by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
"You see," Sarah continued, "I truly am a rational, clear-thinking person. I pride myself on my ability to consider the facts without letting my emotions get in the way. As a physician, Nick, I'm sure you can identify with that. Right?"
He nodded agreeably. "Of course."
"Of course," she echoed. "So I'm sure you'll understand why I'm... Well, why I've felt a little thrown off balance lately by these feelings I've been having."
"Feelings?" he asked innocently.
"About you." Sarah sagged a bit in her chair and let out a soft groan of relief. "Oh, God. It feels so good to finally get this out in the open. You know? Like the weight of the world has just been lifted from my shoulders. It's just bizarre. Like a crush, or something. This hasn't happened to me since I had the hots for Billy Dean in fourth grade. I can hardly breathe when you and I are in the same room. My heart feels as if it's turned to Silly Putty. Isn't that ridiculous?"
"Well..." he murmured in his most sober academic fashion, stroking his chin for the full effect. "Those are fairly typical physical symptoms."
"Not for me!" she wailed.
"Hmm."
It was probably time, Nick decided, for Indy to put the poor sword-waving fellow out of his misery. To put them both out of their misery.
"I have a suggestion that might help," he said, rising out of his chair. "Stand up."
"What?" She gazed up at him without moving.
"Just stand, Sarah." He held out his hand. "You'll see."
She rose slowly, even as she murmured, "I don't know about this, Nick. What are you doing?"
"What I've wanted to do since the first moment I saw you," he said. "I'm going to kiss you."
Chapter 11
Think! Sarah warned herself.
Use your head!
Oh, the hell with it.
And those were just about the last coherent thoughts that managed to flit through her brain before she gave herself over completely to Nick's kiss. No, it was more than a kiss. She'd been kissed before, and this was nothing like anything she'd ever experienced. It was closer to a possession. An encounter of the most incredible kind.
Nick's arms encircled her so powerfully, so completely, and he held her so closely against him that it was as if they were one and the same person, or maybe Siamese twins who were joined at the lips all the way to their hips. Yes, especially the hips, where she could feel the strength of his desire through the thin fabric of her robe.
After a moment, she wasn't even breathing on her own anymore, but drawing all of her breath from him. And she was fairly sure she wasn't standing on her own, either. How could she be, when all of her bones had turned to tapioca? How could she even be thinking when her mind had softened to mush?
He smelled like expensive soap. He tasted like peppermint toothpaste with just a hint of brandy. His mouth was wonderfully cool and incredibly hot at the same time. The whiskers on his jawline made her skin tingle. All of her senses absolutely sizzled.
And how had a cat strayed into the kitchen, Sarah wondered. All of a sudden it occurred to her that the little mewing sounds she kept hearing were coming from her very own throat.
She was mewing?
Good grief.
How embarrassing.
No sooner did she begin to pull away than Nick lifted his head, breaking the kiss and easing his embrace. He didn't let her go completely, though, which was probably a good thing because she might have slid right down to the floor and lain at his feet in a warm puddle of melted flesh and bones.
"Well," she said, a little surprised at the huskiness that permeated her voice. "I don't know about you,but I certainly feel better now that we've cleared the air."
"Mmm," Nick murmured while he smiled down at her, his hands still warm on her back and the rest of him still hard against her front. "I'm glad you feel better."
"Don't you?"
"Well..." His smile turned a bit ragged at the edges. "Better? Maybe. I definitely feel."
Sarah took a step back, out of his arms, just to be on the safe side. "Now that these feelings are out in the open, we'll be able to deal with them like two reasonable and intelligent people."
Nick laughed as he pulled out the chair he'd been sitting in earlier. "As opposed to two unreasonable, sex-crazed people who'd rather make love than talk."
"We aren't going to make love," she told him, heading back for her cutting board and the vegetables she'd put aside when he went to shower.
"Aren't we?"
From the tone of his voice Sarah couldn't tell if he was teasing her or challenging her. Not that it made any difference.
"No, we're not," she said even more firmly. "I mean, after all, Nick, what would be the point?"
"Pleasure?"
"Fleeting pleasure," she said, picking up the knife and going at the green pepper again.
"I was thinking more along the lines of slow pleasure. Long drawn-out pleasure. Hours. Days."
Sarah rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue. "You know what I mean. It would still be nothing more than a casual fling. A quick roll in the hay."
"A leisurely roll in the hay," he corrected her.
"Whatever." She was chopping a little faster now, irritated that Nick couldn't understand what she was trying to communicate to him, that he seemed to be making a joke out of something she considered quite serious, and that even as she was spurning him, she was still enjoying the peppermint-brandy taste of him on her lips.
"I came here to work with your son, Nick. Period. Yes, I'm attracted to you."
She picked up an egg and cracked it hard on the rim of a bowl as she continued. "Yes, it's hard to breathe when you're around."
Crack. Splat.
"And, yes, that was without a doubt the most incredible kiss I have ever experienced in my entire life."
Crack. Splat.
"But so what? It's not going to happen again."
Crack. Splat.
"Ever."
Sarah picked up the bowl now and began beating the yolks and whites within an inch of their little lives, all the while feeling Nick's dark gaze on her back and knowing he was grinning like a damned pirate and probably ignoring every word she said.
"It's not going to happen again," she repeated, as much for her own ears as for Nick's.
Not if I can help it.
Oh, help!
For the next few days, in an effort to avoid Nick Chiara, Sarah nearly buried herself alive in research. After she'd consumed all the psychological journals she'd brought with her from the States, she obtained permission to use the hospital's computer to locate just about everything that had ever been written on the subject of mutism in general, and traumatic mutism in particular.
Never in her entire career had she been so strongly motivated to solve a patient's problem. And in all honesty she knew very well that the source of that motivation wasn't mere concern for the silent little boy, but her devout wish to accomplish what'd she'd come for and to get the hell out of Dodge.
"You look a little frayed at the edges, child," Lady Satherwaite said to her one afternoon when Sarah took a break from her research to visit the old woman's room.
Nick's aunt wasn't even bothering to pretend she was ill anymore, but referred to her stay in the royal wing as her "little sabbatical." By now the room was so crammed with floral arrangements, stuffed animals and Get Well Soon balloons that there was hardly anyplace for a visitor to stand or sit. Sarah had to bat a helium-filled mylar heart out of her way just to approach the bed.
"If I'm frayed at the edges, it because I've been working hard," she replied. "I think I have a much better handle on how to get Leo to speak again. I'm really anxious for him to get back from Disneyland."
"When is that? Tomorrow?"
"I think so. Nick talks to the Davis-Finches every day, hoping they'll put Leo on the phone." She sighed. "But they never do. They always come up with some sort of excuse. Either the boy's asleep, or about to go to sleep, or he's in the bathroom or brushing his
teeth, or something like that."
"Morons." Lady Satherwaite gave a brusque, dismissive wave of her hand. Each day, Sarah couldn't help but notice, another ring magically appeared on her fingers. Nick must have brought them to her. That was sweet of him.
As if somehow reading Sarah's thoughts, the old woman said, "Nicky was here an hour or so ago. I must say, he doesn't look much perkier than you, dear. He seemed decidedly subdued, as a matter of fact. Is there something going on between the two of you that I ought to know about?"
"There's nothing going on," Sarah said.
It wasn't a lie, exactly. It was the absolute truth, if you didn't take into consideration the constant undercurrents of electricity that zapped between the two of them when they were in the same room, or the fact that Sarah could hardly sleep anymore, knowing Nick was only a bedroom away, wondering if he was lying awake, too, and then berating herself for wondering.
"Well, that explains it, then." Nick's aunt clasped her bejeweled hands atop her ample belly and gave a deep, disappointed sigh. "Although I can't claim to understand why the two of you are postponing the inevitable, dear. I was so in hopes that during my absence and Leo's that..."
"Whoa. That's enough." Sarah stood up, and got bopped on the head by another balloon, which she smacked aside. "You really are a meddler, Lady Satherwaite," she said, not bothering to hide her irritation. The woman wasn't ill, after all. She was just malingering and quite obviously relishing her scheme. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I really wish you'd go play Cupid with somebody else. I'm just not interested."
Honoria Satherwaite looked crestfallen for a second, but she obviously wasn't about to quit. "But, my dear. You said you weren't wildly in love with anyone. I distinctly remember your telling me that right here in this very room. You can't deny it."
"I don't deny it." Sarah lifted her hands in a helpless gesture as she went on. "And not only am I not wildly in love with anyone right now, but I have no intention of falling wildly in love with anyone in the future. Ever. I don't want to be wildly in love, thank you very much. I'm happy just the way I am."
"Pish tosh. Everyone wants to fall in love. Everyone. The wilder, the better."
Sarah shook her head adamantly. "Not me."
"I don't believe that."
"I'm sorry, Lady Satherwaite, but it's true. And all these schemes of yours aren't going to do anything but frustrate Nick and me, and ultimately they'll only be a terrible disappointment to you. In fact, you might just as well come home because nothing's going on there. At least, not between your nephew and me."
"You don't find him attractive?"
"I find him incredibly attractive," Sarah said. "He's also intelligent and funny and kind and a hell of a kisser."
When the old woman began to grin triumphantly and her eyes began to sparkle, Sarah quickly added, "Don't get the wrong idea now. It was just one kiss—a kind of experiment, actually—and there aren't going to be any more."
"Well, then, you're a moron, too," Lady Satherwaite said.
Sarah couldn't help but laugh. "That's probably true," she said, "but at least I'm a moron with a purpose. And one who really needs to get back to the computer now to do some more research before Leo gets home." She reached out to gently pat the big woman's arm. "I'll see you later."
Honoria Satherwaite made a series of harrumphing sounds while Sarah fought her way through a jungle of flowers and a forest of helium balloons to get to the door.
For several days, Nick managed to remain on his best behavior with Sarah, which basically meant that he took up jogging again—hard, punishing, uphill runs, five miles in the early morning and another five in the late afternoon. It was either that physical distraction or take half a dozen cold showers every day, or avoid Sarah completely, which was something he had no intention of doing. Ever.
Was he in love? The question seemed preposterous, but he asked himself a hundred times a day. He'd only just met Sarah Hunter, and he didn't believe love was possible in so short a time. He'd known Lara Davis-Finch for at least three years before he was even willing to acknowledge that his feelings for her were anything resembling love.
Of course, that was a long time ago and he hadn't exactly been celibate back then. Poor Lara had had more than a little competition. Sarah Hunter had none. But if he wasn't in love with her, he was certainly in something that had his blood rampaging and his pulse rate spiking every time he saw her.
As for her ban on kissing, Nick found himself in complete agreement. He was fairly certain that he wouldn't be able to stop at just a kiss, and he was too out of practice to trust himself, too fearful of behaving like a fool.
His Aunt Honoria, on the other hand, was convinced not only that it was love, but that it was true love. Heaven help him. She reclined in her high bed at the hospital like some enormous goddess, gazing down from Olympus, delighting in her romantic dreams and her schemes to tamper with the tender hearts of mere mortals.
"You look simply terrible, Nicky," she said by way of a greeting when he stopped by the hospital after his afternoon jog.
"Thank you, Auntie darling." He shoved a bouquet of balloons aside in order to approach the bed, then he bent to Mss her and said, "You're looking better than ever. I've brought you the emerald pinkie ring you said you couldn't live without."
He slipped it from his little finger and onto hers, not failing to note that her hands weren't nearly as swollen as they'd been the day before. He'd changed her to a different diuretic yesterday and it seemed to be doing the trick. Other than the worrisome tendency to retain fluids, her health was excellent for a woman her age. She'd probably outlive him.
"Thank you, dear." She wiggled her finger and pondered the square-cut emerald a moment before looking back at him. "Sarah was here a little while ago."
"That's nice."
Nick braced himself for whatever it was she was going to say next. The woman could change subjects in the blink of an eye and with no apparent logic. God only knew how her mind worked. He'd lived with her for nearly three decades and he still didn't have a clue.
"We had a pleasant little chat, Sarah and I. She finds you most attractive, Nicky. And she tells me you're—oh, how did she put it?—'a hell of a kisser.'"
"That's good to hear," he said, shaking his head, then adding almost under his breath, "For what it's worth."
His aunt sat up straighter, scrunching the pillows behind her back, and then crossing her arms. "I should think it would be worth a great deal to any man, especially one who looks at a woman the way you look at Sarah Hunter."
"You're getting a bit obsessed with this, Aunt Honoria, don't you think?"
It suddenly occurred to Nick that his aunt's recent behavior truly was obsessive. Up until now, he'd written all of these ridiculous matchmaking attempts off to her inherent eccentricities and her rose-colored, romantic view of the world. But this afternoon he wasn't quite so sure. Geriatrics wasn't his specialty by any means, but he knew enough about the elderly to know that obsessive behavior could be an early symptom of dementia. Maybe he should call Doctor Helena Mancuso for a consultation.
"And don't you look at me as if I'm a crazy, bug-eyed old gypsy, Dominic Chiara," she snapped, obviously reading his expression correctly. "I am not senile nor am I demented. I see what I see. And furthermore, I know what I know."
"All right, Aunt Honoria," he said soothingly, reaching for her hand.
She waved him away. "Go. Go run or whatever it is you're dressed for. I don't want to talk about this anymore, Nicky. I've done my best. I wash my hands of you both."
He was almost out the door when he swore he heard her mutter "Morons" at his back.
"How's our patient?" Sarah asked when Nick walked onto the terrace where she was reading an article she'd copied from a British psychiatric journal.
"Testy," he said, pulling out a chair. "Irascible. Stubborn. Basically impossible."
Sarah laughed. "In other words, pretty much the same."
"Right.
She called me a moron."
"You, too?" She laughed again. "Well, I guess we have a lot more in common than we thought."
"What are you reading?" he asked, flipping the chair around and straddling it with his forearms braced over the back.
He was still in his running clothes—gray sweats and a worn pair of Reeboks. Sarah tried not to notice that he looked just as good in those as he did in a tuxedo. Maybe better.
"An article by a British psychiatrist who claims that traumatic mutism can't be cured at all without addressing the original trauma. I've been sitting here thinking how that might apply to Leo."
He sighed. "So we're back to Desmond's murder and the fire again, are we?"
She nodded. "I'm not much of a believer in coincidence, Nick. And Leo stopped speaking right after that. There has to be a connection."
"Not if you believe Estella. And I can't think of any reason why the girl would lie. Especially when she's no longer employed by us. The truth can't get her fired."
"Even so, I'd like to talk to her again," Sarah said. "And I think I'll snoop around Desmond's place tomorrow, if that's all right."
‘"The police are done over there as far as I know."
"Great."
Sarah picked up her stack of articles. "Well, I think I'll take these inside and read myself to sleep."
He looked west toward the sun, which was nowhere near the horizon yet. "I don't suppose you want to have dinner with me. We could..."
"No, thanks."
She had only taken a few steps across the terrace when Nick's leg shot out to stop her.
"What are you afraid of, Sarah?" he asked, his voice low, challenge flashing in his dark eyes.
"Nothing," she said, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact for fear Nick would see something burning in her eyes, the something that kept flaming up inside her. "I'm not afraid of anything."
"Or anyone?"
"No. Not anything or anyone."
"Liar."