Addicted to Nick

by Bronwyn Jameson

  Her eyelids flew open. Had she really heard people talking? From the other end of the house came the definite sound of a door closing, and she catapulted out of the bed.

  Nick rolled onto his side and regarded her with sleepy eyes. One dark eyebrow arched as he took in her flustered nakedness. “What’s up?”

  “You there? T.C.? Nick?”

  T.C. whirled toward the open bedroom door.

  “Jase,” she breathed, dropping to the floor. She gathered and discarded random pieces of clothing with frantic hands, cursing when she hauled on a T-shirt back to front, fumbling to turn it around. Not an easy task when she was hunched down beneath mattress level, petrified of Jason appearing at any moment.

  “He’s come looking for us…. What time is it? I never sleep in…. Who else is out there? Do you have some shorts I can borrow?”

  “Top drawer.”

  She rummaged, tugged on a pair of satin boxers, anxious eyes flicking from the door to Nick, who still lay there looking sexily rumpled and perfectly at ease. He’d probably been caught in this situation a dozen times.

  “Anyone home?” This time Jason sounded closer—like out in the hallway—which meant he really was coming to find them.

  “Be out in a minute,” Nick called, but T.C. was already dashing around the bed and out the door.

  She almost collided with Jason, whose cheerful grin froze as his eyes moved slowly from her strange attire to Nick’s door, and then to some blank point on the wall behind her. His face turned a summer shade of red, which was likely a perfect match for hers. “Yesterday you said you’d be back by three, but I reckoned the storm must have held you up, so I wasn’t worried. But when you weren’t at the stables this morning, Mum reckoned I should come in and make sure you were all right.”

  “Mum?”

  “She thought she’d come and see if you wanted a hand, like with the housework or anything.”

  Before she could do more than issue a silent groan, she heard movement behind her, then felt the gentle weight of Nick’s hands on her shoulders, easing her back against his naked chest. At least he had pulled on jeans, although he wasn’t doing anything to dispel the perception of why they had slept in.

  “How about you go put some coffee on, Jase? We’ll be right behind you.”

  They would have needed wheels and a motor to be right behind Jason, such was his haste to get away. T.C. sympathized fully. Awkward situations always made her edgy, and this rated pretty high on her personal awkward scale. What had she been thinking, lying there seducing him in her mind? She should have been aware of the time, aware that Jase would find her absence unusual.

  Why hadn’t she been thinking?

  Nick smoothed his hands over her shoulders, down her arms, measuring her tension. “You’re not okay with this, are you?”

  This. Great descriptive term. Covered the undefined nature of their relationship about as all-inclusively as Nick’s man-size T-shirt covered her. “No, I’m not okay, exactly.” She blew out an unsteady breath. “I’m embarrassed, I’m not comfortable, and I have no idea what to say or how to act.”

  He pulled her resistant body to him, and his hands moved to her back, easing her closer still. Leaning on him felt very, very good. She felt his lips against her hair as he spoke to her, his voice low and soothing. “Jase was going to find out about us whether he came into the house this morning or not, so don’t make a big deal out of it. Nothing has changed. Be yourself, okay?”

  No big deal? Nothing had changed? The words felt like hammer blows to her heart.

  And what were you expecting, Tamara Cole? Surely, after one night, you weren’t expecting words of love and promises of undying devotion? You have been there. You’ve heard all the pretty words, and you know exactly how casually they can be offered by a satiated man. Better to know where you stand. Better to remember that this was about fun.

  That hammer kept right on, beating a tattoo on her chest.

  She felt him ease back far enough to place a finger under her chin and tilt her face to meet his reassuring gaze. “Okay?”

  “Okay.” Somehow she managed to dredge up a smile as she stepped out of his arms. “I’d better go put some more clothes on. I think I’ve scared Jase enough for one day.”

  A shower made her feel more human, less tragic—sort of like a wet reality check. No way would Nick Corelli fall in love with her. It was hard enough adjusting to the idea of him falling in lust with her. And when she came out of her bedroom and inhaled the aroma of sizzling bacon, she forgave Jase and Cheryl their ill-timed arrival. Her grumbling stomach reminded her how, in their greedy appetite for each other, she and Nick had neglected dinner.

  Later they had been too exhausted to bother.

  Lost for a moment in those memories, she walked into the kitchen and straight into Cheryl’s spontaneous embrace. “It’s so good to see you back in this kitchen,” T.C. spluttered, holding on tightly as she battled the onset of tears. After Pete’s death, Cheryl had stopped working, stopped going out anywhere. This was such a positive sign.

  “I thought it was time this old tart got on with life. Joe’s kitchen felt like a good place to start.”

  T.C. hugged the other woman for a moment longer before undertaking a narrow-eyed inspection. “Hmm, you’re not looking too bad for an old tart.”

  “And you’re looking too skinny. Looks like you need a decent breakfast.” With that she turned back to the frying pan, completely at home with her self-appointed task.

  Smiling through her tears, T.C. poured herself a mug of coffee and looked up to find Nick watching her from the doorway, a strange expression on his face. It was impossible to describe. Intense, but not with the usual heat of lust. Definitely softer and a little…punch-drunk.

  Caught off guard by the impact of that look, she sank shakily onto a stool at the breakfast bar and buried her nose in her mug. Through lowered lashes she watched him come into the room with a wink at Jason, the smooth smile as he introduced himself to Cheryl. A casual arching of one brow as he came toward her, via the coffeepot.

  Consummate Nick. Obviously she’d misconstrued that look, her vision skewed by tears and the high emotion of her reunion with Cheryl.

  By keeping her mouth full, she avoided participating in the conversation that flowed from today’s weather—gray and gloomy with the prospect of more rain—back to yesterday’s storm and on to their firsthand experience of its perils. When Nick finished his telling of their hairy trip home, Jason said, “Guess I’d better get to work, then.”

  T.C. started to rise, but a firm hand on her shoulder kept her in place. “No need for you to leave halfway into your breakfast. Jason can start without you.”

  His steady gaze challenged her to disagree.

  “Start with Gina and Pash,” she told Jason, although her eyes never left Nick’s. “You know what to do.”

  The warm, steady approval in his eyes made her feel as if she had passed some kind of test. She felt inordinately pleased. Then he moved smoothly on to Cheryl, praising her cooking with a broad, white smile.

  Time for another reality check, she told herself. This is Nick in full charm mode. Do not forget it.

  “You want a regular spot on the payroll?” he asked Cheryl.

  “One day a week would be nice. That’s what I used to do for Joe.”

  “Done. Does your job description include shopping?”

  “I noticed the cupboards were getting bare. I’ll make a list.”

  Nick asked Cheryl if it would be easier to start an account at the supermarket or to get her a credit card; Cheryl wondered if he needed her tax number; Nick said they should discuss pay. They moved off toward the office, leaving T.C. feeling excluded and miserable.

  Still, she couldn’t afford to sit around feeling sorry for herself. In Nick’s own words, nothing had changed. Nothing on the outside. There were horses to be exercised, boxes to be cleaned, all the things that would matter long after Nick had left.

  She pou
red the rest of her coffee down the sink and took her miserable mood down to the stables.

  Twenty minutes ago she had noticed Jason wince when he stretched to reach a saddle. Still self-absorbed, she had thought nothing of it, but this time she was standing right beside him, and the grimace on his face, quickly disguised, was undoubtedly pain.

  “You’ve hurt yourself.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing if it makes your face twist in pain.” He turned away, made himself busy, but she persisted, her voice full of stern authority. “Look at me, Jase.”

  The kid turned, face slightly flushed, eyes not meeting hers. Chastened, or still embarrassed? Hard to tell. “You think we can establish a little eye contact here?” she asked.

  The pink in his cheeks deepened. She guessed embarrassment.

  “Hey, Jase,” she said softly. “If this is about this morning, then you’ve got to help me out. I’m the one caught out. I’m the one dying of embarrassment here.”

  “It’s just…I wasn’t expecting…” His gaze shifted, met hers briefly. “You know…you and Nick.”

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting it, either.”

  Her wry tone stopped his nervous shuffle, and finally he met her gaze. “Do you s’pose Nick might hang around now?”

  There was a hopefulness in his voice that echoed deep inside T.C. Oh, Jase, she thought, we are a fine pair, building secret expectations on a one-night stand.

  Something of her thoughts must have reflected in her eyes, because Jase looked away. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said nothing. It’s just been good havin’ him around.”

  “Yes, it has. But his business is in New York. That’s his life.” A life as far removed from their rustic idyll socially as it was geographically. They were just a pleasant interlude, a holiday of sorts.

  In the awkward, nervous silence, Jase lifted a hand to rub at his chest, and she saw the graze on his hand, the swollen knuckles.

  “Your hand.”

  He pulled it out of sight.

  “You’ve been fighting, haven’t you?” The truth was in his eyes. “Oh, Jase. You know you can’t afford to get into trouble again.”

  “I’m not in any trouble.”

  She recalled that night in the pub, Red Wilmot leaning against the jukebox and the bad feeling that had rattled through her bones. “It’s Red, isn’t it? Has he been giving you a hard time, because so help me if he has…”

  “I can look after this myself.” His jaw set stubbornly. “Geez, T.C., I already copped enough grief from Mum.”

  Yes, I bet you did.

  She wondered if it was concern for her youngest child that had jolted Cheryl out of her grief-imposed exile. If she was worried about Jason being led astray again by bad company. Red Wilmot was that and more. That same weird feeling gripped her again, as strong and as unfounded as her response to George yesterday, and she wondered when she had stopped thinking pragmatically and started listening to vibes.

  About the same time Nick arrived to rock her rational world, she figured.

  Like a thorn in her underblanket, her concerns kept nagging away long after she returned to work. The only thing that drove them completely from her mind was the sight of Nick walking toward her. At first she saw only his smile, warm enough to light both the gloomy interior of the stables and the deepest recesses of her heart.

  Would she ever grow accustomed to seeing him, to the sudden breathlessness, the wild palpitations of her heart?

  “Hey,” he said in greeting.

  “Hey, yourself.”

  Completely smitten, she smiled back at him. He lifted a hand, brushed something from her hair. “Straw in your hair.”

  A loud snort brought his attention to Star, tethered beside her. Nick leaned closer, stroked a hand the length of her sleek black neck and murmured, “Hello to you, too, beautiful.”

  Star flicked her ears benignly. No kicking, no head tossing, no teeth baring. Nick’s brows shot up. “Would you look at that? Someone’s had a change of heart.”

  “Maybe she’s getting used to having you around.”

  “Is that so?” She felt his gaze resting on her face, felt her own extravagant response, and knew she would never get used to having him around.

  Which was when she noticed his clothes. Crisp dark chinos, a soft fawn shirt, matching jacket. Town clothes. How could she have forgotten? One day very soon she would see him all dressed up in his town clothes, with a suitcase in each hand.

  “You don’t look dressed for work.” She tried to smile, but it felt tight, forced.

  “I’m going to Melbourne.”

  Was it possible to speak, to breathe, to live, with your heart lodged in your throat?

  “I’m going to see George.”

  “Oh.” He wasn’t leaving…yet. Her heart resumed normal operations. “Is this because of what I said?”

  “That’s one thing.” The hint of a frown touched his brow. “Yesterday I tried to talk to him, but now I realize I talked at him. He wasn’t hearing me, and I have to make a better effort.”

  “And if he doesn’t want to hear you?”

  “Then I might have to flatten his nose again.”

  Aware of Jason hovering nearby, ears flapping, she shook her head. “Violence won’t solve anything.”

  One brow arched. “Yesterday you wanted to take after him with a pitchfork.”

  “Not literally.” She paused before plunging on. “About what I said, about the phone calls… I feel really funny about that. There’s no logic to what I was thinking. You should leave it be.”

  With a gentle finger, he lifted her chin until she met his eyes. “I’ll handle it. Trust me.”

  She swallowed, nodded, didn’t feel a whole lot better, and she wasn’t sure it was only because of the George business. Doubt bunnies were digging a huge hole in her smittenness.

  “Why don’t you come with me? Afterward we could have dinner somewhere.”

  “Like a date?”

  “Yeah. Exactly like a date.”

  The first thing that came to mind was how she didn’t have anything halfway suitable to wear, but she rejected that thought immediately. Worrying about clothes was so not like her. The next thing that came to mind was how the anxious churning in her gut felt as much like fear as doubt.

  What on earth did she have to fear?

  Not measuring up to the man at her side? Fear of falling in love with another of his many facets? Fear of facing George, knowing she had lived up to one of his snide insults? She had crawled into bed with her partner.

  All of the above?

  She shook her head, tried another of those tight, forced smiles. “It’s probably a bad idea, the way George feels about me.”

  “That’s the point. It’s time he met you, sat down and talked to you. We need to clear the air.”

  “Can I take a rain check? I don’t want to desert Cheryl on her first day back.”

  His gaze narrowed until she could see the light of argument in his pinpoint focus. Her agitation intensified to near panic. She did not want to go to Melbourne with him. She did not want to explain why.

  Distraction seemed like the only solution.

  Stretching up on her toes, she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. It started out cool, lips to lips with a good deal of suspicion in between, but then she slid her fingers into his hair and made a low throaty you-can-do-better noise, and its whole purpose changed like wildfire. His hand closed around her nape, warm fingers that knew the exact way to touch her, and his tongue flicked against her bottom lip. Hot desire shivered into her veins, igniting her nerve endings so her skin felt too tight, her clothes harsh against her skin.

  He broke it off with a low laugh that sang through her blood and rested his forehead against hers. “I gather you don’t want to discuss this.”

  This time her smile felt natural.

  “Last chance on the bike. I’m taking it back to Graeme.” His hand slid down her back, p
ressed her closer. “We could park.”

  “On a bike?”

  “It’s a big seat. I’ll manage.”

  She didn’t doubt it, but still she straightened, touched his jaw regretfully. And shook her head.

  “Jase could manage, you know that. The responsibility will do him a world of good.”

  “I know, but not today.”

  His gaze narrowed again; a frown tightened his brows. Irritated with his persistence, and more irritated with her own doubts and fears, she pulled away from him.

  He took the hint.

  Eleven

  Despite the distraction of talking to Cheryl and worrying about Jase, the day seemed to drag on interminably. She didn’t bother pretending it was for any reason other than waiting for Nick’s return. She didn’t bother pretending it would be any easier when he left for good. She had known that before she let herself fall in love with him.

  When she couldn’t stand seeing Jason hide his pain any longer—ribs, she figured—she insisted Cheryl take him to see a doctor. With twice the workload, the rest of the afternoon might prove less wearing. The phone rang around four, startling her so much she dropped a can of hoof oil. As she watched the greasy stain spread across the concrete like some brown alien slime, she wondered how long it would take before that first ring of a phone didn’t lift her off the ground.

  It was Nick. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?” He laughed, the sound oddly deprecating for Nick. “Forget it. I had this…feeling.”

  “Maybe it’s catching,” she murmured.

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing.” She twirled the cord around her hand. “How did it go? With George.”

  “Not so bad, considering. I don’t think we’ll ever be best buddies, but we made some headway.” He paused, and she could picture that slight frown narrowing his gaze. “He says he knows nothing about the phone calls, and you know, I believe him. I don’t know why, because he has one helluva way of bending the truth. But I do believe him on this one.”