by Laura Wright
He had the cab wait while he saw her to her door, listened as she apologized again, told her he hoped that she’d feel better, then jumped back in the cab and returned to the restaurant to pick up his bike.
Maggie had better be up, he thought, walking toward his bike, which was parked a block from the restaurant. It was only nine o’clock and he had a few choice words for her. Words, he thought with an amused smile, that would hopefully be followed by some kissing and making up.
The ocean looked like liquid coal in the moonlight.
Dressed for a warm summer night, in jeans and a white tank, Maggie sat on the sand, her knees to her chest, and watched the dark waves turn silvery white as they curled, then dropped onto the shore with a crash. An unseasonably warm breeze blew salt air around her, and she breathed it in.
She loved the ocean, loved its dependability. It would always be there. The waves would come in, then go out. With life’s constant changes, it was comforting.
Just up the weathered steps in her office, she’d finished off some paperwork, read e-mails and paid bills, almost anything to keep her mind occupied.
But that hadn’t lasted very long.
She’d still had to answer the three remaining messages from the women who wanted to meet Nick. She’d called a few and set up dates for Thursday and Friday nights and Saturday afternoon. But after that she’d stopped, her mind consumed with thoughts and questions and images of Nick and his date sitting together in one of the dark corners of La Golva. Were they having a good time? Was he dancing with her the way he’d danced with Maggie in Las Vegas?
“I have a bone to pick with you.”
Maggie jumped, sending sand flying through the air all around her. “Nick Kaplan, you do that again and I’ll clobber you!”
He snorted and hunkered down next to her. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Would you?” she countered, willing her pulse to slow as she fought the urge to pelt him with a fistful of sand.
“Sure.” He gave her a lazy grin. “A man is always interested when a woman wants to touch him.”
“Even when pain accompanies the touching?” she retorted.
“It wouldn’t be pain for long, sweetheart.”
His eyes were as dark as the sea and just as dangerous. She almost didn’t care that he’d scared her. It was bad for business that he was here with her and not out on his date, but she couldn’t stop the relief that swept through her. Then again, she had to ask. “What are you doing here? It’s early.”
“You set me up with a lush.”
“What?” she exclaimed.
“My date was so excited to meet me that she got a little too happy at the happy hour,” he said with a heavy dose of annoyance.
“You’re kidding,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief. Of all the things that could’ve gone wrong, this was not one she’d imagined.
“No, I’m not kidding.” He leaned into her, all the irritation in his voice dripping away like honey from the comb. “So, you’re two for two, and I want to know what you’re going to do about it.”
“Do?” Her voice cracked slightly as his warm breath caressed her neck.
“Considering I didn’t pay anything, I know I can’t get a refund,” he whispered in her ear. “But there’s got to be something you can do to compensate me for time misspent.”
She inhaled deeply and fought for control over herself. “I just fixed you up on three more dates. How’s that?”
He snorted and moved away. “Great. Just great.” He shoved a white paper bag at her. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
“Did you have dinner?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. I went back to the house, and when you weren’t there, I knew you’d gone to the office to plan my next date from hell.” He gestured toward the bag. “So I stopped and got you a sandwich.”
Her lips parted and her heart tugged. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done anything so spontaneously nice for her. “You didn’t have to do this.”
He shrugged off her gratitude. “Don’t make a big deal of it, Maggie. I thought you’d be hungry, that’s all.”
“Well, thank you,” she said, opening the bag and taking out the enormous sandwich. “There’s no way I can eat this by myself. You’re going to have to share it with me.”
He grinned. “Well, maybe a bite or two. I didn’t get to eat much more than a few tortilla chips.”
“Here, take half. And don’t worry about the other dates, Nick. I’ll make sure to set up the next one somewhere safe. Like the zoo or a shopping mall.”
“Great,” he said with an exaggerated shudder.
She laughed. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot about your mall phobia.” She knew she should feel bad about his two unsuccessful dating attempts, but strangely, she felt great. They were sitting together at the ocean, under a brilliant moon, sharing a ham and cheese sandwich, and his next date would be at the zoo. Nice, predictable, no good-night kisses, and zero possibility of showing the coveted tattoo. That knowledge filled her with sublime happiness.
They ate in companionable silence. Every now and then when they’d reach for the one napkin they had to share, their hands would brush and their fingers would linger. After a moment she’d pull away and pretend it didn’t mean anything. But that didn’t stop her from thinking how sweet and thoughtful he was. Or how her life had changed since he’d come. Or how he was going to make some woman very happy someday.
At that thought, her impromptu dinner quickly turned sour in her stomach.
He stood and brushed the sand off his jeans. “You done working for the night?”
“Yep. I think so.”
“How about a ride?”
Her eyes snapped to his. “On your motorcycle?”
“I grabbed my spare helmet, so I have an extra.”
“I don’t think—”
“Good. Don’t think.”
His offer dangled seductively between them. She’d wanted a ride on his bike ever since that day at the mall. But everything associated with it had one big danger sign attached.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. “C’mon, Montana Eyes. I want to take you somewhere.”
“Where?”
He put a finger to her lips. “No questions. It’s a secret.”
He’d never had a woman on his bike before.
It was a sacred thing, his motorcycle. The one place where he could be alone. He didn’t break that rule for anyone, and he’d been glad when Maggie had told him that his dates would be meeting him at their destination.
But he’d made an exception for Maggie. And right now he didn’t want to examine why. He just wanted to fly with her behind him.
He whipped down a zigzag strip of road, with her long legs bracketing his thighs and the curve of her pressing up against his backside. It was enough to make a man weak, but it only fortified him.
When they’d left her office and started out, she’d held on to his belt loops gingerly. But as soon as he’d picked up speed and the salty wind caught them in its force, she’d wrapped her arms around him and held on tight.
It was paradise.
He pulled onto a narrow road and stopped at a low, jagged bluff overlooking the sea. A lonely cloud passed over the full moon and illuminated the water. He glanced back at her. She was taking off her helmet, letting her long, dark hair loose. His groin stirred at the sight, and he turned back to the beach. The wind had died down and the sky was heavy with stars.
Maggie stepped off the bike and walked to the edge of the bluff where a steel gate stopped anyone from going further, where the beach grass grew high and thick and melded into the sand.
“This is one beautiful spot,” she said, her voice filled with awe. She pointed toward a large, flat area where lumber and steel bars lay in neat stacks around a newly poured foundation. “I wonder what this is going to be.”
He moved past her and unlocked the gate where the sign declaring Kaplan Construc
tion as the lead contractor on this job hung prominently. “This is the site of the bed and breakfast I’m building,” he said, taking her hand and leading her down the grassy rise.
She gasped and squeezed his hand. “Oh, it’s a perfect spot. What’s it going to look like?”
Nick stopped at the construction trailer and waved a hand in front of the motion detectors to make the floodlights switch on. “Here, I’ll show you.” He led her down to the beach, grabbed a thin piece of drift-wood and broke it in two. With the pointed end of the stick he began to draw a house in a patch of moonlit sand.
“This is the exterior.” He glanced over at her and smiled. “I’m no Frank Lloyd Wright, so try and use your imagination.”
She laughed quietly. “I’ll do my best.”
“It’ll be a three-story white farmhouse with green trim and a gabled roof,” he said as he sketched and pointed. “Here there’ll be a wraparound porch with a swing.” He drew several small circles in the house. “This will be a chef’s kitchen, a large dining room here, a library there, and this will be the billiard room. Very traditional.” Just like you, he wanted to add.
“When will it be finished?”
“Six months. We’re going to be cutting it real close, but I’ve hired the best and the quickest. The owners want the place open for the holidays.”
She looked up at him. A cloud passed over her eyes, making them appear sad. “So they open up shop and you close up shop, right?”
He nodded. “Soon as the project’s done, I’ll be on to another job and out of your hair.” He went to touch that beautiful dark hair but stopped himself. The urge to touch her seemed to be there all the time now. But no matter how much he wanted to, he wasn’t making another move without her say so.
This was one helluva romantic spot, though. Not that he’d brought her here with that in mind—which in itself was a little disturbing. No, he’d wanted her to see his work, the thing he loved and was proud of.
“Do you like living that way, Nick?”
The question snagged his attention. He glanced up sharply. “What way?”
She shrugged. “Going from place to place. No home.”
“I’ve got two very comfortable pullout couches in my offices in Seattle and Portland.”
“Yep. Sounds real homey.” She cocked her head to one side. “You know what I mean, Nick. No roots, nothing long-term.”
He dragged in a breath. “You know, when I first started in the contracting business, it was a necessity to travel. I was inexperienced. I needed to go to smaller towns, put in the low bids.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked out at the water. “One time I actually had to put out my own money because my bid was so low. But I had to gain some experience.”
“But now you have a lot of experience and you could stay in one place if you wanted.”
“I guess I could. But I appreciate freedom even more than I appreciate building.” Over the years the thought of staying put had entered his mind about as often as an eclipse. And even then he’d discarded it. “I’ve gotten used to the wandering life. I like it. It would take something pretty unforeseeable for me to set a foundation.”
“Or a pretty someone?” she offered.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Didn’t she ever let up on that true-love, matchmaking stuff? “You know, business is important, Maggie. But it’s not a life.”
“Sounds like your business is your life, too,” she said with a trace of defensiveness in her voice. Around them a damp, salty breeze picked up, blowing her hair about her face, and the waves slammed to shore as if echoing her mood.
“I can see how it might look that way,” he said calmly. “But I chose this life. Going from place to place, that’s freedom to me. It was either that or take over the family business and become my father. And that wasn’t the direction I saw my life going in.”
He hadn’t wanted to share his past with her, but it was out there now and he couldn’t take it back.
“Well, that’s what I’m doing,” she said. “Making a choice, making a life. All I’ve ever wanted was to feel worth something.”
“But what about a future outside of the business? Are you ever going to be able to toss that Conner Curse out the window and allow yourself to settle down with a man some day?”
She let out a frustrated sigh. “Why does it matter to you?”
He didn’t know why it mattered, it just did, and that fact had his mind twisted into knots.
“What about your future outside business and wandering, Nick? Who’s in your future?” She raised a brow at him. “You might want to point that spotlight on your own life and leave mine to me.”
Her warning ripped through him like the rocks through the surf. His future, his life—it was going to be more of the same. Devil-may-care suited him, made him happy. But he couldn’t imagine Maggie that way—alone, no husband, no kids. He just hoped to hell that he was long gone from Santa Flora before she found such a future.
He muttered an oath. This night was not going as he’d hoped. And it was about to come to an end. “We should go,” he said. “It’s getting late.”
Sweat traveled from temple to jaw and from her jaw to the base of her neck. Maggie whipped off the thin bed sheet and looked at the clock on her nightstand. Twelve thirty-five. Could time go any slower? Could her house be any warmer? It had to be eighty-five eyeball-melting degrees in here. The windows were open as wide as they could go, but the warm air was still, no breeze.
She thought about the location of her fan and grimaced.
Nick’s room, closet, top shelf.
Heat assaulted her for a completely different reason.
After her grandma had moved out, Maggie had switched bedrooms. Her grandmother’s was twice the size, with a large balcony and built-in bookshelves. Unfortunately, with getting her business up and running and looking for a new roommate, Maggie had left a few things in her old room.
Well, she’d just have to suffer because she certainly wasn’t going to knock on her sexy roommate’s door at midnight.
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine living in a refrigerator when she heard the shower switch on. Nick. He was probably roasting in his bed, too, and had opted for a cool shower.
At first her mind swirled with images. He was in there, naked, with cool water saturating his tanned skin, droplets beading on his muscled chest and tight stomach.
The fan, Maggie.
Quick as a cat, she bounded out of bed, pulled on her lightest nightie and crept into the hall. The bathroom door was closed, and water continued to run in the shower. She dashed into his room and made a beeline for the closet, avoiding glancing at the bed or anything else. She didn’t know why, but she feared the intimacy of it all would slow her down.
She stood on her tiptoes and grabbed the lifesaving fan, but as she brought it down to her chest, she paused. Actually she breathed—breathed deep. The faint, but highly tantalizing scent of his clothes permeated her nostrils. As if she were dreaming, she reached out and touched one of his white work shirts, wondering what it would feel like on her skin and what Nick would think if he saw her wearing it.
On a gasp she dropped the sleeve. The heat was making her think crazy thoughts. She needed to get back to her own room, not to mention reality.
She turned and fled but halfway to the door she ran into a wall of muscle wrapped in a towel.
She groaned inwardly as she forced her gaze up to meet his. And she almost groaned aloud when she did. Amusement and wicked curiosity burned behind those smoky-green eyes.
“I’m hot,” she blurted out, then realized the double meaning in her words and wanted to shrink and slither away. Her cheeks on fire, she made a second attempt. “I meant that I was hot.”
Not much better, Maggie, she thought.
“So you came into my room to cool off?” He raised a brow at her. “Not very flattering.”
“Actually this used to be my room.” Inane retorts were obviously her strong sui
t tonight.
Momentarily hypnotized, she watched droplets of water fall from his wet hair onto his shoulder, then move downward over his splendidly muscled chest.
Heat surged into her cheeks. She glanced up sharply, hearing only the tail end of his question.
“…to get that fan?”
She tipped her chin. “Excuse me?”
He chuckled softly. “I asked you if the only reason you came in here was to get that fan.”
“Yes, of course,” she insisted, wondering if her tone sounded as defensive as she felt. “What else would I be doing in here?”
He shrugged, but his gaze moved over her, shifting from one hot spot to the next. “Cute pj’s. What there is of them, anyway.”
She glanced down at her thin cotton baby-doll nightie and wanted to gasp but didn’t. You’ve never been one for panic so don’t do it now, she told herself as she fought the urge to run from the room. She lifted her gaze, forced a smile and gave it right back to him. “Nice towel. What there is of it, anyway.”
He grinned with sinful intent. “You wanna borrow it so you don’t get arrested for indecent exposure?”
“What are you, a cop?” Her voice was like sandpaper, her throat like dust. And her resolve was crumbling. She knew that if he touched her right now—even just a small brush against her—she was done for. Her body craved him like a wolf craves the moon, and her mind wanted to explore every inch of him, know him as intimately as she knew herself.
She cursed the heat, the fan and Nick for getting up to take a shower. “I should go.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
He stepped aside, and she moved past him at a snail’s pace. If he touched her it would be a sign, she thought stupidly, weakly—a sign that Nick could remain untouched by the Conner Curse—a sign that her business would survive even if she gave herself this gift.
One more night with Nick.
“Maggie.”
She stopped and looked up at him.
“You’re losing something.” Yes, my mind, she mused, following his gaze as it slid to her shoulder. The strap of her nightie had slipped down her arm.
She held her breath as he hooked one finger under the strap and dragged it back up her shoulder.