Any Man Of Mine: A Waiting Game / A Loving Arrangement. Diana Palmer
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mouth turned up. He chuckled softly. “You’re on the second story,” he reminded her.
“That first step would be a doozy, wouldn’t it?” she teased.
He lifted his shoulders. “I overreacted. I’m damned touchy.”
She was just beginning to realize what he meant. She knew men were sensitive about such things, but the degree of Nick’s sensitivity hadn’t occurred to her until now.
“About what?” she asked gently. “Nicholas, you must know that you’re magnificent.”
He darted a glance at her. “Compared to whom?”
She glared at him. “You might be surprised,” she said haughtily.
“Liar.” He laid down the comb and stuck his big hands into the pockets of the robe. “You may not be a vestal virgin, honey, but I’m damned sure that you haven’t much of a scrapbook to compare me with. Was it always in the dark?” he added with a veil of humor over a rather harsh curiosity.
She knew what he was asking, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of an answer. He didn’t know all of the truth about herself and James, and she was reluctant to tell him how foolish she had been.
“You never did answer me,” she said, changing the subject. “And you haven’t asked why I’m home so early.”
He blinked. “Would you like to run that by me one more time?”
She sighed. “Don’t you want to know why I’m not still out with James?”
“Harris wouldn’t be stupid enough to take you along to the plant if there was trouble,” he replied drily.
“Aha!” she burst out. “You did make that phone call!”
“I was bored,” he said with a careless shrug. “There isn’t a lot to do here.” He glanced around the room. “I could paint the door facings, I suppose.”
“You could go back to New York,” she suggested.
“I’m taking a vacation. I work hard.”
“I realize that, but couldn’t you take your vacation in Acapulco or Martinique or Paris?”
“I like it here,” he said.
“Nicholas!” She stomped her small foot. “Have you thought about the gossip it’s going to cause if you stay here? James is already upset.”
“Is he?” he purred. “How disappointing.”
“You’re fouling up all my plans,” she grumbled, her eyes spitting fire at him.
“You’re not doing mine a hell of a lot of good, either,” he replied, his broad face harder than she’d seen it in weeks.
“I am not, repeat not, going back to New York until I’ve renovated this house and given my party,” she pouted. “Put that in your pipe and smoke it!”
“I don’t smoke a pipe,” he pointed out.
She shifted restlessly. “What do you want?” she moaned. “What are you trying to do, Nicholas?”
“Maybe I’m trying to get you to stop running from me. Have you ever thought about that?” he asked thoughtfully.
She gaped at him. “But I’ve never run from you,” she protested.
He searched her face with slow, darkening eyes. “Honey, you’ve done little else since the day we met. You’ll let me just so close before you start backing away.”
“Do I?”
He turned away, reaching for his cigarettes and lighter. He lit up before he turned back, blowing out a thin cloud of smoke. “What are you afraid of, Keena? Is sex such an ordeal for you that you’ve given it up, or are you afraid that I’d be too rough with you? Despite the way you seem to have a knack for making my temper boil, Keena, believe me, I’m not an impatient lover.”
“I’m not...not afraid of you like that,” she replied. The conversation was getting rapidly out of hand. “Don’t rush me, Nicholas.”
“Rush you? For God’s sake!” he ground out, his dark eyes splintering. “It’s been six years!”
“The world is full of women,” she growled, feeling a surge of sheer fury as she remembered his mistress. “If all you need is to satisfy a passing urge, I’m sure you could pick up someone in town.”
He looked as if she’d slapped him in the face, and for just an instant he tensed as if he was considering retaliation. She tensed, too, ready to run at the first movement of that tall, overpowering form. But all at once the tension seemed to drain out of him. He turned around and moved to the bed, pausing to pick up the white alarm clock and set it.
“We’ve been friends for a long time,” he said quietly. “I thought you knew me well enough to realize that I could never think of you that way.”
She felt shame like a fog surrounding her, and she had the grace to flush. “I didn’t mean that,” she told him. “Nick, I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. I haven’t meant half of what I’ve said. I just... I think I’m rattled, that’s all,” she finished, and ran a smoothing hand over her hair. “Don’t hate me.”
“That’s not likely.” He unfastened the robe and threw it on a chair, throwing back the covers to ease himself under them. The sheet and coverlet covered him to the waist, leaving his broad, hair-rough chest and muscular arms bare. “Turn out the light on your way out, will you, honey?” He yawned. “God, I’m tired.”
She studied him lying there, so strong and imposing, and she wanted more than anything to climb into bed with him and be held and soothed and comforted. It had been a horrible day, and the time she’d been away from him had dragged on forever. And now here he was, and all she could do was scream at him. James Harris, the party, revenge, all of it took a backseat to the things she’d said to Nicholas tonight, and she hated herself for every single one of them.
“Nick...” she whispered, her lips trembling, her eyes misting with unshed tears.
He studied her sad little face across the room, and suddenly held out his arms. “Come here, little fox,” he said deeply.
She all but ran to him, hurting with all the pent-up emotions of a lifetime, like a little wounded thing seeking a gentle hand.
He pulled her down beside him, with the cover between them, and held her close and warm in his bare arms. Under her moist cheek she could feel the crisp dark hair and warm muscles. She could smell soap and cologne mingling with the scent of the man himself and she’d never felt so safe, so utterly safe.
“I’ve been horrible, haven’t I?” she whimpered softly. Her small fist collided gently with his chest. “Oh, Nick, what’s the matter with me?” she wailed.
“The shell’s cracking loose, that’s all,” he murmured comfortingly, one big hand idly caressing on her back through the softness of the velvet.
“Shell?”
“The one you’ve worn around you for the past six years,” he explained. “There have been men in your life, but even if you’ve been with them physically, you’ve managed somehow to remain untouched emotionally.”
She opened her eyes and stared across his broad chest to the chair against the wall. “Nick...”
“Hmmm?” he murmured.
She licked her lips, hesitating over the question.
He tugged at a short lock of hair. “There’s nothing you can’t ask me. What is it?”
“Would it matter if I’d been with other men?”
“To me?” he asked casually. “No. Why?”
She