over his ample middle. "Looked around and knew right off we ran a profitable business."
"I'll just bet." Nikki scowled. He'd probably watched the flow of traffic, made a few quick calculations and decided the shop kicked off plenty of disposable income. Then he'd have asked a few questions of her naive aunt and uncle and... voilà. The birth of a scam. "Did you tell him about your mortgage?"
Selma looked surprised. "But we don't have one, dear."
"I know that, Aunt Selma. Does this Mr. Tucker know? Did you tell him?"
"I think we may have touched on it," Selma confessed. "But it was all very innocent. He was interested in opening a storefront in our area and wondered what the rent might run."
"Of course we had to admit we didn't know," Uncle Ernie inserted. "Since we own the property outright, we aren't all that knowledgeable about what rents go for these days."
"Why, if he's selling these franchises, does he need to rent a storefront?" Nikki questioned in exasperation.
"To interest people in buying the Miracle Box, of course."
"But that doesn't make any sense." Unfortunately, her aunt and uncle put little credence in logic and reason, much less common sense. "If you have the franchise to sell this box, why would he open—"
Selma reached over and patted her hand. "Don't feel bad, darling. We were confused at first, too. Dear Mr. Tucker was so patient with us, though. Wasn't he, Ernie?"
"Answered every one of our questions. Explained about the patents and our territory and made all that technical jargon sound quite sensible." He grinned proudly. "Why, I can talk about fax modules and cable companions with the best of them."
"So I see." Picking up her pen and pulling her steno pad closer, Nikki started jotting down notes. "Timothy T. Tucker. The Miracle Box. Fifty grand. Wednesday. I don't suppose you have his business card by any chance?"
"Sure." Ernie plucked it from his wallet and handed it over. "Must be doing all right for himself. Ca
rds of that quality are expensive."
"I wonder where he gets all that wealth?" Nikki asked, not the least surprised when they didn't pick up on her sarcasm.
"From ideas like the Miracle Box, I imagine," Ernie said thoughtfully.
"And how are you going to sell these boxes and still run your coffee shop?"
"Gordie and Cal are helping."
Nikki closed her eyes and sighed. She should have known her cousins would be involved. If it was an idiotic scheme and sure to cost a lot of money with little to no return, they'd be the first in line. Her aunt and uncle would be second.
"So what do you think?" Ernie asked anxiously. "May we have the money?"
"Not a chance," Nikki answered without thinking.
"Oh, Nikki. Please. It's not so much to ask. We really need the money, dear." Selma fumbled in her purse for a hankie, applying it to teary eyes. "If you won't do it for us, think of your poor cousins. It's an opportunity that will never come along again."
Nikki groaned. "I couldn't be so lucky."
"We have a CD coming due next week," Ernie reminded her. "Can't we borrow against that?"
"I have an investment lined up for that money already."
"What about our savings account?" Selma asked. "Isn't there enough in there?"
Nikki shook her head. "I thought you wanted that money so you could open up Ernie's Beanery 2."
"We can wait. Why, with the money we'll make selling—"
"No."
"But why?" Selma dissolved into tears. "I thought it was our money."
"It is," Nikki admitted uncomfortably.
"Then why can't we spend it the way we want?"
"You can," a new voice interrupted. Jonah stepped into the living room. "Can't they, Nikki?"
CHAPTER SEVEN
"No, they can't," Nikki retorted. "Stay out of it, Jonah. You don't understand."
"That doesn't come as any surprise." He tossed his coat and suit jacket over the arm of the couch and deposited his suitcase on the floor beside it. "I seem to have a knack for misunderstanding."
A hint of angry color washed into her cheeks, and her eyes flashed with violet warning. Jonah smiled in satisfaction. He knew what that meant. If he goaded her just a little more, she'd lose her temper as thoroughly as she had earlier that morning. He'd enjoyed their clashes over the past few weeks. He particularly enjoyed shaking her composure, watching as the icy facade melted enough to reveal the vibrant flame within.
"If you don't mind, I'm having a private discussion here."
"But I do mind, sweetheart. You haven't introduced us." Jonah approached and held out his hand, wondering who these people were and why they'd turned their finances over to his wife. "I'm Jonah Alexander, Nikki's husband."
"Ernie and Selma Crandell." They shook hands. "You sure are a busy man. We've been trying to arrange a little get-together ever since Nikki told us you two got married, but you've always had a schedule conflict."
"Is that right? I wish I'd known." Jonah glanced at his wife and said with deceptive mildness, "Sweetheart, you should have nagged me more. If I'd realized that your—" He broke off pointedly.
"Aunt and uncle," she whispered.
A deadly silence descended for an endless moment before Jonah picked up the slack. "If I'd realized your aunt and uncle had been serious about throwing us a party, I would have found the time."
"Well, since we missed out having you for Thanksgiving, perhaps we can make a try for Christmas," Selma offered tentatively. "Or do you have another commitment? Nikki wasn't certain."
Jonah's mouth compressed. Selma clearly wasn't aware that he'd never even heard their names before, let alone received any of their invitations. But Ernie didn't appear quite so obtuse.
"Maybe we've caught you at a bad time," he muttered uncomfortably. "Don't mean to be pushy relatives."
"Not at all." Jonah shot a grim look toward his wife. She made a point of avoiding his gaze, but couldn't hide the guilty color staining her cheekbones. "I'll see if I can't arrange to be free. In fact, I'll make a special note of it on my calendar."
Ernie gave a more enthusiastic nod. "Great. Since we're all the family Nikki and Krista have, we try to make the most of the holidays. My wife and their mom were sisters, you know."
"Were?"
Ernie shot his niece a curious glance. "Did she forget to mention?"
"Apparently, there's quite a bit she forgot to mention," Jonah observed drily.
"Oh. Well, Nikki's mom and dad were killed eight years ago in a boating accident," Ernie explained. "She was just a teenager, poor mite."
"Hardly a teenager or a mite," Nikki corrected crisply, jumping into the conversation. "I was twenty and a very independent college student."
"Eight years ago." Jonah glanced thoughtfully at his wife. She sat in her chair, every muscle tensed. Where only moments ago, her color had run high, she now appeared pale as a winter moon. The urge to protect her from a topic that caused such obvious pain battled with his intense curiosity. He couldn't resist probing just a little deeper. "That would have made Krista..."
"Sixteen," Selma supplied, shaking her head. "That year and a half after their death was such a tragic time. Perhaps if Edward and Angeline had lived, things might have been different for the girls. But with Krista marrying so young and then Nikki involved in that terrible incident—"
"I think that's enough," Nikki interrupted tautly. "I'm sure Jonah doesn't want to hear all the boring details. Besides, it's ancient history."
He pinned her with a narrow gaze. It would seem they'd pushed an emotional hot button. Interesting. "I didn't mean to upset you. We can save this particular conversation for a more convenient time."
Alarm lit her expressive eyes. "There's no need."
If she'd hoped to discourage him, she'd failed. Miserably. Instead, she'd whetted his appetite to learn more. He suspected that whatever had happened seven years ago would shed considerable light on several aspects of Nikki's personality—such as the tight control she kept on her emotions. It might also explain her odd attitude toward family.
"She's right," Jonah conceded with an easy smile. "This isn't the appropriate time to talk about the past. I see I've interrupted an important financial discussion." He settled onto the couch and gestured for them to continue. "Please. Don't let me interrupt."
"I believe we've concluded this discussion," Nikki announced, thrusting back her chair.
"But what about the money?" Selma turned to appeal to Jonah. "The deadline's Wednesday."
"I'm certain Nikki won't want to disappoint you," Jonah assured her. "Will you, darling?"
Nikki gathered up her notes, her color riding high once again. "I'll look into it further," she offered through gritted teeth.
Reluctantly, her aunt and uncle stood. "Well, if that's the best you can do..." Selma murmured. She glanced at Jonah in desperate appeal. "It's just a small thing we're asking."
Jonah gained his feet and gathered up the coats and scarves tossed over the back of a nearby chair. "I'll see what I can do," he whispered as he helped Selma on with hers.
"Such a good boy," she said, giving him a delighted smile. "So reasonable. And by the way, welcome to the family."
"Why, thank you." He shook hands once again with Ernie. "I'm sure Nikki will be in touch soon."
"Excellent, excellent," Ernie replied in a hearty voice as he pulled on his gloves. "Took one look and knew you were the man to make her see reason."
"Uncle Ernie—" Nikki began.
"Now, now." He enveloped her in a fierce bear hug. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Nikki. You do your best. But it's clear this husband of yours knows a thing or two about finances. Can't hurt to have him take a look at Tucker's prospectus."
With a final goodbye, the two left. Jonah glanced at Nikki. She stood with her back to him, her vibrant hair restrained by a wide gold clip. She'd changed out of her office clothes. Gone was the stark gray suit from that morning and in its place she'd donned ivory sl
acks and an oversize cable sweater in a jewel-bright emerald. He could feel the tension emanating from her and stood un-moving, anticipating the explosion. He didn't have long to wait.
"How dare you?" she demanded as she swung around. She stalked toward him, her eyes blazing with amethyst fire. "How dare you interfere in a family matter?"
"I am family." He smiled blandly. "Or have you forgotten?"
She halted a few feet away. "I wish I could forget," she informed him passionately, tossing her notepad and pen onto the glass-topped coffee table. "But you make that impossible."
"Good. Impossible works for me."
He watched her frustration gather, watched the struggle to control her temper. And watched her fail. "Why are you butting in where you don't belong?"
"In case you weren't aware of the fact, that marriage license you were so hot to acquire came with a few strings. I'm family now, whether you like it or not. Family is allowed to butt in." He closed the distance between them, towering over her. He didn't care if she found his size intimidating. He hoped he intimidated the hell out of her. "And as long as I'm your husband, you'll treat me with the proper respect that entails. Is that clear?"
"And if I don't?"
"You don't want to know the answer to that." He thrust a hand through his hair and glared at her from beneath drawn brows, allowing a small measure of his own anger to show. "You allowed me to walk into that situation blind tonight. Do you have any idea how that felt? I didn't have a clue who those people were. Selma may not have realized, but Ernie sure as hell did. Nor have you bothered to inform me of their invitations, something else he picked up on."
She managed to meet his gaze this time, but a hint of her earlier chagrin still lingered. "I didn't think you'd be interested," she claimed.
"Don't lie to me, Nikki," he snapped. "I won't tolerate it. That's not the reason and you damned well know it. You wanted to keep me well away from your aunt and uncle."
"With good reason."
"Oh? And just what is that good reason?"
She folded her arms across her chest in a defensive gesture. "Our marriage isn't real. That's why."
He shrugged. "What difference does that make?"