Willow Smoke (13 page)

Daisy
cleared
her
throat,
setting
down
Chaucer’s
Canterbury
Tales
on
which
she had
a
paper
due
the
following
week.
He
hadn’t
heard
her.
They
sat
in
a
corner
of
the
track
kitchen;
half
chilled
coffee
and
crumbs
remained from their study break.

“Mr. Underwood.”

Across
the
small
table,
Nicholas
Underwood
glanced
up
sharply.
“How
often do I have to ask you to call me Nick?
We’re partners. Strangers call me Mr. Underwood. Partners and friends call me
Nick.”

Daisy
frowned.

“So
what did you want?”

She
had to know. “Are you married?”

That
ridiculous, lazy smiled worked across Spec’s lips. She was going to die. Her
toes curled.

“Shouldn’t
the question be are you married...”

Her
head pounded.
“Okay,
damn
it.
Are
you
married,
Nick?”

“Ah,
I’ve
heard
my
name
roll
off
a
woman’s
lips
more
smoothly
and
with
more
passion
than
that.
But
that
will
have
to
do
for
now.”
He
folded
the
paper
and
laid
it
down
beside
his
empty
plate.
“To
answer
your
question
and
unasked
questions.
First, I am not married. Second, I was
married to a beautiful woman with a lot of
class
and
money.
She
wanted
more
class
and
money
than
I
did.
We
parted
amicably
and
still
greet
each
other
now and
then.
The
marriage
has
been
over
for
fifteen
years,
probably
when
you
were
still
in
training
bras.

“With
all
her
makeup
and
designer
clothes,
Ashley
couldn’t
hold
a
candle
to
your
natural
beauty.
Third,
there
have
been
many women,
but none currently. I’m
finding
that
you
cramp
my
style
in
that
way.
You
keep
me
studying
these
forms
and the horse books so much, there’s no
time for women. Even if I were so
inclined.
Does
that
about
answer
your
questions?”

Daisy
nodded.
She
chewed
her
lower
lip.
How
could
he
read
her
mind?
She
felt
like
such
a
neophyte.

“So
how
about
you,
Matthews?
Ever
been
married?”

Her
eyes
rounded.
Underwood
was
dead
serious.
His
crack
about
the
training
bra
sank
into her awareness. Good grief, he thought she was considerably older
than she was. “No,” she stammered. “Never.”

“No
live-in boyfriend?”

She
shook her head. “Current men?”

“None,”
she mumbled. “There’s no time.”

“Good.”
Nicholas leaned back and graced her with a satisfied grin. “Maybe I’m cramping
your style, too.” He unfolded the newspaper and redirected his attention to the
Saturday races.

Daisy
picked
up
her
book
and
blew
air
through
pursed
lips.
She’d
learned
what
she
had
to
know.
How
fast
would
he
run
when
he
discovered
she
wasn’t
even
of
legal
drinking
age?

The
sputtering
sounds
of
the
apartment
buzzer
penetrated
Daisy’s
sleep.
She
rolled
over
and
pulled
a
pillow
over
her
head.
The
buzzer
continued
ringing
sporadically. “Go away,” she grumbled. “It’s Monday. It’s my day off.”

Scrambling
off
the
futon,
she
grabbed
her
robe
and
poked
her
arms
through
the
armholes as she
strode angrily toward the entry. She’d have to remember to get
the
landlord
to
fix
that
damn
buzzer.
Maybe
she
should
just
snip
its
wires.

Daisy
peered
through
the
peephole
and
grew
deathly
still.
Why
had
he
come?
She
didn’t want him to
know this part of her
world.
With
fingers
trembling
slightly,
she
turned
the
knob
and
opened
the
door.

“Morning, kid. Damn, you
look quite
fetching
with
sleep
still
in
those
lovely
smoky
eyes
of
yours.”
Nicholas
Underwood
strolled
into
her
living
room
like
he’d
been
there
many
times
before,
like
he
belonged.
“Come on, girl. Get your
butt in gear
—hell,
it’s
mid-morning.
It’s
your
day
off.
We’re
going
to
do
Wrigley
today.
Enough
of
the
books
and
pedigrees.
I
need
a
break.
We
need
a
break.”

Daisy
stood
in
the
entryway
as
if
her
feet
were
poured
in
cement
and
she
was
still
waiting for it to dry.

“You
got
any
coffee
here?
I’ll
make
it
while
you
get
into
some
clothes.”
Nick
licked
his
lips.
“Don’t
know
why
you
bothered
to
put
that
robe
on;
it
doesn’t
hide
a
damn
thing
unless
you
tie
it.”

Daisy’s
hands
flew
to
her
ears.
“Stop.
Stop
talking,
please.
How
did
you
get
here?
Why
are
you
here?
My
robe!”
She
pulled
the
robe
tight
around
her
body
and
knotted
the sash. Her cheeks must be scarlet.

“Damn,
I
hope
you
don’t
go
answering
the
door
like
that
for
just
any
guy
who
happens
by.”

“Guys
don’t
happen
by
without
calling
first.
Now
that
you’re
here,
you
might
as
well
make
yourself
useful.
The
coffee
is
on
the
counter
in
the
kitchen.
Two
scoops
for
eight cups. I’m
going to get dressed.”

Daisy
padded
toward
her
bedroom
with
as
much
grace
as
she
could
muster
and
then
slammed
the
door
behind
her
so
hard
the
hinges
rattled.

The
nerve
of
the
man
getting
her
out of
bed.
Was
he
checking
up
on
her?
A
boyfriend
could
have
slept
over.
Right!
Well,
it
was
possible
.
Yeah,
and
sewer
rats
can
sprout
wings.

Had
he
said
something
about
the
Cubs?
Wrigley.
The
Cubs.
What
did
you
wear
to
a
baseball
game?
Probably
no
different
than
the
track.
She
tugged
on
a
pair
of
white
shorts
and
wiggled
into
a
yellow
spaghetti-string
tank top. Under the tank top
was
a
sheer
bra
that
held
things
in
place,
but
didn’t
cover
much
up.
She
touched
each
nipple
playfully
until
they
were
on
full
alert.
Looking
in
the
mirror,
she
chuckled
softly.
Underwood
had
come
to
her
uninvited;
she
wasn’t
about
to
run
away
and
hide.
He
might
think
of
her
as
a
kid,
but
someday
he’d
realize
she
was
more
than
enough
woman
for
him
to
handle.

She
entered
the
kitchen
running
a
brush
through
her
tangled
hair.
Underwood
sat
at
the
card
table
sipping
coffee.
He
took
one
brief
look
at
her
and
spewed
coffee
from
his
lips.
Quickly,
he
grabbed
a
paper
towel
to
clean
up
the
mess.
Daisy
continued
brushing
her
hair,
ignoring
his
discomfort.

“Geez, kid, if you’re
going to put on a show, save it for a guy your own age. Can’t
you
find
anything
that’d
cover
up
your
belly
button?
I’m
not
sure
I’ll
be
able
to
keep
all
the
guys
from
pawing
you,
if
you
go
out
like
that.”

“I’m used to taking care
of myself.”
Daisy
set
the
hairbrush
down
and
poured
herself
a
cup
of
coffee.
She
hid
her
smile.
She
had
his
attention.
Was
Nicholas
Underwood
as
aware
of
his
arousal
as
she
was?
“I
didn’t
ask
you
here.
If
I’m
too
ugly
for
your
taste,
you
can
leave
now.”

“Holy shit. I never
meant to imply that
you’re
ugly.
You’re
too
damn
gorgeous
for
my
heart.”

She
sat
down,
crossed
her
legs
and
followed
his
eyes
as
they
took
in
the
view.
Nonchalantly,
she
wiggled
her
toes.

He
gasped.

Thank
God
for
those
tapes
on
seduction.
Nicholas
Underwood
was
going
to
be
easier
than
she’d
thought.
If
he
got
any
hotter,
his
glasses
would
steam
over.
But
not
yet. No, there were still things to be
done.
She
wasn’t
ready
for
the
momentous
event. Soon, but not now.