Tall, Dark And Temporary

“I bought out Bailey’s.” Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she looked up at him and smiled. “This is all mine,” she said, opening her arms, “as long as I pay the rent.”

He nodded, noting she was finally beginning to relax a little. “From the looks of things when I walked in, I’d say you bring a lot of enthusiasm to your work. But I thought that Andy Sloan would have had you living in one of those big houses out on Red Oak Road by now,” he said, referring to the most exclusive area in Follett River.

She looked away, rubbing her thumb against her lips as his gaze drifted over her. The signs of her sensual nature were still there, peeking through as surely as the white satin strap of her bra peeked out of her grape-colored top. Or in the curvy white-blond tempting-to-touch hair tickling at her collarbone. His gaze wandered to her eyes, then drifted downward again. “So whatever happened to Andy?”

“Nick,” she said, folding her arms across her midriff, effectively cutting off his view of the taut belly softly punctuated by a sugar-filled navel. “Andy did marry me.”

Nick blinked, then looked up, his lighthearted mood disappearing in her news flash. She was another man’s wife; she’d probably removed her wedding band when she’d started to make the pastries. Where was his head? A beautiful, sensual creature like Megan not married?

“Whoa,” he said, taking a step back. “I have been away a long time, haven’t I?” He tubbed at the back of his neck, then gave her an apologetic wink. “How is Andy? Still shaking up everyone over at the country club with his tennis scores? Did he become district attorney, like you predicted?”

Megan stared into the darkened dining room of the café. “Nick, Andy died.”

If hearing she was married had surprised him, this news threatened to take his breath away. “Megan, I am really sorry. I had no idea.”

“That’s okay,” she said, offering him a forgiving smile before her gaze shifted to the floor.

“How did it happen?” he asked, then wished he hadn’t. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel more uncomfortable by dragging up heavyhearted memories.

“He’d been away on business in the southern part of the state,” she said, staring at her white tennis shoes. She crossed one foot over the other and rested it on its toe. “He was driving back and fell asleep at the wheel.”

Nick gave a sympathetic shake of his head. What he wanted to do was take her in his arms and comfort her, but that was probably the last thing she wanted from him after he’d just been teasing her about Andy.

Shifting uneasily, he studied her profile, hoping to find a clue for what to do or say next. Her eyes were dry. Her chin wasn’t trembling. Her lips weren’t quivering. All in all, she was handling the tragedy remarkably well. Come to think of it, he wasn’t surprised. Even at the untested age of eighteen, she had impressed him with an unusual strength of character. That same strength was now seeing her through the brittle reality of death.

Closing his hand over her shoulder, he managed, in the process, to tangle his fingers in her silky blond vanilla-scented hair. Those strands of hair might as well be made of steel cables and her shoulder a magnet holding him fast. He swallowed hard. Until that moment, he had no idea how strong his desire was to touch her. “Megan, is there anything I can do?”

Keeping her head bowed, she smoothed the toe of her shoe along an imaginary line on the floor. “It happened a long time ago.”

“I see,” he said, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze while he tried and failed to ignore what her nearness was doing to him.

Looking up at him, she let her gaze wander over his face, as if she were seeing it for the first time. Or memorizing it for the last time. Whatever the case, that glimmer of heated awareness he saw in her eyes was undeniable. So was that tugging sensation low in his belly. “How long ago, Megan?”

She was staring at his mouth now. “This September will be six years.”

“Six years,” he repeated as vague feelings of guilt scattered to make way for the relief rushing through him. Six years? The tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in his shoulders began to uncoil. He wasn’t certain about the protocol on such things, but six years sounded like a long enough grieving period to him. By the look in Megan’s eyes, he thought it safe to assume that she did, too.

He lifted a lock of her hair and moved it behind her shoulder. “Six years is a long time to be alone,” he said, one breath away from a kiss.

Megan Sloan froze on his last words. That Nick Buchanan had walked in on her while she was in the middle of a wildly sexy fantasy about him was astonishing. That she hadn’t screamed, passed out, or worse, tried to start a conga line with him was a miracle. But he’d just sent her crashing to earth with his last remark. She stepped away from the table.

She’d always known what to do with him in her fantasies, but dealing with him in real life wasn’t the same. And with everything else going on in her life right now, she did not need more impossible visions of Nick Buchanan crowding her thoughts. He’d taken a piece of her heart when he left town ten years ago. She wasn’t about to let that happen again.

Pulling at the hem of her shirt, she made several unsuccessful attempts at covering her navel before she gave up and crossed her arms over it. “I haven’t exactly been alone for the last six years.”

He leaned an elbow on the worktable and smiled. She remembered that smile so well. Part tease, part challenge, all bad boy and designed to make any woman who saw it melt. That damn smile. He could make curved lips and a riveting stare say more than mere spoken words ever could.

“So what are you saying? Is there someone special?”

“Very special.” The sooner Nick knew, the sooner he’d take the next predictable step...like every other man she’d met since Andy died. He’d leave. And she could start to forget that the gap between fantasy and reality had been bridged tonight. “Nick, I was pregnant when Andy died. I have a little girl.”

“A little girl?” He blinked as he pushed up from the table. “And you’re raising her all by yourself?”

“Aunt Sandra, my mother’s sister, watches her during the day, and for that matter, most anytime I need her to.”

Megan walked over to the framed corkboard next to the refrigerator. “Her photo’s over here,” she said, pushing aside several colorful crayon drawings to reveal a department-store photo. The plastic puppy barrettes and infectious grin only added to the charm of her child’s button-nosed beauty.

Nick walked up behind her, curved his hand over her shoulder and leaned to get a good look at the photo.

My God, she thought, I wasn’t imagining it before. He’s wearing the same aftershave he used ten years ago. A peppery lime scent that smelled like citrus punch on other men and a private party waiting to happen on him.

Megan held her breath as he reached past her. “What’s her name?” he asked as he worked out the plastic pushpin and lifted the photo.

“Paige. She’ll be starting kindergarten soon.”

“I have to get a better look,” he said, taking the photo from the shadowed corner of the kitchen to the bright light over the worktable.

Megan watched him study the picture for a few strangely heart-thumping seconds.

“She’s got your hair and that one dimple of yours,” he said, nodding as he touched his own cheek. “And she tilts her head like you do.”

“Does she? Let me see.” She joined him by the table. “You’re right,” she said, looking up to find him staring at her and not the photo. “I never noticed that before.”

His soft laughter made her ears tickle and her breath catch. “She’s beautiful, Megan. Are those boys in kindergarten ready for her?”

“Well, I don’t know about them,” she said, halfway disarmed by the genuine tone of his comments, “but she’s ready. She’s had her clothes picked out for the first day for over a month. The shoes, she tells me, are another matter completely.”

Resting his hands comfortably on his hips, he shifted his weight to lean against the table. “So what’s that about?” he asked, pretending mild confusion over the child’s whimsical concern.

He appeared in no hurry to rush out the door. If anything, he looked as if he was enjoying their conversation and wanting more of it.

Taking the photo from him, she tapped it lightly against her palm. A ripple of misgiving moved through her. Was she crazy? Nick couldn’t possibly be interested in the domestic details of her ordinary life. Turning away, she headed back to the corkboard.

“She can’t make up her mind between her tap shoes and her new red ones. But enough about that,” she said, firmly securing the photo to the board with the pushpin before turning to face him again. “You’ve been away so long, Nick. What brings you back to Follett River now?”

“Work,” he said, replacing his inquisitive expression with that impossible-to-read smile.

Every time he looked at her or spoke, pangs of pleasure erupted low in her belly, then spiraled out slowly to her breasts and thighs. She attempted to ignore the last and most powerful sensations as she walked back to him, but the closer she got the more intense they became. By the time she reached him, it was all she could do to grab hold of the table and not him.

“I was talking to your cousin at my class reunion last winter,” she said as she concentrated on her white-knuckle grip. “Rory said something about you being on the road a tot. What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m in construction.” He placed his hand on the table next to hers. “I’m here with the Murano Group for the River Walk project. Have you heard about it?”

“Everyone has. It’s the main topic of conversation with us local business owners,” she said, trying not to stare at his well-tanned, hair-roughened hand resting on a layer of powdered sugar beside her fair-skinned one. She closed her eyes. Instantly, images of him stripped to the waist and standing in a layer of sawdust slipped unbidden into her mind’s eye. With one hand firmly gripped around a piece of lumber, he was hammering nails with strong, even strokes. The scene was taking place out at the old warehouse, the sun blazing across his perfectly tanned shoulders. Rivulets of sweat were trickling down his spine and into the waistband of his jeans. She licked nervously at her lips as she opened her eyes. Her gaze darted from his hands to his face and back again. “I always thought of you doing it, I mean, doing something outdoors.”

“I’m indoors a lot, too.” A frown that did nothing to diminish his good looks fell across his face as he snapped his fingers. “The business owners’ association. That reminds me,” he said, checking his watch. “I have a few more things to take care of tonight. Will I see you at the hotel tomorrow night for the meeting the Murano Group is hosting?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good. I’ll look for you,” he said, turning to go. One step toward the door and he slowed to a stop. “Oh.” Turning around, he raised his index finger and smiled. “Didn’t you forget something?”

He was coming toward her again. Just like before. Ten years hadn’t tarnished his appeal. If anything, she was even more attracted to him now. Dangerously attracted.

“What?” she managed to ask.

As he closed the space between them, she reached back with her other hand to brace herself.

“I guess it slipped your mind once we started talking,” he said, his deep voice vibrating nerve endings she thought long dead. “That’s okay. I’ll just help myself.”

He kept on coming closer until she was bending backward and he was reaching past her, his arm gently brushing hers. Her lips parted in a soft gasp as his chest grazed the tips of her breasts. A second later he was pulling back with a cream puff in his hand.

“Got it.”

“Nick Buchanan,” she said with a breathless laugh meant to hide her disappointment. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he said, winking at her as he headed for the back door.

The bang of the screen door punctuated his exit as smartly as the flourish of a magician’s wand. Megan stood alone in the kitchen, aware of a sudden and immense silence. For one delusional moment, she wondered if she’d conjured up his surprise visit. Then she glanced down at the tray of cream puffs. Nick Buchanan had been there. One was missing. And so was another piece of her heart.

Two

“Come on, Rebecca,” Megan murmured. “You never used to be late to anything. Don’t start now.”

Pacing inside the Hotel Maxwell lobby the next evening, Megan alternately glanced at her watch, then rimmed its band with her fingertip. Ten minutes and counting until representatives from the Murano Group were scheduled to start their meeting for business owners, private investors and the local media about the River Walk project. Everyone expected to attend the well-publicized meeting had arrived except Rebecca.

And Nick Buchanan.

Megan stopped to look toward the glass-and-brass revolving doors. The last thing she wanted was to run into Nick. It had been almost twenty-four hours since she’d seen him. Plenty of time to sort through and make sense of her reaction to his surprise visit, but not quite enough time to feel altogether comfortable with the decision she’d come to.

Maybe it was a tad excessive, but avoiding a roustabout construction worker who spent his life on the road was the smartest thing a woman in her position could do. The smartest and the hardest.

She tried convincing herself that the thoughts he’d stirred up by his surprise appearance would settle down by the time her radio buzzed her awake the next morning. But the buzz she was experiencing eight hours after his visit had been going on long before her radio alarm.

Enticing dreams about Nick left her feeling as if she were in a modified version of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Tossing and turning in her single bed, the once comfortable piece of furniture was suddenly too big and too small.

The truth was undeniable. Nick Buchanan, the bad-boy charmer of ten years ago, the centerpiece of her sexiest fantasies, the man she was losing valuable sleep over, was back in her life and majorly capable of distracting her from her goals, if she let him. She tugged at her watchband. Those fantasies! She had to put a stop to them.

Closing her eyes, she settled both hands over her rib cage and tried pulling in an even, calming breath. Without warning, Nick’s naughtiest smile slipped into her mind’s eye. The tantalizing rush of pleasure cascading through her a second later caused her lips to part and her resolve to rapidly soften. That naughty smile of his was hinting at something memorable. Nibbling at her lips, she gave in to a luxurious sigh as the vision behind her eyelids began surging to life.

They were in the café kitchen alone, sometime after midnight. Soft music drifted around them as they made minimal efforts to keep on dancing. Pressed against Nick’s masculine form, she felt light-headed with growing desire. After all these years, being this close to him was too much, yet it wasn’t enough for her. Sliding her hands down his back, she gazed up at him.

“Nick,” she whispered, unable to keep the aching need out of her voice. Drawing her nails against the small of his back, she gently nudged him with her hips.

“Please, Nick.”

“You’ve been alone for such a long time, Meggie,” he said as he set her away from him and against the worktable. “I don’t want to hurt you. We have time.”

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she said, brazenly slipping her hand between them to press against the hard evidence of his arousal. “You want me, Nick. I can tell you want me. ”

“Hell, yes, I want you,” he whispered on the end of a groan Staring down at her with half-closed passion-hot eyes, he sealed his lips to hers with a quick, hungry kiss. “Keep touching me like that, and we aren’t going to make it to a bed.”

She kept touching him like that. “I don’t need a bed, Nick. I need you. Right here. Right now.”

Cursing the state of his arousal, he pulled away from her, then swept the worktable clear. Pastry trays were still clattering on the floor as he lifted her onto the edge of the table and began to answer questions she’d only dreamed about.

Her eyes flew open, then continued to widen as several highly erotic possibilities of what might happen next began forming in the steamier recesses of her imagination. The tips of her breasts, the tops of her thighs and every inch in between tingled.

She looked guiltily around the lobby, scolding herself for thinking about what kind of a lover the real Nick would make. Transitioning into full-time catering to insure a financially secure future was supposed to be the only thing on her mind. Her busy life was complicated enough without Nick, thank you very much. Especially after that letter from her landlord last week, warning her about the rent increases.

Staring at her reflection in a nearby mirror, she shook her head at the jumble of thoughts crowding in. She had to keep herself directed toward goals that could and would come true. Not toward self-indulgent flights of fancy that were getting completely out of hand.

But how had those self-induced visions become so achingly explicit? They weren’t inspired by any sexual experiences she’d had. No, sex with Andy had never hinted at anything so... interesting.

She rubbed at her temples. If the reality of Nick was half as potent as the Nick in her fantasies, she could be in trouble. She sighed. Big trouble. Of course, she had no intention of placing herself in a position to find out just how big. Besides, wasn’t it painfully obvious that she was anything but a wild, hot seductress? Her lips suddenly thinned with annoyance as she narrowed her eyes toward her reflection.

“Pull it together, Meggie,” she mumbled. “Come on, just like you always do when things get dicey. Think about that sweet little girl who needs you. And how nothing is more important than making a better life for her.”

“I heard that mumbling.”

“Rebecca!” Megan whirled around to face her.

“Hey, girlfriend, I thought you would have gone in and gotten us seats.”

“I told you I’d wait for you here,” she said, looking over Rebecca’s shoulder toward the revolving doors. Thankfully, Nick was still nowhere in sight. “Where have you been?”

“I’m still on my honeymoon.”

“But you were married months ago,” she said, taking her by the elbow and drawing her across the empty lobby. “How long is a honeymoon supposed to last?”

Rebecca gave her a devilish grin. “As far as I’m concerned, as long as Raleigh can.”

Megan’s breath caught in her throat. A second later she was stealing a glance at her friend. Was it true? Was the kind of wild, unbridled passion she’d only imagined really possible?

“Meggie, darling, I always could make your ears turn red. Couldn’t I?”

“Your talents know no boundaries, Reb,” Megan said, shaking her head with genuine amusement as she reached for the door to the meeting room.

“That’s what Raleigh keeps telling me. You want to fill me in on what that conversation you were having with the mirror was all about?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Trust me. Your eyes would glaze over. Let’s just go inside and find seats,” she said, grabbing two programs from the table near the doors.

As they headed for the front of the room, she couldn’t help herself. She made a quick scan of the room looking for Nick. Maybe she’d missed him. Maybe he’d slipped in a side entrance to the hotel. Taking a seat in the front row, she began fanning herself with the programs.

Maybe he wasn’t coming. She wouldn’t be surprised. If he was anything like he was ten years ago, missing this meeting would be right in character for Nick. She pictured him in his jeans and leather jacket, roaring down the highway to who knew where. Wind whipping through his hair, his thighs tightly gripping his motorcycle, that hell-bent look in his eyes....

She fanned a little faster. He’d probably already forgotten he’d stopped by last night That would be the best possible thing that could happen. In small-town Follett River, an absence of curious questions would make her plan for avoiding him a lot easier.

“So I hear you had a surprise visitor last night.”

The programs crumpled in her grip. She turned to her friend.

“He told you?”

“Well—”

Grabbing Rebecca by the wrist, she leaned toward her and lowered her chin. “He actually told you he caught me dancing by myself in the kitchen?” she asked in a choked whisper.

“Dancing?” Rebecca did a double take, then looked around before she leaned closer. “Meggie, Nick caught you dancing? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Oh.” Pulling back, she stared straight ahead. “I’d appreciate it if you’d forget I ever mentioned that,” she said, relaxing in her seat as she smoothed out the programs.

“No problem, Megan.”

She slapped a program into Rebecca’s hand. “Good.”

“Right. Thanks. So, then what happened?”

Megan twisted to face her again as someone took the empty seat on her right side. A trousered leg brushed against hers, sending her short skirt higher up her thigh.

“Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing,” she said, tugging down her hem as her friend’s face lit up with a suspicious smile. “Reb, if you tell one person I told you that, I will never forgive you.”

“My lips are sealed.” Rebecca raised an eyebrow as she looked past Megan.

“How about you, Nick? Are you going to tell anyone you caught Megan dancing alone in her kitchen last night?”

Megan felt her breath catch in her throat as his arm settled over the back of her chair and the broad and solid wall of his chest touched her shoulder.

“Consider my lips sealed, too,” he said, reaching in front of Megan to share a high five with Rebecca.

Megan’s gaze slid to one side. His lips were not sealed. They were open in a heart-stealing grin, now fixed on her.

She was trapped between a treacherous friend and temptation powerful enough to make her hands shake. She held back a groan. Why was nothing ever easy in her life? And wasn’t it time for someone to strike the gavel? For the floor to open up and swallow her? Or for aliens to beam her up to the mother ship?

She managed to give Nick a closemouthed smile before turning her face to Rebecca. “Give me a break here,” she silently mouthed, then quickly looked toward the podium.

“Oh, Nick,” Rebecca said in a tone too casual to be believed, “I finally remembered who it was that brought up your name at the reunion.”

Megan instantly tensed.

“Who?” he asked.

“You’re sitting next to her.”

“Is that right?” he asked.

Megan nodded. A moment later she felt the vibrations from the rumble of his soft, deep laughter. The masculine sensation played along every nerve ending in her body, making her feel as if they’d both been laughing. Laughing the way old friends laughed. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Or new lovers.

“What made you think of me?” he asked, leaning his head to fix a curious stare on her.

She managed a shrug as she dropped her gaze to the perfect creases in the trousers of his summer suit. He didn’t look like any construction worker she’d daydreamed about. He must have come straight from another meeting. She swallowed hard. Or a date. “I don’t remember what made me think of you,” she said, moving her leg away from his. That did little to stop the sensation of sparklers sending out their tiny explosions of stinging tickles beneath her skin.

Rebecca leaned closer. “I do. Jade Macleod and I were complaining about the bad time we had at our prom. You know, the one you took your cousin Rory to. Anyway, Megan insisted she had some very good memories from that night.”

He rubbed a growing smile from his mouth and nodded. “Yeah. It turned out better than I expected.”

It had turned out better than she expected, too. The memory of his tempting whispers and what they’d done to her had her breathing deeply. She smoothed her hand over her leg. Please, Lord, make him forget we spent all that time behind the crepe-paper curtain, and I swear I’ll never...