In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3)

by Irene Hannon

  Rachel's tense posture eased slightly, and the hint of a smile touched those soft lips. "Thanks for trying to put a better spin on this"

  "Everything I said is true. But just to satisfy our curiosity, I'll check with the restaurant tomorrow morning and let you know what I find"

  "I appreciate that"

  His business was finished. It was time to leave. But Nick didn't move. Nor did Rachel.

  In the sudden stillness, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips in a gesture he'd come to recognize as nothing more than a nervous habit. Yet it managed to launch his pulse into overdrive. Her appeal was compounded by the flickering flames in the fireplace, which burnished the auburn highlights in her hair and brought a slight flush to her cheeks. He couldn't recall when he'd last met such a lovely, intelligent woman.

  All at once, an idea began to percolate in his mind. Or perhaps inspiration was a better word. Both he and Rachel had unexciting plans for the evening. How would she react if he suggested they spend a couple of hours together? Not talking about dolls and vibes and media, but getting to know each other?

  He tried to gauge her mood, but all he could pick up was nervousness. Not unlike what he'd sensed at the office a week ago. Except that day her eyes hadn't grown soft or held the yearning he thought he detected tonight in their depths. Unless he was seeing things he wanted to see rather than reality.

  The only way to find out was to test the water.

  "I guess that wraps things up for now." He remained seated, hoping for some signal that would suggest she might be open to an offer to extend the evening.

  "I guess it does" She fumbled for one of the cushions in the corner of the couch and hugged it against her midsection. "I'm sorry I delayed your dinner. You must be hungry."

  Yeah. He was. But food wasn't going to satisfy the sudden hunger inside him.

  He cleared his throat. "It won't take me long to throw an omelet together"

  She blinked. "You're making an omelet for dinner?"

  One side of his mouth hitched up. "Believe it or not, I'm a decent cook"

  "I didn't mean to imply you weren't. But an omelet doesn't seem like enough for .." The rosy hue of her cheeks deepened, and she lifted one shoulder in apology. "I mean, I'd sort of pegged you as the inch-thick-steak kind of guy."

  "See how deceiving looks can be? I rarely eat beef-and have even been known to experiment with tofu, much to the disgust of my friends. But I must admit I made the same mistake about you. When we met, I sort of pegged you as ..." He let the sentence trail off and gave her a half smile.

  "A loony, I'm sure." She smiled in return. "I hope you've changed your opinion."

  "Totally. And speaking of dinner ... I bet you haven't eaten yet, either"

  "No. I was getting ready to when the press came calling."

  He removed his arm from the back of the couch and rose, his manner unhurried. "I'll let you get to it, then. I'm sure it's a far more exciting menu than mine"

  Tossing the pillow aside, she stood too. He prayed her uncertain expression meant what he hoped it meant.

  "It's not bad. I got a carryout of shrimp and broccoli linguini from one of my favorite restaurants on the way home"

  "Definitely a better menu." He gave her an encouraging smile.

  She did the lip-licking thing again. Rubbed her palms on her slacks. Adjusted her glasses. Tucked her hair behind her ear. All good signs, he hoped.

  "Listen ... I know this is rather impromptu, but ... the pasta is in a very light sauce, so it's pretty healthy. I can't claim the same for the bread that came with it, or the chocolate torte I pilfered from the teachers' lounge. I do have the fixings for a salad in the fridge, though. Anyway, I appreciate your coming over, and I'd like to thank you in some way. If you'd care to stay for dinner, I have plenty."

  Thank you, Lord.

  Nick gave her a slow, warm smile. He couldn't care less about the food. All he wanted was a couple more hours in this woman's company. The gourmet menu was a bonus. "If you're sure, I'd love to join you. Tell me what I can do to help"

  Her flush of pleasure at his acceptance kicked his pulse up a notch.

  "Everything's made except the salad. And the bread will heat up in ten minutes. There's not much to do other than set the table"

  "I can handle that if you point me in the right direction"

  She gave a soft, nervous chuckle. "It's pretty hard to get lost in this house" She led the way through a doorway formed by a spindle-topped half wall that separated the living and dining rooms. As she flipped on the wall switch, the rich patina of a walnut table for four was bathed in warm light from a brass chandelier. Nick admired the contemporary glass candleholder in the center, where three large candles were displayed on staggered levels, and ran a swift glance over a small credenza on one side that held a unique raku pottery bowl, its distinctive iridescent glaze shimmering in the light.

  But it was the far wall that held him spellbound.

  Though the room was very small, a striking illusion of space had been created by a carefully lit mural. Coral-toned stucco arches framed a three-dimensional view of a large expanse of azure sea on the horizon. A few red-tile roofs were visible in the distance on the lush, green hillside, suggesting a Mediterranean setting. Sprays of bougainvillea dipped below the arches, and the fronds of a palm tree peeked into the scene from one side. An ornate white railing, with spindles that matched those above the half wall on the opposite side of the room, was topped with pots of colorful, exotic flowers he couldn't identify.

  "Wow" Nick didn't know what else to say.

  "I often get that reaction." Rachel grinned and folded her arms across her chest. "The effect is most dramatic from this angle"

  Shoving back the edges of his jacket, Nick planted his hands on his hips and studied the rendering. "If I didn't know I was in St. Louis in the middle of winter, I'd try to walk out on that terrace to smell the flowers and take in the view"

  "That's the magic of trompe l'oeil painting. It's designed to trick the eye and make you believe what you're seeing is real:"

  "It sure worked for me" He squinted, searching his memory. "I think I've heard that term somewhere. This technique goes back to the Middle Ages, doesn't it?"

  "Very good" She gave him an approving smile. "Most people aren't familiar with the name, let alone the history. Actually, it goes back further than that. There are examples of it in Pompeii. But it was very popular during the Renaissance. A lot of wealthy people used it on the walls and ceilings of their palaces and villas to add drama or to open the rooms up and give them a grander scale. I decided that if it was good enough for them, it was good enough for me. This room needed all the illusion of size it could get:'

  He shook his head. "It's amazing. Who did it?"

  "A company called Painted Illusions"

  "How did you find them?"

  "It wasn't hard. You're looking at the founder, president, and sole employee"

  Nick stared at her. "You did this?"

  "Yes"

  "I thought you were a teacher."

  "I am. Music. This is a hobby that happens to make me a little money."

  He examined the mural again. "Some hobby. How did you learn to do this?"

  "I didn't have to learn. The talent was a gift." She smiled and leaned a shoulder against the wall beside her. "You know, if we keep getting sidetracked, we're never going to have dinner"

  "True. I'll join you in the kitchen in a minute. I want to take a closer look at this"

  "Not a good idea."

  "Why not?"

  "It loses its magic up close"

  That was true of a lot of things, Nick mused as he regarded Rachel. Including the women he'd dated. But somehow he had a feeling this woman wouldn't lose her luster at close range.

  "I'll take my chances"

  At the husky timbre of his words and the sudden sizzle of electricity between them, her eyes widened and she took an involuntary step back. Turning, she pushed through the split,
swinging louvered doors to the kitchen. "Take your time," she called over her shoulder.

  There was a hint of panic in her voice. He felt a touch of it himself. It was obvious neither had anticipated that powerful jolt of electricity. He decided to follow her suggestion and take his time while he assessed this unexpected situation.

  Okay. He'd come here tonight to follow up on her phone call. He'd had nothing better to do, and the thought of seeing the woman with the velvet brown eyes and lush lips had appealed to him. He'd expected to spend a pleasant few minutes with her, then head home to work on his house. That much was clear to him.

  After that, things got murky.

  He had no idea how his plans for a solitary evening rehabbing his house had evolved to sharing dinner with that lovely woman on the most romantic night of the year.

  But he did know two things.

  His Valentine's Day was turning out to be a lot better than he'd expected.

  And Mark would be pleased.

  As the doors from the dining room swung into place behind her, Rachel gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and tried to process the radical revision in her Valentine plans. Instead of a quiet, solitary evening she was going to have dinner in the company of a handsome man.

  It was surreal.

  Putting the bread in the oven, she moved to the fridge on autopilot to pull out salad fixings. Marta would be ecstatic, though. Her friend was always telling her to be more assertive, that if she met a man who interested her she should take the initiative. But that had never been her style. She'd always deemed it too risky.

  Yet she'd taken the risk of inviting Nick Bradley for an impromptu dinner.

  Why?

  She could tell herself she'd issued the invitation out of gratitude. And it was true she was grateful for both his considerate treatment of her last week and his offer to stop by tonight and help her sort out the leak.

  But that wasn't the whole truth. Gratitude alone couldn't account for the flutter in her stomach when she was with him. That was attraction, pure and simple. She'd been drawn to him at their first meeting, and his appeal had grown during tonight's visit. Bottom line, she'd taken the chance of inviting him for one simple reason: he seemed worth the risk.

  Best of all, it had paid off. He'd accepted.

  She tempered her sudden euphoria with realism, however. It was very possible he was just angling for a good meal. He might be a great cook, but most bachelors welcomed hassle-free, gratis meals. She doubted Nick was an exception.

  Or he could have accepted because he enjoyed her company and wanted to spend a couple of hours with her. She liked that theory better ... until it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps he'd read too much into her spontaneous invitation. It was Valentine's Day, after all. And a man like Nick probably received lots of similar overtures from women whose offer of dinner might include more than chocolate torte for dessert.

  If that was the case, the evening would end in embarrassment for her and disappointment for him. Rachel had never believed in moving too fast in relationships. And she'd never regretted her caution. The appeal of the two men she'd dated for longer than a month had faded as she'd learned more about them. Even someone as handsome and charming as Nick wouldn't persuade her to change her modus operandi.

  The doors from the dining room swung open, and she jumped as his broad shoulders filled the space.

  "Reporting for duty." His smile faded as he scrutinized her. "Are you okay?"

  She managed a half laugh as she tried to wrestle her nerves into submission. "A bit startled, but otherwise fine. I'm not used to company in my kitchen"

  "In that case, I'm honored to be invited in" After one more probing look, he smiled and gave the compact but well-equipped galley a quick scan. "Point me to the cutlery."

  "Top drawer next to the stove" She gestured toward the back of the house. "And there are placemats and napkins in the overhead cabinet. Salt and pepper is up there too. Butter's in the door of the fridge"

  He rummaged around, withdrawing all the items she'd ticked off as she tossed the salad and filled water glasses. He shouldered his way through the swinging doors several times as he set the table, chatting about inconsequential things and moving with an unhurried efficiency that helped calm Rachel's nerves.

  Ten minutes later, as they carried their plates into the dining room, she discovered Nick had lit the candles and put on a CD. His choice of music also eased her apprehension-classical violin versus one of the more romantic selections in her collection.

  "This smells delicious:" He held her chair as she took her seat. "Far better than any omelet I could have concocted:" He sat and shook out his napkin, surveying the appetizing plate of pasta in front of him. "Would you mind if I said a brief blessing first?"

  The request took Rachel off guard. A macho guy who not only prayed but wasn't afraid to admit it. Remarkable. And comforting. That request did more to put her at ease about his intentions than anything else he could have said or done. "No. That's fine:"

  To her surprise, he took her hand in a warm clasp as he bowed his head. "Lord, we thank you for this food and for the opportunity to share a meal. Please keep us in your care, and help us to always appreciate the unexpected pleasures that grace our days. Amen:"

  He released her hand to pick up his fork, and she immediately missed the touch of his firm, lean fingers.

  "I noticed your necklace last week, and again tonight:" He gestured to the cross that lay against her forest green angora sweater, suspended from a slender gold chain. "That's why I felt comfortable asking about the blessing. It's lovely, by the way:'

  "It was my mother's:" She fingered the delicate filigreed pendant. "It's the only thing of hers I have, aside from the photo. I wear it a lot. It helps me feel connected to her somehow. And gives me some sense of family:"

  "Is that the only reason you wear it?" Nick took a piece of the crusty bread from the basket.

  "If you're asking me whether it's a statement of faith, the answer is no. I suppose I believe in what it symbolizes ... in theory, anyway. But during my years in foster care I was exposed to all sorts of denominations, and that smorgasbord of beliefs confused me more than converted me:"

  "That's understandable. Giving a child too many choices can bewilder instead of enlighten. I was in my mid-teens before the message took root in me, thanks to the intervention of a very caring cop:'

  "Intervention. An interesting word choice. Is there a story there?"

  Uh-oh.

  Nick lifted his water glass and took a long, slow sip. He'd walked right into that one. Rachel's question might be innocent, but his past wasn't. And it had been an off-limits subject for years. He could count on one hand the trusted friends who were privy to his checkered youth. Although he'd straightened himself out, he wasn't proud of some of the things he'd done in his younger days. And he saw no reason to dredge up all that ugliness.

  Setting the glass back on the table, he forced his lips into a smile. "Not anything worth repeating:"

  Rachel regarded him for a second, and a faint touch of pink colored her cheeks as she reached for her own water glass. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

  As she lifted the goblet, the bottom caught the edge of her plate and tipped toward her. Nick grabbed for it, his hand closing over hers as he steadied the glass. The sloshing water stabilized ... but he couldn't say the same for his pulse. At the feel of her slender fingers beneath his, his heart began to thud in an odd, erratic rhythm.

  "Sorry again" Her color deepening, Rachel tugged her hand out from under his and set the goblet back on the table with exaggerated care. "I don't know why I've been so jittery lately."

  "A strange experience with a doll may be one of the reasons" Nick wound some linguini around his fork and speared a shrimp, trying to get his pulse under control.

  "My jumpiness predates that incident by weeks. A sense of anxiety just hit me out of the blue one Saturday morning" A sudden frown marred her brow, and a flash of regret echoed in
her eyes. "I shouldn't have told you that. It sounds almost as weird as the doll story. And I'd prefer you think of me as a normal person instead of some loony."

  "Trust me. I don't think of you as a loony. We all go through stressful periods. Have you been under a lot more pressure than usual?"

  "No. That's what makes it so weird"

  "Maybe you're too busy. Between teaching and painting murals, you must not have much downtime"

  She toyed with her fork, conceding the point with a slight lift of her shoulders. "I do lead a busy life. In addition to work and murals, I also have quite a few private piano students. And I play the piano during high tea every Sunday." She named the upscale hotel.

  "Sounds like you're stretched a little thin. I suspect you could use a vacation"

  "That would be nice. But it's not likely to happen soon. How about you? I'd be willing to bet no grass grows under your feet. I imagine your job is pretty taxing, yet you mentioned rehabbing a house?"

  Rehab was a subject he felt comfortable talking about. Plaster, paint, drywall, flooring ... all safe topics. "Yes. It's an old Federal-style brick built in 1852. Before I bought it, the bats and cockroaches had called it home for ten years"

  "Wow. That's ambitious"

  He chuckled. "My friends have less flattering ways to describe it. But despite all the dire warnings, it's coming along great. The only problem is, I doubt I'll have much of a chance to enjoy it. I expect I'll be looking at a transfer about the time it's done"

  "Do you move often?"

  "Every few years. I don't usually mind heading to a new office, but this house will be tough to leave"

  "I can understand that, after all your work' Rachel buttered a piece of bread and sent him a curious look. "May I ask why you took it on, knowing you'd have to leave it behind?"

  So much for safe topics. They were moving into "no trespassing" territory again, and he proceeded with caution. "I buy a house wherever I'm assigned. Nothing quite this elaborate, but always a fixer-upper I can rescue and pass on at a reasonable price to a young family that might not otherwise be able to afford a house. For some reason I was blessed with a natural talent for rehab, and I get a kick out of making silk purses out of sows' ears. Although I have to admit plumbing isn't my forte' Nick ended his response on a lighthearted note in the hope Rachel would smile in return and change the subject.