"He's a bachelor looking to get married."
Cee pondered that remark. Nick must be about her age, and he'd never married. Apparently, he liked single life. A free spirit who would make no demands—that was what made him so right. She had no more interest in marrying than he did, but she didn't know how to tell him that. He carved a J and drew a heart around their initials. No plus sign in between. Nor the word love. She wasn't a teenager and shouldn't be disappointed, but she was. “Marianne's not going to propose if that answers your question. She always has a string of men friends."
"Do you?"
"No one significant."
Nick flashed her a wide smile. “Except me?"
"Right.” He was playing games, but she'd like him to care whether she had other men friends. She'd like him to be her “significant other.” She'd like ND to love her. He folded his knife with a flourish and kissed her on the mouth, quick and fast. “Sealed with a kiss."
He hadn't added an H to her initials.
She rubbed her fingers over their initials and wondered how many of the couples that joined their names in hearts were still together. The wood was worn smooth and the surface dark with age, but ND and CJ stood out clearly. In time, they would fade.
Nick tugged lightly on her ear. “You're wearing your predictable earrings."
"Susan thought my dress was too sexy and wanted me to return it to the boutique.” Suz's demands had been so reminiscent of scenes with Harry, she'd refused to give in. “I thought conservative jewelry might tone it down a bit."
"You'd look sexy in a gunny sack.” Nick stroked a broad finger over the delicate swell of skin just below the dip of her neckline, and shivers traveled the length of her spine. He narrowed his eyes, and his thick lashes brushed her cheek as he drew her close. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed.
"Come back to New Beginnings for the rest of the summer, C.J.” His whisper was husky in her ear, his body hot and hard against the length of hers as he pulled her around to meet him. “The engagement party is over."
She caught her breath and savored his nearness before pulling slowly away. She wanted Nick in her life, but leaving Montclair now was out of the question. “I have a wedding to plan for late September and I'm in the middle of redecorating my house."
He held her away from him, and though the night was warm, she shivered at the loss of his body heat. “So we're never going to play Today I Am again? Or learn who we really are?” His eyes pleaded with her. He captured her fingertips and kissed them.
He was free as the wind. She had responsibilities. Marianne would want to take a vacation soon and depended on Cee to run Reflections while she was gone. “Susan needs me; I'm all she has. Can you understand that?"
"I understand that I need you and I thought you needed me. If I sound selfish, maybe I am, but I'd like to think our relationship counts for something."
"It does. It means a lot. But we have time. Don't we?"
Nick led the way back to the Explorer, and she followed, heart heavy. He wasn't being fair. Pride kept her from demanding he answer her question.
He drove back to The Willows to get her car without saying a word. Cee, likewise, was silent. The parking lot was almost empty. Tipping her chin, he dropped a kiss on her nose. “I know what you think you have to do, and I know what I must do. I have to go back to the lake. My home and work are there."
She buried her face in his chest. He felt so solid, smelled so desirable. His heartbeat became a part of her as she held him tightly. He brushed her hair with a kiss. “New Beginnings isn't the same without you."
She wasn't the same without him, and nothing would ever be the same again.
"You can make wedding arrangements over the telephone, or let Susan handle them herself. Please. Come back, until the end of August, at least, and finish what you—we—started."
The game? Freedom lessons? Falling in love? The end of August would leave her almost a month for wedding details, but Susan was eighteen—going on twelve—and had no business marrying. Cee needed the rest of July and August to convince her to go to college, or teach her to cook and keep house. She shook her head against Nick's chest. “You're trying to make me choose between you and her, and that isn't fair."
He pulled away, and Cee saw the anger that clouded his eyes. “Life isn't always fair. When you came along, I thought my luck had changed."
"What luck? What happened in the past that makes you grab at straws for happiness?"
"This isn't Psychology 101. My past doesn't need dredged up for analysis. I asked you to come back. A straight and simple request."
Straight and simple, yes, but it sounded more like a demand than a request. Susan might be the closest to a daughter she'd ever have, and she couldn't walk off and leave her now. Without Nick, her life would be as empty as before, but no matter how much she cared, she couldn't let this man make demands. “I'm sorry, Nick, but I can't."
Cee got out and walked away.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Six
"WAIT.” NICK'S VOICE bounced back from the nearly deserted parking lot. He couldn't let her go.
C.J. turned slowly. She was already several yards away, and he couldn't see the expression on her face in the dark. He didn't know what to say. Only knew he didn't want to lose her. “I ... it's one o'clock in the morning. I'll follow to see that you get in the house safely."
"I'll be fine” Her voice broke. “Go on to Dell's, Nick."
He jammed his hands in his pockets. Dell was with Marianne, and he wanted to be with C.J. if only for tonight. “He didn't give me a key."
"All right. Follow me and see if he's at the house next door.” Cee disappeared into the darkness, to emerge in a pool of light from a street lamp and crawl into a tiny MG.
Hitting the remote to lock his Explorer, Nick ran to catch up. He pecked on her passenger window. “Let me ride with you. Dell can drop me off on the way back, and I'll follow him.” Nick scrambled into the seat as he spoke.
"You're set on making this tough, aren't you?” C.J. sighed, shifted the car into drive, and pulled away. “What if he isn't there?"
"I'll chance it.” He reached over to squeeze her shoulder. She stiffened, and he kneaded the tight muscles he felt there. Feeling her skin warm beneath his fingers, he longed to dip lower, into the front of her dress. Stroke her breasts, cup them in his hands, kiss them and feel her nipples harden. He certainly was making it hard for himself.
"I wish there was a way we could be together."
Watching her profile against the moonlight, he saw her lower lip quiver and tears moisten her lashes. He watched her throat muscles constrict and knew she was trying not to cry. He could have promised to drive down on weekends now and then, but it wouldn't be enough. She wasn't one of the women he could take or leave. Maybe after a while he could, but not until he'd had his fill, and it scared him to think it might take longer than the usual week or two. What scared him even more, the time might not come when he'd tire of C.J. Harte.
She pulled into a driveway leading to a brick carriage house that matched the towering Victorian house to its right. A gaslight illuminated the small terrace and garden that lay between them.
The house to the left of the carriage house was a modernistic white stucco with a circular drive. Dell's Porsche sat behind another that Nick assumed was Marianne's. Funny they both drove the same make cars.
He cracked his knuckles and shifted in the seat. Only a few hours ago, he'd vowed never to let Celeste go again, but knowing he had to finish his novel, he almost had. The lower floor of the carriage house had been converted into a garage, and she hit a button raising the door. He didn't move. She stroked his hand, and he turned it over to take her smaller one in his. Her touch filled him with a bittersweet ache. He raised her fingers to his mouth and kissed them. He wished she'd ask him in.
"Do you think I should come inside and phone Dell, rather than just walk in on him and Marianne?"
C.
J. exhaled softly and pushed a button to close the garage door although they were still sitting in the driveway. As he watched it close, he saw for the first time there was a car inside the narrow structure. “That might be a good idea."
Nick trailed his tongue over her fingers. Gasping, she scrambled to open the door. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
He followed her across the flagstone terrace and through a tiny rose-scented garden lit by stars. “This is a little patch of paradise,” he said, pausing to run his hand over a carved bench.
"My retreat.” Her eyes reflected the starlight, and for a moment she looked happy, the way she had at New Beginnings. “I love it here."
I'd love to make love to you here. He couldn't say the words, but he couldn't stop thinking them. Couldn't stop caring. He'd been lonely as hell since she left, and when he went back without her, he would be again. He wished he could sit on the bench and draw solace from her retreat, but she was already crossing the terrace, high heels clicking in the quiet of the night.
He followed her past a humming air conditioner to a brick entryway, where by the light of twin brass lanterns, she drew out a key. “That was Susan's car in the garage.” Leading him through the darkened kitchen to the front foyer, where a chandelier shone brightly, she kicked off her high heels. “I'll just see if she's asleep."
The house looked solid and traditional. What would she think of the rustic homes his father built? Nick was fond of exposed beams and distressed wood floors.
C.J. ran lightly up the wide carpeted stairway and returned to switch on a brass table lamp in the living room. “She's snoozing peacefully."
The rose and gray room was littered with paint charts, upholstery samples, and catalogs. Shoving some aside, she sat on the flowered couch. “Pardon my mess.” The samples were bold bright prints, and she smiled, waving a hand toward them. “I'm still evolving."
She motioned him toward an armchair with a telephone beside it, but he pushed aside a fabric book and sat next to her on the sofa.
"You should call Dell, so he doesn't leave without you,” she said.
"I can think of worse things happening.” Nick traced a finger along the edge of her low-cut neckline, and her eyes widened. Leaning closer, he touched his tongue to her ear. She shivered and grasped his shirtsleeve. “Celeste Joy,” he murmured.
She sat motionless for a second before sliding out of his grasp. Grabbing the phone, she punched in a number, and after a few quick words to Marianne, put him on with Dell. He said he'd meet Nick outside in half an hour, if that was time enough.
For what? Sitting next to him again, C.J. played with the corner of a sofa cushion. “In the fall, after Susan's married or gone off to school, my life will be different. I can come and go as I please then, except for my college classes."
Nick's life would be different too. If he finished his romance novel, he'd move into Dell's cottage with all its comforts, but would that be enough to make his life complete?
"I'm going to take psychology,” she went on, without looking at him.
"Why? It doesn't sound practical."
She looked at him then, to see if he was teasing. He tried to hide his grin, but he wasn't quick enough, and she poked him in the chest with her forefinger. “I'm not trying to be practical. I'm expanding my interests, and I've always wanted to know more about how the mind works."
Unable to keep his hands off C.J., he ruffled her hair. “With karma, you don't have to analyze. You know."
"There's a lot I don't know about you,” she said softly, “and there are things I don't understand about myself."
He didn't want her to know about him, and he tried to avoid self-analysis at all costs. “You think too much.” He played with a strand of her hair. “It's grown since you left."
"Yes, and I'm afraid to trust anyone but you to cut it.” She looked up into his eyes, and he remembered the faith she'd placed in him and the way he'd felt.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he rubbed his knuckles across her cheek. “I was lucky. We both were. I'm no barber."
"What do you do for a living, Nick?"
Damn. He knew this was coming, sooner or later, but now wasn't a good time to open a new can of worms. He straightened a cover on the arm of the couch. “I ... er ... work for an outside agency."
"Insurance?"
He shook his head and tried to think fast.
"Advertising?” She narrowed her gaze.
"More or less. I ... write ... copy.” The clouds lifted from her face. Hoping he wouldn't have to elaborate, Nick took off his shoes to rest his feet on the footstool she'd had in the RV. She smiled and waited until he'd gotten comfortable before shattering his aplomb again.
"I might be able to hire you."
"For what?” He started, and his feet slipped off the stool.
"To write ads. Marianne and I own a boutique. Since she's a natural at selecting unusual and intriguing items, she's the buyer. I take care of the business end, and we're doing well, but we need a good advertising campaign to spread the word about Reflections. Are you good?"
Nick settled his feet again and wiggled his toes. “What do you think?"
"Of course you are.” She laughed. “Never nervous. Never afraid. Always great. Right?” She went on. “The store is another reason I can't be away too long at a time. I relieve Marianne whenever she wants time off.” C.J folded her hands in her lap. “When do you work?"
"I ... freelance and write whenever I want. Mostly, late at night. What do you sell at your boutique?"
"Lingerie. Jewelry. Feminine things."
"Items women love to buy, and men like to buy for women they love."
"Nick, that's brilliant! We can use that as our byline for ads, gift bags, and I can see the words now, painted over Reflections’ front door."
He didn't know where the words came from, but they had a nice sound, and maybe he'd gotten himself off the campaign hook. He leaned his head on her shoulder, and her fragrance wrapped itself around him.
"Where do you work? At home?"
"If you call that leaky tin can a home, yes.” He trailed his fingers up and down her arm, watching goose bumps appear. “That's enough about business."
"One more thing.” C.J. sat boldly upright, eyes bright. “If you can work from any location, I might have a deal for you."
* * * *
NICK CLIMBED THE steps at the back of the carriage house and set the mop lady inside the apartment's only closet. You could have knocked him over with Isadora's filmy scarf when C.J. asked him to move next door to her, in Montclair.
He told her he'd think it over. He told Dell on the way to the parking lot that he was going home next morning to pack and move in Monday. Unable to sleep, he packed Sunday night and arrived at daybreak Monday morning.
Dell said it wasn't a good idea to live in C.J.'s backyard. She'd distract him from writing. “Like water running down my neck and onto my computer isn't distracting?” Nick growled. He'd known right away the carriage house was perfect, and its location made it doubly so.
Dell continued to argue the next morning, over breakfast, that if Nick would finish his damned book, he could move into the lake cabin. “Or have you decided you can't write a romance, and the carriage house is within driving distance of your father's company?” Dell smirked over a mouthful of raspberry Danish.
"Finishing the book isn't a problem, or an issue."
"The night we made our wager, you swore you needed a lake view to write."
Now, he needed frequent glimpses of C.J. Needed the scent and feel of her. She was his inspiration for romance. He needed her back so he could write again. “My writing muse is an ornery cuss."
"Did you say horny or ornery?"
Nick didn't answer, and Dell said, go ahead and move but the apartment was too close for comfort and Nick would be sorry.
He might be sometime, but on Monday morning, when he shut the closet door on the mop lady he'd brought under wraps, Nick was h
appy as a hamster in wood shavings. The apartment was roomy with brick walls and plank floors. In a long narrow room that ran the length of one side, a decorative screen stood between a soft, dry bed, and an interior door on sawhorses that would serve as his desk. Leaning his hands on either side of his printer, he looked out at C.J.'s house, curtains drawn against the morning light. Ivy-covered brick with gingerbread trim, the two-story was picturesque, and perfect for a lady named Celeste Joy Harte.
Just below his window lay C.J.'s retreat, the carved bench between rose-covered trellises on a sun-dappled terrace. Raising the sash, he inhaled the cloying scent of roses in bloom. A romance writer couldn't ask for more.
Tearing himself away from the window, Nick trotted down the stairs and carried up his last load of belongings from the Explorer. The porch at the back opened into a kitchenette and he set a box down there.
A tiny ice cream table stood by a window that looked out on Marianne's white stucco. There too, the curtains were closed. It was no surprise his neighbors were still sleeping. He'd pulled out early—around midnight—when it started raining at the lake.
Apartment-sized appliances and the table crowded the mini-kitchen that opened into a long room, sparsely furnished with TV, couch, and chair. Cee said she'd fixed the place for Susan to entertain friends but she didn't use it any more.
Taking his wind chimes out of a box, he hung them on the porch at the top of the steps. He'd miss his hammock, but he had work to do.
He dug his coffee can and pot out of a box, set a box of half-stale doughnuts on the table, and looked up to see Cee standing on the porch watching him through the screen. He caught his breath. In a lime green sundress, with a gentle breeze fluttering the wispy hair around her face, she looked like a girl Susan's age, but she was all woman. He could get used to seeing her at his door every day. “Good morning,” she said.
The last time she'd appeared at his screen door, it had been to say goodbye. But ... they were making new beginnings. Motioning her in, he wondered what today held in store. “Great morning.” He hoped.
* * * *
CEE WATCHED SUSAN and Nick size one another up while she set scrambled eggs and bacon on the table. Suz sat stiff-backed. Nick, who'd seemed more disappointed than thrilled by her invitation to breakfast, slouched. All she'd asked was that the two get acquainted. Stepping behind the girl's back, she summoned his attention and mouthed the word “talk."
Finding Mr. Romantic Page 10