"Please, Nick. Now."
"I just have to...” He reached for the wallet he'd tossed on the nightstand. Something fell to the floor. “It's okay,” he soothed. “It was just a book."
C.J. held out her hand to him, eyes bright, and cheeks flushed. “Hurry."
After taking a moment to protect her, Nick was back in bed again, his fingers teasing and hardening her until she cried out. “Now,” he whispered as he slid into her.
Their bodies moved together slowly, wildly. Beautifully. She'd never known lovemaking could be like this. A whirlpool swirled within her until she was part of it, and suddenly, she was sucked inside. Drowning, her body quivering, she clung to Nick. He plunged deeper and burying his face in her neck, gave a smothered shout.
Lying in Nick's arms, with him stroking her hair, the scent and warmth of their lovemaking surrounding them, Cee smiled against the soft hair of his chest. He'd changed her life just as he promised, and she hoped she'd changed his.
* * * *
CEE WIGGLED. THE plastic drop cloth was hot and stuck to her body. She hoped it hadn't begun to melt. Nick, lying beside her, touched the throbbing spot between her legs. “Are you trying to start something again?"
"Moi?” Smiling, she kissed her fingers and touched them to his lips. He sucked her fingertips. “Now who's starting something?” she asked.
"I'd love to but...” He reached for his wallet and dropped it. “Whoops.” Leaning over the edge of the bed to retrieve it, he stretched and wiggled like snake. “Got it,” he said, finally. Opening it, he showed her it was empty of condoms.
"Let's finish painting the kitchen and go shopping,” she said, and bounced out of bed.
"Shopping for what?” He leered and waggled his eyebrows at her. Hiding a smile, she leaned over to pick up her shorts. She had one leg in when she spotted the corner of a book sticking out from under the bed. “What the...” She snatched it up and waved it in the air. “Where did this come from?"
Shrugging, Nick ducked his head to zip his pants.
He'd knocked a book off the bedside table. She looked at the cover of her Charlie O'Dell book, then at Nick. “Ohmigosh! You're him!"
Nick's ears flamed like a five-alarm fire. “I'm not Charlie."
"You're the author. Your name is on the cover. Dennis Nicholas. Nicholas Dennis. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Uh ... modesty?"
"You, modest? Afraid? Nervous?"
"Do you think you'll ever be published?” Chuckling, he crawled across the bed to pull her into his arms. Lying down, he held her close. “Maybe now, you won't underestimate me again."
"Since ‘you-know,’ I would never underestimate you."
He puffed out his chest and grinned, and she laced her fingers tightly in his hair. “Why did you kick that book under the bed?"
"I didn't want to overwhelm you with all my talents at once."
"Modesty again, and that insolent grin.” She twisted her fingers and pulled.
"Ouch. My grin is charming. Not insolent.” He loosened her fingers and held them. “The book was supposed to stay under the bed."
"Sneak!"
"I prefer to be called wily."
"Ohmigosh.” Cee picked up the book and waved it in the air. “Wily and witty Charlie. I knew I liked that P.I. for a reason. He's you. You're him. Believe me, Nick. You said you weren't Charlie, but you are."
* * * *
"WHAT ON EARTH?” Susan squealed when she walked into the house five days later. “I came in the back way from the garage, and our kitchen is yellow. I picked that lovely apple green it was before. Harry hated yellow and so do I. And look at this."
Nick wished he hadn't been caught alone in Cee's living room. He shifted uneasily on the new sofa she'd bought. Blue and white-striped, it looked like mattress ticking, which made him even more uneasy. Since Susan left, he and Cee had made love more times than he could count on both hands. He'd had wonderful days and evenings with her and great nights with his book heroine, finishing two more chapters. He was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, but happier than he'd ever been.
"Is this decorating scheme another Martha Stewart idea?"
Nick didn't know Martha, but he'd gone with Cee when she shopped for chairs ‘with blue in the print, that looked good but didn't clash, with the couch.’ He'd tried to beg off on her second foray, but purchasing end tables and wooden bowls she could fill with real fruit went better. “I ... uh ... think the scheme is C.J.'s."
Susan stared at a framed butterfly print over the library table and groaned. “I know she picked this.” She sank down on the couch next to him. “What's the matter with her, Nick?"
Never having expected to be taken as a confidante, he was as amazed by Susan's question as her proximity. Without her attitude of anger and derision, she resembled a bewildered twelve-year-old, throwing him for an additional loop. “Nothing except she's worried about you."
"I'm not the one who's been doing weird things.” Susan waved a hand around the room. “Cee ripped up the garden and redid this room and cut her hair and...” A tear slid down the girl's face. “I liked her and everything else the way they were before."
"Things change. People change. It's part of life.” He patted Susan's arm.
"She could wait until I marry Mark for her metamorphosis."
"Or you could give her time to get her wings.” Nick bit back a smile. “She still hopes you'll go to college."
"I should go to college while she becomes an adult?” Susan shook her head. “That doesn't make sense. Besides, the wedding invitations are in the mail. My cousin Beth helped me address them while I was at her house."
"Isn't it a bit early?"
"People who have busy schedules need to plan ahead."
Nick supposed Susan could still call off the wedding, but it would be tougher with the invitations already sent. Cee's chances of Susan going to college were dwindling. “Does Mark make you feel loved the way your brother did, Susan?"
She played with a charm that dangled from her belt. “Harry showered me with gifts and attention. Mark isn't as affectionate. But he loves me."
"So Mark treats you the way Harry did Cee?"
Susan whirled on him. “What do you mean?"
Nick raised his hands. “As an equal."
Susan settled back on the couch. “Harry was old-fashioned in some ways and thought home decoration was for women.” She looked around. “Did you help Cee pick out this new stuff?"
"Yep, and I helped paint the kitchen too.” Here it came, Nick the Nerd versus Harry the Hero. Nick braced himself.
"Mark's like Harry in most ways, and that's good but ... I hope he's as liberated as you."
* * * *
FRIDAY MORNING, NICK heard a car and looked out the window to see Susan leave with Mark. A moment later, Cee appeared in the garden to wave at him. He raised the screen to lean out. “Good morning, beautiful."
"It is, isn't it?” she called. “Shall I come up or are you coming down?"
"Are you propositioning me?” Without waiting for an answer, he lowered the screen and loped down the steps.
The roses on the terrace, deep pink and big as teacups, gave off a heady aroma. Wildflowers in various shades of red, yellow, and purple had begun opening in the garden, sparse but colorful with promises of more to come. He dropped a kiss on C.J.'s nose. The day was balmy, and she looked like a summer dessert in a hot pink short set with embroidered trim. She looped her arms around his neck, and, hungry for her touch, he pulled her close. He still wasn't comfortable when Susan was around. Since their conversation the other night, she'd begun to treat him with more respect, and Cee was certain it was a good sign. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. “How much time do we have alone?"
"Ellen Simmons invited Susan back to their summer house in the Poconos. She's going to teach her to play golf so she can play with Mark and teach her to cook his favorite dishes.” C.J. pulled away to frown. “Suz was excited, and she's never been interested
in golf or cooking before."
"She has reason now. If you were a skydiver, I'd consider jumping."
C.J. deepened her frown. “Ellen is giving her a bridal shower, and Suz was just beginning to see Mark isn't perfect, hoping he's liberated.” Nick had related his conversation with Susan. C.J. stroked Nick's cheek. “Like you. I wanted her to see more of you and I together. See how undemanding you are, and fun."
"I'll still be here when Susan comes back."
"How long do you plan to stay, Nick?"
She asked the question with all the seriousness of someone asking a person with an incurable disease how long they have to live. He traced the scooped neckline of her top. He'd never committed to timelines or limits. When the spirit moved him, he went. This time, he could answer because he had a deadline of sorts.
"The end of summer.” He sat on the garden bench. A rose hung over his shoulder and he touched it. It felt velvety like Cee's skin and smelled almost as sweet. She remained standing. “Dell has a cottage I can have August 31."
Cee walked to the edge of the sun-warmed brick terrace. A bee buzzed around the low-hanging rose and he moved away. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he admired the curve of her hips and the slimness of her waist. “It's on the other side of Neuman Lake, about a mile south of New Beginnings. Neat little place with a great view. Not that the view here isn't good.” He chuckled but felt more troubled than amused.
"The lake is six hours away."
"We'll find a way.” Love finds a way? Nah, he wasn't in love. It was against his principles. But the guilt and sorrow in his gut whenever he thought about leaving weren't lust. So what was it he felt? The cottage was his goal, and he mustn't forget that or he'd end up working for his father and lose the freedom he treasured. Nick crossed the terrace to hold her. “This isn't goodbye."
She smiled and framed his face with her hands. “I'm going to be alone for two weeks."
"Two whole weeks? Mm.” He pulled her close and lowered his mouth to hers. Long, delicious moments later, she drew her lips, softened by his seeking mouth, into a smile and ground her hips against his.
"You could stay with me while Susan is gone."
"You're shameless, woman."
"Only when it comes to you."
His heart matched hers beat for beat. Just as their stride matched, step-by-step. She felt too right, and there was no “right” for him when it came to women. His motto was “never commit to something or someone you can't be true to” and night and day, even for two weeks, would be too close to commitment.
* * * *
CEE LAY IN her big bed, alone, thinking angry thoughts about a bullheaded man who'd rolled out of bed and gone home to write every night since Susan left.
The phone rang. Cee snatched up the receiver, hoping it was Marianne so she'd have someone to complain to. It was Susan, who said she was having a great time but didn't sound like it. “What have you learned to cook, Suz?"
"Casseroles, and I hate things mixed together. Apple pie, and why anyone goes to all that trouble when you can buy one, I don't know. And dried beef gravy which almost made me barf and looks likes someone already did."
"How's the golf coming?"
"Mark gave me his brother, Paul, for a partner. He's better than I am by a long shot, or make that ‘drive.’ I have learned that much. But I'm not good enough for Mark, who teamed up with the club pro. Paul and I quit after the ninth hole and drank lemonade in the clubhouse while those two played nine more. I learned he went to school with Nick's cousin, Dell. Small world, isn't it?"
Celeste pressed her fingers against her chest. She was beginning to feel like a woman of the night with Nick leaving her in bed, and Susan was working up to something, she could tell.
"We talked about Nick's family a little. How is he, by the way? Is he there?"
"He's in his apartment, working."
"Writing, you mean."
"Susan, if you have something to say about him, say it. Writing is his occupation."
"Don't get defensive. He lied about what he did, and I thought he might be hiding something else. So I asked Paul a few questions."
Cee felt faint. Had Suz learned something terrible?
"Has Nick mentioned that his mother walked off and left him and his dad?"
"So?” Cee, torn between relief and anger, balled the sheet in her fist. For a moment, she'd thought Susan was going to say he was in love with someone else. He hadn't told her, of course, but why should he?
"So, if he didn't tell you about something that important, and he lied about working in advertising when he's an author, you can't trust him. You're serious about Nick, I can tell, but Dell told Paul he's never serious about anything. Don't you get it, Cee? He's the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. His mother walked off without a word, and he and his father never knew where she went or why, but if history repeats itself, there's a good chance Nick will do the same. You're a romp. A fling. Nick is using you for a good time."
* * * *
ISADORA LOOKED BEAUTIFUL, asleep with her hand tucked under her cheek, her long golden hair splayed out on the pillow. John's heart beat faster. He'd miss her. She and he had become one. When she felt sad, he did too. When she laughed, he was filled with joy.
Celeste Joy. Nick wanted to stay and watch her sleep. He longed to awaken next to her and make love again. But he couldn't. He'd spend every day with C.J. until Susan came back, but his nights were Isadora's, until he finished his book. And then?
He couldn't stop his body from responding to Celeste, but he could stop his heart from loving. People did it all the time. Stopped loving, and left.
Love. There was that word again. He'd never loved a woman, except Georgia.
He reread his night's work over a cup of coffee.
John's company planned to transfer him to New York. Isadora was a small town girl with a closely-knit family she didn't want to leave. So John must decide whether to take the job opportunity of his dreams or stay with her and find work again. He had come up the hard way and the New York position was a plum. Middletown offered the only woman he'd ever loved.
Nick's coffee tasted bitter. Dell's cedar cottage on Lake Neuman would be a peaceful place to write. He loved the view of sparkling blue water dotted with swift white sails and lazy canoes. In winter, he liked looking out over the icy lake and frost-covered woods and hills. But he'd grown restless at New Beginnings, his feet starting to itch for a new road to travel, until C.J. came along. The cottage would offer a new point of view and comfort and the restlessness would go away. It had to.
He looked at his watch. Ten o'clock.
Nick finished his fourth and last piece of toast. He'd been rising too late to cook breakfast the way he used to. They ate lunch together at one. Routine wasn't his thing, but their arrangement was temporary, and kind of nice.
Tossing his paper plate in the trash, he set his cup in the sink and smoothed his damp hair into place in front of a mirror. They planned to paint today, so he was wearing the cutoffs and shirt that were spotted with yellow from the kitchen. Remembering the frenzied way she used the roller when he laughed at her allusion to “you know,” he chuckled. Remembering doing “you know,” he smiled contentedly. “No strings attached,” she said, and their lovemaking was everything he'd hoped, and more.
When he talked about leaving at summer's end, he'd sensed she wasn't happy, but they'd agreed.
He let himself in C.J.'s and found her standing in the kitchen, waiting for him. Her shorts with the peace sign and white tee shirt were spotted with more yellow paint than his, but she looked sexy as hell. Long wisps of hair trailed down her neck, and a feathered fringe skimmed her eyebrows. She'd need a haircut soon. He kissed the tip of her nose. “Morning, beautiful."
"Good morning, handsome.” She slid her arms around his neck in the way he'd come to love, and he kissed her on the lips. Long and slow. Hot and sweet. He tightened his arms around her waist, and deepening his kiss, thrust with his tongue.
&nb
sp; She eased out of his arms and led the way to the living room. A smart woman, she knew if they started something, they wouldn't get any painting done. She had everything set out, ready to go. Paint cans. Drop cloths.
He was probably the only man in the country aroused by the sight of a drop cloth. But the memory of her body between him and the soft plastic made him so hard, he broke out in a sweat. He poured paint into a pan and stared at it. “Red for the walls?"
"Country red for three. This one will be white to offset it.” Cee pointed to the long wall behind the sofa. “The ceiling too."
He took a few tentative strokes. The red reminded him of a well-weathered barn. “Was the decorating scheme your idea? Or Martha Stewart's?"
She planted her hands on her hips. “I am not a Martha groupie, I'll have you know. My plans are original."
He chuckled. “Who is she anyway?"
"You rat. You've been talking to Susan. Martha Stewart is a woman who can do everything. I'm not.” Her smile faded.
"Come on, Cee, everything you do, you do well."
"You think?"
"Baby, I know.” She had paint on her clothes anyway, so he wrapped his arms around her and fondled her peace sign.
"Nick.” She eased away. “I want to get this room done."
She'd blown him off again. He licked his wounds while he painted.
She worked her way across the white wall toward him. “Tell me more about yourself. Where did you go to school?"
"Ridgefield."
"Montclair played them in basketball. Did you play sports?"
"Baseball."
"We didn't have a baseball team."
She sounded disappointed. She was up to something he didn't want any part of. “Heard from Susan lately?"
"She called last night. She said she was having a good time but I think she's disappointed in Mark."
Finding Mr. Romantic Page 12