Chapter 13
“Damn it, Bree, you took the heat for me. Don’t you ever do that again, understand?” He sat back on his hunches.
A flicker of admiration sparked inside her. “You never back down from a responsibility, do you, Carletti?” She shrugged uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to pit the two of you against each other. But I did. That’s where the competition comes in.”
“I wish I’d known.”
“Why, so you could stop it? It wasn’t that easy. Vinnie was fighting himself more than you.”
He scowled, asking, “How so?”
“He knew he wasn’t you and could never be. He couldn’t measure up to the man you are.”
Nick groaned, apparently in understanding. “That’s why he became a cop.”
Bree shifted her legs so she sat Indian style. Leaning forward, she sought and found his arm. She squeezed his rock hard forearm, trying to snap him out of his inner turmoil.
“It might have started out that way, but Vinnie stayed because he loved being a cop. The problem was he tried to cram your twenty-year service record into two short ones. It was impossible.”
“He took so many risks…”
“Too many and got himself killed for it.”
“What do you know about that night?” Suspicion etched the question and he shook off her hand.
She pulled away, bereft at the loss and hurt he’d shunned her. “Nana told me.”
Silence, heavy and unnerving, blanketed Bree. Her tense muscles ached with the strain. But it was his churning emotions she sensed that disturbed her the most.
“It should have been me.”
She scrambled to her knees, covering his mouth with her fingertips. "No, don’t you dare say that.”
He brushed her hand away. “If she told you, then you know it’s true.”
Anguished, she framed his face between her palms. The light stubble dusting his jaw pricked her sensitive flesh, but she reveled in being this close to him. “Look at me, Nick. Mistake number one: He went in without backup. Mistake number two: He antagonized a gun wielding drunk. Mistake number three: He rushed the guy.”
“He saved the guy’s wife from being killed.”
She ached for him, his pain, his suffering. “He died a hero. But he died because of stupidity, not because of you. You shouldn’t have even been working the graveyard shift that night. But you went in for Crawley so he could stay home with his sick baby.”
“I was closer than Vinnie to that call.”
“He was faster. Is that a crime? Does that deserve years of self-inflicted punishment?”
He blew out a long, shuddering breath.
Her middle twisted in agony. “Oh, Nick.” She leaned close, brushing her lips against his in comfort, in understanding. “Don’t blame yourself, no one else does.”
Something heavy and dark shifted inside Nick, releasing him from his self-imposed prison of guilt regarding his son’s death. Lightness seeped into the wide cracks, generating hope, blotting up the pool of grief.
Hungry for Bree and her acceptance, he wrapped his arms around her. The sweetness of her kiss spread light and warmth. Holding her in his arms filled the lonely, empty spaces in his center.
She broke the embrace. With her hands, she traced his features in a loving caress. “You had me worried when you stalked off like that. It…it reminded me of Vinnie. That’s how we parted the last time.”
A hand gripped his chest in shared anguish. “Oh, sweetness, that’s what happened between Vinnie and me, too. My last words to my son were ones of anger.” He bit down on the wealth of emotion bubbling inside him, the waves of regret and remorse.
“How awful for you, Nick. How awful that you have to live with that memory for the rest of your life.”
She knows exactly how I feel. Something tugged at his heart, allowing him to share the haunting memories. “I can’t seem to forget it. I can recite the whole awful argument, recall every change of expression on his face. I can even tell you how he moved, the way his hands slashed in the air. Most of the time, I can bury it. But sometimes it comes to me in dreams and I wake up drenched in sweat and screaming out—” He cut himself off, shunning the horrible images his words evoked.
“You don’t have to be ashamed of that. In the beginning, I had those kinds of nightmares, too. Sydney and I call them the demon attacks.”
“Why haven’t we ever talked like this before? Why haven’t we been there for each other to fight the demons together?”
Tenderly, Nick pulled Bree close. He found her mouth, parted on a gasp, and plundered the sweet, hot recesses. She tasted of red wine.
A primitive savagery took root as Nick prolonged the deep, wet kiss, seeking the incredible sweetness, inhaling her heady scent.
He lowered her to the ground. Covering her now, Nick marveled at how her tiny frame fit his perfectly. Every curve, supple roundness, and every delicate indentation matched his hard angles and smooth planes. Her soft, full breasts, crushed against his chest, urged him on.
Her legs twined with his. Gathering her closer still, Nick raked his fingers through her silken hair, cupping her head in his palm.
Plunging his tongue into the depths of her mouth once again, he sought a way to appease this growing longing in his middle, this age-old need to be a part of her, to be totally surrounded by Bree.
She whimpered, the sound catching in the back of her throat, shattering Nick’s sensual attack. Self-reproach for his insensitivity nagged him.
She grabbed his shoulders, first shoving at him, and then clinging to him. Nick slowed and gentled the embrace. With a softness he didn’t think he had in him, he peppered kisses over her bruised lips, silently begging forgiveness.
Next, he showered her beautiful face with delicate, feathery caresses, paying homage to her, to the attraction they shared for years.
“I’m sorry, sweetness,” Nick murmured between kisses. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.” He found her long throat, darting out his tongue to stroke the length. He dipped into the space where her neck and shoulder connected.
She shivered in response. “Nick,” she moaned. Her tentative touch on his chest stroked a tender spot deep inside him.
“Shhh!” He kissed her quiet, thoroughly.
When it ended, she pulled back, her face only inches from his. Her hot, ragged breaths kindled another wave of desire.
He clamped down on the rush of heat. Gingerly, Nick reached out, rubbing a knuckle over her satiny cheek. “So soft,” he whispered. “Here.” He dragged a fingertip to her swollen lips. “And here.”
Trailing his finger downward, first he caressed her chin, her throat, over the rapid pulse beat at the base, and then he dipped lower parting her shirt until he reached the full roundness of her breast. “And especially here.”
She trembled under his touch. A part of him wondered at the response. Was it fright or desire?
“I want to kiss you here,” he said huskily, tracing the lace edge of her bra.
Her eyes sparkled and her breaths came in tiny pants. She nodded her ascent, but he felt her body stiffen as if bracing herself for the intimate contact.
He halted, highly aware now that she feared what would come next. Concern for her shadowed his growing need. Pulling his hand away from her, he undid the first few buttons on his shirt.
“Give me your hand.” She obeyed his soft command. He raised her quivering hand to his mouth, dropped a kiss on her palm, and then he flattened her hand to his skin. “Feel my heart pounding? I’m just as scared as you are, sweetness.”
Springy whorls of soft hair tickled Bree’s palm. The heat of his skin seared her. Under it all she felt his thundering heart rate match hers. “You scared?” Wonder filled her voice and a little bit of her fright dissipated.
He chuckled, low and raw. “Remember you found me out; I’m just a mound of mush when it comes to you.”
She giggled at that, a nervous squeaking. Wiggling beneath his large, heavy frame, she felt th
e blistering caress of his arousal burning into her thigh. Heat crawled up her neck and into her cheeks. “I wouldn’t exactly call you mush at the moment.”
A devilish smile transformed his features, stealing the breath from her lungs. “On the inside I’m mush, but on the outside I’m steel.” He pressed his hips into her, proving his point.
She gasped as a pool of liquid fire swirled in her middle. But the doubts crowded in once again. Panic at his earlier demands, demands she knew she couldn’t meet, bubbled to the surface. “Nick, I need to warn you, I’m…I’m not very good at this…sort of thing.” Hadn’t Sydney’s father told her that?
Nick eased the pressure, searching her gaze. A tiny frown marred his brow. “Is that what’s worrying you?”
His understanding brought tears stinging the backs of her eyes. She turned away, blinking rapidly.
The delicate feel of his fingertips brushing back her hair, caused more moisture to gather, and then spill.
“Ah, sweetness, don’t cry. It just kills me when you cry.” The roughness of his voice lent credence to his plea. Applying slight pressure to her chin, he turned her face to him. Nick feathered soft kisses over her eyelids, and then darted out his tongue to lick the droplets away. “Salty, yet still sweet,” he murmured. “Hell, honey, you kiss like a dream.”
She drew in a quick breath, stunned by Nick’s declaration. He had never said that to her, in fact, he had sounded disgusted at her futile attempts.
Frigid. Pathetic.
Wonder filled her, making her question all her assumptions based on him.
She curled her hand, softly scratching Nick’s chest. He shivered. Bree stilled. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, in fact, just the opposite.” He nibbled the corner of her mouth, coaxing a response.
She complied, tentatively at first, then, as her courage grew and he groaned his satisfaction, she sought more. His firm, masculine lips parted at the bold invitation of her tongue. The taste of wine transported Bree back, tumbling in time to that first forbidden kiss. But this night proved even better and Bree clung to that insight.
His large, hot hands, splayed on her back, seared through her thin shirt and seeped into the coldest regions of her being.
Sandalwood after-shave mingled with fresh pine and sweet grass. Tunneling her fingers through his slick, damp hair, she relished the thick strands sliding sensuously over her skin.
The hard ground beneath her seemed to melt away. She was only aware of the welcoming pleasure of his rock hard body molding itself to hers and the ache in her center mushrooming outward.
She longed to run her hands over every inch of him, to span his broad shoulders and feel the way his muscles rippled and bunched beneath her touch. She put action to her thoughts, freely caressing the width and breadth of her husband.
Bree trailed kisses over his jaw, the bristles sharp, yet welcoming. Inhaling, she detected the scent of the lake clinging to his skin and she longed to be a part of him like that, blending with him in a unique fragrance all their own.
Finding his earlobe, she suckled it gently. His answering hot hiss against the side of her neck sent delicious thrills along her nerve endings. Power surged through her veins, feminine power to please him.
A sense of soaring took over, a gliding sensation that spun her world. Her mind reeled, growing lighter and matching the carefree mood of her heart and soul. All her nagging doubts evaporated like dew in the early morning burning sun.
In her core, something intangible expanded, glowing brighter as he cherished her with his mouth, his hands, and his body.
Shattering glass, coming in the direction of the cabin, rent the cool, crisp night air. A stab of fear gripped her. Bree froze. Nick followed suit.
An unmistakable child’s cry sounded, ripping through Bree’s heart. Crashing back to Earth and pulling away from him, she cried, “Sydney!”
Chapter 14
“No hos-pa-doodle,” Sydney wailed. “Please, Poppa, no hos-pa-doodle.”
Hugging herself tightly, Bree’s middle twisted once again at the non-stop pleading from her daughter. Nick cradled the little girl in his big, loving arms as he sat on the emergency room examining table.
Nick’s black jeans contrasted sharply with the white paper table covering. He shifted and the parchment paper crinkled. Sydney, wearing her favorite pink pajamas, grasped Nick’s white shirt in bunches, wrinkling the fabric.
A big, wet spot decorated the front where her tears lay, matching the one on Bree’s shirt where she’d held her daughter as Nick raced them to the hospital.
“I’m sorry, Princess, we have to get your foot checked out.” Nick’s voice echoed in the sterile room with a well of regret in an obvious attempt to comfort her.
Fear grew inside Bree when she glanced at the blood soaked gauze covering her daughter’s right instep. The breaking glass and Sydney’s cries still reverberated in her head. She prayed that the embedded glass hadn’t cut any major nerves or tendons.
Approaching the table, Bree brushed back Sydney’s damp bangs and tenderly kissed her daughter’s hot, sweaty forehead. “Your poppa and I will be right here with you.”
Tiny trusting hands clutched at Bree. Sobs racked the little body. “Please, Mommy, don’t make me stay!”
Bree’s heart turned over in her chest and tears filled her eyes. Lifting her gaze, she sought Nick’s.
Standing this close to him, grazing his knee with her hip, she felt the bottled up anxiety in his body and read the similar helpless emotions chasing across his features. But, behind the shared anguish, Nick sent her another message, one of reassurance.
“Everything’s going to be all right.” His words had a calming effect on her. Still holding Sydney securely in his arms, he extended his right hand to Bree. She grasped it for a moment, gaining strength from the warm, strong pressure. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”
The tension eased in Bree’s shoulders, yet the pain bounced behind her rib cage. The unspoken words lay thick and heavy between them. Not like I did to my son.
“I hate hos-pad-doodles!” Sydney’s pitiful cry rent the air, dragging Bree’s full attention back to her daughter’s distress.
Bree swiped away the moisture on the hot, red round cheeks. “But why? The doctors and nurses are here to help you get better.”
“Daddy died here. And…and they made me get blood all over me when I had surge-ee. And ’sides that, Nana never came home…”
Bree sucked in her breath, nearly torn in two by her daughter’s disclosure. She’d never comprehended the bizarre implications Sydney had absorbed from all she’d experienced in her short life.
What kind of irreversible mark had been left on her? A mixture of stunned wonder and despair twisted Nick’s face, ripping Bree’s heart even more.
“Princess…” Nick’s voice cracked. Clearing his throat, he began again. “Sometimes bad things do happen in hospitals, but there’s a lot of good that comes out of them, too.”
“Name…name ’em.” Sydney hiccupped, and then sniffed loudly.
“Well…” Bree could tell he scrambled for an answer, and then he glanced down at Sydney and said, “You for one. Your mommy had you in the hospital and it was one of the happiest days of my life. And don’t forget when you had your tonsils out last year you met your best friend Sherrie there. Plus, you had all the popsicles you wanted, especially the grape ones.”
“Oh, yeah…”
Bree watched as the stiffness siphoned out of the little body he held. A wealth of gratitude for Nick’s clear, cool reasoning replaced her own tension. “Thanks, Nick.”
He nodded in her direction, and then quickly looked away. But she swore she caught the glitter of moisture in his eyes.
“Is it gonna hurt, Mommy?”
“Maybe a little.” She refused to openly deceive her child. “I’ll ask them to numb it first if they can, okay?”
“S’okay.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, Bree pressed a k
iss to Sydney’s temple, tasting the remnants of the salty tears.
Please don’t let it hurt her too much, Bree prayed silently, wishing to absorb the pain for the most precious person in her life.
Pulling back, she caught sight of Nick’s bloody sleeve. A shock wave crashed over her as the most horrible memory from eighteen months ago screamed in her mind.
The pounding on the door at three in the morning had alerted her to tragedy. She’d thought, only bad news comes in the middle of the night. With her heart in her throat, Bree had faced Nick.
His complexion, under the pool of the bright porch light, had appeared ghostly white. The torture chasing across his face and the big rusty blood splotch on his police uniform had made her assume he’d been hurt.
The scent of death surrounded him and she choked back a sob. Thunder-like heartbeats roared in her ears, blocking out everything else. The bottom of her world dropped out, making her dizzy and sick to her stomach. No, not Nick! How will I ever live without him?
“Oh God, Nick. No!” She thrust open the screen door and reached for him. He flinched. She drew back as if slapped. “Did I hurt you?”
“May I come in?”
Why is he being so polite? Then, squinting past the harsh artificial lighting, she noticed the police cars lining the street in front of Vinnie’s and her home.
The somber mood of the state troopers standing in a small semi-circle nearby penetrated her reeling thoughts. Father Tom climbed her front steps and nudged Nick aside.
“May we come in, child?”
Dumbfounded, Bree nodded. It’s Vinnie, not Nick. A surge of relief that Nick was all right shot through her. Guilt and shame followed close on its heels, rooting themselves in her middle. Vinnie was hurt.
She stepped back as Nick entered. Looking into his dark eyes, she read the naked pain and her heart clenched in empathy.
“There’s been an accident, Bree.”
“Ah…maybe it would be best if we all sat down,” Father Tom offered helpfully.
“Tell me,” Bree said, staring at Nick, bracing herself.
Secrets Of The Heart (Book 1, The Heart Series) Page 10