The Nicci Beauvoir Collection: The Complete Nicci Beauvoir Series

by Alexandrea Weis

  I remembered how she had reacted when she saw the nude. I tried to hide my smirk from Michael.

  I put my hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, but I never thought the painting would come back to haunt me. I should have been more responsible, but so what? Who cares what everyone thinks? Some men might enjoy having their wife ogled over.”

  He stumbled away from the bed, glaring back at me. “I can’t believe this. You’re going to be the respectable wife of a prominent psychiatrist. You can’t go around being displayed naked in public.”

  I shook my head, dismayed by his reaction. “Why is what everyone thinks so important to you? If you had enough confidence, you could tell the world to go to hell. Then you would be successful on your terms, not theirs.”

  He mouth fell open. “What a childish notion. The real world is made up of people, Nicci. To survive in it you have to know how to play their games. You have to play on their terms to win.”

  “Does all this make you happy, Michael?” I stood from the bed, waving my hands about the room. “I mean, all the games and trying to impress your friend and clients. Doesn’t all the pressure of trying to please everyone else get to you?”

  “What, are you analyzing me now, Nicci?”

  “Life is only a series of trophies for you, isn’t it? For you it’s all about the best car, the biggest house, the classiest friends, and the socially prominent wife. You’ve been so busy grabbing for trophies, I don’t even think you ever stopped to consider if you were happy.”

  He snickered at me. “You’re not serious!”

  I patted my hand on his jacket lapel. “Michael, I haven’t been honest with you. Hell, I haven’t been honest with myself. But you need to know something.”

  Michael’s eyes were two, wide blue marbles. Then, I saw his anger take hold.

  “Tell me he doesn’t matter!” he snarled, shoving me back on the bed. “Tell me you don’t love him.” Without waiting for a response, his lips crashed into mine.

  I grabbed his hair and pulled him off me. “Stop it.”

  “Make me believe you’re mine,” he begged, trying to kiss me again.

  I avoided his lips, not wanting to taste their coolness on me again. I pushed him aside and got up from the bed.

  “We are guests in my aunt’s house. I will not make out in her bedroom like some teenager. You are confusing anger with passion.” I studied his infuriated features and felt as if I were suddenly seeing a whole new side of him. “You’ll never be a passionate man, Michael, just an angry one.” I went to the door. “I’m going home.”

  He got up from the bed and straightened out his jacket. “I’m sorry. I’ll take you home.” He reached for the door in front of me.

  “No.” I stepped away from him. “My father can take me home. Go take care of your mother. We’ll talk tomorrow.” I walked out of the bedroom and headed to the stairs.

  I had just made it into the living room, when I spotted Uncle Ned and Aunt Hattie standing with Colleen around the portrait.

  “Hello, Colleen.”

  Colleen turned and briefly eyed my gown. “Boy, you got some guts to pose for this thing, or was it done from a photograph?” She pointed to the picture.

  Uncle Ned nodded to the painting. “Very talented artist.”

  Aunt Hattie was winging her hands and pouting. “Oh my dear, what did Michael say? Was he terribly upset?”

  I smirked. “He’ll get over it.”

  Colleen started waving someone down from across the room. A tall, handsome man stepped to her side and handed her a drink.

  “Nic, you remember Parker Roy.” Colleen was beaming as she took the glass from Parker’s hand.

  “I ah, love your picture,” Parker said, blushing.

  Parker was a slim fellow with sandy brown hair and blue eyes. His dark tailored suit contrasted loudly against Colleen’s pink and purple satin dress. They were gazing into each other’s eyes and smiling contagiously. He was the man Colleen never thought she would be good enough to interest at the Myra Chopin’s tea party so long ago.

  “Parker is my date,” Colleen explained.

  “What about Eddie?”

  She shrugged, making her dress dip suggestively about her cleavage. “He’s in Italy. I can’t be expected to attend all of the best parties alone.”

  I left Colleen and Parker, but couldn’t help noticing that Hattie had kept uncharacteristically tight-lipped during the entire conversation. I doubted she approved, but Parker was from another wealthy, well-established New Orleans family. So she might not balk at the relationship too badly.

  I made my way back into the den to search for my father and my uncle. I was more than ready to go home. I wanted to get away from the people and the noise. It had been some time since I’d had a quiet night at home.

  I found Uncle Lance against the bar, deep in conversation with a pretty, well-built blonde.

  “Hi.” I forced myself between him and his friend. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He left,” he casually disclosed.

  “How are we supposed to get home?”

  “Well, the fair…Linda, is it?” He motioned to the blonde. “She is giving me a ride. Your father thought the moron was going to bring you home. Why? Break up already?”

  “No. Michael has to take his parents home and I really…never mind.” I kissed his cheek. “Have fun,” I whispered in his ear.

  I stepped outside and took a seat at one of the black wrought-iron tables scattered about the patio. There was no one around, and I reveled in the solitude. Through the glass patio doors, I unexpectedly spotted Michael escorting his mother and father to the front door. I was about to jump up and ask for a ride home, but I stopped myself.

  “I’d rather take a cab,” I mumbled.

  “Talking to yourself is a sure sign of insanity. You should see a shrink.” David came alongside me and took a seat in the chair next to mine.

  “Why are you still here?”

  “Never left. I was hoping to continue our conversation.” He reclined in his chair and scanned the twinkling night sky.

  “We have nothing to discuss.”

  “This seems to be a pattern with us.” He gestured to the empty tables and dimming candlelight, then veered his eyes back to me. His gaze slowly glided down my figure. “You look beautiful in that dress. I remember the last time I saw you in it. We danced the night away.”

  I could feel the rage inside of me losing ground. “Not the whole night. We spent some of it at your cottage, painting. Are you still painting?”

  “Only pictures of you.”

  “Nudes?”

  He leered at me. “I need the original model for that. To make sure I get the details right.”

  I shifted nervously in my chair. “Maybe you should find something else to paint.”

  “Everything else bores me. I tried, when I was first in New York, to paint other things. Buildings, landscapes, a few trees, but nothing ever looked quite like you on the canvas. Painting you was my therapy.” He raised his eyebrows. “No pun intended. It helped me work out all the things I wanted to tell you.”

  A twinge of curiosity nibbled at my anger. “What things did you want to tell me?”

  He tilted closer to me. “I love you and nothing will ever change that. You could marry another man, but I will still love you.”

  I retreated from his advance. “It’s not that easy, David. The night of the wedding, when I heard you talking to Sammy, you changed me. I don’t know if I can ever trust you again. That Nicci is dead.”

  “I can’t believe that. I know the pain I caused you can’t be erased with a few kind words. I knew that the night you came to the gallery and found me drunk.” He sighed. “I realized then, that I couldn’t go through with Sammy’s plan, because I had fallen in love with you. Nevertheless, I am more than willing to wait and give it time. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Where do you propose to spend all that time waiting?” I crossed my arms over my chest and skeptica
lly waited for his reply.

  “I bought a house in Hammond. Your father helped me find it.”

  “My father helped you?” I shook my head, making a mental note to confront Dad about that later. “So this is a permanent move, then?”

  “For as long as it takes to bring you to your senses.”

  “That may take years.” I eyed him, suspiciously. “How do you plan on supporting yourself through this long confinement?”

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t need to worry about money.”

  “Your Zurich bank account?”

  He fidgeted in his chair. “That, and other things.”

  I moved closer to him, intrigued. “The spy business must have been very lucrative. Have you given that up completely too, or are you going to disappear every now and then for secret missions?”

  “No. I’m through with all of that. I won’t be going out anymore. I’m a painter now.”

  “I thought you people never got to leave the business. Don’t they just knock you off in the end because you know too much?”

  “That is not how it works in my business.”

  “So tell me how it works, David.”

  His eyes flickered, as if gauging how much he wanted to tell me about his past. “It was a job, Nicci. I had an employer who sent me out on assignments. After my time with you, I decided to quit my job. It’s as simple as that. I always had plans in place to leave the business one day. You just speeded up those plans.”

  “Plans? What kind of plans?”

  David looked out over the empty tables on the patio. “Just plans.”

  “Care to tell me about your business?” I asked, as I marveled at his profile in the evening light.

  “No.” A smug smile edged its way across his face.

  “Why not? I’ll bet you got some great stories to tell?”

  “What about your stories?” He turned to me. “Are you still writing?”

  It was my turn to be uncomfortable. “No. I haven’t written anything since you left. I lost interest.”

  “Nicci, I told you to never stop writing. You let something as insignificant as me stop you from doing the one thing you were meant to do.”

  “I wouldn’t call you insignificant.”

  “You are not listening to me.” He grasped my wrist and pulled me closer to him. “Your talent is a gift. It is not to be taken lightly, or discarded on a whim. It is who you are and who you are meant to be.”

  “You’ve never read anything I’ve written, David. How do you even know I can write? Talking about talent when you don’t even know if I have any?”

  “I don’t need to read anything to know that you can write. It’s not just the words you put down on paper that make you a writer. It is your ability to see the world in such a way as to make the rest of us open our eyes for the first time, and realize we were missing something. Something wonderful.” He let go of my wrist and patted it gently. “You have that gift, Nicci. You can’t just stop writing and expect it to go away. No matter how hard you fight the creativity inside of you, it will come through, shining like a new copper penny, to blind the rest of us with awe.”

  The fire in his eyes when he spoke was alluring as hell. “I, uh…don’t see it that way.”

  “You will. You are still young. The impatience of youth always seems to weaken the voice of creativity. I found it was something that came with age and experience. Once I had outgrown my youth, I could listen without distraction to what was inside of me. You will, too.”

  I rose from my chair. “I need to call a cab and go home. I guess I’ll see you around.”

  He stood up next to me. The scent of his cologne drifted past me and I became dizzy.

  “No need to call a cab. I’ll take you home.”

  My hand cut through the air between us. “Oh no! That’s how this whole thing started. The last time you said that, I got dragged to your place and you painted me in the middle of the night.”

  He came closer. “I seem to remember you spent that first night on my sofa quite intact.”

  I tried to back away, but another table blocked my escape. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to travel down that same road again.”

  He came right up to me and lifted my chin to meet his cool gaze. His eyes were still the same; still filled with an unwavering intensity. “I am going to take you home. So stop arguing with me and do as I say, for once.”

  I removed his hand from my chin. “You can take me home, but I’m warning you, I have mace.”

  “Save it for Michael.” He took my hand and led me away from the patio and through the doors, into the house.

  I waved at Val, as we rushed past her. She saw David and me, walking hand-in-hand toward the front door, and a delighted grin lit up her face.

  “Let me know where you want the painting sent, pet.”

  “You can send it to Hammond care of me, Val,” David called back to her. “She’ll be there soon enough.”

  Val clapped her hands together, and did a little dance in the middle of the living room floor.

  “She looks happy,” David remarked, as we reached the front door.

  “Yeah, too happy,” I muttered.

  Out on the street, I spotted the red Jeep Wrangler, sitting against the curb, a few hundred yards from the house.

  “Parked far away for a reason?”

  “Orders from your father. He didn’t want you recognizing my car before they gave you the painting.”

  Gathering the long dress in my hands, I carefully climbed into the jeep. “So how long have y’all had this planned?” I questioned, settling into my seat.

  “A few weeks. Why do you think Val gave you an engagement party? It wasn’t to celebrate your engagement to the moron. She wanted to arrange a meeting for the two of us.”

  I chuckled, shaking my head. “Now I know how Kennedy felt.”

  He turned over the engine and was about to pull away from the curb, when I touched his arm.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Feeling that long forgotten tingle in my belly spark to life, I directed, “Take off your jacket and roll up your sleeves.”

  He curiously raised his eyebrows and then shrugged. Removing his jacket, he rolled up his white shirtsleeves, and then tossed his jacket in the backseat.

  He gave me a wary side-glance. “Anything else?”

  As that enticing tingle spread throughout my body, I smiled. “No, just drive.”

  ***

  We arrived at my father’s home about twenty minutes later. David pulled into the white-shelled driveway and turned off the engine. We climbed out of the Jeep, and he followed me to the door. A nervous flutter danced in my belly when I put the key into the lock. I hoped David would just leave, having seen me to the door, but he didn’t. After opening the door, I spun back around to confront him.

  “What do you want, a good night kiss?”

  “I’ll settle for a night-cap.” He pushed the door open and strolled past me into the entryway.

  I closed the door and threw my purse on the landing steps. When I arrived in the living room, he was standing in front of the fireplace, staring up at my portrait. His face was filled with pride, and a profound sense of contentment shone from his eyes.

  “It’s a fitting place for it. I’m honored. I had forgotten how….” He left his words unfinished and he ambled across the room to the sofa.

  “Forgotten what?” I asked, remaining by the mantle.

  He made himself comfortable on the plush sofa. “I had almost forgotten the feelings I had for you, that first moment I saw you. I painted that,” he pointed to the portrait, “the first night I met you. As time went on, and we became better acquainted, I filled in more and more of the details of your face. To me, that portrait always represented us. It was as if I were painting the reasons why I fell in love with you.”

  “I wish you would stop talking like that.” I slowly approached the sofa. “How you love me…falling in love with me. It is very confusing
. I am an engaged woman.” I flashed Michael’s ring. “I’m not supposed to be conversing with other men about how much they love me.” I plopped down on the sofa next to him.

  “Why not? It seems like the perfect time to air all the dirty laundry, before you make it down the aisle. Let’s just say, I’m helping you figure out if this is what you really want.” He shimmied closer to me on the sofa and put his arm around me.

  “Oh please.” I brushed off his arm. “I need a drink. Do you want one?”

  I got up from the sofa and went into the hallway. Heading toward the den, I could hear David following me. His heavy footfalls reverberated throughout the hallway.

  In the den, I dashed behind the bar and mixed David a bourbon and soda. While making my screwdriver, I decided to stay behind the bar, feeling it was better to have a large amount of furniture between us.

  “So tell me about the moron,” he asked, lifting his drink.

  “Michael is a wonderful man.” I hastily raised my glass to my lips, hoping the alcohol would quell my growing desire for David.

  “Compared to me, or along the general scheme of men?” He sipped his bourbon.

  “I don’t know why I am having this conversation with you. I don’t know why I’m even allowing you to sit in my house and drink my father’s booze. After everything you did to me.” I banged my glass down on the bar.

  He gently set his bourbon on the bar. “Still mad?”

  “My scars run deep.”

  “So do mine.” He came around the bar to me and cornered me against the sink with his body. “I still have the scars on my back. Remember that night?” His mouth came closer to my ear. “I remember.” His lips traveled down from my ear around my cheek and hovered over my mouth. “Let me remind you.” Then, he kissed me.

  I had forgotten the intensity of his kisses; that feeling of being transported away by his embrace. Suddenly, the tingle in my loins became a searing white heat. My will to resist him was fading quickly. Images of the times we had spent together in bed were taking over my mind. Desperate to regain control, I broke away and instantly felt the faucet from the sink jab me in the butt.