The Night that Changed Everything

by Anne McAllister

  “Let me help you,” he offered, lifting his gaze to her face.

  It was shadowed. Her expression was hard to read, but he saw her touch her tongue to her lips. Then she bit down on the lower one and, looking down at him, held perfectly still.

  He took that for agreement. “Hang on,” he instructed her, and hoped to God he could do the same.

  It was hardly the height of intimacy, sliding his fingers up beneath her dress to find the tops of her stockings or panty hose or whatever she was wearing.

  On the other hand, it was pretty damned erotic. The stockings felt like real silk, smooth and warm against her legs, so fine that he was afraid his callused fingers would snag them.

  So he proceeded slowly, trying to be careful, to move lightly. But the hint of firm flesh beneath that silken barrier was enticing. He loved to touch. He wanted to stroke as his hands snaked over her calves, past her knees, up her thighs. He could feel her legs tremble.

  Fingers suddenly clutched his head, gripping his hair. He sucked in a breath. “S-sorry,” she muttered. Her fingers loosened their grip, then as his continued their journey, hers tightened again. They sent a shiver down his spine.

  But that sensation was nothing compared to the shaft of desire that shot straight to his groin as the silk beneath his fingers turned to lace and then, an inch later, to warm bare skin.

  Nick sucked air, then tried to steady his breathing, to be matter-of-fact. This wasn’t a seduction—unless he was the one being seduced.

  Now he hooked his fingers inside the top of one stocking and drew it down, then slipped it off her foot. Then he skimmed his fingers back up the other leg. But knowing what he would encounter didn’t make it any easier to feign indifference.

  He wasn’t indifferent. And when he stood up—provided he could manage to stand up—she would know it.

  So he took his time, sliding her feet into the flip-flops, then picking up the stockings and folding them.

  “I’ll do that.” Edie nearly snatched them out of his fumbling hands. Hers seemed to be full of thumbs as well. But at least her focus on them allowed Nick to wince his way to his feet and adjust his trousers so that his reaction was not immediately obvious.

  He cleared his throat. “Right. We can go up this way.” He picked up the flashlight on the worktable and headed toward a door at the far end of the room. “Be careful.”

  If she were being careful, Edie thought, she wouldn’t be here now. She’d be back in her room listening to the faint sounds of the orchestra through the open window while she read a book.

  But she wasn’t. She was climbing a steep, winding, extremely narrow stone staircase behind a man who had just slid his hands up her legs. Her body was still tingling from the touch of his fingers. Her brain was still jangled from a hormone overload after over two years of complete disinterest. And her emotions were as unreliable as a teenager’s. She should be in bed with a book—preferably one that would bore her to sleep!

  Instead here she was trying to keep her eye on the beam of the flashlight that Nick was aiming at the steps as he climbed. He had angled it so that she could see it playing against the stairs and the wall without having to watch it through his legs.

  But she preferred to study his legs.

  She tried not to—and that was when she stumbled.

  “Oh!” She gasped as her foot slipped. She reached out to grab at the side of the wall as she felt her footing fail. But before she could grab anything, Nick had spun around and grabbed her.

  He hauled her up against him so that she was sure he could hear the pounding of her heart. She could certainly hear it. Or maybe that was his.

  “Are you all right?” he demanded. Then, without waiting for an answer, because surely he could feel that she was fine—after all that was her body pressed against his—he said, “This is insane. I never should have brought you up here.”

  It might be insane, but climbing the stairs wasn’t what made it so.

  “I’m all right,” Edie said. “Truly.”

  He made a sound that implied he wasn’t convinced. If she lifted her face just a little, Edie thought her lips could probably brush his jawline. She couldn’t see, of course. Other than the flashlight, which was now behind her in the arm he had wrapped around her, there was no light at all. And yes, his heart was hammering, too.

  “You’re sure?” He asked after a moment.

  Edie nodded. She was right. The top of her head collided with his chin. “Sorry. Yes, I’m okay. I just slipped. Please, let’s go on.”

  He didn’t immediately agree, but finally he said, “Okay. But you’re going ahead of me.” And he eased her up the narrow stairway so that she was in front of him. Then, keeping one arm around her, playing the flashlight on the steps just ahead of her, he climbed the steps directly behind her.

  He was so close his knees brushed her calves, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her back. And his other hand, big and warm and callus-roughened, wrapped her fingers. She’d wondered about the calluses when they were dancing. She understood how he got them now.

  She remembered the feel of them sliding up her legs and touching the bare skin of her thighs. She wondered how those hands would feel against more sensitive skin on her body.

  Once more she stumbled. Nick tightened his grip. “Careful.”

  “Yes,” Edie said, breathless and mortified, taking another step and then another. “I’m trying to be.”

  Was she? Or was she actually being more reckless than she’d ever been in her life? She didn’t know the answer to that yet.

  “One step at a time,” her grandma Tremayne always used to say. “You’ll get there that way.”

  Edie supposed it was true. But it would have helped if she’d known where she was going.

  “Here we are.” They had reached a heavy wooden door. Nick reached around her and pushed open, then drew her up and out onto the narrow walkway.

  “Oh!” Edie stopped stock-still and simply stared at the sparkling kingdom spread at her feet.

  If the evening had felt like something out of a Cinderella fairy tale before, now, with the tiny lights of Mont Chamion’s formal gardens spread out below her, Edie felt herself swept ever more fully into a sense of enchantment.

  “Not exactly what it would have looked like in the thirteenth century,” Nick said wryly.

  “But beautiful,” Edie murmured, putting her hands on the rough stone wall and leaning out to look down. “It’s amazing. We have gardens back at home in Santa Barbara. But nothing like these.”

  “There aren’t any like these. They’re one of a kind.” Nick’s voice was quiet, almost reverent, as he came to stand beside her and together they stared out at the wonderland below. Neither of them spoke.

  There were a few wedding guests outside in the gardens, and Edie could hear an occasional murmur of a voice or crack of laughter. From an open window came the lilting sounds of the orchestra playing a waltz. But as magical as it was, it was less enthralling than the man next to her.

  He stood very close, but not touching her as he leaned forward, his elbows on the wall, the pristine white of his shirt cuffs peeking out from beneath his dark suit coat. His fingers were loosely knotted together. In the light of a three-quarter moon, she could, glancing sideways, see the light and shadow on the hard angles and planes of his face.

  Her sister Rhiannon had casually and flirtatiously stroked his cheek. Edie’s fingers curled into a fist so she wasn’t tempted to do likewise. She turned her gaze away, too, tried to focus on the tableau below.

  What Nick was actually thinking she didn’t know. While moments ago in the stairwell she would have said he was as aware of her as she was of him, now he seemed so remote she doubted he was thinking about her at all. So she turned her head to risk another look.

  He turned at the same time. Their gazes locked. The heat flared. And Edie’s breath caught in her throat.

  Nick cleared his. Then, deliberately he straightened. “It�
�s getting cool up here. Shall we go down?” His voice was perfectly polite, but Edie thought she detected a hint of raggedness in his tone. The raggedness of desire?

  Did she even know what that sounded like anymore?

  “I’ll go first on the way down,” Nick decreed.

  “So I can crash into you and knock us both all the way to the bottom?” Edie joked.

  “Hang on to my shoulder if you want. I’ll go slow.”

  He did go slow, but she didn’t reach for him. She might have liked a hand, but clutching at him unnecessarily was something Rhiannon would have done, so Edie deliberately didn’t do it. She just kept one hand on the wall as she made her way carefully down the steps behind him and tried not to stumble and crash into him. It was a relief to reach the hallway again and to have Nick turn and secure the door.

  “That was lovely. Thank you,” she said, slipping the flipflops off and holding them out to him, smiling up at him at the same time.

  Nick didn’t smile back. His features were taut; there was almost a grim line to his mouth which, after a moment, he managed to curve into something resembling a smile. Then he stepped back and said briskly, “Well, there you have it. Nick Savas’s two-bit architectural tour.” He flashed her a quick glib sort of smile.

  Edie’s smile didn’t flash. It remained firmly in place. But her heart was galloping and she had the sensation of walking on water. She dared not contemplate it too closely. She just needed to keep going. “It was wonderful.”

  Their gazes locked again. Nick’s expression wasn’t remote now. His eyes were intent. Focused on her. The silence went on. And on.

  Until finally Nick said, “I want you.”

  His voice was rough. She heard an edge to it, a desperation almost. And something that sounded like annoyance. Edie wasn’t annoyed. But she was shocked to hear him say the words so bluntly. At the same time, to her own astonishment, elated.

  “Is that a problem?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

  “Isn’t it?” he challenged her, one brow lifting.

  She blinked at the ferocity of his tone. “We’re adults,” she heard herself say mildly.

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  “Yes.” She nodded, unsure where he was going with this.

  “Usually,” he amended.

  Edie shook her head, not following. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I mean,” he said firmly, “that I don’t want anything more than that.”

  “Than sex?” Edie said, wanting to be clear.

  His jaw tightened and he looked faintly discomfitted by her plain-speaking, but nodded. “Exactly.”

  So much for fairy tales, Edie thought.

  But really, she wasn’t expecting a fairy tale, either. She knew better. So why not be frank? Why not set out parameters?

  If Kyle Robbins had done so years ago, she wouldn’t have been expecting a proposal of marriage when he’d simply wanted to go to bed with her. She wouldn’t have had her hopes raised merely to see them dashed.

  “I don’t do relationships,” Nick continued to spell it out. “One night. That’s it.”

  “Those are the rules?” Edie said, smiling.

  Nick nodded. “Those are the rules.”

  Their gazes met again, clear and unblinking. No starry-eyed foolishness here, Edie thought. No romance. No hearts and flowers. No expectations.

  “Okay,” she said at last, drawing the word out even as she came to terms with the implications.

  Nick’s brow rose a fraction higher. “You’re all right with that?” He sounded as if he didn’t believe her. “You’re sure?”

  “Well, I’m not expecting a proposal of marriage,” Edie said sharply.

  Nick raked a hand through his hair. “Good,” he said with obvious relief. “Because I’m not making one.” He shuddered and shook his head. “Never again.”

  “One day you might—” Edie began.

  But he cut her off. “No,” he said, absolutely adamant. “I won’t.”

  Edie didn’t think she ought to say she felt sorry for him, but the truth was, she did. She had loved Ben with all her heart and soul. But she would never say she wouldn’t fall in love again, wouldn’t marry again. She’d told Mona she wasn’t interested because she hadn’t been—then.

  It didn’t mean she wouldn’t ever be.

  Good grief, look how suddenly things could change. Two hours ago her hormones had been missing in action. She hadn’t been remotely interested in a man. And now—now she was contemplating going to bed with a man she barely knew. Why? Because she was attracted to him, certainly. But mostly because she didn’t trust herself not to do something even more foolish with a recently divorced, clearly interested Kyle Robbins. One night with Nick was far preferable.

  “So if you’re not interested, I’d completely understand,” Nick was saying.

  “I’m interested,” Edie said. “One night. No relationship. Got it. That’s what I want, too.”

  Nick stared at her long and hard.

  Edie stared back, unblinking. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. The words echoed around her brain. Still he didn’t move.

  “I know what I’m doing,” she assured him, with the slightest hint of irritation. “Do you?”

  Apparently he did. Abruptly Nick closed the space between them and wrapped her in his arms.

  Like when they’d danced, Edie thought for a split second.

  But then as his hard, strong, warm body enveloped her in his embrace, she thought, No, not like dancing at all. A hundred, thousand, million times better.

  Her whole body responded. Her knees wobbled. Her eyes opened, then shut. Her lips parted and suddenly his mouth was on hers. Fierce, hungry, demanding.

  I want you, Nick had said. His voice had been hungry, ragged.

  But his subsequent words had seemed like some sort of impersonal negotiation of terms. There was nothing impersonal or negotiated about this. This was instinct, pure and simple. He was a man who wanted a woman—a man who wanted her.

  And Edie wanted him, too. Yes, she thought, kissing him back. Oh, yes!

  Yes, it was just one night. No, it wasn’t going anywhere. She had no expectations. But where had expectations ever got her?

  He wasn’t Ben. But Ben was gone forever. He wasn’t Kyle. And thank God for that.

  He was Nick. And tonight—just tonight—he was hers. She was determined not to regret it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SHE wasn’t his usual sort of woman.

  Nick didn’t care.

  He wanted her. And the desire that had been building all evening was the only thing that mattered to him now. She was tart and sweet, eager and tentative, cool and yet capable of burning him down to the ground.

  She looked too closely, saw too much. And she wasn’t afraid to talk about what she saw.

  But they weren’t talking now, were they?

  No. They were kissing. God, yes, they were kissing! And her lips were as hungry as his. Her hands were as eager as his. They slid up his arms and around the back of his neck to hold his face to hers. He didn’t complain. It was what he wanted, too.

  Restless and eager, his hands roved over her back, tangled in her hair, loosening whatever pins she had anchored it with so that it fell in loose, heavy dark waves over her shoulders and down her back. He ran his fingers through it, buried his face in it, drew in the citrusy scent of shampoo and something exclusively Edie Daley.

  It was heady, dizzying, and it didn’t matter if she wasn’t the sort of woman he ordinarily took to bed, a woman he could scratch a physical itch with and walk away from. He could do the same with her. He would do the same.

  But first he would spend the night with her.

  And yes, he knew exactly what he was doing.

  “I missed a spot on the tour,” he murmured against her lips.

  Edie pulled back slightly, stared at him, disbelieving.

  “My bedroom.”

  She smiled. Then she pla
ced her hands on his arm and looked up into his eyes. “What a very good idea,” she said. And there was a breathless quality in her voice that cranked his desire up another notch.

  “Right this way.” And he scooped her up into his arms and carried her down the hall to the room he’d been using as a bedroom, pausing only to kick the door open. Then he bumped it firmly shut again with one hip and then, in the darkness, lowered her onto his bed. He dropped down beside her, intending to pick up where they’d left off.

  “Turn on the light,” Edie said.

  He pulled back and looked at her. “What?”

  “If I’m getting a tour, I want to see everything.”

  Which wasn’t a bad idea at all. He very much wanted to see her as he made love to her. He grinned.

  “Or maybe there aren’t lights,” she reflected. “Do you use candles for an authentic ambiance?”

  “It’s possible to use candles,” Nick said. But he reached over and flipped on a bedside lamp. “When they give tours at night, I imagine they do. But tonight I think a lamp will do.”

  It was a subdued light, but even so it threw the room with its utilitarian furnishings and spartan double bed into a pattern of light and shadow. Hardly the sight of a romantic seduction.

  But Nick wasn’t focusing on the room. He had eyes only for Edie Daley. He’d seduce her anywhere. She was half-reclining on his bed, the mauve dress dark against her creamy skin. The low light made Edie’s peekaboo freckles entirely disappear and turned her skin to a soft gold while it made her dark hair look even thicker and more lustrous. Nick reached up a hand and ran his fingers through it again. It seemed to curl around his fingers with a life of its own. He rubbed a strand of it against his cheek, smoothed it over his lips, tasted it.

  Then once more he buried his face into it, breathed deeply, knew the scent now—the hints of citrus and woods—and woman. This woman.

  He wanted to give her a night to remember. He didn’t want to erase her husband’s memory. He knew she wouldn’t forget just as he could never forget Amy. But equally, from here ever after, whenever Edie thought about making love, Nick wanted his face to come to mind.