The Red Diary (16 page)

On days when Lauren couldn't get into her work, she usually took a break, did something useful around the house, and by the time she was done, she was ready to concentrate on accounting again. So what needs to be done around here? she asked herself as she sat down at the table with a lunch of microwave chicken and rice.

She thought of the bird feeders Nick had filled for her several days ago. She hadn't checked them since, but knew the rear of her yard frequently bustled with birds that didn't head north for the summer, and they could drain the seed quickly, even this time of year. She'd also noticed some weeds poking through the mulch in her landscaping, and she could wait until her yard guy came at the end of the month, but it irritated her. She usually did a mid-month weeding just to keep things tidy. Her first thought was that Nick was out there, and maybe it would be better to do those things some evening after he'd gone, especially considering the unpleasant words they'd exchanged about their fathers yesterday. On the other hand, however, he had a lot of work left to do here, and it was preposterous for her to feel trapped in her house. So from this moment forward, she was going to do exactly what she wanted whenever she wanted, Nick Armstrong be damned. Well, she might not swim naked in the pool, she amended, but she'd probably never swim naked in the pool again anyway_

After forcing herself to handle a few more Ash tasks, she exited the back door in an old pink bathing suit top and a pair of stained khaki shorts, her hair knotted on top of her head. She'd thought twice about the top, but it was what she always wore to do yard work, and it was over ninety degrees outside. She was determined to act normal, to behave the same as she would if he weren't there.

Going to the large bin on the patio where she kept yard tools, she discovered Nick had put the rolled-down bag of birdseed inside. Scooping some into a bucket, she started toward the rear of the yard and spotted him from the comer of her eye, high on a ladder. He'd worked past the problematic trees and now painted around the half-moon window.

Before even reaching the pool. though, she stopped and turned. Impulse had struck, and if she didn't do this now, this very moment. she'd chicken out. Aware of her quickened heartbeat, she approached the foot of Nick's ladder. "I wanted to tell you I spoke to my dad." She looked up at his back, watched his muscled arm move the paint roller over the stucco. "I asked him what happened when he bought John out."

Nick didn't stop working, didn't even glance at her.

"What'd he say?"

"He said .. ," Oh God, she hadn't actually thought about how to tell him this from the bottom of a ladder. It would have been hard enough face-to-face.

He finally stilled the roller and looked down. "He said what?"

She swallowed hard, suddenly nervous, but trying to hide it. "He said that after your mom died, your dad wasn't pulling his weight in the company. He said he offered to buy your dad out, but that he wouldn't even discuss it, and he kept promising to change, but it never happened. My father felt he had no choice."

"Henry admitted he tricked my dad into signing?" She nodded.

"Well then," Nick said, "I guess that about sums it up."

He resumed painting, but she remained at the foot of the ladder, peering up at him. There was more to say. Her part of it. "I know why he did it, but I don't think it was right. I ... understand why you're angry."

"Good," Nick answered shortly, without looking.

She sighed, then finally turned to walk away. What had she been doing? Begging him to like her by telling him she felt his pain? She shook her head at her foolish attempt to bond with him.

"Did he tell you it was my dad's idea to build condos?" Nick's voice cut into her thoughts, and she stopped, turned. He gazed down at her darkly.

"What?"

"The company was in a slump, and my dad told Henry he thought condos were the future of Double A Builders. They got their first contract on Sand Key the week before my mother died."

Her stomach twisted. Everyone knew condominiums had made Ash Builders rich, that the luxury homes they constructed were nothing more than side work. The condos that lined the coast and bays had catapulted Ash to the big time and kept them there.

She didn't know what to say, finally settling on, "I'm sorry, Nick. I really am."

He peered down at her for a long moment, his gray eyes as piercing as ever, until finally he gave a barely perceptible nod and said, "Thank you."

She stared back, recognizing the same slow heat as usual beginning to build invisibly between them-even now, she was certain of it-smoldering on the edge of flames ... until she pointed awkwardly over her shoulder. "Well, I'd better ... go get some stuff done."

"Okay," he said.

Her heartbeat still hadn't calmed when she'd refilled the bird feeders and returned the seed to the bin. Her breasts tingled, and an empty echo of longing whispered through her. However, his simple "thank you" had made the conversation worthwhile. He didn't let it show often, but she knew she was right: Nick Armstrong did have a heart-she could sense it beating beneath his gruff exterior.

Grabbing a trash bag from inside, she started pulling weeds. She purposely avoided the side of the house where Nick worked, chiding herself for breaking her brand-new rule of not letting his presence inhibit her, but she just wasn't up to facing him again quite so soon.

As she worked, though, she recalled other moments when she'd sensed that certain softness behind the hard persona he wore. The simple act of refilling her bird feeders, the way he'd defended her at the pseudo-pool party, his claim that he'd taken her to the beach because he'd seen how much the other men were bothering her. It wasn't only Monet and cosmic blush-colored roses. Sometimes she found it in the simplest of gestures, like the gentle touch he'd lifted to her lips after they had sex. Maybe that was what kept her wanting, wishing, for more with this man. Maybe he'd actually given her a few real reasons to believe that underneath it all lurked the loving, giving sort of guy she dreamed about finding someday. The very thought made her chuckle, though. If Nick could read her thoughts right now, he'd think she was the most naive, foolish, inexperienced woman who ever lived. But it wasn't naivete it was longing-plain and simple. Please let there be more to him than what he lets me see.

After weeding, she decided to cut some roses. She loved her climbing roses, but seldom saw them, located on the side of the house, and having Nick's fantasy rose on the mantel the last few days had made her think she should bring her own in to enjoy, too. Besides, wishful thinking aside, it seemed a good idea to get Nick's rose out of her line of vision and replace it with something that had nothing to do with him. She only hoped she'd actually be able to make herself throw it away. Pulling a pair of shears from a kitchen drawer and a wicker basket from the closet, she headed back out the French doors toward the roses. After kneeling to cut two fuchsia blooms off near the bottom and placing them carefully in her basket, she got to her feet to look for others to take from higher up. Locating one near the right of the trellis, she gripped the stem and cut below. Then finding another near a thick profusion of roses in the center, she reached in-and a sharp pain sliced through her thumb.

"Oh!" She yanked her hand back to see a large flat thorn embedded there. This was much worse than when she'd pricked her finger on Nick's rose the other night bright blood surrounded the thorn, trailing down her thumb onto her wrist. Letting out another whimper, she dropped her shears and dashed for the house.

Throwing open the door, she held her bleeding thumb close against her, hoping not to drip on the white berber as she passed over it to reach the kitchen. There, she turned on the cold water and held her thumb beneath the flow, hoping it might dull the sharp sting.

"What the hell happened?"

She jerked her eyes up to find Nick rushing toward her from the back door.

Clenching her teeth. she lifted her hand from beneath the faucet to show him, then thrust it back under the running water. "Damn," he said, then came closer. "Here, let me get it out."

"No." The thorn was in too deep; she couldn't even think about letting someone rip it out at the moment.

"Don't be a baby," he said, but his gentle tone softened the words.

She pulled in her breath and looked at the steady stream of blood still being washed away by the water. She was being a baby, and she didn't like Nick seeing it. Drawing her hand back slightly, she said, "Oo it over the sink."

He stepped up close, gently balancing her hurt hand in his palm.

She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth tighter. "Do it quick."

She tensed, then a fresh burst of pain bit into her and she knew the thorn was gone. They both looked down at her still-bleeding thumb.

"Hold it back under the water," he instructed, then grabbed a handful of paper towels and went to the refrigerator. She heard him open a door and shuffle the ice, returning a minute later with a few half-moon cubes bundled in the paper. "Here." Cradling her hand in his palm again while he pressed the ice firmly against her thumb, he said, "Pressure'll stop the bleeding."

She avoided looking at him, and instead focused on their hands, intermingled, touching. His were warm and rough and tan. They stayed awkwardly silent until he peeked under the paper towel to find the bleeding mostly stopped. "Do you have any hydrogen peroxide?"

Tempted to lie, she warily admitted, "Yes." "Where is it?"

"Upstairs bathroom."

When Nick grabbed her other hand and started dragging her toward the stairs, she said, "This isn't necessary." "Yes, it is," he replied, pulling her up the steps, "unless you want it to get infected."

"How does a guy like you even know about hydrogen peroxide?"

"A guy like me," he snipped over his shoulder, "spent a lot of time cleaning up his little brother's cuts and scrapes. Now where is it?"

She pointed to the hall bathroom where she kept her first-aid stuff, then followed Nick inside. "Under the sink "

Nick let go of her only long enough to find and uncap the bottle, then reached for her hand again, holding her thumb over the small sink bowl while he splashed the peroxide on her cut. She hissed at the sting.

"Bandages" he asked.

She rolled her eyes at his surprising thoroughness and pointed toward a drawer in the vanity. "I really could have done this myself," she said as he wrapped the adhesive strip around her thumb.

"But I don't get the idea you would've," he replied, and as their eyes met, his expression softened. "Still hurts' "Not so much," she admitted, somehow feeling even more like a baby for making such a big deal out of it.

Turning toward the mirror, she stowed the peroxide back under the sink, then dropped the Band-Aid box in the drawer, trying to ignore how close they still stood to each other now that the mini-crisis was over. It made her think of other times when they'd been this close, even closer. Why is he still here? Why isn't he leaving?

When she rose again, Nick remained so near that she bumped into him, but neither of them moved. Their eyes met in the wide mirror.

She knew that look. It instantly speared straight down through her. She felt it in her heart; she felt it between her thighs. How had things changed so quickly-in a heartbeat? She gazed helplessly back at him in the glass, a prisoner to his dark gaze. He slid one large hand tentatively around her waist, his fingers splaying lightly across her bare stomach, and for the first time, she regretted the bikini top; her nipples jutted visibly against the pink Lycra. When he lowered a delicate kiss to her shoulder, she drew in her breath, sensation sprinkling through her.

But this couldn't happen, it just couldn't. And she was going to say no. She had to.

Yet then why was she arching her neck and letting him kiss it now? Why was she soaking in those sweet, hot kisses as if she were lost in the desert and his lips delivered drops of water?

When his hands reached up to cup her breasts from behind, his thumbs raking deliciously across their pebbled tips, she knew she was lost to him. The intimate touches spread through her, leaving her overcome with sheer pleasure. "Nick."

"Don't talk, baby," he whispered throatily.

But she wanted ... something, she didn't know what.

Communication? She just wished he cared, even a little. She longed to uncover the softness inside him. "Nick, please ... " His hands stilled on her breasts, and he stopped kissing her neck to peer in the mirror. "Do you want me to stop?" Her lips trembled. This was such a mistake. And she could forgive herself for such a blunder once, but how could she let herself do this again, give herself to him, knowing he would only-

"Do you?"

"No," she breathed.

''Thank God," he murmured deeply. Then his caresses came harder, firmer; she cried out when he lightly pinched her nipples while raining still more kisses on her bare shoulders. And now that she had surrendered, there was nothing to do but bask in it, drink it in, relish every glorious touch and kiss.

When he slid one hand between her legs over her shorts, she sighed at the pleasure, moving instinctively against it. He leaned into her from behind, and the hard column of his arousal pressed into her rear.

''Tum around," he murmured, sounding as breathless as she felt.

When she faced him, they both worked at each other's zippers. Need spiraled through Lauren's body, just as it had the other night, just as it did whenever she was near him. She freed him from his pants, savoring the incredible feel of him in her hand, no longer too shy to touch him there. He pushed her shorts and panties to her bare feet, where she stepped free of them. His hot breath came like a pounding heartbeat as he lifted her to the smooth marble sinktop, and she parted her legs, oh so ready.

Yet he stopped then, reaching in his back pocket.

Jerking out a thin wallet, he rummaged inside until he pulled out a flat foil packet. For some reason, it stunned her. "You carry those on the job?"

"Gotta be prepared," he claimed without even a hint of amusement, and she imagined him having sex with housewives all over Tampa Bay while he was supposed to be painting their houses.