Resisting Nick (Wicked in Wellington) (23 page)

“Yeah?” Not so much a question as a growl of approval.

The elevator door slid open.

“Maybe.” She grinned at his hopeful expression and then chose her words carefully when she found two other passengers already heading for the ground floor. “Something Heidi arranged.”

“My Heidi? The one with the muscles, who lives in black Lycra?”

“The very same. So you never can tell...”

On Sunday morning, Sammie and Zorro lay curled on the sofa with another of Grandma’s diaries, browsing on past church suppers and hours spent painting flowers from the garden for a local watercolor exhibition. Although the family history fascinated her, her mind kept wandering back to Tuesday in Sydney. Nick had arranged her sight-seeing as promised. A minibus had transported them across Sydney to the historic Rocks area, dropped them for a harbor cruise, and collected them again in time for a dizzying trip up the Centrepoint tower and lunch. She’d adored being somewhere new and different—even with a crowd of camera-laden tourists.
 

He’d been warm and relaxed, and well pleased with a couple of the buildings they’d viewed with Rod. Was this her parents’ true secret? That they’d found their ideal partner to spend time with—far more than the actual traveling? Yes, they’d been happy together. Two halves of the same puzzle. Two interlocking pieces of a jigsaw. No wonder she’d been sold on their travel dream.
 

And now maybe she’d found her jigsaw match in Nick, but he was far too busy and career focused yet to recognize it, and she was still at least half convinced she needed to leave New Zealand and see more of the world. If she stayed with him, it wouldn’t be a forever thing. She bowed her head and squeezed her eyes closed, smoothing her face against Zorro’s soft flank. No point hoping for the impossible.
 

The options warred in her brain, giving her a headache and knotting her tummy into fizzy cramps. Should she delay going overseas and try for a few more weeks’ happiness with Nick, or go before he got tired of her and dumped her? She’d be heartbroken either way, but getting out first would at least leave her pride intact.
 

Yes, she’d take the damn flight—and tell him as soon as he returned from his fishing trip.

She sighed and turned her eyes down to the diary again.

January 11th, 1983. Silvia and I walked to the far end of the orchard early this morning. The slow walk and fresh air are good for us both. The river is so low during this drought that even with her advanced pregnancy, Silvia and I were able to wade across and look for wildflowers on the piece of wasteland Erik never bothers with.
 

Sammie sat bolt upright, dislodging Zorro who made her displeasure known with a hiss.

Silvia pregnant?
 

Feverishly she read on.

Her botanical paintings are far more polished than mine. I found strange flowers I’d never seen before and she teased me about not recognizing cannabis. Erik would be horrified, but she has sworn me to secrecy for the moment because she feels she can use this to bargain with a man we found lurking there watering the plants.

She trembled as a huge wave of excitement and dread rushed through her. Marijuana on the wasteland at the orchard? Who was the man—and what was the bargain?
 

April 4th, 1983. Silvia has been safely delivered of a son.
 

Her heart began to pound in earnest. Brian Sharpe’s description of ‘a little foreign fruit-picking girl’ ricocheted around in her brain.
 

Silvia? Her grandmother’s shy Italian housekeeper might be Nick’s mother? She scrambled up and grabbed the funeral photograph. Silvia was mostly concealed by her hat and dark glasses, but when Sammie trawled through her memory she remembered ebony hair, large expressive dark eyes, clothes always black or grey.

She began to turn the dairy’s pages furiously, hunting for further clues.

April 16th, 1983. Silvia has made her bargain. Mr and Mrs Sharpe have been unable to have children and have offered to adopt her son. We have used Mr Sharpe’s cannabis crop as a lever to obtain permission to see the boy now and again. I cannot see any good coming of it. Silvia is heartbroken, but resigned to this being the best arrangement she is likely to manage without losing contact with him entirely. She assures me the cannabis will be gone from our property in another week.

Sammie sat stunned. Nicky had been bargained against a cannabis crop? And her law-abiding grandmother had known about it and kept silent?

November 1st, 1989. Mrs Sharpe is having trouble keeping her two younger boys in order and has asked if we will take Nicky every school
holiday to give her some respite. Silvia is, of course, overjoyed. She has made a slow if incomplete recovery from the terrible depression that laid her so low after losing him. I finally confessed the whole sorry story to Eric. While disapproving, he knows that Silvia is a very great friend to me, and is prepared to overlook the no-doubt illegal adoption because six years have gone by without incident. He is good with Nicky, maybe seeing him as the son I could never give him.

“Oh Grandma…”
Sammie groaned. “Don’t put yourself down like that.”

So here was the answer that had lain buried for thirty years. She couldn’t wait to tell Nick. Couldn’t wait to acquaint him with his real history.
 

Unfortunately she’d have to. His all-male fishing weekend was at a beach so isolated and remote there was no cell-phone coverage. Wouldn’t it pucker your panties!

She prowled the room, hugging her big secret with glee and cuddling Zorro just to have contact with another living being.

“So what we do next, Puss, is find all the important pages in the dairies and make copies on Kelly’s scanner for him. And go through the boxes and find the photo albums and see if there are any pictures of Silvia he can have.”
 

She did a joyful little dance and set the protesting cat down. Then went across to the kitchen to find a knife to attack the other boxes with, because packed away in one of them was a small treasured birthday gift—an exquisite watercolor less than six inches square. Sylvia had painted two grey and lemon butterflies dancing over sprigs of blue forget-me-nots and given it to her when she’d turned ten. Sammie had always loved it, hated the thought of giving it up, but it would be more precious to Nick than to her—something his mother’s own hands had created.

She wiped at her leaking eyes. Surely they were joyful tears rather than sad ones?

By two o’clock, she’d skimmed through the last of the diaries, copied the appropriate pages and several photos, and located the painting. It was signed in neat square letters ‘Silvia Giordano’.
 

So now, perhaps he had a name as well? Nick Giordano. She repeated it softly several times. It felt right for him.

She swiped at a fresh trickle of tears as she made coffee and grilled some cheese on toast for a late lunch. The last of the ‘Nick’ pages in the dairies had been tough to read. Grandma had written about the Sharpes’ move to Wellington, and Silvia’s distress after losing touch with her only and much-loved son.
 

Silvia’s puritanical father had died just weeks later, and she’d finally felt free to return to Italy to visit her grieving mother. Finding her in even worse health than Grandma, she’d stayed to do her daughterly duty. There was a postcard tucked between the pages to mark that place. The same obsessively neat writing. And a tiny address—many years out of date, but a place for Nick to start.

Grandma’s diaries ended less than a month later.

Sammie sipped her coffee and checked her watch. Nick expected to return around midnight, and had said he’d see her on Monday.
 

To make her eventual move from the apartment easier she decided to repack the boxes and stash them in Ray’s garage. Then buy a thank you gift for Kelly, and wrapping paper and ribbon so she could tie up her extraordinary gift
for Nick. She yearned to see him again now, and itched to see his reaction.
 

She found him in the reception area when she arrived next morning, ever-present cell phone clamped against his ear. He gave her a broad grin and blew her a kiss. An incoming call claimed her attention at the desk and she watched him with new eyes as he wandered through to the main studio while she attended to the client. Today he wore stone colored chinos, a darker grey sweatshirt, and casual suede boots. She could practically see the Italian blood pumping through his veins as he paced back and forth behind the big glass wall.
 

Nick Giordano for sure.

“I want to show you something,” he said as soon as she was free.
 

“That makes two of us.”

His phone immediately shrilled again and he glanced at the screen and flipped it open. “Can you get my keys? Desk drawer?”
 

If he planned to rush out, she’d have to save her surprise until a little later. Something so important shouldn’t be hurried, but she was fiercely disappointed all the same. She bit her lip with annoyance as she stowed her bag in her locker and headed for his office.
 

Which drawer? She opened the top one; no sign of keys. She tried the second. The glinting bundle jeered at her from on top of a pair of skimpy crimson panties. Rearing back, she sucked in a hard fast breath, stumbled over his big black swivel chair, and only just stopped herself from falling by grabbing one of its arms and sitting down hard.
 

Me and who else?

She clamped a hand over her mouth, sick at the thought of sharing him. Yes, they probably belonged to a girlfriend from the past. But he hadn’t thrown them out or given them back. Did he still have feelings for whoever owned them?
 

Nicky, I thought I was the only one right now. Was I wrong?
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The cogs whirred in her brain and finally meshed into place. Sad acceptance took over from outrage.

I can’t be surprised. He’s a gorgeous guy, and he’s never made a secret of having lots of women. Why would I expect anything but this?
 

She thought back to the night he’d come to her apartment dangling her forgotten sandals.
She’d behaved terribly—way out of character. She cringed now to think how fast she’d stripped his jeans off, how she’d licked his beautiful cock as though he was candy.
 

I started it. I practically jumped him. And I kept saying I’d be going away, so why would he see me as anything more than a quick good time?

But it hurt and hurt. So much more than she’d expected. As though someone had forced her ribs apart and hacked out her heart with a huge blunt knife.

She sat on for another couple of minutes, staring at the keys in their sexy little nest, and calling herself all kinds of a fool.
 

She couldn’t bear the thought of touching another woman’s panties, so she snagged the key-ring with the sharp end of a pen and slammed the drawer shut. This was exactly what she needed to confirm she’d made the right decision booking that ticket. In fact she’d try and bring the flight forward if she could. Nick was dead meat, and she’d be out of his life by lunchtime.

She walked back to reception holding the keys as though they carried the plague. He grabbed her hand and made off down the staircase, towing her behind him despite her protestations.

“It’s such a great morning, and I’ve missed you like crazy. I’m kidnapping you for an hour. There’s something I want you to see.”

There’s something I’ve just seen,
she wanted to yell in response. Somehow she held her tongue, sitting like a statue while he piloted his beautiful car through the rush hour traffic and bombarded her with news about his weekend—the fish they’d caught, and the problems of pitching the tents and pumping up airbeds. Once they were clear of the city, he reached across and clasped her hand for a moment. “You’re very quiet. Feeling okay?”

Inventing madly, she said, “I was thinking about your little niece and wondering how she was.”

He hitched a shoulder. “Not my niece after all, but still such a cute sparky kid. Holding her own. Not a bad sign apparently.”

“Better than nothing, then.” She cradled a hand over her churning gut. “Yeah, I’m not feeling all that great.”

“Time of the month?”

“Close,” she agreed, grateful to let him think that.

“Some nice music then.” Soon Andrea Bocelli’s glorious voice filled the car as they sped along in the sunshine.
 

The beach house of course. The house he’d one day share with someone else. She wished herself a million light years away.

“Nick—why are you bringing me here again after what happened on Thursday? I don’t want to be here.”

He reached over and stroked her thigh. It was all she could do not to slap him away.

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine. I came out with a couple of arborists on Friday. That’s why I disappeared until dinner. Evan’s alive and well, and he apologized. Got me back a beauty though. Reached over to shake my hand, which I could hardly refuse, and he gave it a damn good squeeze. The one I hit him with.” He pulled a rueful face and laughed.

“And why is that funny?” She huffed out an infuriated breath. “He hurt you and you’re laughing about it? What a pair of Neanderthals.”
 

 
Nick sent her an indulgent glance before turning off into the farm road. Sammie’s feeling of panicked trepidation grew and grew until at last she reached a decision.

I won’t let him know I saw the panties. I have more pride than that. I’ll tidy the apartment, pack my other things away, leave Zorro lots of kibble and water, and go back to Ray and Anita’s. I’ll phone Tyler about the key. Kelly’s back the day after tomorrow. It’s the only way I can get out of this.