Addicted to Nick (12 page)

“On the verandah, when you came out of the rain.”

“Oh. I wanted to thank you for making me stay home, for slowing me down and giving me the opportunity to run in the rain.”

Said out loud, it sounded a bit loopy, until he bent his head and she felt a smile in the kiss he pressed to her forehead. “You're welcome.”

He held her easily in one arm while he opened the door, but the redistribution of weight brought her breasts into contact with the hard wall of his chest. They responded immediately, hardening, shooting desire into the depths of her body, and she wanted no impediment, no barrier. She wanted to be skin to skin.

Impatiently she grabbed his shirt, pulling at the buttons and silently bemoaning her clumsiness. As he maneuvered them through the door a button popped free, then a second, and she slid her hand inside to rest against his heartbeat momentarily before moving restlessly on, touching the fine smattering of hair, measuring its harsh texture over the smoothly muscled flesh beneath, sliding over a nipple and back again.

One bare foot swung down and skimmed the front of his fly. His extremely distended fly. He stopped stock-still
in the center of the kitchen as she pressed her bare toes against him, as her whole body shimmered with heat.

He drew a harsh breath. “Easy, sweetheart, there's no rush. If you keep that up, I won't get past the table.”

T.C. imagined the glossy patina of polished cedar sliding against her naked skin and gave a dreamy little shiver of pleasure. “And that's a problem?”

He laughed softly as he resumed walking, the fall of his boots loud against the slate floor. For the boots of a man urging
her
to slow down, they seemed to be moving in a mighty big hurry. She smiled her approval as he carried her into his room and lowered her to his dresser.

“These wet jeans will have to go.” His words were a statement of fact, but his voice…oh, the glorious things that dark velvet voice could do. Then his hands skimmed under her shirt, his long fingers tucking into the waistband of her jeans. The pleasure reached so deep she swore it stroked her very soul, and she knew only Nick had the power to touch her so deeply.

She smiled a siren's smile. “Be my guest.”

His eyes darkened as he unsnapped the waistband and eased the zip open. Then the back of his hand brushed against her bare belly, and her swift intake of breath sounded loud and harsh. He drew back a fraction, so when he touched her again it wasn't only with his hand. She felt the heated caress of his gaze trailing his fingertips as they dipped into her navel, as they pressed lightly against the soft curve of her belly, as they slid lower to trace the lace banding her bikini panties.

A delicious heaviness pooled low in her body and flowed through her like liquid heat. Her throat closed around a soft moan—of pleasure, encouragement, hunger—as she willed those teasing fingers to push away the scrap of material, to touch the core of her need, so hot and wet and demanding.

Oh, how she craved that touch.

“Lift up,” he growled suddenly, startling her out of her sensual lethargy. Obediently she lifted her backside so he could peel the wet denim over her hips and down her legs.

Then he picked her up again, lowered her to his bed. Eyes closed, she heard a click she recognized as the lamp.

“Hell,” he swore softly. “The storm must have knocked the power out.”

“We need power because…?”

“It'll be dark soon.” He touched the backs of his fingers against her cheek. “And I want to be able to see your face when I'm inside you.”

The words, spoken so slowly, softly, definitely, painted the most erotic images. Her fingers curled instinctively, gripping the covers. “There are candles,” she managed to say. “In the pantry.”

“Perfect.” He ran his knuckles lightly over her cheek again, her softly parted lips, whispered, “Don't move,” and headed for the door.

“Hurry back.”

She felt his eyes on her, burning her. “Oh, I'm running.”

With a frustrated groan, she turned her face into the covers. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her cheek languidly against the cool, crisp linen, nostrils flaring as she inhaled his scent. She stretched her limbs and frowned when her rucked-up shirt tightened uncomfortably across her shoulders. God, her shirt… She fumbled with the buttons, tearing one off in her haste to rid herself of the cumbersome old thing.

“Tip one in seductive technique. Lose the flannel work shirt,” she muttered as she tossed it aside, revealing her plain practical cotton chemise.

For the first time in her life she wished for lacy, diaphanous underwear of the kind Nick would be used to. Exotically scented skin and voluptuous breasts to fill the lacy, diaphanous underwear would be nice, too, but she saved
her breath on wishing for them. And oh, for the confidence to strip, to arrange herself artfully on his bed wearing nothing but a sultry come-hither smile.

Her decidedly unsultry snort of laughter destroyed that image. “Who am I kidding?” she muttered.

Tamara Cole doing sultry was as likely as Tamara Cole enticing Nick to stay, and for all the heat in his eyes, for all his concern and caring these past few days, Nick was leaving. The knowledge should have cooled her ardor, but it didn't, for she knew that loving Nick, even for this brief time, would be worth the heartache that followed.

He returned on silent feet, and she sensed him moving around the bed, heard the faint clunk of a candleholder placed on the bedside table, then the scratch of match against flint. The distinctive smell of burning candlewick reached her nostrils a second before she opened her eyes to find him standing over her, his eyes glittering with golden shards of reflected candlelight.

Such a beautiful man. Far too beautiful for her.

She eased herself forward and sat on her haunches on the very edge of the bed. Then she looked way, way up. What she saw there made her weak and strong at once. His eyes had fastened on her breasts, on the nipples she felt budding tightly against her chemise, and they smoldered with banked heat. His nostrils flared, and he swore softly, almost reverently, as his gaze slid back to hers.

The air seemed to thicken with sultry heat; her whole body vibrated with it. Her focus narrowed to this moment, to the image of her and Nick isolated from the rest of the world by the rain that cloaked the house like a thick gray curtain, and even more by the strength of their desire.

Breathing heavily, she lowered her gaze to his bare chest, then tracked the dark hair that arrowed down to his jeans. She sat back on her heels and ran her tongue around her dry mouth. Oh boy, she wanted to touch him. Right
there, where his jeans stretched so tautly. The need prickled in the palms of her hands.

“It's time you delivered on that offer, Tamara.” God, how she loved the way her name rolled from his tongue. She closed her eyes and let the lush syllables wash over her. “Take my jeans off.”

His hands cradled her face for a moment, then slid into her hair, drawing her closer to all that broad, hard man.

“Okay,” she breathed, “but first I have to touch you.”

“Be my guest,” Nick murmured, but his attempted grin felt tighter than a grimace, and at the first tentative touch of her hand he damn near rose off the floor. It was no more than a brush of fingertips against denim, but he hauled in a tight breath and told himself to get a grip. The caress of a woman's hands was one of life's greatest joys, and on the joy-scale, Tamara's touch equated to pure ecstasy. Not pain, he lectured himself as her fingers spread over his stomach.

So why did that almost shy caress cause his chest to feel as if it was being gripped in some giant vise?

He heard her draw a tremulous breath before sliding her palms to his waist and up his sides. Her thumbs traced the line of his bottom rib, then hesitated again. His whole body screamed in need. It felt as if every cell was clamoring for her attention, until he could no longer stand the suffocating tension. His eyes flashed open and focused over her head—on her reflection in the mirrored wardrobe door.

The candlelight danced over her as she knelt before him, a burnished canvas of shadow and pale shimmering light. From her golden halo of hair down the long straight line of her back, from the dip of her waist to the feminine fullness of her buttocks, her beauty stunned him. Nick hadn't actually run to get the candles, yet that picture caused his chest to ache as if he'd covered the distance at world-record pace. At altitude.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice so husky it was barely audible.

She shook her head.

“Yes. You are incredibly, amazingly,” he pressed his lips into her soft hair, “arousingly beautiful.”

Her expressive sigh whispered against his chest as his hands slid onto her delicate nape.
Delicate.
He smiled at the unbidden description. His strong, independent Tamara wouldn't like it. His hands slid over her shoulders and down her arms, taking the straps of her chemise with them. As he peeled the thin garment from her skin, he heard the sharp little hitch of surprise in her breath and knew he'd uncovered her breasts. That she sat before him bare to the waist.

He didn't look.

Resolutely he concentrated on the erotic image in the mirror. His hands slowly skimming the length of her arms and back again. His hands so big and dark as they spanned her waist. His fingers playing along her spine, pushing under her rolled-down top and into those sexy little dimples above the curve of her buttocks.

Then he felt her hands on him, sliding from his chest to below his navel. He fisted his hands in her hair as if that might help him hold on to his thin thread of control. His absolute concentration on their reflection had somehow removed him from the present, or from his body, but the touch of her fingers brought him back to the here and now with a clattering force.

He forced his hands to gentle, to ignore his rampant need to haul her forward. The very thought caused him to pulse with a hardness akin to pain. She touched him again, tracing his length with a fingertip he shouldn't have felt through the thickness of denim. But he felt it, all right, like a scorching fire-trail.

“Take them off, Tamara.”

Ignoring his tight-lipped demand, she touched him more
boldly, and when he caught the look in her eyes, of awe, fascination, excitement, his knees almost buckled. When she wet her lips, Nick groaned violently and jammed his eyes shut.

Momentarily her hands left him. Then she started to pull his jeans down, leaning forward for more purchase. She was so close that he could feel her breath on his skin. A wisp of hair brushed the inside of his thigh, and his hands clenched into tight fists to stop himself from dragging that warm, moist mouth to him.

Hell, if he allowed her that, that lush mouth closing over him, he wouldn't last beyond the first sweet touch of her tongue. The thought wrenched a tortured sound from his throat, and she sat back on her heels.

“Sorry,” she breathed, her big eyes staring up at him, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip, and such a look of remorse on her face.

“Oh please, sugar, don't ever be sorry for making me feel like this.”

He reached for protection, held it out for her. “You want to do this?”

And oh man, she did it so well.

He struggled to slow his hands, hands too eager to strip the rest of her clothes from her body. In one motion he peeled both pieces of underwear over her hips and down her legs, legs that trembled under his touch. Her beauty stunned him anew as his hands and eyes and mouth skimmed over her nakedness, loving the lushness of her mouth, the length of her neck, the soft flesh of her inner thighs, and those breasts, even more perfect than he'd remembered.

With one hand splayed across her belly and his mouth at her breast, he stroked her sensitive swollen bud with light sureness, teasing her and pleasing her until she whimpered and arched and cried out to him. For him. Only then did he give her what she craved, first with his mouth; then,
while the cries of release still broke from her, he lifted her hips and drove himself home.

Home. Not a place but a woman.

A woman of satin skin and tender hands, of lean strength and soft curves, of immense strength and fragile ego. A woman whose sultry heat drew him deeper into her body while her heat-hazed eyes drew him deeper into her soul. A woman whose soft keening moans drove him higher and harder until pleasure burst, pure and true, in a Technicolor shower of sensation that spiraled out of control, even as her name exploded from his lips.

Tamara.

Spent, he sank into her curves, covering her with his body, fingers entwined, foreheads touching, limbs aligned.

He was home.

O
ne candle burnt out before Nick could move. The rain had stopped, and he supposed it would be dark but for the weak glow of the remaining flame. Following the rain, it would be cold outside, but here in his bed it was warm, thanks to the woman in his arms.

Bathed in flickering light, she lay limp and satiated, her face nestled between his shoulder and chin, her legs still intertwined with his amid the tangle of sheets. He smiled and pressed his lips to her forehead, traced a finger down the line of her nose. She murmured something sleepily that might have been his name, and the soft, sweet sound whispered across his skin and eased its way into his heart. His arms tightened around her, held her more closely.

The woman he loved.

He lay perfectly still and absorbed the intense sense of satisfaction the knowledge brought…and wondered when his hunger for her had ceased to be merely a painful groin-based one and spread to fill his whole being. He wanted
to wake her, to tell her. He wanted to see that sunrise smile spread across her face as she heard those three little words.

Words he had never before thought, let alone uttered.

Except that this was Tamara, and there was no guarantee she would accept his love easily or quickly. What was it she had said down at the stables?
It could take months for a temperament like hers to come around.
He'd known then, as he knew now, that it wasn't Star's disposition in question.

No, he needed to be patient and careful in handling Tamara. He needed to ease her into the notion, to give her time to arrive at the truth herself. Problem was, he didn't have the luxury of time, not with his return to New York only days away.

Something twisted tight in his gut when he thought about leaving her, as he remembered his fear when he'd found her in the stables, and again when he had come home to an empty house this afternoon.

The solution seemed simple. She would come to New York with him. Together they would do what had to be done to pack his things, to sort out his business; then, together, they would return to Yarra Park.

It sounded simple, but nothing was really ever simple with Tamara.

 

“Come with me.”

The hand resting languidly on his chest tensed. “To New York?”

“Yes.” He slid down the pillow, turned his head to better see her face. “I don't want to leave you here alone.”

She traced the line of his collarbone with one gentle finger. “I have a dog and twenty-three horses. I'm never alone.”

“Okay. Then, how about I don't like being alone?”

“Alone in New York? Now there's a novel concept!”

Nick didn't smile.

“You're serious.” She rolled onto her back and let go her breath in a long, serious-sounding way. It made Nick hold his own breath. “What would I do over there while you're working? You know how I can't stand doing nothing. And I really hate cities.”

“You hate being out of your comfort zone.”

As soon as he said it, Nick regretted it. He saw her tense, felt her withdraw another notch.
Hell.
He needed to do better, much better.

“Remember I said I needed to be back by the twenty-fifth?” He waited for her small nod of acknowledgment. “There's a fund-raiser the next week for a charity I support.”

“What kind of a charity?”

“A foundation to help disadvantaged kids. It relies heavily on this annual bash for its running costs. This isn't something I can miss, Tamara, and I want you there, too.”

A mixture of curiosity and apprehension, a hint of yielding, softened the green of her gaze. Nick smiled. This was better.

“It's a dinner and an auction, and a few celebrities always turn up.”

“Sounds like a big deal.”

“It is for the foundation. But for you, green eyes, it'll be fun. What do you say?”

Wrong choice of argument. Nick saw it in her face a full second before she shifted her head on the pillow in silent rejection.

“Do me a favor and think about it, okay?”

This time she shook her head more resolutely. “I won't change my mind.”

“You want to tell me why?”

She fixed him with those big expressive eyes. “You remember the Tamara you described to me, down at the stables one day? The one in the floaty dress and the heels
and the perfume? Well,
she
is the kind of girl you would take to a New York fund-raiser, not me.”

“It's you I'm asking.”

“I'm sorry, Nick.”

She turned away, her chin set in that inflexible way he had come to recognize. But then he considered her curiosity about the foundation and his own determination. Just like the horse she called Star, Tamara needed time and the right kind of handling. He still had a couple of days to work on her, and, just like Star, she would come around to his way of thinking.

 

The next afternoon he was closeted in the office trying to catch up on some of his recent neglect. Both mind and body wanted to be elsewhere, and while he could park his body in a chair and tell it to stay put, he couldn't stop his mind from wandering.

Its natural inclination was to wander all over the past thirty or so hours and the fact that he hadn't been able to change Tamara's mind. Perhaps he shouldn't be pushing the fund-raiser thing, but, hell, he wanted her there. Tonight may well be his last chance to talk her into it.

If he couldn't change her mind, then it would be one of his last nights with her for weeks…at least two, maybe three, maybe more. Either way, tonight had to be special.

The idea grabbed such a firm hold that he didn't hesitate before calling Sophie. He wanted the best, and Sophie knew nothing else. To hell with any consequences.

 

It was coming up to five when Tamara stuck her head in the door. “I have to go pick up some feed. Want to come?”

“Do you have to leave right away? I have to finish this report.”

She came in and sat on the edge of his desk. “Type quickly. The feed store closes at five-thirty.”

While he labored at the keyboard, she picked up a slip of paper. Sophie's restaurant list, he noticed, wishing he had put it out of sight. He wanted this to be a surprise.

“Ooh, fancy,” she commented with a hint of a smirk.

“You know these places?”

“I know
of
them. They're hardly the kind of places I'd
know
know.”

He lifted a brow.

“These are the kind of places where they check the labels on your clothes to make sure you can afford the prices, which, incidentally—” she leaned toward him as if confiding some great secret “—they don't put on the menus.”

Nick didn't return her smile. “I can afford their prices.”

“Hey, I know that, although I can't see why you bother. The food's overrated.” She gave a dismissive little shrug as she put the list down. “Now, are you coming to town? We could grab a pizza from Dom's.”

“I gather they're neither overpriced nor overrated?”

She blinked, looked a little confused by his terse answer. “No,
and
you don't have to dress up.”

Nick knew he should leave it there, but he couldn't. He leaned back in his chair and regarded her through narrowed eyes. “How is it you know so much about these fancy restaurants if you've never been to one?”

“I didn't say that. I only said I haven't been to these particular ones.” She slid from the desk, her face blank of all expression. “I have to go if I'm going to catch Weale's.”

“Hang on a minute.” Nick was on his feet, a hand wrapped around her arm before she could take another step. “We haven't finished this discussion.”

“First you'll have to tell me what the discussion is about.”

“What it is about,” he ground out, “is a date. You and me.”

“Oh.”

He studied her for a second, the slight flush in her cheekbones, the strangely vulnerable look in her eyes…. With a muttered oath he pulled her into his arms. She came, stiff and resistive. Unyielding. “I'm leaving the day after tomorrow, and I want to take you out somewhere nice.”

“You don't have to do that. I like Dom's pizza.”

Her hands pushed against his chest, forcing him to release her. That bit at the already frayed edges of his temper. “That's not the point.”

“What
is
the point, Nick?”

“The point is…
hell!
”

The point was, he needed tonight. He needed to show her what he couldn't tell her. That he loved her, respected her, wanted a relationship with her. That he wanted to do things for her, to cosset her, to protect her. That he wanted her with him…beside him.

“I want you to come to New York.”

He hadn't meant to say that, not so forcefully. She actually took a step backward, then another. And for once the expression on her face, in her eyes, gave no clue as to what was going on in her mind. He felt a chilling sense of dread deep in his gut as she took a long, measured breath.

“Don't you think it's best if we leave it here?”

The dread turned icy in Nick's veins. For the first time it struck him that she might not share his feelings about their relationship. That she might be happy to wave him goodbye. That this might have been only about sex…or about softening him up. To get her way with Yarra Park.

“You want to expand on that?” he asked, and his voice sounded about as cold as he felt.

“Look, Nick, it's been nice, and as you said, fun.”

“Spare me the platitudes. You've been using me? Is that what you're saying?”

Taken aback, maybe by his words, maybe by the sharpness of his tone or the harshness he felt in his expression, she shook her head almost fiercely. “No.”

He watched her face as she struggled to make sense of his accusation.

“Are you saying I slept with you to change your mind about the inheritance?” she asked slowly.

“Did you?”

Wariness returned, wariness and uneasiness, peeping out at him from between her thick lashes, and Nick laughed harshly. He didn't want to hear her answer, not if it wasn't honest.

“Forget it. It doesn't make a lick of difference to my decision,” he said.

“You have decided?”

“Yes.” Nick couldn't remember when he'd reached that decision. Maybe he hadn't until this moment. “I'm keeping my half, but I'm not taking what's been given to you. If you want your name off that deed, then you can take the money I offered you for it.”

He turned to the desk and scribbled out a check.

“This is for your half of the land. We'll have to work out a better valuation on the horses. I don't believe the one the solicitors gave me is fair.”

She didn't take it from his outstretched hand. Her face was very pale as she shook her head slowly, a little stunned. “I don't want your money.”

He tossed the piece of paper on the desk. “Then give it to charity.”

As they stood there facing each other in that strange state of standoff, the cold infiltrated Nick's bones. He could talk all night long, but he wouldn't change her mind—not about picking up that check, not about coming to New York, not into believing they had a future.

“Hell, you could give stubborn lessons to a mule.”

“I'm not trying to be difficult.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. “You know how I feel about this.”

“You want to have another try at explaining? Because I don't believe I do. I don't believe you've ever told me the full story about anything. About how you came to work for Joe and why it meant so much to you. About why Joe left you a piece of this place. About why you slept with me, or about why you won't come to New York.”

He stared at her for a moment, as she stood there wearing her tough, insular, independent armor, but with some kind of silent plea in her eyes. He knew he only had to open his arms and she would be there, but he also knew if he didn't stand tough, she would never talk to him. Never tell him the whole story.

“I'll be catching the earliest flight I can get a seat on tomorrow. You want to talk between now and then, you know where to find me.”

 

T.C. did find him the next morning, down at the barn, standing outside Star's stall. With her pulse thumping double time, she stilled to watch him, to drink in the completeness of his male beauty. He was everything she wanted in a man, everything she longed to hold in a man…but could she tell him?

Heart in mouth, she watched Star's tentative approach, saw the mare hesitate, head lowered but steady. No head tossing, no eye rolling, no foot stomping. It would take nothing more than a few words of reassurance, a certain tone of voice and a confidence-giving straight look, and she would come to him, put herself in his hands.

Silently she willed him to extend his hand, to say those words, to make it easy. But he stepped away, turned and moved on to the next stall.

Saying his goodbyes.

The reality of the moment rocked her to her very core. He was about to leave. This was her last chance to speak
her heart. Oh, she longed to lay it all out for him, all those true stories he had encouraged her to tell, yet he had given so little away, had admitted nothing of his feelings for her. And she still felt so much like a first starter tossed into a match race with a stakes champion.

If only he had turned and found her standing there. If only he had offered some word of encouragement, some sign. If only he had come and kissed her in that way he had, that way that made her feel as if
she
were the champion.

But he kept on walking out the far end of the barn. She took a deep breath and found the air rich with leather and horsehair, sweet molasses and fresh clover hay…and found none of her usual bracing reassurance in the familiar scents.

She wondered if she ever would again.