"Is she asleep?" he asked.
Nick's low, husky voice unnerved her. He was so close that she could feel his breath against her cheek, see the shadow of beard along his jawline. She tried to move away, but Nick took up so much space. He always had. His presence swamped her both emotionally and physically.
"Lisa?" he murmured, a questioning note in his voice.
"Could you move, please?"
Nick didn't budge. He simply looked at her with those sharp, piercing green eyes that saw everything. "My God, it's still there," he murmured. "After all these years, after everything we did and everything we said, it's still there."
"Don't be ridiculous." Her muscles tightened, and she tried not to look at him, but he was so damn close.
"You never could lie worth a damn."
"Let me go, Nick."
"I'm not holding you, Lisa."
But he was, with his eyes, with his voice, with his memories. They'd stood together like this before at the door to Robin's room. They'd watched their baby sleep. They'd held each other and smiled with pride and joy before they'd gone back to their bedroom to make love. She took in a deep breath and let it out. "You're not making this easy."
"Why should I?"
Lisa took another deep breath and silently counted to ten.
"You didn't answer my question," Nick said.
"Where are you planning to sleep?" Lisa asked, changing the subject.
A light burned through his eyes.
"I'm taking Maggie's room," she added hastily. "I guess that leaves you with the couch."
"What if I want her room?"
"You're out of luck. In fact, you really don't have to stay."
"I promised the kids I would."
"Fine. Are Dylan and Roxy asleep?" she asked, as they walked down the hall together.
"Dylan's asleep. Roxy's reading."
"I'll get my bag out of my car then."
Nick dogged her steps down the stairs and followed her on to the porch. She paused, suddenly realizing how long it had been since she had smelled the ocean and lived in a neighborhood where crickets sang through the night. The fresh air felt good, reviving.
"I can't believe you came back," Nick said, leaning against the porch railing. He crossed his arms in front of him. "The last time I saw you was the night Mary Bea was born. You ran off so fast, I didn't get a chance to say hello."
Lisa looked into his curious eyes and shrugged. "I don't think hello was what you were planning to say."
He tipped his head. "You might be right about that."
A moment passed between them and then she said, "I love Maggie, Nick. That's why I'm here. You know how much I care about her."
"I know you did love her. But you loved a lot of people -- eight years ago." He paused. "It's almost her birthday, you know. A week from Sunday -- Robin would have been eight years old."
"Don't."
"You can't even say her name, can you?"
Lisa didn't want to say Robin's name. She didn't want to think about her baby. She didn't want to remember. It hurt too damn much. "She's gone, Nick. Saying her name won't bring her back."
"Maybe it would bring you back."
She looked at him, confused by his cryptic answer. "I'm here."
"I don't mean here in San Diego. I mean here -- in your heart." He suddenly reached out, and his palm covered the curve of her breast. An irrepressible tingle ran down her spine, a shock wave of warmth and love and sex.
"Don't," she whispered.
His hand curved around her breast, "You died that night, Lisa, as surely as she did. At least the Lisa I remember, the Lisa I married, the Lisa I loved."
His words cut her to the quick. She pushed his hand away from her body. "Died? I wasn't the one who disappeared for almost twelve hours while people were calling and crying and calling again," she said passionately. "I wasn't the one who came to the funeral home smelling like a brewery."
His face tightened. "Stop it, Lisa."
"Why should I?"
His eyes blazed with anger and pain. "Because you made your point. I wasn't there for you. I wasn't there for Robin. Everything is my fault. We've had this argument before. You've never understood what I went through."
"And you've never understood what I went through. That's why we didn't work, Nick. Maybe we were never meant to work. That's why it happened. It was an end to what never should have begun." Silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of their breathing, angry and rushed. "It's pointless to rehash the past," she said finally. "It's done."
"And you've never given our past a second thought?"
"No." As she tucked her hair behind her ear, the light sparkled off her ring and she heard Nick gasp.
He grabbed her by the arm and stared down at the engagement ring. It glowed like a traitor caught in a spotlight. "My God! Are you married?''
"No, I'm just engaged." She didn't know why she rushed to explain that she was only engaged. After all, she would be married soon.
Nick shook his head in confusion as he let go of her arm. "I can't believe Maggie never said anything. You're getting married?"
"It's been a long time, Nick. It's not like I rushed out and grabbed the next guy who came along."
He looked at her with more pain than anger, and she felt her insides melt. "Do you remember the robins, Lisa? We sat on the porch and watched them that first spring. The male called to the female with his song and she came. They built a nest together and had baby robins."
Yes, she remembered the robins. She remembered Nick sitting on the porch, playing his guitar as the male robin sang his song, and just like the female robin, she had been drawn to the music, to the male -- to Nick.
"So who is this guy you're marrying?" Nick asked more harshly than he should have for a man who hadn't seen her in a very long time.
She shrugged. "Does it matter?"
Nick didn't answer. Finally, she moved toward the edge of the porch. "I'm going to get my bag. I'll only be here till Sunday, Nick. Do you think we can just pretend to get along for two more days? I don't want the kids to feel uncomfortable."
He hesitated, then said, "Sure, why not? We'll call a truce." He walked over to her and stuck out his hand. "Shake?"
She knew it was a mistake the second she slid her hand into his. His palm was warm, his fingers strong and tender as they curled around hers. It wasn't a handshake. It was a meeting of two electrical wires that together created a dangerous spark.
"That was cheating," she whispered, seeing the shrewd gleam in Nick's eyes.
"It's still there. I knew it was still there. And so did you."
She pulled her hand away from his and practically ran down the walkway to her car, eager to get some distance between them.
"That's why you never came back, isn't it?" Nick's voice carried across the lawn. "You were afraid of me."
Lisa shook her head, but couldn't chance the words. She wasn't afraid of him. She was afraid of herself.
* * *
There was no reason to be afraid, Maggie told herself late Saturday morning as she stood outside the entrance to Serena Hollingsworth's town house in Beverly Hills. Just because she'd never met the woman and had no business showing up at her door unannounced, there was no reason to be nervous. The woman had written to Keith. If she'd wanted to remain anonymous, she wouldn't have sent a letter to his home.
Unless Serena didn't know Keith was married? After all, she didn't know he was dead. Maybe she also didn't know he was married with children, three beautiful children. Maggie took a deep breath as she looked around.
The town house sat on the edge of a luxurious condominium complex. It had taken Maggie fifteen minutes just to locate number I207 in building number three. She had had to walk down several lush, green pathways to find Serena's town house, which was tucked away in a bower of bushes and flowers.
The entrance was private. It was the perfect spot for two people to meet, two people who didn't want anyone else to see them.
A perfect spot to have an affair -- except for the fact that it was two hours from San Diego. If Keith had wanted to have an affair, why hadn't he had one closer to home?
The whole thing was ridiculous. Keith could not have had a woman on the side. Maggie would have known. She would have noticed something -- lipstick, a strange receipt for flowers, something. Surely, he wouldn't have been able to act perfectly natural? Wouldn't the guilt have driven him crazy? Not that Keith was a particularly guilty sort of person.
She was the one with the guilt, the one who hated to even change seats at the baseball game for fear of getting caught. And she usually did, because she wore guilt like a scarlet letter. Keith believed some rules were made to be bent. But changing a seat at a baseball game could not be compared with having an affair. The rules of marriage were unbreakable, at least in her mind.
As Maggie stared at Serena's door, she remembered the trips Keith had taken in the months before he'd died, trips to another lab in Santa Monica, and a couple even further up the coast in San Francisco. She'd never called him while he was away. He'd always insisted on phoning her, because he didn't know where he'd be at any given time. Whereas he always knew where she would be -- right there in his house, taking care of his children.
Maggie's imagination took over. She couldn't stop the suspicious thoughts from running through her head, the doubts, the uncertainty. Had she married an imposter? She remembered seeing a movie where a man had kept three wives in three different cities and none of them knew about each other, until the man had gotten hurt and all three had ended up at the hospital together.
But that wasn't Keith. Until this last job, he'd barely travelled at all. He'd been content to come home every night to her and the children.
At least she thought he'd been content.
Maybe not. Maybe he'd yearned for a different life from the one they'd had.
The doubts ran around and around in her head until she felt dizzy. She had to do something to stop them. She'd driven two hours to meet Serena Hollingsworth. Wasn't it about time she knocked on the door?
Maggie strode forward before she could rethink her decision to act. She rang the bell and waited. There was no reply, no rustling sounds of someone hurrying to get the door, just silence. Serena wasn't home.
Maggie felt the wind go out of her sails, the resolve go out of her head, the strength go out of her shoulders. She felt so weak she had to sit down on the step, the white envelope still clutched between her fingers. She'd driven all this way for nothing.
Not that she even knew what she would say to Serena, something about the letter, something about Keith's death, something...
A man came jogging down the path dressed in tight black bicycle shorts and a peach-colored tank top. He looked to be in his early thirties and was in great shape with lean runner's legs, a broad chest, sexy mustache and hair almost long enough to be pulled back in a ponytail.
Maggie couldn't help but smooth down the skirt of the floral sundress she'd exchanged for the jeans she usually wore. Her hair was actually brushed, and she'd even worn lipstick. Not that it mattered. He wouldn't give her a second look.
She was wrong. The man smiled at Maggie and slowed his pace as he approached Serena's town house. "If you're waiting for Serena, you're going to have a long wait."
"I am?" Maggie asked as he jogged in a small circle in front of her. "Is she away?"
"Saturday is her spa day. Are you a friend of hers?"
Maggie hesitated. She didn't make a habit of lying. But then, she didn't make a habit out of chasing down women who wrote to her husband, either. "Yes," she said finally. "I live out of town. I thought I'd surprise her, but I guess I should have called first." She got to her feet, feeling as if her nose had grown two inches with that lie.
"I'm sure you could find her at the spa."
"Which spa is that?"
"The Olympia Spa on the corner of Sycamore and Doran. You can't miss it. There are Greek statues of gods and goddesses along the driveway. It's pretentious as hell, and you have to sell your soul to get in, but it's a happening place. Serena swears there's nothing better than a day at the spa, not even sex." His eyes narrowed speculatively. "You don't look like the spa type, though."
Of course she didn't look like someone who went to a spa. The closest she got to exercise was the twenty-year-old stationary bicycle in her garage. "I -- uh -- I’ve been busy lately. Gotten a little out of shape."
"This is L.A. Can't afford to be out of shape in this town."
"I'm not staying long."
"That's what I thought, too," he said with a smile so sexy it almost took her breath away. "I came out from Omaha ten years ago for a one-week vacation. I've been here ever since."
"Really?" Goodness, she could watch this man talk forever. He had an incredible mouth.
"L.A. gets into your blood," he added. "It's hot and smoggy but if you want to work in film, this is the place to be. It's where all the beautiful people are."
Maggie uttered a short laugh. "I don't work in film, and I'm hardly beautiful, so I don't think I have to worry."
He didn't say anything for a moment, just studied her with light brown eyes that gleamed with hints of gold. There was intelligence in his eyes. Good Lord, the man was gorgeous and intelligent. He was right. LA was where all the beautiful people were, and it was time she went home.
"You're real," he said finally. "You're barely wearing makeup, and I'd bet your hair is actually blond. Unbelievable."
Maggie swallowed uncomfortably under his close perusal. "I better go."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. I'm Serena's neighbor, Jeremy. Jeremy Hunt." He extended his hand, and Maggie reluctantly took it. "I'm a writer, and I tend to analyze people a little more than I should,"
"It's all right," she said, as she extricated her hand from his. "My hair is blond." Why on earth had she told him that?
He smiled again. "If you stay in L.A., maybe we'll see each other around."
My God, the man was actually looking at her like a woman, a real, live woman, not someone's mother, not someone's wife, but a sexual woman. Maggie was tempted to turn around and see if there was someone standing behind her. She hadn't had a man flirt with her in years. She didn't have a clue how to respond.
"I'm not staying," she said.
"Too bad. It's tough to find real in this town. Figures you'd be leaving. Just my bad luck."
"I'm sure there are lots of real people in Los Angeles. Maybe you're not looking in the right place."
"Maybe not. Are you sure you're a friend of Serena's?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" She couldn't look him in the eye. He'd see right through her.
"You seem different."
"Don't you have any friends that are different from yourself?"
"Touché."
"Well, thanks for telling me where Serena is. I better go find her."
He tipped his head. "Have a nice day."
"You too." She took a few steps down the path, then heard him call after her.
"Hey, you never told me your name," he said.
She paused and glanced over her shoulder. "I know."
"I'm a writer," he warned with another one of his dazzling smiles. "I'll just make one up for you."
"I've always been partial to Crystal. It sounds expensive, delicate, strong, and pretty."
"Then I'll call you Crystal, because it fits."
Maggie smiled to herself. It didn't fit. She wasn't a Crystal; she was a Margaret. But as she walked away with the most seductive swagger she'd ever managed, she couldn't help wondering if he liked what he saw. Then the traitorous thought scared her, and she hurried down the path to her car. What was she doing? She was a married woman. She couldn't be thinking about another man.
It wasn't until she slipped her key into her car door that she realized she wasn't married anymore. She wasn't a wife. She was a widow. And she had two choices. She could go back to San Diego and forget all about Serena Hollingsworth or s
he could go to the spa and find some answers. There was really only one choice.
* * *
He should have gone home, Nick decided as he watched Lisa brush out Mary Bea's blond curls in preparation for an upcoming birthday party. Lisa knelt on the living room floor behind Mary Bea, her hands swift yet gentle as she unsnarled each tangle without drawing one word of complaint from Mary Bea.
Mary Bea had been quiet all morning, more subdued than Nick was used to seeing her, but maybe she was exhausted from all the crying the night before. Whatever the reason, it was obvious she'd begun to accept Lisa as a baby-sitter, which meant he really didn't need to stay.
It wasn't like he didn't have anything to do. He had orders stacking up from the baby fair, not to mention the ones he'd taken in his store the past week. And while his two store clerks could work the front desk and sell the furniture they had in stock, he was the only one who could actually make the pieces to be sold. Which meant he should be working instead of standing in the doorway of Maggie's living room watching his ex-wife brush his niece's hair.
But there was something in Lisa's sure strokes, in the picture they made together that captivated him. Today, she looked like the woman he remembered. Gone was the starchy white shirt, the sterile business suit, all the armor of her current life as a businesswoman. Today, dressed in soft, worn jeans and a light blue knit top, she looked like a woman, feminine, alluring, motherly.
He could almost imagine this was their home, their daughter, their life. If only... no, that was a path he wouldn't go down. Lisa was leaving tomorrow, going back to L.A., to her life, to her future husband. His stomach twisted in a jealous knot. He couldn't stand to think of someone else holding her, kissing her, touching her. What the hell was wrong with him? It had been eight years, and he still thought of her as belonging to him.
Lisa looked up and caught him staring. "Nick," she said, her voice somewhat flustered. "You should have said something. I didn't realize you were standing there."
"I didn't want to interrupt such an important task."
"Aunt Lisa says I look beautiful," Mary Bea said with a smile. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"
"The prettiest girl in town."
One True Love Page 6