Rumor Has It

by Tami Hoag

  For the moment Katie couldn't let their differences of opinion matter. All that mattered was being in Nick's arms and letting love and desire control her actions and responses. He was hers to hold, to touch, to tease. She never wanted to let him go.

  That one thought filled her mind as Nick's hands parted her robe and claimed her aching breasts. It filled her head as he laid her down on the sheets and filled with his hardness the aching emptiness between her thighs.

  He was hers, and she never wanted to let him go.

  NINE

  “WHAT IS THIS thing?” Maggie asked, poking at the stainless- steel box that sat in the middle of Nick's new kitchen. Thunder rumbled overhead. “It looks dangerous.”

  Nick paused in his task of adjusting the shelves in the reach- in refrigerator to glance over his shoulder. “That's a plate elevator.” He slid the refrigerator door shut and approached his latest kitchen toy to demonstrate. “The plates go in here, see? It's spring- loaded, so every time a waitress takes a plate off, a new one pops up to the top.”

  “I had no idea there was so much machinery involved in running a restaurant,” she said, her curious gaze roaming around the room.

  Nick proudly looked around. He had worked like a demon to get his kitchen in shape. Now freshly painted yellow walls made a cheery background for the equipment he'd purchased. There was the brand- new stove he had spent too much money on. The ice maker, plate elevator, and reach- in refrigerator had all been bought used to get his budget back in line. The center of the room was dominated by a long, high worktable with a butcher block at one end and a sink at the other. Pots of various sizes hung from an iron rack overhead.

  “Maggie,” Katie called, stepping in from the dining room. “I thought you were going to help me decide on the arrangement of these things for the walls.”

  “I am.” She puffed up her red hair and batted her lashes at Nick. “Just as soon as I steal your beau away from you, Kathryn.”

  “If you're looking for a date to the big party at the Drewes mansion, he's already spoken for,” Katie said, moving to the counter where Nick had been sorting through his hundreds of recipe cards. She fussed unnecessarily with the stacks, trying to appear nonchalant. “Has anyone asked you yet?”

  “Carter Hill,” Maggie replied with no enthusiasm. Frowning, she stared at the rain that poured down on the other side of the kitchen screen door.

  Katie and Nick exchanged a nervous look.

  “I didn't answer him though,” Maggie went on. She made a face. “All he ever wants to talk about is corporate law. The last date we had, I came right out and told him if he was going to talk about briefs, they'd better be the ones he had on under his trousers.”

  Laughing, Nick leaned against Katie. She stepped away, trying to concentrate on the conversation, something she always had difficulty doing when Nick was touching her. “I think it's wise to wait. After all, the party is still more than a week away. You never know what might happen.”

  “Well,” Maggie sighed. “I can tell you one thing that won't happen: I won't get asked by the one man I want to go with.”

  “Why don't you ask him?” Nick suggested. “Maybe he's shy.”

  “Ask him?” she questioned in a thin voice as she turned an unhealthy shade of gray. “Some how, I don't think that would be a very good idea.” She glanced at her oversize wristwatch, relief visibly washing over her. Her shoulders sagged. Even her hair seemed to relax. “Oh, my, just look at the time. Mrs. Pruitt will be waiting for me.”

  With a quick wave, she was out of the kitchen. Nick watched her until she had stepped out into the gray morning, then he turned back toward Katie. “You're gonna have to give that brother of yours a talking to.”

  “Me?” Katie asked, sifting through the recipes with interest. “You're a man. Why don't you talk to him?”

  “You're a relative. There's less chance of him mortally wounding you.” Giving Ryland Quaid advice on his love life did not seem like a healthy thing to do, Nick decided.

  “I have every intention of speaking to Ry about it.” Katie said. “And Maggie. I've never seen such foolishness. They shoot off their mouths at each other like a couple of machine guns—until the topic turns to romance. Then you can't make a half- wit out of the pair of them.

  “What's pollo del padrone?” she asked, singling out a recipe card. “It sounds delicious.”

  Nick pulled the recipe cards out of her hands, set them aside, and pulled Katie into his arms. “Your education has been woefully inadequate, Miss Quaid. Speaking from a culinary standpoint, that is. How about social dance? Do you know one foot from the other, or am I going to have to give you a crash course before the big party?”

  Katie frowned at him. “I told you once—I can't dance, Nick.”

  He hung on to her when she tried to step out of his arms. It was time Katie found out there were no absolutes. It seemed to Nick she perhaps had been too accepting of her limitations. Katie was no quitter, but she tended to see things only one way. It was time she found out there was more than one solution to every problem. If she would learn to compromise, she would be able to have many of the things she now denied herself. Dancing was one of those things, he knew. Children were another.

  “Now, there's dancing, and then there's dancing,” he said patiently.

  Katie shook her head in frustration. “I can't. I would love nothing more than to be able to dance with you at the party, but I can't.”

  “You thought you couldn't have a relationship with me either,” he pointed out.

  “That was different.”

  “No, it wasn't. You had it in your head no man was going to want you, and you wouldn't reconsider. “

  “Falling in love with you wasn't dangerous to my health,” she argued. “My doctor says I can't dance. I can't dance.”

  “You are so stubborn!” He threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “If you would just listen to me, but no. You see things only one way—your way. Nobody else knows anything.”

  “I never said that!”

  “But you're correct about this, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you think, I'm gonna ask you to do the samba and lift you over my head and spin you around? You think I'm gonna make you do the lindy or something?” By the expression on Katie's face he could tell she was stuck on remembering the turns and leaps he did in his Highwayman act. He forced himself to rein in his temper and cool off on a long sigh. Cradling Katie's face in his hands he looked deep into her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, feeling miserable. She trusted Nick, but she knew he didn't understand. He was the one who was being stubborn, not she.

  “Good. Come upstairs with me.”

  “But—”

  He silenced her with a warning look and a finger on her lips. Pulling Katie along behind him, he strode through the nearly finished main dining room, which was crowded with a haphazard ar rangement of tables and chairs. They climbed the stairs, past the unfinished second floor, past his apartment, all the way up to the attic.

  It looked very different from the first time Katie had seen it. It had been a dim, musty, cluttered place. Now gray light poured in through skylights on the north side of the peaked roof. The wood floor had been scrubbed and polished to a soft sheen. All the junk had been removed, leaving a long hollow space. Tucked back in one corner was a sophisticated stereo system. One wall was lined with mirrors. Along the wall opposite the mirrors sat a set of weights.

  Nick abandoned Katie in the middle of the floor. While he put a tape on to play, she stood staring glumly at the Palladian window. Rain poured down so hard she could see nothing beyond the glass. Silver and opaque, it was like a sheet of mercury flowing over the panes. She felt alone, but then Nick was standing in front of her, gazing down at her with dark eyes silently begging for her trust.

  He pointed to his ear. “Listen to the music,” he said quietly. He pointed to his eyes. “Watch my eyes.” He drew her hand
to his heart. “Trust me.” He took her in his arms as the music began.

  It was a slow song. Sad. Sweet. Soft. And yet the sound wound around them, shutting out everything else, wrapping them in a cocoon where only the two of them existed—the two of them, the music, and love. Slowly they moved around the floor. Nick guided her, turned her, held her, all the while asking for her to trust him, telling her with his body and his eyes that she could trust him to lead her, that he would never let her go, never let anything hurt her.

  He was strength and power, but now the strength, the power, the speed, the agility were leashed. It was his compromise for her. Hers was to relax in his arms, to follow him unquestioning.

  They glided across the floor, around the empty room. In the mirrors along the wall Katie could see their reflection. They moved as one, two bodies in harmony. It was not unlike making love, she thought—a man's tempered strength, a woman's sweet, yielding trust. Certainly there was a fine line between the dance they were sharing and passion's dance.

  Gradually, they crossed it.

  As the music sang on, Nick deftly removed Katie's panties from under her skirt and lifted her against him. She was so tiny, so fragile, he thought, holding her close as he moved and turned. She made him feel strong, masculine, loved. He unzipped his pants with his right hand, holding Katie firmly with his left. He wanted to give her everything, to be everything for her.

  He freed himself from his pants and she arched against him, her legs around his hips, her head thrown back as she took him into her warm, soft body. Her dark hair cascaded down behind her in a curtain of silk, swaying in time as they danced and loved. With one strong arm wrapped around her, Nick brought his other hand around to free her breasts so he could kiss them and caress them and feast his eyes on their beauty in the pale silver light of the room. He moved into her. She moved over him. They clung and kissed and sighed as their dance ended and ecstasy claimed them both.

  “We're supposed to be getting ready to interview prospective employees,” Katie said as she nuzzled into Nick's shoulder. They had moved from his studio in the attic to his bedroom and spent the rest of the morning making love, ignoring the work they had planned to do downstairs. “That is why I took the afternoon off.”

  “Really?” he asked, stroking his hand down her back and over her bottom. “I thought you took the afternoon off so we could spend it in pursuit of carnal delights.”

  Katie nipped at his collarbone. “Think again, Yankee. I'm here to make certain you don't hire any sexy waitresses.”

  “How about sexy waiters?”

  “They're okay,” she said, raising up on one elbow. She looked down at him with a mischievous smile as she played with a black curl that tumbled across his forehead. “In fact, I was thinking you should hire some of the guys from Hepplewhite's.”

  “Oh, really?” He lifted a dark brow in question.

  “Sure. They could wait tables and do a floor show.”

  “You'd like that, would you? You'd like being able to watch a bunch of great- looking guys take their clothes off every night.”

  “Mmm, I think so,” she speculated, trying not to grin at the glower Nick wore. “I had a lot of fun at Hepplewhite's. Next time I think I'll try giving one of the guys a tip in his G-string.”

  “Think again, Kathryn Quaid,” he said, gently rolling her beneath him, tangling them both in the sheet. “The only G-string I want you playing with is mine.”

  Katie giggled as he attacked her throat with kisses. “Jealous?” she managed to ask.

  “Insanely,” he said on a groan as he slid into her.

  The interviews dragged on through the af ternoon with a seemingly endless number of qualified and not- so- qualified people applying for positions. Nick found the whole process fascinating. He loved meeting people. No two were exactly alike. Still, after a couple of hours, his attention began to wander in Katie's direction—and hers began to wander his way.

  She slipped her pumps off under the table and ran her foot up and down his calf while he tried to ask a pimply- faced teenager if he would be able to wash dishes on weekends. Between interviews, they discussed the people they'd seen, pretending to be businesslike while their gazes locked and heated. By the time the last prospective employee walked out the front door, they were on the verge of spontaneous combustion.

  They rose slowly from their chairs, stretching, pretending indifference. Then Nick pulled Katie into his arms and kissed her, and all thoughts of indifference were vaporized. He kissed her as if he were starving and she was the only form of sustenance on earth. She gripped at his shoulders for support, the fabric of his shirt bunching in her fists. Her head swam as desire dragged her under.

  How could it be possible to want him so badly when they'd spent the entire morning tending each other's physical needs, Katie wondered dimly. As soon as she asked herself the question, she knew she didn't care what the answer was. The wild, insatiable hunger she felt was part of loving Nick. That was all she needed to know.

  “How can I need you this much?” he asked, on the verge of desperation as he tore his mouth from hers. He only wanted her more as he looked down at her. Her prim summer dress was wrinkled from his hands on her shoulders; her soft, soft mouth was red and slick from his kiss. “Let's go upstairs.”

  Katie filled her lungs with air, hoping to steady herself a little. “I have to go over to the store for a few minutes. I'll come right back.”

  “Good,” Nick said, calmer with a few inches of space between them. “I'll cook us a nice dinner.”

  “I'm going to get fat from all your nice dinners.”

  “Not a chance, kitten.” He gave her a lazy, predatory smile. “We'll work it off later.”

  Remarkably, she blushed as she turned and headed for the door.

  Nick shook his head as he watched her go. Some times Katie was like a young girl—all blushes and giggles. More often she was a woman who was very sure of herself and her abilities. Then sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking, shadows came into her eyes, and she looked so alone, it frightened him.

  He pulled his glasses off, dropped them on the table beside the stack of applications, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. They had overcome two big obstacles in their relationship—his career as a stripper and her scars. There was one more obstacle they needed to overcome, and it was a big one. Nick wanted Katie in his life on a permanent basis, but he wanted their future to include children. He already knew he was going to have a fight on his hands to convince Katie to compromise.

  A sound from the front door drew Nick's attention, and he gladly traded the possibility of trouble for the prospect of having Katie all to himself for the evening.

  “That didn't take long,” he said. The grin froze on his face as he turned and saw Rylan Quaid's figure looming in the doorway. “Ry. Good to see you. What brings you here?”

  Ry shifted uncomfortably from one booted foot to the other. He clutched a battered blue baseball cap in front of him and looked about as happy as a brown shoe in a room full of tuxedos. His dark brows were pulled low over his eyes in his characteristic scowl. “Katie tells me you're a pretty good dancer.”

  It took an effort for Nick to push from his mind thoughts of the dancing he and Katie had done earlier. Hoping he didn't look too guilty, he tried to nod and shrug at the same time.

  “Uh—do you reckon you could—uh—teach me to waltz?”

  The impulse to burst into hysterical laughter was almost too much for him, but Nick held himself in rigid check. He could see what it had cost Ry to ask. The last thing he wanted to do was laugh at the man. To gain control, he glanced down at the job applications on the table, then he turned back to Ry, acting as if it were a question big, strapping men asked him every day. “Sure, no problem.”

  Ry nodded. He sighed in resignation, rubbing the back of his thick, sunburned neck. “Well, hell, let's do it, then, and get it over with.”

  Katie crossed the street with a bouncy step, smiling as if she
deserved all the credit for Maggie's happiness. Ry finally had rounded up enough courage to ask her to the party. She couldn't wait to tell Nick.

  He was nowhere to be found on the first floor of the restaurant. She leaned against the banister at the foot of the stairs, a slow smile spreading across her face as she heard the faint strains of music coming from above. It was a waltz—slow, sweet, wonderfully romantic. Nick had shown her she could dance with him. It sounded as if he was ready to give her another lesson.

  Katie mounted the final steps to the attic, ready and willing to have Nick take her into his arms. But Nick's arms were already full—overflowing, in fact. She pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress her giggles at the sight of Nick waltzing around the room with Rylan.

  Ry was scowling in concentration and shuffling his big, clumsy feet. Nick was trying to look encouraging, biting his lip every few steps when he couldn't quite escape a close encounter with size-thirteen cowboy boots.

  “You're doing great,” he said as he let Ry attempt to lead.

  “You think so?”

  “Oh, sure. You're really light on your feet.” And heavy on mine, his grimace seemed to say. “Let's try the turn again. One, two, three. One, two, three.”

  They stepped uncertainly through the turn just as the music ended. Polite applause drew their attention in Katie's direction.

  “You make a lovely couple,” she said, straight-faced.

  TEN

  PERHAPS IN ITS younger days the Drewes mansion had looked as it did now, Katie thought as Nick helped her from the car and strolled with her up the walk. Beautiful. Alive with activity. But somehow, she was sure it had never looked quite so happy, quite so proud. It had been rescued from ruin and lovingly tended by people who were dedicated to preserving its heritage. Two hundred years ago it had been one of the finest houses in Virginia. Finally it was again. Katie was filled with a warm glow of pride and satisfaction. She smiled up at Nick. “Can't you almost picture the guests who would have come here when the house was new? Men in satin breeches and velvet coats. Women with their powdered hair piled high, their elegant gowns swirling over layers and layers of petticoats. Men such as Thomas Jefferson and George Washington.”