The man sent her a curious look. "Are you all right, ma'am?"
Ma'am? Maggie suddenly felt as old and haggard as she obviously looked. "I'm fine," she said sharply.
He shrugged, obviously dismissing her from his mind. His expression lit up, however, when an attractive blond in a tight black dress, so short it should have been illegal, walked by the elevators, her high, high heels clicking against the floor.
The woman paused and offered the man a dazzling smile. "Aren't you Jonathan Harman?" she asked.
"As a matter of fact, I am." He stood a bit taller under her scrutiny.
"I heard you speak earlier on the role of venture capitalists in today's changing economy. You have incredible insight."
"Thank you."
Maggie frowned. The way the man was beaming, you would have thought she'd said he had an incredible...
The elevator bell rang, and the doors slowly opened. Maggie walked inside. The man and the woman stared at each other but didn't move.
"Anyone going up?" Maggie asked, holding the door open with her hand.
"You're not turning in, I hope?" the woman said to the man with a pouty twist of her mouth.
"I could be persuaded not to."
"Then let me persuade you. Have a drink with me?" She tossed her hair back over one shoulder.
Maggie cleared her throat. The man turned to her. "You have a nice evening, ma'am." He put a hand on the other woman's back, and they walked away.
Maggie had a feeling he'd be having a much nicer evening than she would. Ma'am. She made a face as the elevator doors closed. The word made her sound old, like someone's mother. Which, of course, was exactly what she was. She couldn't help looking down at her jeans and her sweatshirt. Her hair was a mess; she hadn't brushed it in hours, and whatever lipstick she'd put on that morning had surely vanished. No wonder he'd called her ma'am.
The doors opened, and Maggie walked slowly down the hall. Her room was on the sixth floor, just around the corner from the elevators. After struggling with her card key, Maggie opened the door. The room was clean, elegant and quiet -- oh, so quiet.
As the door shut behind her, she dropped her bag on the floor and walked to the window. She had a view of downtown San Diego. It was a view she'd seen before. She turned and saw the bed, the king-size bed, the one she'd be sleeping in alone.
What was she doing here?
Maggie sat on the bed and stared at the phone. She could call Lisa and see if the kids were all right.
At the thought of her children, the anxiety returned. A myriad of terrifying possibilities raced through Maggie's mind. What if Mary Bea started crying and Lisa panicked? What if Lisa couldn't calm Mary Bea down?
Or what if Roxy got angry and ran off with that pimply faced, hormone-crazy boy? Lisa wouldn't know how to find her. And what if Dylan logged on to the Internet and invited some crazy person to visit him?
Why on earth had she left them? All kinds of terrible things could be happening.
"Get a grip," Maggie told herself out loud. She took several deep breaths, forcing herself to relax. She hadn't been gone two hours. If she called, the kids would probably talk her into coming home, and deep down she knew that home was not where she needed to be right now.
Maggie reached for her oversize purse, hoping to find some gum or a leftover peppermint. After pulling out a hairbrush, a box of crayons, two of Mary Bea's barrettes, a parking ticket, a troll doll, three plastic spiders and twenty-seven Safeway receipts, Maggie gave up on finding anything edible.
Unfortunately, the only thing left in her purse was a white envelope -- the letter from Serena Hollingsworth. She didn't know what had possessed her to bring it with her. It wasn't as if she was going to see the woman. She didn't need to know why Keith had promised to contact Serena. It had nothing to do with her. Besides, she trusted her husband.
Maggie needed a distraction, so she picked up the television remote control and turned on the set. She flipped through twenty-seven channels with a sudden rush of delight. Instead of cartoons or reruns on Nickelodeon, she could actually choose an adult movie. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Kicking her feet up on the bed, she leaned back against the pillows and let some of the tension ease out of her body. She'd made the right decision to get away. She needed some time alone, to breathe, to let go of all the stress. The kids would be fine with Lisa and maybe, just maybe, getting to know the children would remind Lisa of everything and everyone she'd walked away from.
* * *
The children hated her. As Lisa looked around the kitchen table, she could see it in each of their faces. They didn't want her. They wanted their mother. And so did she. Lisa knew nothing about being a mother. Her brief stint had only proved how incapable she was of taking care of one child, much less three. She didn't belong here in this noisy, chaotic house. She belonged in her cool, clean, organized office where she knew how to do everything, where there were no surprises, no uncertainties.
"Mom always makes us eat a vegetable with dinner," Roxy announced, picking up a potato chip and deliberately placing it in her mouth. The resulting crunch was as loud as any verbal accusation.
"Would you like me to make you some corn? I think I saw some in the freezer," Lisa suggested, watching the ketchup drip out of Dylan's hot dog bun. Her first dinner was high on fat, low on nutrients, but Maggie's refrigerator had been empty. At least the children were eating something, and Mary Bea's sobs had dwindled down to an occasional sniffle.
"I hate corn." Dylan wrinkled his nose at the thought.
Lisa watched in fascination as his freckles danced along his cheeks at the motion. He was all boy, big front teeth that didn't quite fit his face, blond hair that stuck up in cowlicks at the back of his head, and the dirtiest hands she'd ever seen. She sighed, recognizing yet another mistake. She should have made the children wash their hands before dinner.
"You hate everything," Roxy said with an air of superiority.
"And you like everything, including that dweeb, Marc." Dylan made a smooching sound with his lips.
Roxy threw a potato chip at him. Mary Bea sat up, looking more interested in their fight than anything Lisa had tried to bring up.
"That's enough," Lisa said sharply, trying to assert some sort of control. Three pairs of eyes fixed on her face, and she panicked. She'd faced down heads of companies, boards of directors, but here, in front of these three children, she felt like a complete idiot. And they knew. She knew they knew. In two minutes, they'd seen right through her efficient facade and recognized the bumbling, uncertain woman she'd once been -- maybe always would be -- at least when it came to family.
"When is Uncle Nick coming?" Mary Bea demanded.
"I don't know," Lisa replied. It wasn't the right answer. Mary Bea's lip turned down and trembled. "Soon. He'll be here soon," Lisa added hastily. "Look, we can do this. We can have fun and get to know each other while your mom is gone. What do you normally do after dinner?"
"We watch TV and play video games all night," Dylan said.
"And talk on the phone to our friends," Roxy added.
"Mommy doesn't let you play video games all night," Mary Bea said.
Dylan glared at her. "What do you know?"
"Well, she doesn't. She always makes you stop when you start yelling at the TV."
"How about homework?" Lisa asked. "Who has homework?"
"It's Friday night," Roxy said with disgust.
Lisa sighed. "Okay, no homework. Why don't I clear the table and we'll watch some television together, maybe play a board game?"
"I'm too old for games," Roxy said.
"Then you don't have to play."
Roxy frowned. "How come you divorced Uncle Nick?"
The question came out of the blue, stunning her with its utter simplicity.
"I..." The words wouldn't come. Maybe because she'd never even answered the question for herself, much less for anyone else. "We just didn't get along," Lisa said finally. Th
ey'd gotten along great in the beginning. "We didn't love each other enough." They'd loved each other passionately in the beginning. "We found we each needed more space." They'd slept wrapped in each other's arms in the beginning.
"Why didn't you just get a bigger house?" Dylan asked with simple logic.
Lisa couldn't help but smile. "We didn't think of that."
"I want to take a bath," Mary Bea announced. "I want to see if my new Barbie can swim underwater."
Lisa latched on to the idea with thankful enthusiasm. "That sounds great." She stood up and began clearing the table. "Could you start the bathwater, Roxy?"
"All right." As Roxy and Mary Bea left the room, Dylan pushed back his chair. "Can we have popcorn?"
"Popcorn? Aren't you full?"
"No, I'm starving,"
"After two hot dogs and a bag of chips?"
"Mommy says I'm growing."
"Do you have popcorn?"
"Yes, and I know how to make it. I learned how at Billy's house."
"You did? Well --" The doorbell interrupted her. Lisa's heart raced at the sound, with anticipation, exhilaration and stark fear. The bell rang again sharply, decisively, impatiently. Nick, it had to be Nick. Oh, God, what was she going to do?
Dylan stared at her. "Aren't you going to answer the door?"
"Sure. Of course. I'll do it right now." Lisa walked slowly to the front door. She didn't ask who it was or even peer through the peephole. She just opened the door and looked into the eyes of the man she had once loved more than anyone on earth.
"Lisa."
"Nick."
She couldn't say another word. With one look, Nick completely stole her breath away. Waves of shock ran through her, followed by feelings of fear, excitement, joy, sadness. This man had been everything to her -- friend, lover, husband... enemy. She'd once known every inch of his hard body, every freckle, every muscle, every line. But now -- now he was a stranger.
Though still fit and trim, Nick had lost the boyish leanness of his youth, but there was strength in his stance, in his build, in his face. The years had brought shadows to his once brilliant green eyes, lines around the corner of a mouth that at one time had known only how to smile.
Nick crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, and Lisa's gaze was drawn down the length of him, remembering with painful clarity how it had felt to put her arms around his waist, to taste his mouth, to run her hands through his hair.
Goosebumps ran down her arms unbidden and unrestrained. Looking at him now, Lisa found that Nick still made her heart race. He still made her palms sweat. Dammit. She didn't want him to affect her. She didn't want to feel anything, not anger or hatred or love or passion -- least of all passion. They were nothing to each other anymore, nothing.
Nick read every emotion that passed through her clear blue eyes, but when he got to desire he looked away. He'd always been able to tell exactly what Lisa was thinking. Now, he didn't want to know. He didn't want to believe that she felt anything for him. To believe would be to risk the peace that had been a long time in coming.
As his gaze roamed across her face, he felt every muscle in his body tighten. She was everything he remembered and more. Her black silky hair still caught every bit of light that lit up a room. Even in the moonlight, her hair came alive just like her blue, blue eyes. He'd felt as if he'd been living in the shadows until she'd come into his life, with her gentle grace, her soft lips, her stubborn chin and a body he couldn't stop touching. At twenty, she had been his fantasy. At twenty-five she had been his nightmare.
"What the hell is going on?" Nick demanded, retreating into anger. He knew how to fight with Lisa. He couldn't remember how to like her, how to love her.
Lisa stiffened. "Excuse me?"
"I get a frantic call from my niece saying her mother has taken off and you're in trouble."
She put her hands on her hips. The light of battle entered her eyes. "I'm not in trouble, and Maggie has just gone away for the weekend."
"Then why did Roxy call me?"
"Mary Bea was a little upset, but she's fine now. We're all fine. You can go home." She started to close the door, but Nick stuck his fool out.
"Not so fast. I think I'll come in and talk to the kids if you don't mind."
"And if I do?"
"Tough."
"Nick--"
He brushed past her. "Roxy, Dylan, Mary Bea?" he shouted.
The kids came running from every direction -- Dylan from the kitchen, Roxy and Mary Bea down the stairs. They threw themselves into their uncle's outstretched arms, their eyes beaming with happiness.
Lisa couldn't help but feel a bit jealous at the sight. They loved him. They wanted him, not her. But why would they want her? They didn't even know her. It was her fault that she was practically a stranger, but that didn't make it easier to take.
"Are you going to stay with us, Uncle Nick?" Dylan asked. "I got a cool new game we could play."
"It looks like you already have someone to watch you," Nick said, not even glancing in Lisa's direction. "Where did your mom go?"
"She got mad and left," Roxy said. "We don't know when she's coming back."
"She's coming back Sunday," Lisa interrupted.
"I don't think she's coming back ever," Mary Bea said, her lips trembling once again. "She said we were driving her crazy."
"Don't cry, please don't cry," Lisa begged.
"I can't help it," Mary Bea said with a hiccup. "I want my mommy." Her words ended with a wail.
"Everything's fine, huh?" Nick ran his hand through Mary Bea's tangled blond curls, 'It's okay, pumpkin. Uncle Nick is here." He cocked his head to one side. "What's that sound?"
Lisa was so distracted by the gentle way he soothed Mary Bea that she couldn't hear anything but the pounding of her own heart.
"It sounds like someone is taking a shower," Dylan said.
Roxy clapped a hand to her mouth. "The tub."
Lisa beat Roxy up the stairs, only to find water splashing over the top of the tub, covering the bathroom floor and soaking into the hall carpet. In her rush to turn off the faucet, she slid across the wet floor, landing on her buttocks and slamming her big toe into the tub, which sent a rush of pain up her leg. The water soaked through her skirt in seconds. By the time she had righted herself and reached for the faucet, she was sopping wet.
When she turned around, she stared into four sets of amazed eyes. She felt embarrassed, like she'd just walked naked into the middle of an intersection. "It's all right," she mumbled. "I'll clean it up. It will be okay."
A loud, shrill, beeping noise suddenly rang through the house.
"Oh, my God, is that the smoke alarm?" Lisa asked.
"The popcorn," Dylan cried.
This time Nick led the rush down the stairs and into the kitchen, where kernels of corn were turning black in a sizzling frying pan. Nick turned off the burner and pushed the pan away from the heat.
"You've got everything under control, huh?" Nick asked again.
"I thought he was putting a bag in the microwave," Lisa explained, her damp skirt clinging to her legs with a coolness that sent a shiver down her spine. She hated the way Nick looked at her, like she was a failure, like she couldn't do anything right, although she shouldn't have been surprised by the accusation in his eyes. He'd looked exactly the same way eight years ago. "This is your fault," she said in defense. "If you hadn't arrived, Roxy would have turned off the water in the tub, and I would have stopped Dylan from trying to fry the popcorn."
Nick's eyes blazed. "It's always my fault, isn't it, Lisa?"
She took an instinctive step backward, knowing he wasn't talking about the popcorn or the tub and that she'd just opened a door she had no intention of going through. "I didn't mean -- I can't do this, Nick."
"It's always about you."
It was never about me. It was always about her. Robin. Our baby. The protest screamed silently through her head, but the words wouldn't come out. She hadn't said Robin's name ou
t loud since the day they'd buried her. She couldn't say it now. Instead she took a deep breath and cleared her throat. "Go home, Nick. We'll be fine."
He hesitated, then turned toward the door, but Mary Bea's plaintive sob cut through the silence in the room. She launched herself against him, throwing her chubby little arms around his thigh so he couldn't move.
Nick hesitated, obviously torn between the children he loved and the ex-wife he hated. "Maybe I should stay. The kids know me."
"Maggie asked me to watch them."
"Because she couldn't get a hold of me. You're off the hook. You can head back to L.A. Take off the way you always do."
It was tempting. Boy, was it tempting. Then she remembered Maggie, her best friend's panicked face, and Lisa knew she couldn't break her promise. "I told Maggie I'd watch the kids. That's what I'm going to do."
"I'm sure she wouldn't be surprised if you left."
His words hurt the way they were meant to. Lisa squared her shoulders. "I'm staying, Nick. You can do what you want." She hobbled over to the stove. "But right now I'm going to clean up this mess."
"If only you could." He met her eyes in one long, telling look before he led the children out of the room.
Chapter Five
Lisa managed to avoid Nick for the next hour. While he and Dylan played video games, she cleaned up the kitchen, got Mary Bea into the bath and even convinced Roxy to help sort through the pile of laundry on Maggie's bed. By ten o'clock Lisa was exhausted. The long day, the frantic drive down to San Diego, and the turmoil of seeing Nick again after so many years had taken every last ounce of her energy. It was all she could do to finish Mary Bea's bedtime story and climb out of the small twin bed before she fell asleep with her niece.
Tucking the blanket more tightly about her niece, Lisa took one last look at Mary Bea, smiling wistfully at the sight of her blond curls falling lazily across her rosy cheeks, her little hand tucked up under her chin. Lisa had once dreamed of a life like this, a house full of children, a loving husband. But her dreams hadn't come true. Turning abruptly, she headed to the door. She turned off the light and moved into the hall, running smack into Nick.
One True Love Page 5