Life Shocks Romances Collection 3: Inflamed, Jilted, Kindled, Lured

by Jade Kerrion

  Her fingers twitched against the car door handle.

  Nicky—Nicholas—would think she was crazy and intrusive if she knocked on the door. He was probably just sulking, and if she disturbed his peace, he’d chew her out. She didn’t think she was up for an actual confrontation with Nicky—Nicholas. It was difficult enough touching his body and smoothing oil over his torn muscles without leaning in and holding him the way he needed to be held. Deep inside, where it mattered most, he was just a boy shattered and brokenhearted by the destruction of his dreams.

  On the outside, he was as taciturn and arrogant as ever, eschewing all help.

  Sighing, she hopped out of the car and rang the doorbell. No one answered it, so she did what anyone in Westchester would do; she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. She took a quick look through the kitchen and living room. The television was on in the den, but no one was there. Nicky’s bedroom was empty, as were his parents’ bedroom.

  “Nicky?” she called out. “Are you here? Is anyone here?”

  “Risa.”

  She froze at her childhood nickname—only Nicky had ever called her Risa—and tried to pinpoint that faint sound.

  “Nicky? Where are you?”

  “Risa. Down here.”

  She dashed into the kitchen and flung open the door leading to the basement. “Nicky?”

  “Here.” His voice was hoarse and edged with pain. “Rail broke. Be careful.”

  “What?” She darted down the stairs. Nicky lay on the cold concrete floor, his features partially obscured by darkness. The little she could see, however, was twisted with anguish. “Did you fall all this way?” Her gaze shot up to the piece of broken rail near the top of the stairs and then back down to Nicky. “Oh my God. When?”

  “This morning.”

  “You’ve been here for hours?” She knelt beside him, but realized within moments that she could not support his weight. Marisa pulled out her cell phone; her reception was practically nonexistent. “I have to go back upstairs to call the paramedics.”

  Nicky’s grip against her hand tightened for a moment before he let her go. The warmth lingered, as did the desperation in his eyes. The silent admission of vulnerability shocked her. It frightened her. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she promised.

  She made her 911 call from the top of the stairs, and returned to Nicky’s side with a glass of water. “Here. You must be thirsty.” She raised his head slowly, wincing when he grimaced in pain at that slight movement. “Anything broken?”

  “I don’t think I’d know.”

  Had he just cracked a joke in typical, ironic-Nicky fashion? “How much worse is the pain?”

  He grunted.

  All right. A lot worse.

  It took two paramedics and a lot of ingenuity to move Nicky up the stairs. Marisa rushed a call to Patty while the paramedics loaded Nicky into the ambulance. “Can you stay with Eva for a little longer? I’m on my way to the ER with Nicky.”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ve got Eva. Who’s Nicky?”

  “A…a client. Thank you, Patty, I appreciate it.” She disconnected the call and glanced at the paramedic. “I’ll follow you in my car.” Her eyes met Nicky’s. “I’ll be there with you. I promise.”

  The emergency room, fortunately, was not too crowded. Marisa and Nicky were shown into a consultation room and waited for only a few minutes before the doctor-on-call, Dr. Larson, entered the room. She seemed to recognize Nicky. “You’re back here again?” She evaluated him, read the paramedic reports, and then compared his latest X-rays to the ones taken after his accident two weeks earlier. “No real damage done that wasn’t already done. You might have had a concussion, but given the number of hours that have passed, you’re through the danger zone. I strongly recommend you stay in bed for at least twenty-four hours. We can check you into a ward here—”

  “No, I’m going home,” Nicky said.

  “And you have care at home?”

  Nicky paused for a beat. “Yes.”

  Marisa frowned. “No.”

  The doctor glanced at Marisa. “No?”

  “He hesitated. He’s lying. Where are your parents?”

  Nicky scowled at her. “They left this morning on a cruise. I’ll be fine. They left meals in the freezer.”

  Marisa stared at him. “No wonder you’re not hurt. Your skull is cast iron.”

  “What’s the difference between stubbornness and necessity?” His tone was arrogant, even mocking.

  “When it’s not necessary for you to be at home alone. You’re coming home with me.” Her words caught her off guard as much as they did him. Their eyes met. He was slack-jawed with shock; she hoped she did not appear as stunned as he looked. She sucked in a deep breath and managed a faint, humorless smile. “Michael would have wanted me to help you.”

  Chapter 6

  Nicholas awoke from drug-induced sleep to a pounding headache and a trickle of sunlight streaming in through the translucent curtains. Marisa’s guest room was a soothing blend of light brown and pale green, like a forest after the rain. He looked around and tried to focus through the shafts of pain pulsing through his skull. His tongue felt heavy and his mouth like it had been packed in cotton. Swallowing saliva hurt and did nothing to alleviate his parched throat.

  And people wonder why I avoid medication.

  He had left the emergency room with Marisa last night, and she had driven to his house, packed a bag for him while he waited in the car, and then taken him to her home, several streets away. By then, the painkillers he had swallowed in the ER had kicked in. Wobbling on crutches and supported on either side by Marisa and someone she called Patty, he had made it to the bed seconds before the medication, combined with exhaustion, knocked him out for the night.

  He vaguely recalled waking once or twice during the night, disoriented and in pain, but Marisa appeared by his bedside with water and pills.

  She drugged me through the night!

  The incredulous thought tugged the corner of his mouth into a wry half-smile.

  He sat up slowly, grateful that the pain was only marginally worse than it had been the previous morning, before his fall. His duffle bag lay on a chair and his crutches leaned against the wall. Gritting his teeth, he managed to change out of his clothes, but he could not find his comb. Marisa had forgotten to pack it. He tugged his fingers through his hair, smoothing it down as best as he could, before leaving the bedroom and hobbling the short distance to the kitchen.

  An excited woof greeted him. A black Labrador pranced around him like a puppy, although the white in its muzzle indicated advanced age. He leaned to stroke her head. “Hey there, Lacey.”

  “Her name is Daisy.” Marisa’s voice cut in, but she sounded surprised, not annoyed. She turned to face him, a frying pan and spatula in her hand. “Are you stubborn or deaf? You did hear the doctor say to stay in bed for twenty-four hours.”

  “You weren’t around to pump drugs into me, so I woke up.”

  She twitched guiltily, and Nicholas resisted the urge to laugh. His gaze traveled to the dining table and to the wide-eyed little girl strapped into a high chair. His heart did a wrenching twist in his chest, but he pasted on a smile. “Hello, Eva. I’m Nicholas.”

  Eva stared at him. Her expression wobbled, as if she could not decide whether to cry or smile, but the latter won, and a dazzling smile—like Marisa’s—spread over her face. Her big grin displayed little white teeth. “Nicky.”

  “Nicholas.”

  “Nicky.” Her smile turned pouty.

  Marisa hurried to the table with plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. “She’s learning how to speak. ‘Nicholas’ is probably too long a word for her.” She set a small plastic bowl of food in front of Eva, and then turned to Nicholas. “I was going to serve you breakfast in bed—”

  “I’ll eat here.”

  “Okay.” Marisa set his plate down on one side of Eva. “Have a seat,” she said, before taking her place on the other side of Eva.
r />   Breakfast was saved from being wretchedly awkward and silent by Eva’s excited babbles over bacon and eggs. She looked up from her piece of half-eaten toast with a wide grin and bright smears of strawberry preserves on her cheeks, nose, forehead, and hair.

  Nicholas chuckled as Marisa wiped Eva’s face clean. Marisa’s bland expression and the fact that the wet wipes were immediately on hand suggested that Eva’s food adventures were everyday occurrences—nothing to get excited about.

  Not for him, though. He watched that tiny human being explore a world that was always fresh, new, and shiny, and seemingly designed purely for her entertainment. With her blue eyes and blond hair, Eva took after Marisa, but there was Michael, too, in the boldness of her spirit and her experimental curiosity.

  The combination of Marisa and Michael in Eva made her hard to take—hard, like gut-wrenchingly hard to take. A muscle twitched in Nicholas’s jaw as he looked away from the little girl.

  Across the table, Marisa shifted as if her seat had become uncomfortable. She must have noticed his reaction to Eva. “Eva, Daisy, and I had an outing planned this morning, but we can change it, if you need—”

  “No, I’m fine. Go do what you need to do.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Lie down.”

  “No stretching.”

  He shrugged, and then winced. Damn, it hurt.

  “Nicky.” Marisa’s tone was stern.

  “Nicholas,” he snapped.

  “If you want an adult’s name instead of a child’s name, then behave like an adult.”

  He stared at her, his throat clogging. I don’t want your name for me. I forget where I am, and I forget all the hell you put me through when you call me Nicky.

  Dramatic entrances and exits were beyond his ability, but he could still leave. He didn’t have to take that kind of shit from her even if he was living in her house. He pushed to his feet, steadied the crutches under his arms, and reached for his empty plate.

  “Leave it,” Marisa snapped. “I’ll take care of it.”

  He bit back his reply. No fighting in front of the little girl. He shuffled from the dining room.

  Eva’s little voice followed him out. “Bye, Nicky.”

  Yeah. Bye, Nicky. That farewell was more than he ever got out of her mother.

  Marisa cleared the breakfast table, loaded the dishwasher, and then hustled her daughter and dog out of the house.

  Eva kicked her feet and clapped her hands as Marisa buckled her into the car seat. “Park?” Eva asked.

  “Not quite, but we’re going someplace fun. We’re going to see the Landons. They have puppies, and we’re going to adopt one.”

  “Puppy?” Marisa looked at Daisy. “Good puppy.”

  “Yes, and we’re going to have two puppies now. Do you think you’ll like that?”

  The toothy grin that transformed Eva’s face from curiosity to pure joy was all the answer Marisa needed.

  The Landons owned a ten-acre farm several miles north of Westchester where they bred Labrador Retrievers and miniature horses. Eleanor Landon met them as they stepped out of the car. “Welcome to Landon Stables and Kennels.” She was a petite woman with a tightly coiffed head of gray curls. She bent to look at Eva. “I hear you want to see some puppies.”

  “Puppy.” Eva leaned against Daisy and draped a tiny arm possessively over Daisy’s back.

  Eleanor smiled. “It’s so wonderful to see one of our dogs come back to visit.” She stroked Daisy’s muzzle, and the dog leaned into her touch, tail wagging hard. “You look magnificent, darling. You’ve aged well, like rich whiskey.”

  “Whiskey,” Eva parroted.

  Marisa winced. “Where are the puppies?”

  “This way.” Eleanor led the way into the house. “We raise all our puppies in the home. They grow up accustomed to human activity and household noises. There’s always the occasional puppy who’s freaked out by the vacuum cleaner, but most of them like to sit on the Roomba as it rolls around the room.”

  She opened the door, and puppies swarmed out onto the front porch. They sniffed at Daisy’s legs before zeroing in on Eva, who collapsed into giggles and vanished beneath a huge pile of wriggling butts and wagging tails. “Puppies!”

  Marisa laughed. “How many are there?”

  “Twenty, from two litters. They’re both about six weeks old now; they’ll wean at eight weeks and go to their new homes, right around Christmas.”

  “That’s perfect. Which puppies have been spoken for?”

  “Oh, the ones without collars are still available for adoption. That’s about six to choose from, and they’re all lovely.”

  “Any suggestions on which ones might get along best with Daisy?”

  Eleanor looked blank for a moment. “Oh, Lacey. You renamed her, of course. Daisy’s a lovely name.”

  Marisa frowned. “Her original name was Lacey?”

  “Oh, I think it was Lucinda Haverton Rochelle or a mouthful like that. We can check the pedigree records. We called her Lacey. Her full name was too preposterous.”

  Nicky had called her Lacey, too. But how could he have known? “I…didn’t realize she had a pedigree…”

  “Oh, all the dogs we breed are sired by champions. They have pedigrees going all the way back to the Mayflower. Lacey…Daisy’s descended from a particularly notable line—hence her ridiculous name. I remember she was the pick of her litter. That boy, Nicholas, paid a fortune for her.”

  Marisa gaped. “But my husband, Michael, gave Daisy to me, as a puppy, eight years ago.”

  “Eight years ago is about right.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t Michael?”

  “I remember Lacey particularly—there was a bidding war on her—and Nicholas Dragov bought her. He was a teenager then but he’d danced in lots of local ballet performances. He’d become famous one day, I told my husband, and I was right, of course.”

  “I didn’t realize Nicky bought Daisy…Lacey.”

  “Oh, call her Daisy. It’s a lovely name for a beautiful dog. I remember asking if he intended to keep her—we interview all families who adopt our puppies—but he said he was going to give her to someone special, but that he’d be around to keep an eye on her.” Eleanor turned to Eva who had managed to sit up with her arms around her face to fend off twenty doggie kisses. “Now, have you decided which of these puppies you’d like to take home with you when they’re ready to say goodbye to their mommies?”

  Marisa stood back as Eleanor hustled most of the puppies back into the house, leaving Eva to play with the six puppies without collars. Daisy sat beside Marisa, watching the excited puppies with patient tolerance. Absently, Marisa stroked Daisy’s head, the calm gesture at odds with the confused flurry of her thoughts.

  Nicky adopted you from the Landons.

  Why then was it Michael who gave you to me?

  Marisa, Eva, and Daisy returned to a quiet house. Marisa glanced around her home, which bore no evidence whatsoever of Nicky’s presence. She knelt beside Daisy. “Go find Nicky.”

  Daisy unerringly headed toward the guest room.

  Moments later, Marisa heard Nicky’s voice. “Hey, Lacey—Daisy.”

  Eva scrambled toward the guestroom, squealing, “Nicky!”

  “Hi, Eva.” There was a smile in his voice.

  His reception of Marisa as she appeared in the doorway was a cool incline of his head.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Fine.”

  “Hungry?”

  “No.”

  They stared at each other, all conversational topics apparently exhausted.

  Marisa drew a deep breath. “I brought Eva to Landon Kennels. She selected a puppy; we’re bringing him home at Christmas.”

  “What kind?”

  “Chocolate Labrador. Apparently a distant relative of Daisy’s.”

  He nodded, but said nothing.

  “Eleanor Landon also told me about the day you adopted Daisy…Lacey.”
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  His gaze jerked up to her. Surprise flickered through his green eyes for an instant before all emotion blanked out. “Long time ago.”

  “But Michael gave Daisy to me.”

  It should have been impossible, but his expression hardened. “Like I said, long time ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Nicky—”

  “Nicholas.”

  Was he going to be infantile over the use of his name? “I’ve called you Nicky since we became friends in kindergarten.”

  “That was when we were friends.”

  She gasped and pressed her hand against the stabbing pain in her chest. They were just words. How could they physically hurt her?

  Guilt wrenched Nicky’s feature. “Risa, I’m—”

  “Sorry?” She glared at him. “You can’t just say sorry. It doesn’t make the pain go away. It doesn’t turn back the years. It doesn’t make up for all the times you weren’t there.”

  “Weren’t there? There wasn’t anything for me to be at.”

  “College. We said we would go together.”

  “I chose a different path. I was in New York. Dancing.”

  “What about all those Fourth of July barbecues? Those Thanksgivings and Christmases? What about my wedding? And don’t lie. You weren’t touring with the ABT at that time. I checked. You were in New York City, but you couldn’t take an afternoon to drive up for my wedding?” Marisa flung her arm out at him. “And Michael’s send-off, when he joined the Army and when they shipped him to Afghanistan. You didn’t attend either of those parties. And then when Michael came home in a box.” Her voice cracked. Tears blurred her eyes. “You weren’t there either. I wanted you there. I needed you there at every single one of those events. You never showed up. Why?”

  Myriad expressions flickered across Nicky’s face, too quick, too complex to decipher. His lips moved as if he were about to speak. What excuse would he offer? What possible explanation would make up for eight years of callous dismissal?

  “I couldn’t.”