He cleared his throat. “Celeste tells me you made excellent grades in high school but don't want to go to college."
Great start, Nick. Cee rolled her eyes heavenward.
"That's right,” Suz said. “I'm getting my MRS degree. Like she did."
"I went to finishing school,” Cee protested, slipping into her seat. Nick shot her a glance, and she flushed. He'd think she was a wealthy snob. “Miss Shively's is a family tradition."
"I'm not family. Please pass the butter, Mr. Dennis.” Susan flipped her ponytail over her shoulder.
"Nick.” He held the butter just beyond her reach. “Please."
Half standing, Suz took it from him. “Thank you, Mr. Dennis."
Nick loved to tease, and Suz didn't take teasing well. This wasn't going to be easy. Cee gave her a hard look.
Susan buttered her toast slowly. “Did you go to college, Nick?"
Eager to learn more about him, Cee waited for his answer. He applied jelly to his toast as slowly as Suz had butter. “No. I chose the school of hard knocks."
"Mark makes a comfortable living. We won't have a hard time. Have you been married?"
"Susan...” Cee began, but Nick held up a hand to stop her and shook his head.
Suz raised her eyebrows and took a bite of bacon. “Where are you from?"
She was turning the conversation into an interrogation. Cee motioned for her to eat. Nick savored a bite of eggs before answering. “I grew up not far from here, but I've been living at the camp where your sister-in-law stayed."
"You lived there? Why?"
"I'm a nature lover. Now, it's my turn to ask the questions.” Nick grinned.
"Would anyone like anything else?” Cee asked eagerly. The two of them made her nervous with their verbal Ping-Pong game.
"I'm fine.” Nick leaned across the table toward Susan. “Do you love Mark, or are you in love with the idea of marriage?"
"Marriage is love,” Susan flared. “Celeste loved my brother, and they had a wonderful life. Did she tell you about him?” Before Cee could stop her, she'd run from the table to return with Harry's picture. “She found a perfect husband, and I've found one just like him. So I'm getting married, no matter what anyone says. Especially you, Mr. Dennis."
* * * *
NICK STAYED AWAY from the main house the rest of the day to avoid trouble. Susan wanted to put him in his place, and he couldn't stop baiting her, which wasn't fair to C.J. He needed to catch some shuteye anyway. It was dark when she rapped at his door. He was watching television in the living room, which looked straight through the kitchen to where she stood.
He rose; she let herself in and shoved a coffee cake into his hands. “Cinnamon strudel for your breakfast tomorrow."
Her cheeks were flushed. He smiled. “Does this mean I'm not invited back because I was naughty?"
"It means I know what makes you happy. It's still warm."
The aroma was mouthwatering, and so was she. She only came to his nose, and he could see down her scooped neckline to where her breasts nestled inside the lacy cups of a half bra. The pale skin just below her tan line tantalized him. He touched a finger to the gentle curve of her neck.
Chuckling, she pushed the coffee cake again his chest. “I meant this."
"Shucks.” Setting the cake on the kitchen table, he plucked a knife from a drawer. “But since you insist...” He cut a huge piece. “I'm famished. I had a tuna sandwich for dinner."
"Mr. Unhealthy? Were you out of cooking oil?"
He slanted a quick kiss over her smiling mouth. “No, but I don't like deep-fried tuna, and my pantry isn't stocked. Plus, I haven't staked out Montclair's fast food joints yet.” He took a bite and closed his eyes. “Mm. I didn't know a gorgeous woman like you could bake like this."
"There's a lot you don't know about me."
"Ah, but I'm willing to learn. Would you like some?” He reached for the knife, and she shook her head. With a longing look at his cake, he left it on the table and led her to the living room. Sitting on the couch, he pulled her down on his lap. “Does Susan know you're here, or did you climb out the window and shinny the downspout?"
C.J. tweaked his nose. “She's out with Mark."
"Leaving you free to sneak out with a man who's less than perfect? Is that why you haven't married again? Because no one could compare?"
"I never told Suz her brother was perfect, but somehow, I must have given her that impression. Harry was...” Cee ducked her head. “Flawed. He cheated on me for years."
Nick felt a mixture of emotions. Relief. Sympathy. Disbelief. The man must have been a fool. “You never told his sister."
"I didn't learn the truth until after his death. He had a fling the first year of our marriage and promised he'd never cheat again.” Cee slid off Nick's lap onto the cushion beside him and straightened her dress. “I believed him until he was killed coming home from her house. Suz didn't know there was only one house on that dead end road, and I didn't see any reason to tell her. In the year she'd been with us, we were always there for her, and after growing up in boarding schools, we must have seemed stable. To her, stable meant happy, and I couldn't take that away from her. The Hartes jaunted around a lot and were killed in a small plane crash."
C.J. would be there for her kids if she were a mother. Nick folded her hands into his. She raised her eyes. “When I was Susan's age, I wanted the picket fence and all the rest."
"You didn't love your husband?"
"I thought I did, but marriage wasn't what I'd imagined, and when I wanted to work or go back to school, he insisted I stay home.” She rose to look out a window. “The question you asked Susan has been my deepest concern.” She turned to look at him. “How did you know to ask it?"
"Girls grow up with romantic notions.” Nick leaned forward to rest his arms on his knees. “And when they don't pan out ... they walk.” He frowned, realizing he'd said too much.
"Don't men have preconceived notions about marriage?"
"They know it means working every day to put food on the table."
"Nick Dennis. I thought you were a romanticist."
"I am. Let me show you.” He reached for her, and she moved to meet him. He stroked her hair, kissed her cheek. “See?” He blew in her ear, and she shivered. Before he went any further, he wanted to set things straight. “Cee? You're a good mother to Susan, and I respect that. She's lucky to have you."
Cee dropped her head back to smile up at him. “Thank you."
She wrapped her arms around his neck. She was a good woman, and a desirable one. He ran his hands along her back, feeling her body heat through the thin material. Her breathing quickened under his touch. She was all woman, soft and curvy in all the right places, firmly sculptured in others. He inhaled the fresh, lemony fragrance of her hair. “Can you stay a while?"
"Susan will be home..."
"It's ten o'clock. What's her curfew?” He kissed Cee's neck. Tickled her ear with his tongue.
"Midnight."
Her whisper was husky, her breath warm and sweet. He ran his hands down to cup her softly rounded tush. “How often does she come home early?"
She pressed against him, breathing hard. “Never, when she's with Mark."
* * * *
CEE STALKED ACROSS the yards and rang the door chimes. After one look at her face, Marianne sat her down in her plush, all-white living room, and made them both margaritas. “Now, tell Auntie Mem. What did the man-beast do?"
"It's what he didn't do.” Cee recounted the scene with Nick to the only person she'd admit being scorned. “He asked me to stay and convinced me not to worry about Susan, but when I responded to his advances, he said he thought he heard Mark's car."
"Either...” Marianne ticked off her suggestions on her fingers. “One, he's afraid lovemaking means commitment. Or, two, he didn't have protection."
Cee took the lime wedge off her glass and laid it on an ornate ashtray on the oversized glass coffee table. “Nick is sexy, fun-lovin
g, and freer than I ever hoped to be. He's not thinking commitment. Protection, maybe. I'm sure he doesn't want a shotgun marriage.” She dipped a finger in the salt on the edge of her glass, and Marianne rapped a glass stirrer on hers.
"Neither do you, so don't even go there."
"Not that way, but I still dream of having a baby, and my biological clock has its alarm set and I sometimes hear it ticking."
"Honestly, Cee. You're scared of turning thirty, so you hopscotch off to camp, meet Nick and now you want to make babies? Next thing I know, you'll want to get married."
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Chapter Seven
NICK'S APARTMENT OFFERED plenty of floor for pacing, and he took advantage of it. In his experience, women who were eager to make love were either easy or looking for someone to marry. C.J. was too much of a lady for him to consider the former, and the latter scared him spitless. The “new beginning” she sought didn't include marriage, did it? He turned around at the back door and walked the other way.
He wanted to make love with her so badly he ached, but then, there would be no turning back. Their lovemaking would feel so right—he was sure of that—they'd keep going back for more. And after a while, the commitment issue would come up and threaten C.J.'s freedom, and his own.
Unless they made an agreement up front.
Some women didn't mind an agreement. Others told him to get lost when he gave his little “no ties” speech. He hoped C.J. would fall into the former group. After all, she wanted to be a free spirit. He wanted her to know he found her extremely desirable and turning away wasn't easy.
It was quiet at the main house, curtains drawn, when he padded across the terrace to her back door and rang the bell. The central air conditioner hummed against the summer morning, but an upstairs window stood open to the breeze. Leaning his head back, he wondered if behind those fluttering curtains, she was still lying in bed with the soft air caressing her body the way he'd like to. She'd been damned hard to resist last night, he'd tell her, but he had his reasons, he'd say, and then he'd give her his no-ties-or-commitment speech.
C.J. opened the door with a paintbrush in her hand, a red bandanna covering her hair. Cutoff jeans and a white tee shirt hugged her curves invitingly. She waggled the brush, still in its plastic wrapper. “Come to help paint the kitchen?"
He looked around. “I could..."
"Susan drove into Ridgefield to visit her cousin. You're safe."
"Then I'll help. And no, I'm not a coward.” He reached for the brush.
"Wait.” C.J. held it behind her back. “Have you ever painted before?"
"I painted my first wall when I was ten. And yes, I have painted since then."
"Good. Then you're probably better than I am and you can edge while I use the roller."
The creamy yellow paint looked like pale sunshine and would make the kitchen cheerier. While stirring the paint, Nick looked around. White curtains. Glass-topped wrought iron table. Blue-and-white cabinet.
C.J. followed his sweeping glance. “I've ordered an oak table to replace that one. The cabinet is blue to go with the new yellow walls, not that lima bean green.” She turned up her nose.
"Did you sponge-paint the cabinet?"
She beamed. “How'd you know? I'm going to put wicker baskets on top the cabinets and copper butter molds on the wall. I've decided to go country but I won't go so far as a churn in the corner."
Nick liked the smile in her eyes as she looked around. “My dad builds rustic homes. I'll bet you'd like them."
"You're probably right. Did you ever paint for your dad?"
Nick tested the paint to see how well it covered before shaking his head. One coat might do it. “I painted my room at home once.” A day after Georgia left. “Dad didn't like it black, and I had to paint it again.” It took three coats. “Since then, I've painted ship decks and bachelor apartments. No complaints."
"Were you in the Navy?"
"Nope. I don't like to commit for that long.” Cee had her back to him, taking the curtains down off the windows, but he saw her shoulders stiffen. Figuring she might as well know upfront what kind of guy she was dealing with, he told her about his stints aboard ship and cross-country truck driving.
She picked up her paint roller and went to work. “I thought maybe you'd had a bad experience with a woman after what you said last night, but you're a wanderer at heart, is that it?"
He nodded, and she asked another question. “How did you end up at New Beginnings?"
A step closer to dangerous ground, but she was going to find out about Charlie O'Dell sooner or later, and it was better coming from him. “Promise not to laugh?"
She crossed her heart, and he climbed down from his ladder. “I started writing mysteries and wanted a quiet place to work."
"Do you think you'll be published one day?” She leaned over to move her paint can and he admired the scenery.
Her jean shorts were frayed with a peace sign on the pocket, and very snug, but no thong mark or panty line showed through. The idea she might be bare beneath the denim enticed him. Dell was right about him being horny but that was reason to leave, not live next door. Her question sank in. “Published?"
"Sure. Wouldn't you like that?” She turned to catch him staring. “I've had these shorts since I went to Miss Shively's."
"Some finishing school you went to. Peace signs and...” He grinned but couldn't go on with it. Her derriere had set his imagination in motion and his thoughts churning. He'd come here with a purpose. “Cee, I want to set things straight about last night."
She looked away.
Damn, she felt rejected. He put down the edger to take her hands. He never meant to hurt her feelings. “In case you haven't noticed, I'm highly attracted to you."
"But?” Her eyes met and held his. Amber pinpoints floated on a sea of golden-brown. She darted out her tongue to lick her full lower lip.
"I don't want to threaten your freedom, or mine."
"You don't like to commit to the Navy or a woman? Is that it?"
He nodded, and a smile the width of the Grand Canyon crossed her face. She didn't have to be that damned glad.
"That's fine with me. We don't need any strings attached.” She stole his line. His speech. His bewilderment must have shown because she added, “If we decide to, uh, you-know."
"You-know? Is that anything like the ‘you-know’ that you wanted to make sure was still intact?"
She sputtered and swatted him on the arm. Once. Twice. He couldn't stop laughing. With a final swat, she turned her back and began to roll paint on the walls, with fervor.
"You're splashing."
"You're annoying."
"You're getting paint on your wood floor."
She didn't stop. “It's no worry of yours."
He crept up behind her and was rewarded with a back spray of yellow paint. “Stop rolling, C.J. I want to kiss you."
She stopped, turned, and moved into his arms. “Why didn't you say so?"
He nibbled her ripe, full, lower lip. “What color is your bedroom?"
"Wouldn't-you-like-to-know-blue."
"When's Susan coming home?"
"This weekend."
"You mean we have all week? Why didn't you say so?” Without waiting for an answer, he captured her mouth.
"We have paint all over us,” she murmured.
"What do you suggest?” He pressed his erection against her.
* * * *
MAKING LOVE ON the drop cloth was Nick's idea.
Carrying it to the bedroom was hers. A hundred questions passed through Cee's mind while he spread the drop cloth over her quilted bedspread. Did he have protection? Would someone knock? The phone ring? Was she free enough for this? Would she respond or go cold?
"A truly free woman would have done ‘you know’ in the kitchen,” he teased as he laid her on the bed and showered her face with tiny kisses.
"I haven't finished all my lessons yet.” She ran her tongue a
long the hollow of his throat, her heart pounding so loudly, she was sure he could hear it.
He tasted her lips, then plunged his tongue into her mouth and kissed her deeply. His kiss was long and slow, sweet and hot, and she wiggled against his hard body wanting more than just his lips. “I'll teach you anything you want to know, but your kisses are topnotch and you squirm beautifully."
He turned her in his arms to massage her shoulders, his fingers hot and demanding through the fabric of her shirt. “I wanted to do this the other night.” He slid his hands inside her tee shirt to skim her breasts, then came back to knead first one and then the other. “And this.” She trembled, and he stilled his touch until she was quiet again.
He pulled her shirt over her head, and while her arms were still caught, unsnapped her shorts. Openly admiring her body, he knelt over her and removed her clothes slowly. Her shorts first, her bra next. He was quiet, but the admiration in his eyes told her he approved of her slight figure. And when he circled the rosy tip of each of her breasts, tasting, savoring, she knew they satisfied him. Her arms still over her head, she squirmed eagerly. He slipped her panties down over her thighs so slowly, she thought she'd go crazy, and when he kissed her between them, she was sure she would. “Nick, please."
Holding her close, he slid his hand between their bodies and unsnapped his cutoffs, sliding them down just far enough to tease her. Smiling against his mouth, she wiggled impatiently and he pressed his erection against her. He freed her arms from her shirt, tossing it on the floor, and she clutched his hips. He raised his body and slid his cutoffs and jockey shorts down with one swift motion. He kicked them off the bed, and she caught her breath. He was magnificent. He knelt, straddling her to peel off his tee shirt.
"C.J.,” he whispered, lowering his body over hers. He rained butterfly kisses over her body, taking time to deepen ones in sensitive places. She moaned and twisted her fingers in his hair. He continued until she knew she wasn't cold, could never be cold with him. He laved her breasts, her stomach, and her thighs until she burned with desire. Then he moved between her legs with his kisses, his tongue, and finally, when she thought she was going out of her mind, he pressed his erection against her once more.
Finding Mr. Romantic Page 11