by Regina Kyle
Nick groaned, remembering his conversation with Marisa at Pearl. “And the bomb threat that grounded Marisa’s flight in Canada.”
The show was cursed. That’s what everyone kept saying. He wasn’t a superstitious person, so he hadn’t gone along with that crap. But why hadn’t he suspected foul play? There were too many incidents for it to be a coincidence.
He knew why. Because the delays had worked in his favor. More time with Holly.
And more danger. Idiot.
“Food poisoning? Bomb threats?” Holly’s mother pushed away her half-full plate. “Why haven’t we heard about this?”
“Maybe we should take this outside,” Nick suggested, seeing the pinched looks on her parents’ faces.
Cade shook his head. “No time. I’ve got to run. Fire marshal’s waiting.”
Holly rose and picked up her plate, crossing to the sink. “I’m coming with you.”
“No can do. An arson investigation team’s on its way up from New York. No one’s going near the Rep or the company housing until we give the all-clear.”
“How long’s that going to take?” Nick asked.
“Not sure. A few days, at least.”
“A few days?” Holly’s plate clattered into the sink.
“Maybe a week. There’s a lot of ground to cover. The theater itself. All the rooms for the cast and crew.”
“A week?” Nick could hear the panic in her voice. “But the rest of the company’s supposed to be here tomorrow.” He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Losing a day or two of rehearsal would suck, but they’d make up for lost time. A whole week would be a disaster. Anything more than that and folks would start to jump ship, finding work with other shows.
Although that wouldn’t be such a bad thing where Malcolm was concerned....
“Tell them to stay put. Everything’s on hold while we sweep the place. We’ll work as fast as we can.” Evading Noelle’s ever-ready hand, Cade grabbed another roll.
“I’ll let you know as soon as we’ve got a more definite time frame,” he called over his shoulder, sprinting out of the room.
Nick drew his brows together, wrinkling his forehead. “Where does that leave us?”
“You can always head back to the city,” Gabe suggested. “Or hang out up here with your family.”
Like that was going to happen.
“I’ll stay here, if it’s okay with you guys.” Holly looked from one parent to the other. “I can work on the script changes the producers asked for. And I’m sure Dad won’t mind a little help with the nursery, right?”
Nils gave what Nick interpreted as an affirmative grunt.
Then again, maybe hanging out in Stockton wasn’t such a bad idea, after all. He could play bodyguard, keep an eye on Holly and make sure nothing happened to her. And maybe while he was at it, convince her to give him a second chance.
“And I’ll bet Ethan can have the PR people get started on some promotional stuff,” she continued, biting her lip and drumming her fingers on her thigh. Sexy little schemer. “You know, TV appearances, radio interviews, speaking engagements. Play up the hometown-girl-makes-good angle. If I’m going to be in town, I might as well do something useful.”
Yes!
Just like when he was on the gridiron in high school, Nick saw an opening and went for it. “I’d be happy to stay and help with that. The Aaronsons chose New Haven because we both grew up here, right? But I can’t bunk with my parents.”
He had to come up with an excuse. Fast. Holly might suspect his relationship with his family was less than ideal, but he wasn’t about to admit that in front of the rest of the Brady Bunch. His personal life was just that—personal. “They’re, uh, having some work done on the house.”
He was at the fifty-yard line....
“What about the Charter Oak Inn?” Gabe suggested. The bed-and-breakfast was the only game in Stockton when it came to lodging.
Noelle shook her head. “No room.”
The forty...
“Seriously?” Holly scowled at her sister.
“The whole place is booked all week for some wedding.”
The thirty...
“Sorry, Nick,” Holly said. Only, she didn’t sound all that sorry. Didn’t look sorry, either. More like relieved. “But there’re plenty of hotels in New Haven. I’m sure Ted and Judith will put you up in one of them.”
“Don’t be silly,” her mother cut in. “Why would he stay in a cold, impersonal hotel room when he can stay with us. We have plenty of room. And three home-cooked meals a day. You can’t get that in any hotel.”
The twenty...
“I’ll be good.” At what, Nick didn’t say, although several possibilities sprang to mind. All of which involved making her come. Multiple times. “Promise. You’ll hardly know I’m here.”
Unless, of course, he was giving her those orgasms, in which case she’d be screaming his name. “Besides, didn’t you say your dad could use an extra hand around here?”
Nils grunted again, which Nick took as another yes.
The ten...
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You realize that would entail getting your hands dirty, right?”
“Hey, I wasn’t always a movie star. I’ve done my share of manual labor.”
The five...
Emotions passed across Holly’s face in quick succession: anger, fear, something that looked suspiciously like arousal and, finally, resignation. Nick reminded himself to tell her not to play poker—unless it was a private game of strip poker with him.
“Okay, you win. Stay here, if it’ll make you happy.”
Touchdown!
He leaned back in his chair and flashed her a grin worthy of the village idiot. “Oh, it’ll make me happy, all right. And Ted and Judith, too. The last thing they need is to fork out any more money than they have to.”
“You can have my old room,” Noelle offered.
“Or mine,” Gabe put in. “If you prefer debate trophies and sports equipment to toe shoes and New Kids on the Block posters.”
“Please,” Noelle scoffed. “I took those down ages ago. It’s N Sync now.”
“Thanks, man.” Nick turned to Holly’s parents. “You, too, Mr. and Mrs. Nelson.”
“Of course, Niccolò.” Elena stood and began to clear the table, shooting a scathing glance at Holly. “I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say we’re happy to have you here, for as long as necessary.”
* * *
THE LAST THING Holly wanted to do was show their new guest to his temporary digs. But as her mother said, she spoke for all the Nelsons, and when she’d offered Holly’s services as tour guide there was no room for objection.
“Follow me.” Holly started up the stairs that led to the bedrooms. She knew what she’d find behind Gabe’s door. Her mother had kept each of the Nelson siblings’ rooms as virtual shrines, and his was no exception. Debate trophies displayed on a shelf above his desk, organized by height and evenly spaced. Patriots and Red Sox pennants hanging over the dresser. A baseball, bat and glove resting in one corner, giving the room a faint smell of leather that mixed with the lemon Pledge her mother sprayed like pixie dust over every surface.
Everything in its place. Including the enormous four-poster bed.
Even the word brought on a flood of erotic images. Nick’s head between her legs, his soft, dark hair tickling her thighs, his tongue teasing her into a mindless frenzy. His body covering hers, her soft curves melding with his hard edges. And his hands—oh, those hands—molding her breasts, sliding down her rib cage, gripping her hips...
She stopped and clutched the banister, determined to banish the memories—the desires—from her brain. She’d had her night with Nick. There wasn’t going to be another.
What kind of fool played around with a guy as hot—and smart and talented and rich and famous—as Nick, knowing they’d likely end up with third-degree emotional burns when he left?
Not newly self-protective Holly, who di
dn’t act on impulse and regret it forever.
Not newly launched, career-minded Holly, who needed to be taken seriously as a writer.
Not newly respectable daughter Holly, who wasn’t going to have sex in her brother’s room.
She’d just have to stay far, far away from that bed. Or any bed, for that matter, when Nick was around. And countertops. And bathtubs. To be safe, she should probably add couches, futons and oversize chairs to that list.
She was halfway up the staircase before she registered the lack of footsteps behind her. She swiveled her head to find Nick still standing at the foot of the stairs, looking like a GQ model with one hand in his pocket and the other on the strap of the duffel slung over his shoulder.
“Problem?”
“Just enjoying the view.” He rested one foot on the bottom step, scanning her body with his eyes. Was it her imagination or did they linger on her backside?
“Is this your idea of being good?” She wasn’t going to survive even a day of him, never mind a whole week. Silently, she prayed Cade and the fire marshal would make quick work of their investigation so she and Nick wouldn’t have to live under the same roof for long.
One corner of Nick’s mouth curled into a devilish grin. “From where I stand, things look very, very good.”
“You know what I mean. You said I wouldn’t even know you were here.”
He shrugged. “I lied.”
“Typical.” And exactly what she was afraid of with Nick. He might not lie intentionally, but he’d lie to himself that what they had was special enough to last for more than the run of the show. He must know better. His whole adult life had been a series of beautiful women who went as fast as they came, his fly-by-night relationships documented and catalogued by a dozen websites.
Not that she’d been searching him on Google. She didn’t need more than one source for her gossip, and now that she was home she could steal her mother’s People as soon as it arrived. It was going to be up to her to keep herself out of the tabloids. Just one shot of him kissing her, followed a few weeks later by one of him leaving her, would shatter her. Everyone in town would know she’d been played. She didn’t have Noelle’s poise or Gabe’s confidence, or even Ivy’s don’t-give-a-shit outlook on life. There’d be no shaking it off for her.
She’d have to become a hermit, just when her life was starting to get fun.
No way.
Her protective armor fully in place, she made her stand at the top of the stairs.
“Come on.” She took off down the hall. “Gabe’s room’s the third door on the left. You can put your stuff in there.”
“Hold up.” Nick shot up the staircase. “Your mom promised me an escort.”
“Are you always this difficult?”
“Only when I know I’m right.” He stepped closer, angling his head to study her through hooded eyes. A habit of his, she’d noticed. One that had her swooning into his neck for a drag of his cologne before she regained control.
“And what exactly are you right about?”
“You and me.” He moved even nearer. Crap. If her family saw them like this, she’d never hear the end of it.
With a sigh, she pushed open the door to Gabe’s room and ducked inside. Better to take her stand there, in private. If she humiliated herself it wouldn’t be witnessed by anyone but Nick. “Here it is. Home, sweet home. For the time being.”
Nick paused at the threshold and looked down the hall. “Where’s your room?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“Yeah. That’s why I asked.”
“Let’s just say it’s too close to my parents’ room for you to get any ideas.” Holly surveyed the room. Everything was exactly as she’d expected, from the trophies to the lemon Pledge.
“I’ve already got plenty of ideas, sweetheart.” Nick came in, depositing his bag on the bed. The room shrank by yards.
“Excuse me.” Gabe poked his head in the door and cleared his throat. “I hate to interrupt your verbal foreplay...”
Holly dissolved into a fit of coughing, which Nick stemmed by reaching around and patting her on the back.
“...but I’m heading back to the city. I’m in the Special Victims Unit now, but I’ve got a buddy with Violent Crimes. I’ll see what I can find out about the fire from him.”
“Thanks.” Holly crossed to Gabe and gave him a quick hug. “I always knew having a big-shot district attorney for a baby brother would come in handy someday. I just thought it would be for stuff like fixing traffic tickets.”
“I hate to ask,” Gabe began, pulling back and studying Holly’s face intently, “but do you think...maybe...your ex is behind all this?”
“Clark?” she whispered. “But he’s...out of state.”
“He could be working with an accomplice. And he’s got a pretty strong motive for closing the show down.”
“Not to mention a criminal record,” Holly muttered low enough so that Nick, searching for something in his duffel, wouldn’t hear. She hoped.
“Don’t worry, Holls,” Gabe reassured her. “Whoever’s doing this, he’s targeting the show, not you. You’ll be safe here with Mom and Dad.”
“And me,” Nick added, abandoning his search and taking a step toward them. If she hadn’t been so freaked out about the whole arson thing, Holly would have laughed at the way he puffed out his chest, like an overeager adolescent trying to impress his best girl.
His girl.
Gabe gave her another fast squeeze before heading for the door. He stopped when he reached Nick and looked him straight in the eye, a serious expression on his face. “If she gets hurt, it’s on you, man.”
Nick nodded, meeting his gaze. “Not going to happen.”
“Hello?” Holly’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Still here. And fully capable of taking care of myself.” Except for her heart.
“Try to stay out of trouble.”
With a wave of his hand, Gabe was gone, leaving Nick and Holly alone, within striking distance of that big, beautiful bed.
What was it Gabe had said? Stay out of trouble?
Some things, Holly thought, were easier said than done.
12
HOLLY SWORE UNDER her breath as she fumbled in her darkened bedroom for her muck boots. What had she been thinking when she volunteered for the morning shift at the nursery? No civilized human being should be required to rise before the sun.
Of course, her father was probably already dressed and in the greenhouse, watering the perennials. At sixty-six, he had more energy than most thirty-somethings.
Including Nick, Holly thought, her outstretched hand finally coming into contact with the cool rubber of one of her boots. She felt around for the other, grabbed the pair and crept in her stocking feet out of the room and down the long, dark hall. Sure, Nick had offered to help. But she didn’t think he’d appreciate being dragged out of bed in the wee hours on his first full day in Stockton. Seeing his muscles bunch and flex as he mulched the gardens would have made it worth hauling her own sorry butt up at such an ungodly hour, though. If she followed the look-don’t-touch rule, she’d be fine, or so she told herself. Right before she considered what crimes she’d commit—theoretically—to see the man in shorts and work boots. Shirtless, with a thin sheen of sweat covering his chest and back.
A soft thump and the pitter-patter of furry feet told her Jasper had jumped off her bed and was fast catching up to her. His fluffy shadow approached, his purr vibrating through Holly’s toes. “Hey there, big fella,” she cooed. “Ready to catch some mice?”
With a haughty tilt of his white-tinged chin that seemed to say “as if,” the tabby snubbed her and glided past. Rearing up on his hind legs, he stretched his front paws toward the door handle of Gabe’s room. Nick lay sleeping in there, wearing who knew how much—or how little.
“Jasper, no,” she hissed, a corner of her brain dimly recalling Nick’s casual comment at dinner about his cat allergy. She should have warned him that Jaspe
r was a regular feline Houdini, able to open doors. “Down.”
Neither “no” nor “down” had any effect on the cat. Holly dropped her boots and started after him, but before she could grab the little bugger he had pressed on the handle and thrown his considerable weight against the door, pushing it open. With his tail held high and an air of superiority befitting his Egyptian ancestors, he squeezed through, leaving Holly staring after him.
Damn, double damn and triple damn.
She had two choices. Keep going down the hall as if nothing had happened. Or rescue Nick from a trip to the E.R. for a shot of Benadryl.
“Stupid cat.” Her choice made, she inched the door open farther. She’d sneak in, grab the beast and sneak out. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
Light crept through the half-open curtains, and the faint smell of freshly mown grass drifted through the open window. And on the bed...
Holly’s breath hitched at the sight of Nick sprawled, one long leg hanging off the mattress. He wasn’t naked, thanks to a pair of formfitting boxer briefs—drat—but his muscled chest and legs were bare, the sheet bunched around his ankles, as if he’d been too spent after a bout of down-and-dirty, muss-the-covers action to bother pulling it up. He looked every inch the Hollywood bad boy the press made him out to be, even in sleep, with his light scruff, deep tan and sculpted-for-IMAX body. But at the same time, he appeared surprisingly vulnerable, his eyes closed, long dark lashes resting against his cheeks, his strong jaw relaxed, his breathing deep and even.
She’d seen plenty of him that night in his apartment, but in her rush to leave she’d never had the chance to study him undetected. Now, with him prostrate and unconscious, she could appreciate the perfect symmetry of his face, cheek over chin next to perfectly angled nose. The chiseled highs and lows of his pecs and abs. Corded forearms leading to thick wrists and strong, long-fingered hands. She itched to touch. Taste. Smell. Curl up next to him and bask in the heat radiating off his body.
He’s just a man, she told herself, exhaling quietly in a futile effort to slow her racing heart. Flesh, blood and bone, like any other.
But oh, what a delectable combination of flesh, blood and bone.