Triple Threat (11 page)

Nick.

After leaving his place—okay, turning tail like a coward—Holly had grabbed her purse, phone and a change of clothes and headed north to avoid any awkwardness. She didn’t want to dish the dirt with Devin, or sit pathetically waiting for a phone call or flower delivery when that was never part of the deal.

Halfway home she’d gotten the news about the Elm City Rep and been knotted with tension ever since. It was great—hometown support would be incredible, and it was a brilliant publicity move—but she didn’t know how Nick would handle the possibility of seeing his father.

Or seeing Holly, for that matter. She wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t drop to her knees before the man involuntarily. He was a sex god, and her legs were still weak from the pleasure.

“Did you say something, Holly?”

“Uh, no.” Holly bolted awake. Had she? “I’m a little tired. Must’ve zoned out there for a minute.”

Earl gave her a concerned look. “Sounded like ‘nick,’ or maybe ‘lick.’ You need ice cream? Aisle...”

Her face began to boil. “Four. Yeah, thanks.” She shot off.

“Don’t forget your order.” He rushed around the counter and dropped three tightly wrapped white packages into her cart.

“Right. Thanks, Earl.” At the last moment, she lifted onto her toes to give him a kiss.

With his face red, too, she felt better. She was whistling her way to the register when she veered off the list. Chips and guacamole were her specialty. As she ran back to the produce section, a child’s laugh, followed by the thump of falling boxes, stopped her in her tracks.

“Balloon!”

A towheaded little boy sat surrounded by the remains of a cereal display, babbling happily and pointing at a Mylar caricature of a tiger floating above the rubble. He looked to be about two years old, the same age as...

“Balloon,” he repeated, struggling to regain his footing on chubby toddler legs. Holly thought she might cry as she watched him, his blue eyes filled with wonder as he reached for the string of the balloon.

She scanned the aisle. No mother. No father. No responsible adult in sight.

Except her.

Blinking back tears, she set down her basket and scooped up the little boy, who had one foot on the bottom shelf of the display in his quest for the balloon. “Easy there, partner. You’re going to get yourself hurt.”

“Balloon?” His eyes widened and his lower lip quivered.

“No, sweetie.” She tightened her hold on the squirming toddler. He was soft and sweet and smelled of talcum powder and milk, and her heart felt like it was about to shatter into a million pieces. “No balloon today. We have to find your mommy or daddy.”

“Mommy?” His lip trembled again and his eyes watered. Holly braced for a full-blown meltdown. Instead, the little boy’s face broke into a toothy grin at the sight of a woman about Holly’s age with hair as blond as his, racing toward them down the aisle. “Mommy!”

“There you are, Brendan.” She stretched out her arms to her son. “Mommy was so worried about you.”

Holly handed the boy over to her, savoring one last whiff of talcum and milk. “He’s fine. He just wanted a closer look at that tiger.” She gestured to the balloon.

“Oh, no.” The woman frowned at the pile of cereal boxes. “Did he make this mess? I swear, I only turned my back for a second.”

“Fast, aren’t they?” Holly knelt and started picking up the boxes, thankful for the distraction.

“Here, let me help.” The woman went to set her son down, but Holly stopped her. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

“Thank you.” The woman hitched the boy higher on her hip. “For everything.”

With a little wave she turned and headed back the way she came before Holly could even choke out a “you’re welcome.”

Holly picked up her basket, paid for her groceries and loaded them in her VW Bug. She sat for a few minutes, her head resting against the steering wheel, still shaking from her encounter with Brendan and his mother. She thought after almost two years the empty feeling would go away. And it did. Sometimes. For a while. Only to come back to haunt her when she heard a child laugh. Or call for “Mommy.” Or when she saw a family walking hand in hand.

She lifted her head and stared at herself in the rearview mirror. Her hair was matted down from where she’d laid on the steering wheel, and her face was chalky, all traces of the minimal lipstick and blush she’d applied earlier long gone. God, she looked like crap.

It had to stop, this falling apart whenever she saw or heard a child. It was the only way she’d have a chance at a future, a family. Holly wasn’t naive—or stupid—enough to think that an average Jane like her would fit into the world of a big-time move star like Nick as more than a fling. That was why she had promised herself to stick to the one-night-only deal. She needed a nice, safe, stable guy. The kind of guy Clark had started off being, before he’d lost his job and spiraled down into a cesspool of alcoholism and depression.

With one last, long sigh, Holly pulled herself together. She was about to back out of the parking space when her phone rang. “Hi, Mom,” she answered with a false gaiety she hoped her usually all-knowing mother would fail to detect. “You’ve got mayo, right? I’m going to make some guacamole.”

“I’m not sure guacamole goes with my braciole and
succu.
”

Perfect. Another thing she screwed up.

“It’s an appetizer, Mom. It goes with anything.”

“Fine,
cara.
I hope you bought enough to make plenty. We have some unexpected guests today.”

“Let me guess. Cade?”

“Naturally. Although, as Gabe’s best friend, he’s hardly unexpected, is he?”

“And Mr. Bauermann?” Their elderly neighbor, a recent widower, was a frequent guest.

“That’s two.”

“You mean there’s more?”

“Just one. I ran into him outside Maude’s. The poor man was going to have dinner there. Now, I don’t mean to insult Maude’s cooking. It’s perfectly serviceable. But Sunday dinner? In a diner? It’s criminal.”

“What poor man?”

“You know him,
cara.
”

Oh, God. Her mother. The ultimate drama queen. She’d draw this out as long as humanly possible.

Holly’s phone beeped, sparing her from having to listen to her mother’s spiel. “Mom, I have to go. Devin’s on the other line. She’s keeping an eye on my apartment for me while I’m gone. I’ll be there in a few minutes and I’ve got enough for everyone.”

Less than fifteen minutes and a short conversation with Devin later, Holly passed the familiar weather-beaten Grower’s Paradise sign. It marked the entrance to the long gravel driveway leading to the Nelson house and the nursery and gardens beyond. Parking, she recognized Gabe’s Land Rover and Noelle’s Mini Cooper but not the unfamiliar silver Audi S6 sandwiched between them.

“Hey, guys,” she called, the screen door banging shut behind her. “I’m home.” She set the groceries on the counter and knelt to pet Jasper, the orange tabby she’d found abandoned as a kitten. The cat gave her his traditional greeting, weaving around her legs. “Where is everyone?”

“Back here,” a voice answered. It sounded like Gabe but was too muffled for her to be sure. “On the porch.”

Abandoning the cat, she made her way through the house she’d grown up in, the familiar smells of lemon wax, fresh-baked bread and her mother’s sauce simmering on the stove welcoming her home. “Hey there, baby brother.”

She stepped onto the veranda that spanned the back of the house. “Long time no—”

The end of her sentence died in her throat.

Gabe’s short, neat, almost military haircut was a far cry from the thick, tousled locks on the man standing in front of her. And although at around six-one Gabe was considered fairly tall, he was a good three inches shorter than the giant on the porch.

“Nick.” Her voice wavered, betraying her.

“In the flesh.” His eyes lifted, then dropped the length of her body. “Surprised?”

She drew herself up, ignoring the skip of her heart at his heated appraisal. “That’s putting it mildly.”

10

J
UDGING FROM THE
look on her face, he figured he had about five seconds to explain himself before she lost it.

“Holly, I—”

“Why are you here? You’re supposed to be in New York. And what have you done with my family?”

Make that three seconds.

Nick shifted his feet, then forced them still. He could do cool-and-distant in his sleep. “They’re in the greenhouse. Your father’s showing off a hybrid rose.”

“The New Dawn?” She started for the porch steps, but he blocked her, stepping between the two pillars that framed the stairway.

“I stayed behind to see you. We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“About us.”

“There is no us.”

“There could be.”

“One night, Nick. One.
Uno. Ein.
”

“I can count.”

“Prove it.”

He leaned against one post, head cocked, arms crossed. His mouth quirked into a subtle half smile. “Why are you so dead set against an encore? It sure seemed like you were enjoying yourself. Unless all that screaming and moaning was just—”

“Would you pipe down, for God’s sake?” she hissed under her breath, scanning the yard. “My family will be back any minute. And the last thing I want is for them to know that we... You know. They think I’m enough of a screw-up already.”

Great. She considered their night together a mistake. Another first for him. He straightened, fists clenched, his whole body, which was relaxed a heartbeat ago, radiating tension. She raised a hand to her throat as she took a step back from him.

Damn.
He hadn’t meant to frighten her. Someone had sure as hell done a number on her to make her so skittish. Probably her ex, Nick thought, remembering those scars and wondering not for the first time how much of Holly’s play was autobiographical. He had a sudden and overwhelming desire to find the bastard and beat the mother-loving crap out of him. Instead, he made a conscious effort to loosen up and soften his voice when he spoke next.

“I can be professional about this.”

“Really? Had a lot of practice with sex on set?” She spun on her heel and headed back into the house.

“Last I checked, my bedroom’s not a movie set,” he called, following her. “Neither is my kitchen. Or my bathroom.”

“Whatever. I can be professional, too. Or however you act after recreational sex.”

Recreational sex?
Who talked like that?

His sweet little bookworm/playwright/sex kitten, who probably hadn’t ever had a one-night stand.

Until him.

It was kind of adorable watching her try to act worldly. It made him want to spin her around and kiss her until she melted like butter in a hot frying pan. The way she had when he’d first kissed her back in high school. But that wasn’t likely, seeing as how she was royally pissed at him for showing up and throwing a monkey wrench into her carefully constructed one-night-only plan.

She grabbed a knife and began eviscerating a poor avocado with quick, sure strokes. He sat a safe distance away from her at the oversize farm table that dominated the room. “We’re going to be working together. Don’t you think we should...?”

“No.” The rhythmic slap-slapping of her knife against the cutting board added extra emphasis to her denial. “We shouldn’t.”

He leaned back in his chair, balancing on two legs. “You don’t—”

Slap.

“—even know—”

Slap.

“—what I was going—”

Slap.

“—to suggest.”

Slap.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea.” She exchanged the knife for a spoon and began scooping the meat from the avocado into a glass bowl.

“Do you?” He shifted his weight, dropping the front legs of the chair back onto the floor. They landed with a
thwack
on the tile, making Holly flinch.

She continued scooping as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Earth to Holly...”

She turned to face him, bracing her hands against the counter behind her. “Look, Nick. I’m only going to say this once, so listen close. We had sex.”

The corner of his mouth curled. “A lot of sex.”

“And it was great.”

“Really great.” His smile widened.

“But it can’t happen again, no matter how much we both want it to. I won’t let it.”

We’ll see about that.
Out loud he said, “Agreed.”

She tilted her chin to look up at him, all five feet three inches of her bristling with righteous indignation. He liked that about her, her feistiness. She reminded him of Tinker Bell, with an attitude. “Fine.”

He took a step closer, meeting her challenge. “Fine.”

“I—”

The screen door slammed and footsteps tromped toward the kitchen, leaving whatever she’d been about to say stuck in her throat.

“Hey, Holls, you in there?” called a female voice.

“Come see the New Dawn. It’s beautiful,” her father added.

“Mom said you’re making guacamole. I hope you didn’t forget the onion like last time. It’s nowhere near as good without the onion.”

Nick stepped back and leaned against the counter, keeping his distance from Holly as her family descended on her like a swarm of locusts. Loud, love-starved locusts. He watched, his chest feeling as if someone had parked a Humvee on it, as they laughed and hugged, talking over one another. So this was how a family was supposed to behave. Who knew?

Sundays at his house had been spent alone, hiding in his bedroom, listening to his father get progressively drunker, progressively louder, progressively meaner. Back then, he’d wish he was old enough and strong enough to protect his mother, or that she was strong enough to protect herself. And him.

Nick looked away.

“Everything all right
?
” Holly’s father stood slightly apart from the group, his voice quiet but firm. He might have been talking to his daughter but his eyes were locked on Nick. Clearly, Nick hadn’t moved away from his little girl far or fast enough. He remembered Nils Nelson as a large, jovial man, the logical choice to play Santa Claus every year in the Stockton holiday parade. There wasn’t a damned thing jolly about him now.