Into Your Arms (A Contemporary Romance Novel)

by Strom, Abigail

  Nick turned to the waiter. “You heard the lady.”

  After he left, Nick leaned back in his chair. “You were going to tell me what it was like to dance at the Paris Opera.”

  She shook her head. “We’ve been talking about me all night. I want to hear more about you. Oh!” She remembered something from earlier in the day. “I listened to your candidate on the radio this morning, doing an interview. She sounded better than she did on TV that time. Not so stiff.”

  Nick nodded. “Yeah, she’s getting better. We had kind of a breakthrough the other day, which helped. Has she earned your vote yet?”

  “Definitely. I really liked what she said. And the guy she’s running against is kind of a pompous jerk, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know. So you’ll come out for the primary, then?”

  “The primary?”

  Nick stared at her. “Yeah, the primary. That’s the tough race for her. If she can make it past Andrews, she’s a shoo-in for the general election, given the demographics of the district. The primary is the real battle. It’s next month.”

  “Oh.” Sara felt herself blushing. “I should have known that, right? I guess I really am out of it, politically. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I’ve never actually voted before. I’m registered, but…” she trailed off at the expression on Nick’s face. “Wow. You’re totally disgusted with me, aren’t you?”

  “No, just flabbergasted. You’ve never voted in your life?”

  She shook her head.

  “How is that possible? There had to be some election you cared about, or some issue that was important to you.”

  “Um…”

  The waiter arrived with their desserts, and Sara was grateful for the distraction—until Nick took her plate away. “No dessert for you until you promise to vote.”

  She held up her right hand. “On my honor, I do solemnly swear to cast a vote in this year’s election. Also the primary. Now give me my cheesecake.”

  He slid the plate over to her.

  “Why haven’t you ever voted? You said you’re registered, right?”

  “Yes.” She took her first bite and had to stop herself from moaning out loud. Even if Miles Thackeray offered to make her a prima ballerina, she was never going to give this up again.

  “So why didn’t you ever go to the ballot box?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I guess it never seemed very important.” Nick’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and she quickly backtracked. “I don’t mean that elections aren’t important. But my vote didn’t seem very important. Can you seriously tell me that one person can make a difference by voting?”

  “Yeah, I can. Because every time someone votes, our democracy is strengthened. And every time an individual chooses not to participate, it’s weakened. So yeah, it makes a difference.”

  He took a bite of his cake. “Damn, that’s good. Are you sure we have to share?”

  “Yes.” She put a piece of her cheesecake on his plate, and took half of his in return. “There.”

  “Do you know when women won the right to vote?”

  “Um…sometime during World War I?”

  “Pretty close. It was 1920. Think about that. That’s not even a hundred years ago. And it wasn’t easy, either. Women marched and protested and went to jail fighting for the right to vote.”

  Sara took another sip of wine. “Now you’re making me feel guilty. I’m sure we learned about that in school, but I’ve never really thought about it much. It’s so hard to imagine that there was a time when women couldn’t vote. I guess I take it for granted.”

  Nick rubbed a hand along his jaw, which made her think about whisker burn again. Between the sexy stubble and the spark of intensity in his blue eyes, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Who knew that the sight of a guy about to get on a soapbox could be so irresistible?

  “You’re about to make a speech, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. Can you handle it?”

  She bowed her head and swept a hand over the table. “The floor is yours.”

  “People have died fighting for democracy. Less than fifty years ago, African-Americans in this country were beaten and even killed for standing up for their right to vote. Around the world, people are still putting their lives on the line in the battle for free elections. In the battle to elect democratic governments, and to give every citizen the power to cast a ballot. It’s a right people are willing to die for.”

  A little chill raised goose bumps on her skin. “Okay, you win. I’ll never miss another election.”

  He grinned at her. “Good.”

  “You have a way with words, Nick Landry. It’s too bad you won’t consider doing that program you mentioned. The Saturday morning politics show? The one your friend has been trying to talk you into. David something.”

  “David Gardner. I have to admit, the idea of being able to harangue total strangers the way I just harangued you is tempting…although I doubt anyone watching a political show would be as politically disengaged as you. Of course, that’s all about to change now that I’ve shown you the error of your ways,” he added with a grin.

  She opened her mouth and closed it again, stopping herself from asking a question she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to.

  Of course Nick wouldn’t let that pass. “You started to say something. What?”

  She used the pad of her finger to pick up cake crumbs from her plate. “Do you think I’m frivolous?”

  He stared at her. “Of course not. Why would you ask that?”

  “Well, ballet doesn’t exactly have an impact on world events. There are plenty of people who think it’s a waste of time.”

  “I’m not one of them. I don’t think what you do is a waste of time. I think...” He paused.

  “What?”

  He frowned a little. “When I was in the theater that night, watching you dance, I thought about how I’d spent my day. It was a dumber day than usual, full of the stuff that gives politics a bad name. Strategy and attack and defense, all over stupid things that don’t matter. The kind of stuff I’m really good at, in fact. And then I thought about what you do, how you’ve spent your life.”

  She sighed. “And how do you think I’ve spent my life?”

  “Creating beauty.”

  She stopped breathing for a moment. Nick’s expression was serious, and as she looked into his eyes, she remembered the night he complimented her bruised and bloody feet. At the time, it was the nicest thing any guy had ever said to her.

  This was nicer.

  “So no, I don’t think what you do is frivolous. I think it’s important. Watching you that night, I felt…” he trailed off.

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “A lot of things. The point is, I felt. I don’t know if you know this, Sara, but some of us go through life without feeling much of anything. It’s a rare gift, to be able to make people feel. We need that. It reminds us of what it means to be human. What we’re capable of when we’re at our best.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, and she felt an odd tug behind her ribs. Every part of her was pulled towards Nick, towards his mind and his body and the heart he didn’t always seem to trust. She wanted to tell him that he made her feel things, too. But that might lead them down a road they’d both agreed not to go down.

  “I Googled you a few weeks ago,” she said instead.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  “I watched some of your old interviews. Do you remember the one ten years ago, when you were talking about…what was his name? Henry something. The man who lost his arm in Iraq.”

  “Henry Mayer. Sure.”

  “When you were talking about him, you were more like this.”

  Nick took a bite of chocolate cake. “Like what?”

  “Passionate. Intense. And—”

  She stopped suddenly, wondering what she was doing. She was about to push him a little, which wasn’t her thing.

  “And w
hat?”

  But hadn’t he pushed her about voting? And Harry? And her career?

  She swallowed. “It just seems like that’s who you really are. But after the Henry Mayer interview, I didn’t really see a lot of that. You were more, I don’t know, cool.”

  He took the last bite of his cake. “You don’t think I’m naturally cool?”

  “No. I think you’re naturally hot.”

  He grinned at her. “You’re not the first woman to tell me that,” he said, reaching across the table with his fork to take a bite of her cake.

  She used the back of her own fork to smack his wrist. “Hands off my dessert. You know what I mean. I think you’re naturally more passionate. But you don’t seem to let that show anymore. At least not when you’re in front of a camera. And I think that’s too bad.”

  Nick shrugged. “Wearing your heart on your sleeve isn’t a ticket to success. Not in politics, anyway. It makes you too vulnerable.”

  She frowned. “I don’t think that’s true. Or at least, I don’t think it should be true. I think that Americans want to see what candidates are passionate about. Isn’t that the best way to find out who they really are?”

  “You’re assuming that if candidates get personal, if they reveal who they ‘really’ are, then that’s the end of the story. But the other side can easily distort things, and turn personal information against you. That’s what happened with Henry Mayer. We ended up winning that election, but it was a close thing. I don’t know to this day whether what I said in that interview helped or hurt him, in the end. But Henry wasn’t happy with me. He hadn’t wanted his family or his war record to be part of the campaign discussion. He wanted to keep the debate about issues, and instead, I helped turn the campaign personal. A lot of irrelevant crap came up, and all that did was distract voters from the real issues at stake.”

  “Are you saying candidates can’t ever be personal?”

  “No, not at all. I’m actually trying to convince Keisha to be more personal, to loosen up a little. But sensitive issues…beating heart kind of issues…it’s dangerous to bring that stuff into a campaign.”

  “Does that strategy apply to other parts of your life, too?”

  The alcohol had to be responsible for that question, which slipped out before she could censor it.

  He stared at her. “What makes you ask that?”

  She rested her cheek on her hand. “Well…probably all the wine I’ve had tonight, to be honest. But I’ve been thinking about my dance career lately, and how it reflects who I am in other parts of my life. Miles said something, when I talked to him. He said…”

  She stopped suddenly, not sure she wanted to tell Nick this. She could feel her vulnerability like raw places on her skin, sensitive to the slightest touch.

  “What did he say?” Nick asked after a moment.

  She took a deep breath. “There’s something I didn’t tell you about our conversation. I did ask Miles about choreography, and he shot me down. He said I’m not a risk-taker. And he said that’s why I never made the step from soloist to principal, and why he doesn’t think I’m cut out to be a choreographer. And it’s true,” she went on in a rush, suddenly wanting to get this out. “I do play it safe, in my career and in my life. I’m not a fighter. The truth is, I’m a coward. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

  Her hands were on the table, and now Nick reached out and covered them with his. Warmth seemed to flow from his skin to hers. “I never said you’re a coward. Because you’re not. Don’t you remember the first time we met? You thought I’d broken in to your apartment, and your first instinct was to take me on. Not to run away. You came right at me,” he reminded her, smiling a little as he squeezed her hands. “Don’t you remember that?”

  “Yes,” she said, luxuriating in the feel of his big warm hands enveloping hers so completely.

  “You’re not a coward, Sara. Your problem is that you sell yourself short. And you need to cut it out, because you’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever met.”

  She saw the waiter coming towards them, and she had a sudden image of how the two of them must look to outside observers. They were leaning towards each other, Nick’s hands covering hers, and he was looking at her with a combination of intensity and affection that made something inside her thrum with pleasure.

  They looked like a couple.

  But anyone who thought that would be wrong. They weren’t together like that.

  For just a moment, she let herself imagine that they were. Would he stay here with her, or would she follow him to D.C.?

  He would never stay here. His life and his work was in Washington.

  And her?

  Her life and work were in flux. Her friends were here, but you couldn’t really say that her work was. Not anymore.

  She felt a sudden chill. Was she actually contemplating a scenario where she gave up everything to follow a man?

  If she left New York to follow Nick, she’d be defining herself by him. She’d be dependent on him. And eventually they’d start to resent each other, just like her parents had.

  And that was assuming Nick would even want that. He’d said they shouldn’t get involved because he didn’t want to hurt her—not because he was afraid that he’d be hurt, too. She was letting her imagination run away with her because it felt so damn good to be around him.

  He was like a rush of cool air when you open a window in October. He challenged her, sure—but he also made her feel like she was up to the challenge.

  She smiled at him and pulled her hands away as the waiter stopped at their table with the check. She could appreciate Nick, and enjoy him, without trying to force their relationship into a shape it was never meant to take. Like Nick had said, they couldn’t be together without someone getting hurt. And that someone would probably be her.

  She’d rein in her fantasies and enjoy his friendship while she had it, without wishing for more. But she’d also make sure the sharing in this friendship wasn’t one-sided. She wanted to know Nick as well as he was starting to know her.

  “Did you ever have your heart broken?”

  He paused for a split second as he handed his credit card to the waiter.

  “Where did that come from?”

  A little of what she thought of as his ‘political cool’ had come back into his eyes, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.

  “Wine. Remember? Lots and lots of wine. So, your fault. You were the one who brought me here, and you were the one who ordered the wine.”

  He smiled. “Did you like it?”

  “I loved it. Now answer my question.”

  When he hesitated, she leaned across the table and touched his hand. “What have you got to lose?”

  Chapter Eleven

  There’d been a few moments tonight when Nick had let himself imagine what it would be like to have Sara in his life for real. They had dance companies in Washington, didn’t they? And she was starting over in her career. Was it so crazy to think that if they let something happen between them, Sara might consider coming to D.C. to live?

  But Sara had asked him if he’d ever had his heart broken. He had, of course. The last time he’d talked a woman into changing her life for him.

  They were both too old to make crazy decisions. To even think about changing their lives because of an attraction. You did that when you were young, and after you crashed and burned you didn’t do it anymore.

  “You really want to hear about how I got my heart ripped out and stomped on?” he asked lightly as he signed the credit card slip for the bill and pocketed his copy.

  “Absolutely. And I promise never to use the information to score political points against you.”

  The truth was, spending time around Kevin and Sara was starting to give him a strange addiction—an addiction to talking about personal things. Things he never talked about. It was an addiction he’d have to give up when he went back to D.C., but he wasn’t in D.C. now.

  “I got left at th
e altar once,” he heard himself say as he rose from his chair and reached out hand to help Sara up. “Is that enough of a broken heart for you?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.”

  He put a hand on the small of her back as they left the restaurant, and he caught himself reaching for her hand as they stepped outside into the warm July night. He slid his hands into his pockets instead.

  “You were engaged? How long ago?”

  “Back in college. Do you want to catch a taxi to the club? It’s about fifteen blocks away, and with your foot—”

  “My foot’s feeling pretty good. Let’s walk a few blocks before we catch a cab. It’s a beautiful night.” Her shoulder bumped his arm as they started down the sidewalk, and she smiled up at him. “Now give me all the gory details. What was her name? Where did you meet?”

  “Her name was Laura, and we met in high school. We went to the prom together and everything.”

  “High school sweethearts, huh? So what happened?”

  “She wanted to go to school in Iowa, but I’d gotten into Columbia and I convinced her to come to New York City with me. She started at NYU, but she hated it. She dropped out after the first semester. She was going to go back home, but then I asked her to marry me. So we moved in together and started planning the wedding.”

  “That young? Wow. How old were you, eighteen?”

  They passed an Indian restaurant, and a draft of richly spiced air drifted out through the open door. “Nineteen. Yeah, we were young. Way too young to think about forever. In the end, Laura made the right call. She went off with another guy and sent me a letter. I got it the night before the wedding. So I wasn’t technically at the altar.”

  “Who was the guy? Was it anyone you knew?”

  He might as well tell her. “Yeah, I knew him. It was my brother.”

  Sara stopped walking and stared at him. “Your brother?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You must have been…were you upset?”

  “At the time, yeah. But I forgave him a long time ago. They ended up getting married, so it wasn’t a casual hook-up or anything. They were in love.”