Hearts Are Wild

by Laura Wright

  He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “My mother died when I was young.”

  His eyes were shuttered making it impossible to read what was written there. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks. So am I.”

  “And your father…”

  “He’s healthy, very successful and very stubborn.”

  “Well, at least now we know you come by it honestly.” She chuckled halfheartedly.

  He gave her a wry smile. “Actually they were both pretty stubborn.”

  “I bet your father misses her.”

  He pressed his lips together, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t know. We’ve never talked about it.”

  “Maybe you should,” she offered.

  He nodded. “Maybe. Life’s short, right?”

  Maggie stilled. Her slogan. Her business slogan, she realized with a flash of understanding, not her life’s one.

  More than anything, she wanted to move closer to Nick, put her head on his shoulder and let him talk. But she knew that would only serve to suck her in, slowly, like quicksand. “Nick, I called my service and checked my messages.”

  “And?”

  “You had seven requests.”

  He raised a brow. “Requests for what?”

  “A date.” She actually felt as if she was choking on the word. “The first two are scheduled for tomorrow. One for breakfast at Hugo’s by the Beach and one for dinner at a Latin club downtown. I’m staying here with Kitty and Ted, so I’ll call the women and make the arrangements.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t be there.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m staying with you.”

  Her heart dropped. “No. You can’t. I mean, well, what about your job?”

  “My foreman can handle everything for a few days.”

  Lord, she wanted to fall straight into his arms and say yes, stay, stay with me all day and all night. And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw her grandma walk out of Ted’s room and down the hall to the drinking fountain. Kitty looked exhausted, unsure. Maggie swallowed hard. She wasn’t ever going to feel that way.

  She glanced over at Nick. He had his cell phone out. He couldn’t stay here with her in Las Vegas in the room where they’d made love one more minute much less one more night. If he was close by, she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep the commitment she’d made to herself. It was best that he go—back to Santa Flora and on his dates.

  “I’m going to call the hotel and book our room for a few more nights,” he said, punching in the numbers.

  “Thanks, but I’ll take care of it.”

  “It’s no problem, Maggie.”

  She placed a hand over his, stopping him from finishing dialing. “I want you to go home, go on those dates and have a great time.”

  “No you don’t. You want me here.”

  “Don’t tell me what I want, Nick,” she said, forcing ice into her tone. Her heart wrenched on each word, but she had to cut him loose to free herself. “We made an agreement, a deal. And my business depends on you following it through to the end.”

  He stared at her. “And last night?”

  She buried everything she wanted to say and, instead, said what she had to say. “Last night was a mistake. It can’t happen again. Please understand.”

  She expected anger, possibly nonchalance, but not sheer, unvarnished disbelief.

  “We both know that last night was no mistake. And we both know why you’re doing this.” His gaze slipped to her locket. “Protection, right?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m doing this for my business.”

  “Are you?” He leaned in toward her, his eyes forest green. “You can set me up on dates or push me away all you want, Maggie Conner. But it doesn’t change anything. There’s something here between you and me, and I promise you, it won’t go away until it’s run its course.” Then he stood. “I’m going to tell Kitty and Ted goodbye now.” He turned and walked away, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll see you when you get back.”

  She missed him the minute he was gone. But she knew she’d done the right thing—the only thing she could—to protect the man she was just a breath away from falling in love with.

  Wind in his face and gut-twisting speed. That’s exactly what he needed. Nick drove his motorcycle down the highway like a bullet with no target in sight.

  He’d only been back in town for an hour, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay at Maggie’s house. He’d stopped in just long enough to drop his bags and jump on his bike. Even without her there, he could feel her presence in that house. Sure, there was no underwear on the shower rod. But he had a real picture of her in his mind now.

  A picture of her wearing that wisp of a thong and of him stripping it slowly off her. But the memories didn’t stop there. They traveled to more dangerous territory like how, after they’d made love, he just lay there with her, holding her against him, talking about their favorite colors and foods and movies. Before that night with Maggie, he’d never done anything like that in his entire life. But with her it had seemed natural.

  Damn, he hated that.

  He’d meant what he said to her. He’d fulfill his promise—he’d go out with every Suzie and Sally and Jane. But he’d be coming home to Maggie to finish what they’d started.

  He took the next off ramp and pulled onto a winding mountain road. The sun was slowly dipping behind the horizon and the air became chill. The wind wasn’t doing a thing to soothe him. It only made him remember how her hair had moved in the breeze when they were dancing.

  He’d been her first lover. He couldn’t get that fact out of his mind. Along with the possibility that someday, after he’d left town, she would meet someone else. A man who could show her that true love and all that other stuff she believed in for others was also true for her. A man who would stick around and make her see that The Conner Curse was a bunch of bunk. A man who would be the luckiest son of a—

  Cursing, he slowed his bike, then stopped. When he removed his helmet and looked up, he cursed again. What was he doing here?

  Past a wide expanse of green lawn, rose the three-story, two-winged, Spanish-style villa with five balconies that he’d grown up in. To the left of the three-car garage were acres of fruit trees. He’d climbed each one by the age of eight, helping the pickers to reach the apples and pears. To the house’s right was a swimming pool, and behind, a tennis court. He hated tennis—probably because he hated to wear white.

  It was a mansion, really, but it hadn’t started out that way. When his parents had first bought it, it had been a one-story house on a boatload of land. But his father had built-on a little every few years as his contracting business grew.

  It was impressive. And held many good memories to overshadow the bad.

  As he stood before it, every fiber of him fought the urge to go into that house. He couldn’t help but wonder if his father would once again ask him to drop his little side business to take over the family business.

  Nick shook his head. Anthony Kaplan was a good man, decent and hardworking. Nick would give him that. But his questions had always made Nick’s life sound worthless, and he wasn’t willing to give anyone that kind of power over him.

  His new credo stuck like flypaper to his mind.

  Life’s short.

  Just then a gardener spotted him, cocked his head to one side as though he wasn’t sure who Nick was. Suddenly he smiled broadly, gave Nick a crisp wave and disappeared behind the house.

  Two minutes later Nick’s sister bolted out the door.

  “Nick, what are you doing here?” Anne asked breathlessly, her long blond hair blowing in the breeze.

  “I was in the neighborhood.”

  She flung her arms around his neck. “Likely story.” She stepped back and studied him. “Well, you’ve still got the bike, the boots, the jeans—but the hair’s gone.”

  Nick chuckled. “I thought you weren’t coming home from school until today.”

&nbs
p; Anne’s eyes flashed. “How do you know that I didn’t?”

  To say, “Because I saw you at the mall when I was clothes shopping with my matchmaker” didn’t sound all that good in his head, so he offered, “Lucky guess?”

  “Try again.”

  He rubbed his temples. “I’m your big brother. You know I have magical powers.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That may have worked on me when I was seven, but not anymore.”

  He tried to look pained. “Are you forgetting the night I made the spirit of Elvis appear for you?”

  “That was you in a mask, and by the way it’s ‘Love Me Tender,’ not ‘Leave Me Tender.’” She grinned. “So that was you at the mall?”

  He nodded. “Guilty.”

  “Who was the girl?” she asked.

  Nick paused on that one. Who was Maggie? Last night she’d been his lover, this morning… “She’s a friend. My roommate actually.”

  Anne nodded sagely, knowing better than to press him. “Why don’t you come in? Dad and I are about to have dinner.”

  Nick wanted to. For the first time in a long time, he actually wanted to hang out, talk with Anne about medical school, maybe even talk with his father, try out that tired old cliché—make the peace. But not tonight. He didn’t have it to give tonight. He needed to immerse himself in work, get his mind off Maggie for a while.

  “I wish I could,” he told her, taking in her crestfallen expression. “I have a ton of building plans to go over before tomorrow. Maybe sometime soon, though.”

  Anne nodded. “Fine. No problem. Tuesday night will do just as well.”

  He stared at her wordlessly. Did he even have that night free? How the hell could he explain the flurry of dates he was about to go on? He’d sound like a desperate gigolo. “I don’t know, kid. I—”

  “I won’t take no for an answer, big brother. So give it up.” She grinned. “See you at seven. And bring your…what was she again? Oh, yes, your friend and your…”

  “Roommate,” he supplied with a smirk.

  She gave him a short wave and headed back to the house. He wanted to throttle her, but he chuckled instead. Bring Maggie to his family’s home. What an idea. Boy, would his father have a field day with that one. Friend? The marrying kind or…?

  Nick pulled on his helmet and kicked his bike to a start, revving the engine. Last thing he wanted was for that word to get caught up in the fragile web between Maggie and him.

  Nick pulled down the driveway at a reasonable pace, then gunned the thing when he got on the main road. How could his life get any more messy? he thought. And yet something told him that question would probably be answered the minute he went out on his first date.

  Maggie pulled up to her house at six o’clock on Monday night. She’d wanted to stay in Las Vegas for as long as her grandma and Ted needed her, but Kitty had insisted that there was nothing for her to do. The hotel was hosting them for the week, so they were going to take some time to recuperate and relax. Kitty had given her a big bear hug and told her to go home to her new business and her nice young man.

  Since there was no use in trying to convince her grandma that Nick was not her man and would never be, she’d acquiesced—after making them promise to call in a few days, of course. So she’d headed home, back to Santa Flora, and back to the house she shared with the man she’d shared so much with just a few days ago.

  She was exhausted. Lord, it had been impossible to sleep in that hotel bed. Halfway through the night she’d moved to the couch. But he was still there, in her mind, calling her Montana Eyes as he slowly made love to her. All night long she’d still been able to feel his chest against her back.

  She exhaled heavily and grabbed her luggage from the cab. They would subside, these feelings. It would just take some time. And for Nick, maybe it would just take one really great date. This morning had been his first, and Maggie had already heard the glowing review from his breakfast partner on her message service. Horrible to admit, but when the woman had said that thirty minutes was far too short a time with Nick, Maggie had felt somewhat relieved. Quick breakfast and out of there.

  But tonight was going to be different. At the client’s request, Maggie had arranged the whole date from Las Vegas. Dinner and dancing at a great new Latin club in downtown Santa Flora.

  The woman had sounded very excited. From seeing his video, she thought Nick was amazing, gorgeous, the perfect guy, and she couldn’t wait to meet him. She’d wanted Nick to pick her up, but Maggie was insistent that they meet at the restaurant on their first date.

  It was a rule. Something Maggie’s Matches insisted upon, she’d told the woman.

  Rule, schmule. What a transparent phony she was. She’d never even thought about insisting that a couple meet instead of riding together. It was only going to be a suggestion, a recommendation. But not with Nick’s dinner date. Maggie had been firm, and she knew why.

  That good-night kiss. His mouth closing in on some other woman’s mouth.

  And he still had five more dates to go.

  Maggie walked to her front door as if she was going to her own funeral. When she reached for the knob, it turned in her hand. Suddenly the door opened and Nick stood there, looking altogether too handsome.

  “Hey,” he said, his eyes deepening to emeralds as he looked at her. “What are you doing home?”

  Her heart stumbled, then fell. She’d thought he’d be gone by now. Scratch that—she’d hoped.

  “Kitty has everything under control.”

  “How’s Ted doing?”

  Small talk. It was better than the alternatives: her fear, the Conner Curse or her obvious attraction to him. “He’s much better. He was up and walking around yesterday. Making jokes.” She tried to walk past him. But he didn’t move, and being so close to him made her insides jolt around like those Mexican jumping beans she’d spent her entire allowance on when she was ten. She and Kitty had waited all night for them to jump, but they never had.

  “So, how’d the date go this morning?” she asked quietly.

  “Nice woman, very attractive, but no chemistry.” His gaze raked over her. “And that’s just something I insist on having.”

  She swallowed hard at his blatant insinuation, then racked her brain for something innocuous to say. “How’s work?”

  “Actually, work is great. I’d tell you about it, but—”

  “You’re on your way out,” she finished for him.

  He nodded. “Maybe tonight when I get home.” It wasn’t a question.

  Breathless. Again. Damn him. It wasn’t fair.

  “You’d better go,” she said.

  His gaze roamed over her. “Yeah, I’d probably better.” He moved past her, then stopped and turned back. “So, do I look proper enough for the discriminating Santa Flora tastes?”

  He looked good enough to eat. Black jeans, crisp white shirt, tousled hair and heart-stopping eyes. What more could a woman want? But Maggie couldn’t say any of the things that were running through her mind, so she opted for a cheery-sounding, “You look very nice, Nick,” instead. A little too cheery, she thought. But this was agony, and she’d never really been all that good at pretense.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re wearing cologne.”

  His grin was slow, almost sinful. “Just trying to please my landlord.”

  His tone enveloped her, his eyes caressed her. She could so easily fall back into his arms. She wanted to tell him what would really please her at this moment. Him. Staying home with her, sharing a pizza, talking, then making love to her again. Her throat was dry, her skin tight.

  She was weak.

  He needed to go.

  “Well, have a good time.” She forced a smile.

  “I’ll see you later, Maggie.”

  She turned and walked into the house, then went directly to the window. Was she really sending him off to another woman, she thought as she watched him get on his bike and start it up. Darn right she was.

  A d
ark-yellow tube of fading sunlight beamed down through the trees like an arrow pointing to Nick’s right arm, illuminating a shading of what she knew dwelled beneath his shirt. His tattoo.

  With her breath caught somewhere between lungs and lips, she wondered if she’d be the only one to see it tonight.

  Eight

  What a bust.

  Nick stood on the busy sidewalk outside the little Spanish restaurant that had played host to one of the worst dates he’d ever had.

  From the moment he’d arrived at La Golva an hour and a half ago, he’d known that this setup wasn’t going to turn out well. His date had waved him over to the table with the enthusiasm of an airport ground-crew worker, both arms raised above her head, flailing from side to side.

  She was pretty, in a funky way. Short brown hair, extreme makeup, wild clothes. One would naturally assume a woman like that would be totally at ease with herself and others.

  But that was not the case.

  With her eyes wide, she explained over the loud Latin music that she’d been a bit nervous and had consumed a few margaritas while she was waiting. There were three empty glasses on the table, he noted, aside from the one she was finishing off as she pushed a basket of tortilla chips toward him and demanded that he have some. So “a few” was a pretty relative term.

  He ordered some coffee for her and a beer for himself and tried to make conversation. A half hour later she sobered enough to start feeling ill. She apologized profusely. He told her it was no big deal.

  In truth, he felt bad for her. If his sister had ever gotten herself into a situation like this, he’d sure hope that her date would look out for her, be a gentleman.

  And the gentleman in him told him that this woman shouldn’t drive. He wasn’t going to take her home on his bike, so it was a cab or several more hours of this pain and suffering. He chose the cab.