Imminent Conquest (3 page)

What did this Michael guy have to do with her life? Nothing. As much as she didn't want to, she would go to the party so Brad wouldn't be alone and that was all there was to that.

She measured around the hemline first, then laid the two-inch-wide lace flat. She had just enough lace to go all around. She expelled a sigh of relief.

"Is he divorced?” she asked, raising her voice when she heard Brad come up the stairs.

He stuck his head around the doorframe. “What are you doing?"

"Is he divorced?"

"Who?"

"Your boss.” She jammed colourful, glass-headed pins into the lace to attach it to the dress.

"He's single as far as I know. You'll really like him.” He watched her from the doorway. “What are you doing?"

"Sewing some lace on. I refuse to wear it so short. For goodness sake, my privates were very nearly hanging out.” She continued sliding the pins into the dress and lace. It wouldn't take more than a couple of minutes to run the sewing machine around the hem.

"I thought it looked good the way it was."

Nicole shook her head. “Men,” she muttered. “I can't imagine why you let your boss twist your arm into buying me a dress. I've already got a serviceable one."

"Not one like that,” he said softly.

Some poignancy in his voice made her jerk her head up to take a look at him but he was gone. She didn't have time to run after him and ask what he meant. After she placed the dress and lace on the sewing machine, she lined up the seam marker and the fabric and adeptly sewed the two fabrics together. She got to her feet and pulled the dress over her head again before she raced to the mirror in the bedroom. Brad sat on the bed with his hands clasped between his legs.

"What an improvement,” she whispered, assured that she looked much better and that her ass wouldn't hang out if she bent over.

"You've ruined the dress. Michael said—"

She gave him an irate look. Who was this Michael guy that he could possibly make such an impression on him, even to the point of creating uneasiness in the bedroom of one of his employees? Brad's cheeks seemed a bit too pale. “What did he say?” she prodded, focusing her attention on her fiance.

He leapt to his feet and stalked out. Now what had upset him? Nicole fought back the flash of pity she felt for him and dashed to the closet to search for her black high heels and a black lace bolero before she ran down the narrow stairs. She grabbed her three-quarter-length coat from the closet near the back door. “Are you ready?” she shouted.

"In a minute,” came from the kitchen.

She realised he never called her by any endearment, no ‘honey’ or ‘dear’ or anything like that.

He ambled out of the kitchen. She smelt the beer on his breath. She blocked his path out of the back door to the car. “I'm curious. Why don't you ever use an endearment?"

"What's that?"

"You know, like honey, or sweetheart, or something like that."

He lifted his shoulders. Again, he didn't meet her eyes.

"Is it because you think, if you get close to a woman, you'll get rejected again?"

"Why do you have to analyse everything to death?"

"Because I love you."

He winced and ran into the kitchen.

She stood by the back door and watched the light snow falling on the other side of the glass. The sky, heavily overcast since late afternoon, had burst. “We've got to go. It'll take longer to get there because of the snow on the road."

"Michael's saving a table for us."

Silently, Nicole mimicked his words. Was this guy some kind of god or some gift from heaven that he had made such a favourable impression on Brad, who normally couldn't be bothered with how people were? She heard the fridge door open and close. The motor hummed on.

"Will he sit with us?” She meandered into the kitchen and watched Brad munch on a homemade raisin cookie.

The slight hesitation again. “Don't know."

"Do we really have to go?” She wound her arms around his neck. Once in a while, persistence paid off. “Wouldn't we have more fun here? I could make us some dinner and then we could get cosy.” Or turned on, although that notion might take some work.

"I owe it to Michael to show up,” he said, thrusting her hands away to leave her standing in the middle of the kitchen like an abandoned kitten.

She drew in a sharp breath as a memory insinuated itself into her consciousness. Drop-dead gorgeous James Carmichael and she were making love just the way they liked, his body above hers, his cock thrusting in and out as she tried to mumble words to make him hurry. She remembered the sensation of wanting him more than breath itself. A moan tore from her lips.

"Are you okay?"

The memory, dimmed by time and distance but nonetheless overwhelmingly powerful, shattered. “Yes. Yes, I am,” she whispered, trying to recall what they had been talking about. Oh yes. Brad felt he had to go to the Anessa party.

James was part of the past—the long-dead past, she reminded herself. How long a prison sentence had he served for murder? Had it been five or seven years? She blocked out the memory. She had been forced to rebuild her life, her interests, all without James, but she had managed. Let sleeping dogs lie.

Brad tilted his head as if to ascertain the truth behind her words.

"Really. I'm okay."

"The next time I get a bonus, you can buy your own dress. How's that sound?"

Nicole pursed her lips, sensing he had said that to break the painful silence. “The next time you get a bonus, maybe you could spend it on something we really need. You could have bought a new part for your truck, or we could have bought a new washing machine.” She took hold of his arm. “It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture. It's just that we need the money for so many other things and this dress—” She let her words trail off before she spoke again, hoping she wasn't hurting his feelings more than she already had. He needed to hear the truth. “It is kind of frivolous."

"You're probably right.” In a rare show of emotion, he embraced her and gave her a peck on her cheek before he drew away, clearing his throat.

She followed him out to her Topaz. Whirling snowflakes melted against the still warm windshield. Moments later, with Brad behind the steering wheel, they were on their way down the steep switchback.

"We should have bought a house closer to Eastwynd,” she remarked, dreading the long winter ahead when the ice lay hidden underneath the snow and the roads often became a skating rink. Brad handled the car like a professional driver.

"I can take you into work some mornings,” he offered.

"How would you do that? You leave earlier than I do."

"When the snow is bad, I'm sure Michael would understand if I was a little late."

There he went mentioning his boss again. She shifted in her seat as her dress rode up her thighs under the coat. “Did the other foremen get a bonus?"

Brad shrugged. “If they did, they didn't write it on the lunchroom bulletin board."

"I suppose you're one of the lucky ones.” She had to admit Brad worked hard. He deserved the bonus but why had he squandered the money on a stupid dress?

The car slid on the icy road. Her breath caught in her throat and her head whipped back against the headrest. There was nothing to stop the fall over the three-hundred-foot embankment if the car hurtled over the cliff. Brad easily brought the car out of the skid. She relaxed as the headlights picked out another curve. He handled the car effortlessly, possibly the result of years of being a trucker before he had become head mechanic.

"I guess I am."

"You never stop talking about your boss. What's so special about him?"

"Already told you."

"There must be something else."

"There isn't."

"What's his last name anyways?"

"Karlisi. Good man. Good to know someone like him.” He inched the car in behind a snowplough with its blinding, revolving yellow light. The truck moved over to the right shoulder. The earth rattled under the car as they passed.

She marvelled at her fiance. He was normally so sparing with his praise. “That surprises me."

"What?"

"You spend so much time talking about the hard knocks in your life, but he's gained your respect.” When had he stopped griping about how his wife had ripped him off during the divorce?

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “Some men can."

"I don't imagine it's easy."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “He's got what it takes."

"So everything is okay?"

"What makes you ask that?"

"You've been quieter than usual. More withdrawn.” Or was she mistaken? She thought that after living with him for a year she would know him better, but his long, morose silences worried her.

He replied offhandedly, “It's nothing. Christmas is always tough. And you know I hate parties."

"Then why are we going to this one?” she commented idly.

"There's some things a man has to do."

Tiny diamond snowflakes glittered on the highway as they neared Eastwynd's outskirts. A gut feeling told her he wasn't telling the truth, but she had no idea why.

The hotel staff had done a great job of decorating the hotel for the holidays. Trees and shrubs all had festive, multi-coloured lights twinkling on and off. As they neared, a navy blue limousine pulled away from the ritzy hotel lobby entrance.

"Wow,” Brad exclaimed. “Imagine being driven around in something like that."

"Why? I'm happy the way I am."

"What? You don't want diamonds, fancy clothes and a house with servants?"

Nicole sucked in a breath. Thanks to the lessons her experience with James had indirectly taught, she was a liberated woman and had no need to depend on a man. “You should know me better than that by now."

"I thought that was every woman's dream."

"To be rich?"

"No, to hang out with a rich guy who can give them everything they ever wanted."

"Not mine."

"I wouldn't mind getting a car like that. Chauffeur, bar and all that stuff inside included.” He pulled into the parking space vacated by the limousine and stopped next to the kerb.

"You'd have more money than you knew what to do with. Headaches about what to do with it included.” Would he be happy if a rich woman came along and scooped him up for her playboy? The image of Brad shagging a rich woman didn't jibe with the shy man she knew.

"Some men handle it quite well."

Her hand was already on the door handle but she paused to glance over her shoulder. His rounded face with its plump nose was in stark profile as he gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. “What do you mean?"

Someone honked a horn behind them. Brad's eyes flicked towards the rear-view mirror. “It's what I've heard."

His answer didn't satisfy her. “Why are you so preoccupied with being rich? Unless either one of us wins the lottery, spending our days in luxury isn't on the agenda. A mechanics foreman and an executive secretary, even with our incomes combined, don't make the kind of money to lead us into the halls of the wealthy."

"Don't fall on the ice,” he warned her.

She mimicked his words as she set her feet on the shovelled sidewalk leading to the hotel's entrance. A thin sheen of ice made standing up a hazard in her high heels, but she managed. “Or else what?"

"I'll never hear the end of it."

"Then you could have got out to help me,” she grumbled under her breath. She had been on her own for so long, she couldn't see the need to ask for help.

"You think it's slippery in those?” he asked, indicating her shoes with a quick nod. “You haven't tried walking in these.” He waved a hand at the brake pedal and his loafers.

"I'll remember that."

The driver behind them honked again. She closed the door and watched Brad tug on his tie before he accelerated carefully and went in search of a parking spot.

A valet walked out of the well-lit hotel lobby. She walked past him, hoping she didn't look as if she was mincing about in high heels to which she was unaccustomed.

The lobby was in chaos, with people hurrying in every direction and calling out greetings to each other. In the background of the dark green interior with its elegant wood panels, muzak played softly. It was much too warm and the comfortable-looking lounge seats next to potted ferns were all occupied with singles and couples, some of whom were smoking. Nicole didn't recognise anyone and mourned the loss of friendly faces. In Eastwynd, she knew very few people outside of Brad and the people she associated with at the law firm. Except for Brad, she was alone in the world. Her parents had died shortly after James’ murder trial. Pushing back old memories, she refused to think about the past and its repercussions for the future. Brad and Eastwynd were her new life now. She had to make do with that.

She surveyed the lobby with its massive Christmas tree glittering with hundreds of shimmering Victorian lace decorations and blinking lights. Most of the people weren't dressed as fancy as she was. She stood motionless by a potted fern, deciding whether she should check her coat or wait for Brad.

Christmas wouldn't be easy for him this year either. After paying the monthly mortgage on the house, there wouldn't be much left for presents. She decided a small turkey with all the trimmings would make the holiday special. Somehow, she would manage to scrape enough money together to buy the camera Brad had his eyes on. She exhaled heavily. Maybe next year their finances would be more in order.

She glanced around the lobby and the constant in and out traffic through the two sets of double glass doors. A tall, heavy-set man with close-shaven blond hair caught her eye. He leaned against a wall with one heel pressed behind him, holding a cigarette nonchalantly against his thigh. His bulk looked wrong in the double-breasted, dark grey suit. Memories from years gone by crashed around her. Bile rose in her throat. She struggled to regain her equilibrium. It couldn't be him. Not after all these years.

Six feet tall, he stood next to the open gift shop and tamped out his cigarette in the bottom of a fake fern before folding burly arms across his chest. His shoulders and waist were wide, like a wrestler's. The expensive suit and black polished wingtip shoes spelled big money. She averted her eyes, but panic made her glance at him again. It just couldn't be him. It just couldn't be. She wanted to run and hide as the memories she had fought so hard to stuff into the dark recesses of her mind resurfaced. Blood everywhere.