Just a Whisper Away. Lauren Nichols
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shell-shocked and uneasy, Abbie said good night to everyone and hurried through the grainy, swirling snow toward her dad’s car. For the life of her, she couldn’t fathom why Jace would suggest they work together when they needed their own public relations guru just to keep them from sniping at each other. Had he done it because they needed the money he assumed she could get for them? Or was the reason more personal than that?
Clouds scudded overhead, nearly concealing a handful of stars and the white quarter-moon. As Abbie hunched deeper into her upturned collar and knitted scarf, she heard the crunch of footsteps behind her. After feeling his eyes on her for the past hour, there was no doubt that those footsteps belonged to Jace. Reaching the SUV, she turned to see what he wanted.
“You don’t have to work with me,” he said soberly, his breath clouding as he approached. “It seemed like a good idea at the time, but you obviously have reservations. I’ll find someone local who wants to help.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to help.”
“Neither did I.”
“I think you did, and you’re wrong. I have no problem helping with the dinner. You’re the reason I have reservations.”
“Why?”
“Why?” she repeated. Was his memory that bad? Abbie stared at him for several seconds, then sighed. “Never mind. I have to go.”
Pulling up on the door lever, she tried unsuccessfully to open it—tried again, but it still wouldn’t budge. “Wonderful,” she breathed.
“It’s unlocked, right?” he said from behind her.
Irritated that he’d even ask, she kept tugging. “Yes, it’s unlocked. It’s frozen shut.”
“Then stop trying to force it before you break the handle. Let me try.”
“No, I’ll do it.” She was quite sure she could open a door on her own.
“Fine,” he replied, “but if you’re going to snap a handle, snap a rear one. It’ll be less frustrating to deal with while you’re waiting to get it fixed.”
Shoulders slumping, picturing her dad using one of the other doors to get into his car, she backed away and motioned for Jace to have at it.
In a moment, he’d pounded a fist around the back door to loosen it and opened it easily. Then he crawled inside and shoved the front door open.
“Okay, you’re set,” he concluded, backing out and waiting for her to slide behind the wheel. “But you’d better put a can of deicer in your purse if you’re planning to be here a while.”
Nodding, she started the car, then met his gray eyes. To her chagrin, that man-woman thing zipped between them, totally unexpected on the heels of her annoyance. “Thank you—for this, and for keeping me on my feet last night when that champagne bottle hit the floor.”
“You’re welcome,” he returned after a startled second. “Be careful going home.”
Abbie nodded. He’d felt that current of awareness, too, but he seemed determined to ignore it, so she would, too.
He was nearly to his own vehicle when she called his name. “Jace, wait.”
He walked back, turning up the collar on his brown leather bomber jacket and thrusting his hands into his pockets. Then, somehow, memories of their one unforgettable night together rose in her mind, and Abbie saw him smiling and shirtless, her naive fingers stroking his chest hair.
Her stomach floated. “What do you want to do about the publicity thing? Would you rather partner with someone you’ll find it easier to work with?”
“That depends,” he replied, managing a small smile. “Are you planning to be difficult?”
Bristling, she lifted her chin. “No. Are you?”
“No.”
“All right, then. Where do we go from here? Easter isn’t that far off.”
Even in the faint moonlight, she saw a challenge rise in his eyes. “I’ll phone you at your dad’s place and we’ll set up something.” He paused. “Then again, it might be better if I called your cell. No stress. On anyone.”
“If you want to know something, ask.”
“All right. Are you planning to tell your dad we’ll be seeing each other again?”
“I’m not a child anymore, Jace. Of course I’m going to tell him, and how he handles it is up to him. Now I have a question. Why did you suggest that we work together? Because of the money you think I can get for the food bank? Or did you just want to take another virtual poke at my father?”
“What do you think?”
She didn’t know—or maybe she didn’t want to know. “My dad’s number is in the book,” she replied, already tired of sparring with him. “If I’m not there, leave a message. As for my cell…” Danny’s voice came back to her and she felt another pinch of anxiety. “That number will be changing. I’ll give you the new one in a day or so.”
Then she closed her door, backed out of her parking space and left, a shivery truth once more making itself known. Whether they were fencing with each other, merely breathing the same air…or kissing on a dance floor…the attraction between them was still strong.
Last night at the country club their lips had barely touched, yet something about that kiss had been so tantalizing and provocative, Abbie had felt the power of it in a hundred different places.
An airy thrill moved through her, and she didn’t try to discourage it. It had been so long since a man had affected her this way it felt good to know that she was still able to respond. Toward the end of her marriage, she’d begun to worry.
Reaching the downtown area, she passed a short block of businesses, the mini mall, then the movie theater where she and Jace had once snuggled in the dark munching popcorn…and each other. Her nipples hardened.
And suddenly she wondered if her relationship with Collin would’ve worked if they’d had even a quarter of the chemistry that she and Jace still generated.
Chapter 3
The phone rang Wednesday evening as Abbie lit the tapers on the formal dining room table and called into the family room for her father and Miriam. She’d spent the morning changing her cell phone number and shopping, and the afternoon in the kitchen preparing dinner for the three of them. Now the house was filled with the tangy aromas of baked ham with raisin sauce, yams, chunky homemade applesauce and green beans with slivered almonds. Chocolate mousse was chilling in the refrigerator.
Grumbling that the caller had better not be a telemarketer, her dad veered into the hall, choosing the alternate route to the kitchen phone while Miriam joined Abbie in the Winslows’ dining room.
Miriam Abbot was a tall, attractive widow in her late fifties with fashionably short salt-and-pepper brown hair, brown eyes and a winning smile. Two years ago, she’d moved to Laurel Ridge and opened a travel agency in the building across the street from Morgan Winslow’s bank, and they’d quickly found enough common ground to form a friendship. Today she wore chocolate-brown wool slacks, topped by an off-white cashmere sweater, gold chains and a silky patterned scarf. Small gold hoops glinted at her earlobes.
“Everything looks and smells wonderful,” she said graciously. Her admiring gaze took in the steaming bowls and platters…the fresh flowers and the formal place settings…the gold-edged tea roses on white bone china. “You’ve gone to so much trouble. I just wish you would’ve let me help you.”
“Believe me,” Abbie replied, “I enjoyed being busy.” It had been a relief to concentrate on something other than her troubles in L.A. Though security had assured her that nothing had been disturbed in her apartment, hearing Danny’s voice last night had started an uneasy feeling in Abbie that wouldn’t