Emma’s look of defeat was reassuring. “What kind of party is this?”
“It’s not a sit-down dinner or anything like that. It’s more like a reception with cocktails, hors d’oeuvres, that sort of thing.”
“Yeah, but what’s it for?”
“It’s one of those charity events for Feed the Homeless. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”
Emma seemed slightly mollified. “I doubt I have the right clothes for that sort of thing.”
“It’s not dressy. God forbid, that would be mocking the cause.” Brenda gave her a winning smile even Nick would take notice of. “Come on, Em, I’m sure you have at least one dress. I promise we won’t stay long.”
The guy with the beard Emma had served earlier yelled for another beer. Em sighed loudly and slid off the stool. “What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at six-fifteen.”
“Great,” she mumbled, “why couldn’t you’ve twisted Nick’s arm instead?”
“Oh, didn’t I mention it? He’ll be there.”
EMMA SAW HIM near the ornate circular stairway as soon as she walked into the foyer. It didn’t matter that the English cottage-style home was monstrous, more of an estate really, belonging to the widow of the once very prominent Malcom Simon. Em’s gaze immediately riveted to Nick.
He wore a navy sport coat, white shirt and gray slacks, no tie. His hair looked slightly damp still, and his face was clean-shaven, unlike yesterday when he came to the lab. He was by far the most attractive man in the room, at least to Emma’s mind. Half a dozen women agreed with her judging by the way they flocked around him, jockeying for position next to him, touching his arm and laughing.
Emma shook her head. Some breather this turned out to be. She’d purposely called off today’s session to give them a break from each other.
“What’s wrong?” Brenda sidled up to her and handed her a glass of white wine.
She swung her gaze away from Nick. “Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Look, I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately. Maybe I’ll just—”
“Are you nuts? You look terrific!” The frown of disbelief Brenda gave her should have been flattering, but Em just wanted out. “You couldn’t have chosen a better dress for the occasion, or for that body of yours. Damn, girl, I didn’t know you had legs like those.”
“Knock it off.”
Brenda laughed. “I’m just jealous as hell.”
“I didn’t have any choice,” Emma said drily, and tugged at the too-short hem of the black silk shift. “It’s my only dress.”
“Really?” The trace of sympathy in her friend’s eyes annoyed Emma.
“I have two suits for business meetings or interviews, but you know I prefer pants.” Good thing. Clothes were a luxury she couldn’t afford. Good thing, too, that nobody knew when you wore the same two pairs of jeans or khakis all the time.
“Well, you look…” Brenda sighed. “Incredible.”
Warmth invaded her cheeks and she shrugged. “Thanks.”
“Well, shall we mingle?”
“Only if we have to.”
“We do. Come on.” Brenda took hold of Emma’s arm and dragged her off, thankfully in the opposite direction of Nick.
But as they made their way through the massive foyer into the parlor, Emma thought she saw Nick give them a double take. Made her wonder if he knew she’d be there. Not that it mattered. Why would he care? Why should she?
“I want you to see the gardens out back,” Brenda said as she snatched two bacon-wrapped shrimp off the tray of a passing waiter and handed one to Emma. “It’s almost an acre of ponds and flowers and rockfalls. I was kind of hoping the party would be out there.”
“Too chilly.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” She eyed Emma’s sleeveless dress. “Would you rather stay in here?”
Emma gave her a dry look.
“That’s what I thought.” Brenda stopped, frowned in the direction of the glass doors. “Oh, no, there’s Tiffany. Go that way,” she said, redirecting them toward the living room. “Who’s Tiffany?”
“Nick’s current girlfriend.”
Emma stared over her shoulder at the short, slim blond-haired woman who was inspecting her manicure. Several other women in casually elegant dinner dresses were standing around her chatting and sipping from champagne flutes, but Emma instinctively knew which one was Tiffany.
In a deceptively even tone, she said, “I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”
Brenda yanked her along. “Quit looking. She’ll see me and come over.”
Reluctantly, Emma dragged her gaze away from the woman. “I take it you don’t like her.”
“I haven’t formed an opinion yet. I only met her two days ago but I’m not in the mood to make small talk about the latest discoveries in the world of cosmetics.”
“Snob.”
Brenda’s mouth turned up in a wry smile. “Yeah, then you go talk to her.”
Emma chuckled, even though she didn’t feel like it. That Nick had a girlfriend shouldn’t matter in the least. She knew he dated. He reminded her often enough. But somehow, seeing this woman and knowing that she was the one in whom Nick confided, who he held in his arms at night, it got to Emma in a mindless, depressing way that frightened her, and made her suddenly desperate to leave.
What the hell was wrong with her? Nick was simply her test subject, for God’s sake. Sure, he’d flirted with her a little bit. But that was just Nick. It wasn’t personal.
“What’s wrong?” Brenda stopped and stared at her with wide eyes. “You’re pale.”
“I—I’m not— I think I need to go. I’m not feeling so hot all of a sudden.” She swallowed around the lump forming in her throat. “I’m sorry. I think exhaustion is catching up.”
Brenda glanced at her empty glass. “Or too much wine.”
She hadn’t realized she’d downed it. “One glass? I don’t think so.”
“Let’s step outside and get some fresh air. Besides, it’ll be too dark to see the garden soon.” Brenda grabbed a small plate of munchies, and then steered them toward the French doors off the living room, smiling and nodding toward several people she knew, but never stopping.
Emma had no fight left in her. She really was tired. And what the hell? Outside was good. Away from Nick…away from his girlfriend…away from this well-heeled crowd in which Emma didn’t belong.
“Check this out.” Brenda pushed open the doors to the terrace.
Flowers in vibrant hues from purple to majestic burgundy stretched endlessly down a gentle slope. Even in her miserable state, Emma’s breath caught at the beautiful mixture of colors and textures flowing together. Giant, graceful weeping willows sheltered the pond at the outskirts of the property.
If she’d expected a meticulously manicured garden, she would have been horribly disappointed. Many of the more brilliant sprays looked like wildflowers, creating a magical madness in the way they tangled together like lovers.
“This is…” She shaded her eyes against the setting sun. “Amazing.”
Brenda let out a heartfelt sigh. “Screw the white picket fence. I want a garden just like this.”
“Ladies, we need everyone to come inside for a few minutes.”
Emma and Brenda turned at the same time. A silver-haired woman in a royal-blue silk shirtdress stood at the door waving them inside.
“Mrs. Simon, we were just admiring your garden.” Brenda started to introduce Emma.
“I don’t mean to be rude, dear, but we must hurry. We’re about to present our guest of honor with an award.” Mrs. Simon gave Emma a smile of apology as she stepped back from the door.
“We’re coming.” Brenda tilted her head toward Emma. “This shouldn’t take long.”
Great. Emma briefly wondered if it would be too rude to beg off and stay outside. “I thought you said this was just a cocktail reception.”
“It is, but they always present their annual award to the volunteer of the year. I promis
e it’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Sure, we’ll probably have to listen to some long speech,” Emma muttered as Brenda led her inside.
“No way. Nick hates speeches.”
Emma stopped dead in her tracks and yanked Brenda back. “Nick?”
“He’s the guest of honor.” Brenda’s expression was innocent enough, except for the spark of mischief in her eyes. “Didn’t I mention that?”
9
“ATTENTION, EVERYONE.” Mrs. Simon tapped the side of her crystal wineglass with a silver cocktail fork. “May I please have everyone’s attention for a moment?”
Propped in front of the stone fireplace like a damn centerpiece, Nick glared at the woman. She’d promised him there’d be no big to-do over this award. Shit! A root canal without Novocain would’ve been preferable to standing here in front of all these people. See if he volunteered for next year’s fund drive.
To top it all off, he was pretty sure he’d seen Doc earlier. So what the hell was she doing here? Recalling the glimpse he’d had of her—hair down, that black dress that showed off every damn curve better than he could’ve fantasized, got his heart pumping faster than an oil rig.
While Mrs. Simon droned on about the importance of volunteerism, Nick scanned the crowd. Just as she handed him the bronze plaque engraved with his name, he spotted Emma.
She stood in the back next to a potted palm, looking as happy to be here as he was. Her hair was down, draping her breasts, the rich brown strands highlighted golden by the waning sun streaming in from the terrace doors.
Her lips were tinted pink, glistening, tempting. And that dress, showing off just the right amount of cleavage—enough to make a grown man cry—was downright lethal.
“Nick?”
He stared blankly at the concern in Mrs. Simon’s face. “Yeah?”
Someone coughed. A few others laughed.
Mrs. Simon pressed her lips together but couldn’t quite conceal the smile lurking at the corners. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
He glanced down at the plaque, and then at the curious and amused faces out in the crowd. He cleared his throat, pushed a hand through his hair. It was still damp. “Yeah, thanks.”
More laughter.
He didn’t care. All he wanted was to get out of here, and a drink sure as hell wouldn’t hurt, either. He moved away and headed straight for a tray of champagne.
“Well, since Nick is too modest to speak on his own behalf,” Mrs. Simon began, “I’d like to further extend my appreciation for his generous contribution to the shelter and to the people of this city.”
Emma watched Nick try to make a run for it. He downed nearly an entire flute of champagne and was heading toward the back of the house before Tiffany caught up with him. He didn’t seem pleased that she’d wrapped a hand around his arm and tried to stop him, or that she tried to follow him when he wouldn’t be waylaid.
“Most of you don’t realize,” Mrs. Simon was saying, “that Nick doesn’t only donate a goodly portion of his own money, but he gives a considerable amount of his time to the shelter. Currently he is working on developing a small business that would employ many of our city’s homeless men and women with all profit generated going to the shelter.”
The crowd applauded and started looking around to see where Nick had gone.
He looked angry, standing in the back, Tiffany still plastered to his side. He made a slashing motion with his hand across his throat, clearly telling Mrs. Simon to cut off the speech.
If she noticed, she chose to ignore him and continued extolling his virtues. He shook off Tiffany and left through the terrace doors.
“Uh-oh. Nick is pissed,” Brenda whispered. “He’s into doing things anonymously. I’m going to go find him. I’ll be back.”
Emma nodded, feeling helpless, resisting the urge to follow and soothe Nick herself. Except she had no right. He wouldn’t welcome her interference. She edged closer to the terrace doors, unsure what she hoped to accomplish. Mrs. Simon had cooled it on the personal things Nick had done for the shelter and gone on to other business, but Emma had already heard enough about the man to surprise her.
Two middle-aged women stood near the door talking, sipping from their flutes of champagne and sliding glances outside, apparently interested in what had happened to Nick. Emma had gotten close enough that she couldn’t help but hear their conversation.
“What do you suppose has gotten into him?” the redhead with the enormous diamond earrings asked. “Nick is usually so…charming and polite.”
“I don’t know.” Her more conservatively dressed companion frowned with concern. “But he doesn’t like being spotlighted in any way. I have a feeling he didn’t know Esther was going to deliver a dissertation on his personal involvement with the shelter.”
“Oh, well, the boy should be properly recognized. Not many young men his age are concerned with anything or anyone but themselves.”
“All his charity work is certainly commendable, but what he should be working on is getting married and starting a family.”
That startled a laugh out of Emma, netting her sharp looks from both women. “Hello,” she said lamely and started to move on.
“Wait. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
She’d already turned away and wasn’t sure which woman had spoken, but since the one with the diamonds wasn’t smiling, Emma addressed herself to the other woman. “I’m Emma Snow.”
Both women looked blankly at her and she supposed they were waiting for elaboration but she didn’t feel like making small talk with strangers.
“A friend of Nick’s?” the woman persisted when Emma started to leave again.
The redhead laughed. “Isn’t every woman?”
“No,” Emma said with a sweet smile. “Some women think he’s full of hot air.”
The blonde gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief, but she couldn’t be half as shocked as Emma that such an impolite remark had come out of her mouth. She had no idea what had gotten into her. Maybe she was just sick of women fawning over him. Not that that was any kind of excuse.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’ve had a bad day. I’m sorry for my abhorrent manners.”
The other woman’s coral-colored lips curved in an amused smile. “I’m afraid my manners are also lacking. I’m Catherine Ryder. Nick’s mother.” She extended her hand, an odd curiosity lighting her eyes.
And here Emma thought the day couldn’t get worse. Damn it all to hell. She accepted the woman’s hand. Her grasp was warm and firm. “Excuse me, please. I need to step outside and smother myself.”
Mortified, Emma didn’t wait for a response but slipped out the door. It was a big garden. She didn’t have to run into Nick and Brenda. She gulped in the cool air, grateful for the descending duskiness, too rattled to appreciate the ribbon of pink and salmon just beyond the weeping willows, remnants of a Chapel Hill sunset.
The air was too cool to be outside in a sleeveless dress, but it felt good on her face and neck where the heat of embarrassment lingered.
Nick’s mother.
Emma sighed loudly. Dammit. Of all people for her to be flip with. At least this was it. The evening couldn’t possibly get worse.
“What are you doing out here?”
Nick’s voice, low and gruff, came from the shadows.
Emma jumped and spun toward the sound. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“What’s the matter, Doc? Afraid of the dark?”
She squinted but could only see part of his outline. “Where’s Brenda?”
“Ah, so it’s me you’re afraid of. Come on, Doc. Didn’t all those good people convince you what a nice guy I am?”
“What’s gotten into you—” She saw a small red glow. “You’re smoking?”
He didn’t answer.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t.”
“What’s that, a sparkler?” Her sarcasm was undermined when a chill made her sh
iver. She wrapped her arms around herself.
Nick snorted. “Hell, Doc, if you’re gonna come out and bother me, you need to at least keep warm.”
“I didn’t come out to see you. I slipped out because—because I…” Her sigh was equally loud. “Because I opened my big mouth and stuck my foot in it, and I needed some air.”
He chuckled and moved forward, enough that she could see half his face. The intense way he looked at her made her shiver again.
“Come here.” He shrugged out of his sport coat.
“You keep it on. I’m fine.”
“You’re on my turf now, Doc.” He smiled as he ground out the cigarette, and then pulled her toward him.
She stumbled a little on the uneven stones and put her palms against his chest to steady herself.
“Now you’re getting in the spirit of things, Doc.” He put an arm around her before she could protest.
Disappointment swelled when she realized he only meant to place the coat around her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said stiffly, and jerked her shoulder away from his touch.
He was quick. Grabbing the loose coat sleeves, he drew her back toward him.
“What are you doing?” She swept a glance around. They were completely alone. From inside she could hear music and laughter.
“You smell good, Doc.” He pulled her so close her breasts rubbed his chest. “Damn good.”
“You smell like an ashtray.”
He stiffened slightly, and then he chuckled, the movement of his lips tickling the side of her neck. “Nice try. I only had half a cigarette.”
“I still don’t like it.”
His hand moved down the side of her waist, glided over her hip, and she held her breath. He reached into the pocket of his coat. “Help me open this.”
She glanced down. He held a roll of breath mints. “You have two hands.”
“How observant, Doc.” He let go of the jacket sleeve. “Problem is, one of them is occupied,” he said as he slipped beneath the coat and splayed his hand across her rib cage, his thumb brushing the underpart of her breast.
Her breath caught in a painful knot in her chest and she tried to shove back.
“Please, Doc.” His hand slackened. “Don’t go.”
Extra Innings and In His Wildest Dreams Page 29