Full House

by Janet Evanovich

  "About macaroni?" he asked.

  Billie stabbed a slice of pepper. "No. About your smile. It's really something."

  "It got me my first million."

  Billie raised her eyebrows in silent question.

  "Three days after I was born I flashed this smile on my dad and he deposited a million bucks in my name. It wasn't until later that a nurse told him I probably just had gas."

  "A million dollars for one smile?" Billie mused aloud. "That was generous of him. Why do you sound so ungrateful?"

  Nick shrugged. "It was easy for him to give me money. He had a lot of it."

  "What would you have preferred over money?"

  The answer came slowly. "Time. I was one of those neglected rich kids." He smiled at her again. "It could have been worse. I could have been a neglected poor kid."

  "Doesn't look like you turned out so badly."

  Nick helped himself to more macaroni and cheese. "I was lucky. I was literally dropped into Fong's lap."

  "The manservant?"

  Nick nodded. "He was mother, father, tutor, and tyrant. And he's still all those things," he confided. "He doesn't let me get away with much."

  "I'll have to meet this Fong."

  Nick looked into her eyes for a long moment. "I'd like you to meet him. He would approve."

  He slouched in his seat and loosed an exasperated sigh. "Can I level with you?" When she merely nodded, he went on. "You instill the strangest feelings in me. There's a lot of lust, but I can handle lust. It's this other stuff. I never tell anyone about my first million because it makes my father sound so crummy. Why did I tell you?"

  "It's probably the mother in me. Encourages people to speak confidentially."

  She changed the subject. "This is a great kitchen."

  "One of the reasons I bought this house was because I fell in love with the kitchen. I like being able to eat right here in front of this fireplace. When it's light out you can look through those big, wall-sized windows and see the countryside rolling away from you. And the best part about the place is Mrs. Duffy. Jack and Ida Duffy live in the stone cottage you passed about a mile down the driveway. They're in charge of the house and grounds. Ida comes up to keep the house clean, and when I get too busy to do my own cooking, she jumps in to save Fong and me from starvation."

  "Where is Fong now?"

  "I sent him on a well-deserved vacation. Deedee was driving him crazy."

  "Sounds like you're happy here."

  "Sometimes."

  Their gazes met. All the teasing had gone out of Nick's eyes. Billie looked away and reached for their plates. "I should be going."

  Nick put his hand on hers. "You can't go yet."

  Once again she found herself looking into his compelling eyes. And wishing she weren't so drawn to him. The heat from his hand was both comforting and discomfiting. "Why not?"

  "You haven't had dessert."

  Billie thought about her getting-in-shape program. "Maybe I'd better skip dessert," she said.

  "I'll bet I can convince you otherwise."

  Billie arched one brow. "Oh, really?"

  "Once you taste my homemade ice cream you'll never turn down my offer of dessert again."

  Billie cocked her head to the side. Had she heard him correctly? "You're kidding, right?"

  He shook his head as he got up from the table. "I thought it would be fun to make ice cream." He pulled a stainless-steel contraption to the front of the counter. "Fong bought me this a couple of years ago. It's supposed to be the Cadillac of home ice-cream makers." He opened the refrigerator and took out a glass bottle of cream. "I even have real cream. Not the kind they sell in the supermarket with emulsifiers and diglycerides. This cream came from my own cow."

  Billie just stared back at him. The man never failed to amaze her. "Okay," she said at last. "I'll stay on one condition."

  "Name it."

  "Tell me about Max."

  Chapter Seven

  Nick's smile faded instantly as he took a can of chocolate syrup and a bottle of vanilla extract from the overhead cabinet. "How do you know about Max?" He paused. "No, don't tell me. Deedee."

  "Was she not supposed to say anything?" Billie asked, hoping she didn't end up causing problems between Nick and his cousin.

  "No, it's okay. You were bound to find out about him sooner or later." He sighed wearily. "How do I even begin to explain Max Holt to you? He's a misdirected sixteen-year-old kid with an IQ that's totally off the charts. Unlike his sister Deedee, who doesn't have enough sense to get in out of the cold."

  "I understand Max blows up things. Is he dangerous?"

  "He might be if he weren't so smart, but he knows what he's doing. He blasted a wooden tub of geraniums to smithereens and sent a solid brass weather vane to the moon, but I'd have to say the fireworks display made it almost worth it."

  "Well, we should always consider the positive," she said. "How on earth does he find the material he needs to create these explosions?"

  "He has a laboratory of sorts in the kitchen of a guest cottage on the property. These aren't regular bombs, you understand. He makes them with things he finds in the kitchen and garage. We're talking someone who could probably build a generator large enough to support the entire town during a blackout, simply by using wire and tubing and a few other odds and ends. I know it sounds wild, but it's the truth."

  Nick sighed. "I could clear out his lab, but he'd only set up another in a different location. He's devilishly clever, remarkably so."

  After meeting Deedee, Billie was ready to believe anything about Nick's relatives. "Does Max have a reason for doing what he does, or is he just bored and using it to pass the time?"

  "Oh, Max always has a reason. He believes in causes. A champion of the underdog, you might say. He was the only six-year-old I know of who had a bumper sticker that read "Save the Whales" on the back of his bicycle. He actually got his mother to quit smoking by quoting statistics when he was five years old, and once he became an animal activist, she and her friends were afraid to wear furs in his presence."

  "So, what is his latest cause?"

  "He came to spend summer vacation with me and discovered there were plans to develop some marshland east of here."

  Billie nodded. "I know about that, I read about it in your paper. They're putting in a shopping center, a billion condos, and a light industrial park right in the middle of an important stop on the North Atlantic fly way. It's going to endanger millions of birds en route to breeding grounds. It's a national disgrace."

  "That's pretty much what Max said. He wants me to use the paper to fight the project."

  Billie raised her eyebrows. "And?"

  "I don't want the marsh destroyed any more than you do, but it's against my philosophy as a publisher to slant the news. We've come out against it on the editorial page, but that's as far as I'll go. I feel compelled to report both sides of the issue, and there definitely is another side here. That development will bring in revenue for schools and roads and hospitals. The developer claims he's setting aside a significant number of acres for the birds and has taken safeguards to protect it."

  Billie snorted.

  "Yeah, I know. Anyway, Max has taken a very strong stand and has resorted to his own brand of persuasion to enlist my help. He always leaves a cryptic message beforehand, but he believes if you want to be heard, you have to make a loud noise."

  "Like boom?"

  "Precisely." His brows knitted together in a frown.

  "I'm really worried. If I could just get hold of him maybe I could talk some sense into him, but I can't find the kid. He's doing this guerrilla number, skulking around in the woods, leaving candy-bar wrappers all over the place. I've hired security guards, but they can't catch wily Max."

  "Are you sure he's nonviolent?"

  "He's violently nonviolent. He's just trying to make my life miserable in order to get my attention." Nick paused. "You must think we're a whole family of fruitcakes. I'd feel a lot better
if you had a few skeletons hanging in your closet. I don't suppose you'd want to tell me an amusing anecdote about some weird relative of yours?"

  "I'm sorry," Billie said, laughing. "My relatives are boring. My family has trouble blowing up balloons. By the way, where are Max's parents?"

  "Europe. They flew over for the Irish Derby and went on to the south of France. They're clueless where Max and Deedee are concerned because they were seldom around when the two were growing up. You have to understand, Max came as a complete surprise, which explains why he's ten years younger than his sister. Deedee is the endearing airhead and Max is the eccentric genius. He taught himself to read when he was two and graduated from high school when he was twelve. For the past four years he's bounced around from one major university to the next because they were too boring.

  "Max needs to be challenged on a daily basis. Oddly enough, I seem to be a favorite of his because he asks to spend summers with me. Which means I'm in charge at the moment." He made an imaginary gun with his hand, put his index finger to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

  "You like him, though, don't you?"

  "Yeah. He's not a bad kid. He just doesn't know what to do with all the gifts he's got, and his parents never nurtured or even acknowledged his genius. They just see him as bothersome."

  "I think what Max needs most right now is a big hug, and a better way to focus his energies."

  Nick's mouth curved at the corners. Only Billie would suggest a hug for Max, which was probably what the kid needed most. He looked at her, feeling an unfamiliar sense of tenderness steal over him.

  Half an hour later they took their ice cream to a small den off the solarium and Nick loaded The African Queen into the VCR.

  Billie's eyes opened wide in surprise. "How did you know I'm a Bogart fan?"

  "Lucky guess."

  "I bet I've seen Casablanca a million times."

  Nick slid his arm around Billie's shoulders and snuggled her next to him on the big overstuffed couch. "Listen, sweetheart—"

  "Oh, no. Not a Bogart impersonation."

  "No. Bogart impersonations are passe. I do Woody Allen impersonating Bogart. Listen, sweetheart—"

  Billie couldn't suppress her laughter. "Stop! That's awful."

  He pretended to look offended. "Most women go wild when I do my Bogart impersonations."

  Billie scraped the bottom of her bowl and licked her spoon to get the last smidgen of ice cream. "They were merely humoring you, Kaharchek. You'd be better off to find someone who appreciates your ice cream."

  "Someone like you, maybe?"

  "You're not my type."

  Nick propped his feet on the coffee table. "How do you know I'm not your type?"

  "Do you wear big, baggy boxer shorts?"

  "Oh, yeah, I forgot about the boxer shorts. I'm willing to make a few concessions, but I'd have to draw the line at boxer shorts."

  "Do you think Frankie is Deedee's type?"

  "You're changing the subject."

  "Yes, I am."

  He looked thoughtful. "I think he's more her type than any of her other husbands."

  "Marriage is very serious. Deedee shouldn't just rush into these things."

  "You're not thinking of butting in, are you? Remember, if Deedee doesn't get married, you're the one who's stuck living with her."

  "She's not so bad. Like you said, she's really very sweet. Maybe she should get counseling."

  "If you really want to know, I think Deedee is happy with her lifestyle. She sort of bumbles along in her endearing innocence, but she thrives on change."

  "You think I should mind my own business, huh?"

  "Definitely."

  Billie curled her legs under her and tried to turn her attention to the movie, but Bogart seemed pale in comparison to Nick Kaharchek. She could literally feel the heat from his body, sense his vitality and maleness. She wanted to lean into it, give in to the sheer pleasure of being in his arms. As if reading her thoughts, he suddenly pulled her close. Close enough for his breath to tangle in her hair. Close enough for his fingers to play along her neck. She swallowed against a rush of desire and knew it was time to go home.

  She gave an enormous fake yawn and stretched. "Boy, I sure am tired," she said. "I'd like to see the rest of this movie, but I'm going to have to hit the road."

  Nick grinned. "Feeling sexy, huh?"

  She met his gaze. "Maybe a little."

  He smiled knowingly.

  Oh, but he was smug, so pleased with himself. She tried to conjure up some honest-to-goodness anger but wasn't successful. Instead, she burst out laughing.

  "What?"

  "Men and their egos."

  "Hey, it's a small price to pay for the pleasure of our company." He grinned, enjoying their banter. "Know what else? I think you're starting to like me. Maybe more than you know." He sifted his fingers through the wavy hair at her temples and lowered his mouth to hers. Her kiss filled him with sweet longing. He wondered if she felt the same. "I like you, too, Billie."

  "Nick, I—" Billie couldn't think of a response.

  He shifted on the sofa, knowing if he weren't careful he could easily get carried away, and she would rush home in a fit of indignation like the world had never before seen, and probably thwart his future attempts at seduction.

  Nick sighed. "I guess you should go home now." Besides, he'd kept her in his house longer than he should have. It had been selfish and dangerous, but he couldn't help it. Max was still lurking about, and the police feared Arnie Bates might create problems, as well.

  "I'll walk you out."

  Billie spied the headlights through the trees the minute she stepped outside the door with Nick on her heels. "Looks like company is on the way." A white Jaguar slipped through the trees, coasting in their direction.

  "Yeah," he said, his tone flat.

  Billie was not surprised to find Sheridan Flock behind the wheel. She climbed from the car, resplendent in skin-tight designer jeans, and a knit shirt that exposed her midriff and clung to every curve. If she looked surprised to see Billie, it didn't show on her lovely face.

  "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said, her features tight.

  "What can I do for you, Sheridan?" Nick asked.

  She sighed and tossed her head back, her dark hair fanning one cheek. "I was restless and thought I'd ride Clementine."

  "In the dark?" Billie blurted.

  "I have a lighted arena," Nick told her. He regarded Sheridan. "It's fine with me. You know where to find the light switches."

  She looked surprised. "No, I don't recall seeing them."

  "I was just leaving anyway," Billie said. "Thanks for dinner, Nick. The ice cream was wonderful."

  Sheridan laughed gaily. "Oh, don't tell me he prepared his famous homemade ice cream."

  It was the first time the woman had acknowledged her. "Yes," Billie replied. "It was very good."

  "Nick is real handy with his ice-cream maker. I'll bet he even pulled out his old Bogart movies and did impersonations."

  Billie sensed Nick's embarrassment. She plastered a smile on her face. "Actually, we were so preoccupied with other things, we never got around to watching videos." She had the pleasure of seeing the woman's smile fade from her face. She was irritated with herself for letting Sheridan get to her. She was a thirty-eight-year-old mother of two who had better things to do than stand there swapping snide remarks with Nick's ex-fiancee. But damned if she would let someone like Sheridan Flock try to demean her. She hitched her chin high and turned for her minivan, missing Nick's amused look.

  * * * * *

  Billie drove home very carefully. She was afraid if she didn't concentrate on her driving, her mind would wander to thoughts about Nick and Sheridan. It was unrealistic to think Nick had not entertained other women in his home, had not prepared homemade ice cream or watched videos with them as he had with her. He'd lived a full life, and women had played a large part in it. She wasn't by nature a jealous person, but she did
n't entirely trust Nick Kaharchek. He was too handsome, too charming, too sexy, and too rich. And she suspected he was saddling two horses right now so he could ride beside the woman he'd loved enough to propose marriage to. The fact that Sheridan had broken it off might make a man like Nick even more determined to win her back.

  The thought wrenched Billie's heart. She already cared for Nick more than she should. She cared enough that she wanted him to be happy, whether it meant continuing his lifestyle as a womanizer or convincing Sheridan to give him a second chance. She would, as impossible as it sounded at the moment, offer him her friendship for as long as he wanted it, because wanting the best for your friends was what truly mattered. Now all she had to do was convince her heart.

  * * * * *

  The following morning Deedee shuffled into the kitchen at eleven-thirty and stumbled into a chair. "Coffee?" she asked weakly.

  Billie was putting the finishing touches on an apple pie. She washed her hands and brought a coffee cup and the coffeepot to the table. Deedee looked at the pot and muttered something indiscernible.

  "You'd like me to pour it for you?" Billie guessed.

  Deedee continued to stare at the pot. She swayed in her seat and blinked, but she didn't say anything.

  Billie chuckled, filled the coffee cup, and put it in Deedee's hands. "When did you get in last night? You look like you've been run over by an eighteen-wheeler."

  Deedee drained the cup and slammed it onto the table. "More, please."

  Billie refilled the cup and went back to her pie. "Did you have a good time at the embassy?"

  "Yeah." Deedee's voice cracked. She drank some coffee and tried it again. "It was great. Everyone stared at my Stargio. You should have come with us. Is Nick mad at me for breaking his window?"

  "He didn't say. I stayed to make sure the house was safe until he got home."

  "Poor kid. That must have been so boring."

  Billie put the pie in the oven. "No. It was nice. We made ice cream and watched a Bogart movie."

  Deedee rolled her eyes. "He really does need new material if he hopes to score with you."

  "Come again?"

  "He only pulls out the Bogart tape in order to get a woman on his sofa. Once that happens, well, he's pretty much assured a good time."