Full House

by Janet Evanovich

"It's not the microwave."

  "You didn't let her drive your van, did you? She has a problem with stop signs. Why do you think her car is always in the shop?"

  "This is much more serious."

  Nick sounded exasperated. "Well, what the hell did she do?"

  "It's not what she did, it's what she's going to do. She's determined to take me to a wrestling match tonight and fix me up with some anatomical freak named Big John." Billie had to stop talking long enough to catch her breath. From the other end, there was a long pause and a muffled sound apparently caused by a hand being clamped over the phone. "Nick, are you laughing at me again?"

  "No."

  "You are! I can hear you. This isn't funny. The man wears black satin briefs. He grunts and rolls around on the ground."

  "Just tell Deedee you don't want to go."

  "It's not that simple."

  Nick sighed, understanding the problem. It was never simple to say no to Deedee. "All right, what do you want? I guess I could throw in a custom-made saddle with the free lessons."

  "I don't want a saddle. I called you because you're devious and sneaky and completely unscrupulous. I want you to think of a way to get me out of this." She paused in thought. "You can pretend to drop by to discuss my polo lessons. It'll take five minutes out of your precious time. You can be on your way as soon as they leave."

  "I don't think they're going to fall for it, Billie."

  "Listen to me, dammit! I'm a mother who happens to prefer making brownies to having a blind date with Big John—I am not about to spend an evening with a guy who measures his manhood by the foot."

  Nick stared at the toe of his boot and admitted to himself that he didn't want her spending the evening with that kind of guy, either. In fact, he didn't much like the idea of her spending the evening with any kind of guy. Not that he had any right to feel that way. His interest in her wasn't exactly altruistic.

  He sighed. It had seemed like a good plan at the time: getting rid of Deedee and maybe spending a little free time with Billie on the pretense of checking on his cousin. Most divorcees appreciated an evening out and a little attention, and they were quick to show their appreciation. He knew a couple of them who would have welcomed Deedee with open arms if it meant seeing more of him.

  Billie Pearce obviously didn't feel that way.

  "Don't worry about it," he said, knowing he couldn't just walk away when he was responsible for getting her into such a jam in the first place. He might be lacking in scruples where women were concerned, but that didn't mean he was irresponsible. "Go along with the plan, and I'll make sure you're rescued."

  "Rescued?"

  "Just think of me as your personal white knight." He hung up, thinking how ridiculous that sounded, even to him.

  Billie stared at the telephone. Her white knight, she thought. Nicholas Kaharchek was about as close to being a white knight as Deedee was a choirgirl. She hung up. Raoul was right. She had gone and gotten herself involved with a family of lunatics.

  Several hours later, Billie stood in front of her mirror and took a quick survey. Tailored white shirt, crisp, pleated khaki slacks, and brown moccasins— the only shoes she could get on her injured foot. It was about as unsexy as she could get, and she hoped it would get her safely through the evening. It was a little like wearing a cross to ward off Dracula, or a necklace of garlic cloves to scare away the plague. Dammit, where was Kaharchek? The Assassin was scheduled to arrive any minute and the promise of rescue was growing slim. She looked at her foot, only slightly swollen, and contemplated taking a hammer to it.

  She jumped and put her hand to her heart when the doorbell rang. Be calm, she told herself as she limped down the stairs; this couldn't be as bad as she was making it out to be. Big John was probably very nice. And going to see a wrestling match would be a new experience that might impress her son even more than polo lessons.

  Probably when you put a wrestler in street clothes he looks like a real person, she told herself.

  Billie opened the door and took a step backward. Frankie-the-Assassin was almost seven feet tall with long, black, slicked-back hair. His eyebrows formed a thick black line straight across his forehead, as though someone had drawn a line across it with a marker. He wore a custom-made tux, black tie, and no shirt. Billie's jaw dropped as she stared at the massive chest and pectoral muscles. They had to be real; she'd never heard of men getting implants.

  "I'm Frankie," he said, holding his hand out. "You must be Billie."

  His hand was the size of a rump roast and Billie feared her own would be crushed, but he was unexpectedly gentle as they shook. "Nice to meet you, Frankie."

  "Deedee speaks very highly of you."

  As if acting on cue, Deedee came clacking down the stairs on three-inch magenta satin sling-backs. She wore a skin-tight, spaghetti-strapped sheath with plunging neckline, a skirt slit to mid-thigh, and decorated top to bottom with glittering magenta sequins. She had matching glitter on her heavily lined eyelids and dangling diamond earrings that Billie suspected were about equal in value to her own four-bedroom colonial.

  Billie swallowed and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her khaki slacks. "I didn't realize this was formal."

  "It's not," Frankie said. "Deedee and I just like to make an entrance."

  "Yeah," Deedee said. "We don't want to disappoint the fans. They like to see the Assassin and me dressed up."

  Nick knocked on the open door. "Excuse me. Am I interrupting?"

  Billie felt herself sag against the chair rail in giddy relief. She'd been saved. Nick had kept his promise. Big John was going to have to impress another woman with his largesse.

  "We were just going out," Deedee said, her little-girl voice surprisingly authoritative. "We're taking Billie to see a wrestling match."

  Nick grinned affably. "That sounds like fun. Mind if I tag along?"

  Billie felt a wave of panic. Oh, no! That wasn't part of her plan. She had about as much business spending an evening with Nick Kaharchek as she did with Big John, and the absolute last place she wanted to spend it was at a wrestling match! She vigorously shook her head no behind Deedee's back, but Nick ignored her.

  "As a matter of fact, I do mind," Deedee said. "You'll ruin everything."

  "No he won't," Frankie said. "I like Nick. Nick's a good guy. Besides, he looks just like Billie. Don't you think they make a cute couple?"

  Nick was wearing a starched white shirt, open at the neck, sleeves rolled to his forearms; perfectly creased, European-cut, pleated khaki slacks; and his brown moccasins.

  "They look like the Bobbsey Twins," Deedee said, giving Nick a disparaging look. "People will think they're a tag team."

  "Yeah," Frankie said, laughing. "You guys ever consider wrestling?"

  Nick splayed his hand on the small of Billie's back and rubbed his thumb across her spine as though he had every right. He gave no indication if he noticed her reaction. Her back went ramrod stiff. "It's crossed my mind," he said.

  His voice made Billie's stomach flutter, at the same time as it set her teeth on edge. What did he think he was doing? This was not at all what she'd had in mind, and it wasn't like she hadn't been specific. Nick Kaharchek was playing a game. At her expense. She inched away.

  Deedee must have suspected Nick was trying to pull something as well, because she shot him a look of pure venom. It was obvious she didn't trust him as far as her heavily made eyes could see him, and that she was mad as hell that he'd managed to foil her plans for the evening.

  "Everyone ready to go?" Nick asked innocently.

  Billie had no choice but to follow. What did it matter? she told herself. In little more than twenty-four hours, her life had been turned upside down and inside out. The fact that there was an expensive Mercedes and a sinister-looking black stretch limo in her driveway didn't faze her. Her neighbors would think nothing of it once they caught sight of Deedee in her garb, walking beside a seven-foot giant whose chest was literally bursting from his tux.

&
nbsp; "Maybe it would be best if we went in separate cars," Nick said, his hand possessively curled around Billie's neck. "I'm afraid I can't fit four people in mine."

  "Forget it," Deedee snapped. "We'll all go in the limo. And watch your hands, Kaharchek."

  Billie shot him a look that echoed Deedee's words. Nick simply grinned in response. He was enjoying himself.

  "This white-knight stuff is tough," Nick whispered to Billie. "Nobody appreciates me. Here I am rescuing you, as promised, and all I get is abuse."

  Billie looked at him coolly. "You didn't follow the plan."

  "Perhaps Big John is not the man from whom you needed rescuing."

  Damned if he didn't have the sexiest eyes, she thought. She'd heard the term "bedroom eyes," but she only now grasped the full meaning. "Don't think I haven't taken that into consideration, but I have Mace in my purse, and I'm hell-bent on using it before the expiration date."

  His fingers slid along the nape of her neck and tangled in her short silky hair. "Okay, so I lied. I'm not a hero, and I don't know the first thing about being a white knight."

  "Now, there's a big surprise."

  A chauffeur dressed in formal livery held the door as Frankie and Deedee settled into the luxurious back seat. Billie solemnly crept into the dark, cool interior and took a seat facing Deedee. Nick took the seat next to Billie and swiveled toward Frankie. "What, no bowling alley?" he asked.

  Frankie smiled. "I didn't want to be ostentatious."

  An hour later they pulled up to an auditorium in D.C.

  "We've got front-row seats," Deedee said. "You're gonna love this, Billie, honey. Sometimes they come right over the ropes at you, and when they put Big John in a body slam it makes your heart jump."

  Billie gave her a weak smile. "I'm not going to get hurt, am I?"

  Deedee blinked. "Do you know what the odds are of something like that happening?"

  A roar went up when they entered the auditorium, pushing Billie back into Nick's chest. "It's for Frankie," Nick shouted. "He's very popular."

  "Oh, yeah? Why are some people booing and yelling obscenities?"

  "I guess he's not popular with everyone. He lost a match last week."

  Deedee turned, obviously having heard the exchange. "It wasn't Frankie's fault," she whispered to Billie. "He pulled a groin muscle putting his opponent in an overhead spin, and after that—well, it was awful that he then got dropped on his head. Fortunately he has me to feed his ego, and I'm an expert when it comes to that sort of thing."

  The auditorium was brightly lit, and stuffed to capacity with screaming fans. Big John entered, dropped his floor-length fur coat, and paraded about.

  "He's fat!" Billie said. "Why would you try to set me up with a fat man?"

  "Honey, that's muscle," Deedee whispered.

  It looked like flab to Billie. Big John turned to the crowd, grasped his meaty hands together and held them high in the air. The audience roared and whistled and stomped their feet. Big John paused and smiled briefly when he caught sight of Frankie and Deedee, and his gaze automatically slid to Billie as though he'd been expecting her. He opened his mouth and wiggled his tongue at her in a taunting gesture. He mouthed the word "Later."

  Billie shrank back in horror. "Eeyeuuw!"

  "He likes you," Deedee said. "And don't think he doesn't know how to use that tongue. I've heard rumors."

  Big John's opponent, Snakeman, climbed between the ropes with a twenty-foot boa wrapped around his body, the snake's head resting in his hand. The man's arms were tattooed in snakes.

  Billie closed her eyes. "It's a real snake, isn't it? Tell me when it's over."

  "Billie, open your eyes!" Deedee said. "You're going to miss the best part, where Snakeman shoves the snake in Big John's face and the snake's tongue lashes out at him."

  An earsplitting roar erupted from the crowd as the boa arched its massive head and its tongue whipped in and out of its odd-shaped mouth. Billie decided she would have preferred facing the boa's tongue than Big John's.

  Big John squared his shoulders as if trying to quell the hint of fear on his face as Snakeman arrogantly taunted him with the boa. A referee ordered the wrestler to deposit his boa into an enormous canvas sack held by an animal handler. Billie sighed her relief. Still, it was too much for her—the noise, the impending violence, the thought of Big John so much as putting a finger on her. It was going to be a long night, considering she would probably sit there with her eyes closed for the most part.

  She could only hope the snake didn't find its way free of the sack.

  "It's okay," Nick whispered in her ear. "Don't be afraid."

  His warm breath against her neck sent shivers down Billie's spine and raised goose bumps along her arms. He pulled her closer, enveloping her in his scent, warming her from the heat of his own body. Billie couldn't find the wherewithal to pull away.

  "I'll protect you," he added.

  Suddenly, Big John and the snake didn't seem so formidable.

  Chapter Five

  By the time the show ended, Billie was thinking wrestling was sort of fun. Not the snake part, of course. Mostly she liked the fan enthusiasm and the flash of the extravaganza. And her mood heightened considerably when the limo driver pulled in front of a reputable steak house. She had been there before and knew they served the best beef in town. Her mouth watered, and her stomach growled, a Pavlovian response to the smells as they walked through the double glass doors leading inside.

  She wasn't nearly so thrilled when Nick slid into the booth beside her, so close his thigh pressed against hers. The booth seemed to shrink to half its size. She tried scooting closer to the wall and discovered she was already as close to it as she could get without being on the other side.

  "Could you move over a little?" she whispered.

  He shifted in the booth but didn't so much as move a smidgeon. Instead, he slid his arms along the back of it, dropping his hand possessively on her shoulder. On the surface, it seemed casual enough, but there was nothing casual about the way Billie's body responded to his simple touch. Her stomach tightened, and she held her breath, afraid to release it in case it came out in a loud gush. He began drawing tiny imaginary circles along the base of her neck, his thumb rotating lazily. Billie's stomach did a tiny flip-flop. Once again, she caught the subtle hint of his cologne.

  "What would you like?" he whispered.

  Billie blinked several times. "Excuse me?" Her voice sounded like a croak.

  "For dinner." His mouth curved into a half-smile, and there was a look of genuine amusement in his dark eyes.

  He knew exactly what he was doing to her, she thought. The man oozed sensuality. He had flirting down to an art, and he was obviously enjoying making her squirm.

  But why? she asked herself. She was hardly the sort of woman a man like Nicholas Kaharchek would desire. She did her own nails, had her hair trimmed by the next available operator at a no-frills salon, and purchased her clothes off half-price racks or sidewalk sales. She was an ordinary woman, an average housewife, probably nothing like the women Nick normally dated.

  Perhaps Nick thought he was doing her a favor, she thought suddenly. Probably he thought she would get all starry-eyed and tongue-tied over a drop-dead gorgeous millionaire who only had to crook his finger at a woman to capture her heart. If Nick was interested, there was only one reason why, and the thought wasn't especially flattering.

  If only her body were as determined to steer clear of him as her head.

  Billie wondered if Nick knew what was going on inside of her, and the thought that he might indeed be attuned to her building attraction was unsettling. He only had to look at her a certain way, touch her lightly with those expert hands, to send her thoughts into a tailspin and create a heat wave low in her belly. In a very short time he'd managed to spin a web of intimacy around them, the likes of which she had never known. It was simultaneously provocative and completely nerve-wracking, and like a fool, she found herself waiting in anticipation
for his next touch.

  She reached for a cracker, tore open the cellophane, and took a bite. Anything to keep her mind off the man beside her, she told herself.

  Nick noted Billie's discomfort and knew she was as aware of him sexually as he was of her. Instead of feeding his ego, as it would have in the past, he found himself utterly confused. The oh-so-proper mother of two who baked cookies and taught sixth-graders was the sexiest thing he'd ever come up against. What was this power she had over him that made him desire her?

  She was adorable, with her fresh-scrubbed look and hair that made him think of spun silk. She had the prettiest legs he'd ever seen on a woman, and her curves enticed him. But he was accustomed to pretty women. What he wasn't accustomed to was her simple nature. The women he dated were sophisticated, traveled in the right circles, knew where to vacation, how to play the game, and how to please a man in every sense of the word. Like Sheridan. His smile faltered.

  Billie Pearce didn't even seem to like him. She didn't put on airs, didn't try to be witty and charming; in fact, she didn't seem to care that she was getting cracker crumbs all over the white tablecloth. Perhaps that was it. She was unpretentious. She was just Billie.

  "So what did you think of Big John?" Deedee finally asked, looking up from her menu. "Isn't he wonderful?"

  Billie felt Nick's eyes on her, sensed his knowing smile. "Big John? Uh, he was ... um, awesome."

  "He definitely likes you," Deedee said, following the length of Nick's arm with her eyes. Some of the glitter had fallen to her cheek. It was clear she didn't appreciate her cousin putting his hands on Billie. "And wasn't it romantic the way he got thrown out of the ring, almost at your feet?"

  Billie nodded solemnly. "Very romantic. I especially liked it when he did that thing with his tongue again, and the woman beside me fainted."

  "I told you he was hot. And believe me, Big John knows how to treat a lady. Unlike some men who go through them quickly, and then toss them aside without a second thought."

  Nick didn't miss the look Deedee shot him. She did not want Billie to become involved with him. He merely smiled. Deedee was still sore at him for hauling her out of her bed in her nightie and insisting she leave his home immediately. She'd had no idea he was trying to save her pretty neck. For now, she would just have to think the worst of him. And cad that he was, he would enjoy participating in the game.