Waiting For Nick
Page 9
A lonely song, he thought, and an achingly hopeful one. She was right, he decided—it was exactly what he'd intended.
"Let's play it like this, Freddie. We'll take some time, see how it goes. If we can come up with two other solid songs for the libretto, we'll take it to the producers."
Under the table, she tapped her nervous fingers on her knee. "And if they approve the material?"
"If they approve the material, you've got yourself a partner." He lifted his glass. "Deal?"
"Oh, yes." She tapped her glass against his, sounding a celebratory note. "It's a deal."
It was far more than the wine that had her feeling giddy when Nick walked her up to her hotel room after dinner. Laughing, she whirled, pressing her back against the door and beaming at him. "We're going to be fabulous together. I know it."
He tucked stray curls behind her ear, barely noticing that his fingertip skimmed the lobe, lingered. "We'll see how it flies. Tomorrow, my place, my piano. Bring food."
"All right. I'll be there first thing in the morning."
"You come before noon, I'll have to kill you. Where's your key, kid?"
"Right here." She waved it under his nose before sliding it into the slot. "Want to come in?"
"I've got to finish off the late shift and close the bar. So…" His words, and his thoughts, trailed off as she turned back and slipped her arms around him. The quick flash of heat stunned him. "Get some sleep," he began, and lowered his head to give her a chaste peck on the cheek.
She wasn't that giddy—or perhaps she was just giddy enough. She shifted, tilting her face so that their lips met. Only for two heartbeats, two long, unsteady heartbeats.
She savored it, the taste of him, the firm, smooth texture of his mouth, and the quick, instinctive tightening of his hands on her shoulders.
Then she drew away, a bright, determined smile on her lips that gave no clue as to her own rocky pulse. "Good night, Nicholas."
He didn't move, not a single muscle, even after she shut the door in his face. It was the sound of his own breath whooshing out that broke the spell. He turned, walked slowly toward the elevators.
His cousin, he reminded himself. She was his cousin, not some sexy little number he could enjoy temporarily. He lifted a hand to push the button for the lobby, noticed it wasn't quite steady, and cursed under his breath.
Cousins, he thought again. Who had a family history and a potential working relationship. No way he was going to forget that. No way in hell.
Chapter Three
"Hi, Rio." Freddie balanced bag, purse and briefcase as she entered through the kitchen of Lower the Boom.
"Hey, little doll." Busy with lunch preparations, Rio had both hands occupied himself. "What's doing?"
"Nick and I are working together today," she told him as she headed for the stairs.
"Be lucky if you don't have to pull him out of bed by his hair."
She only chuckled and kept going. "He said noon. It's noon." On the dot, she added to herself, maneuvering up the narrow, curved staircase. She gave the door at the top a sharp rap, waited. Tapped her foot. Shifted her bags. Okay, Nicholas, she thought, up and at 'em. After fighting the door open, she gave a warning shout.
In the silence that followed, she heard the faint sound of water running. In the shower, she decided, and, satisfied, carried her bundles into the kitchen.
She'd taken him seriously when he told her to bring food. Out of the bag she took deli cartons of potato salad, pasta salad, pickles and waxed-paper-wrapped sandwiches. After setting them out, she went on a search for cold drinks.
It didn't take long for her to realize they had a choice between beer and flat seltzer. And that Nick's kitchen was crying out for a large dose of industrial-strength cleaner.
When he came in a few minutes later, the sleeves of her sweater were pushed up and she was up to her elbows in steaming, soapy water.
"What's going on?"
"This place is a disgrace," she said without turning around. "You should be ashamed of yourself, living like this. I wrapped the medical experiments that were in the fridge in that plastic bag. I'd take them out and bury them if I were you."
He grunted and headed for the coffeepot.
"When's the last time you took a mop to this floor?"
"I think it was September 1990." He yawned and, trying to adjust his eyes to morning, measured out coffee. "Did you bring food?"
"On the table."
With a frown he studied the salads, the sandwiches. "Where's breakfast?"
"It's lunchtime," she said between her teeth.
"Time's relative, Fred." Experimentally, he bit into a pickle.
With a clatter, Freddie set the last of the dishes she'd found crusted in the sink aside to drain. "The least you could do is go in and pick up some of the mess in the living room. I don't know how you expect to work in this place."
The tart taste of the pickle improved his spirits, so he took another bite. "I pick it up the third Sunday of every month, whether it needs it or not."
She turned, fisted her hands on her hips. "Well, pick it up now. I'm not working in this pit, clothes everywhere, trash, dust an inch thick."
Leaning back on the table, he grinned at her. Her hair was pulled back, in an attempt to tame it that failed beautifully. Her eyes were stormy, her mouth was set. She looked, he thought, like an insulted fairy.
"God, you're cute, Fred."
Now those stormy eyes narrowed. "You know I hate that."
"Yeah." His grin only widened.
With dignity, she ripped off a paper towel from a roll on the counter to dry her hands. "What are you staring at?"
"You. I'm waiting for you to pout. You're even cuter when you pout."
She would not, she promised herself, be amused. "You're really pushing it, Nick."
"It stopped you from ordering me around, the way you do with Brandon."
"I do not order my brother around."
Nick scooted around her to get one of the coffee mugs she'd just washed. "Sure you do. Face it, kid, you're bossy."
"I certainly am not."
"Bossy, spoiled, and cute as a little button."
To prove her own control, she took one long, deep breath. "I'm going to hit you in a minute."
"Let's play it like this, Freddie. We'll take some time, see how it goes. If we can come up with two other solid songs for the libretto, we'll take it to the producers."
Under the table, she tapped her nervous fingers on her knee. "And if they approve the material?"
"If they approve the material, you've got yourself a partner." He lifted his glass. "Deal?"
"Oh, yes." She tapped her glass against his, sounding a celebratory note. "It's a deal."
It was far more than the wine that had her feeling giddy when Nick walked her up to her hotel room after dinner. Laughing, she whirled, pressing her back against the door and beaming at him. "We're going to be fabulous together. I know it."
He tucked stray curls behind her ear, barely noticing that his fingertip skimmed the lobe, lingered. "We'll see how it flies. Tomorrow, my place, my piano. Bring food."
"All right. I'll be there first thing in the morning."
"You come before noon, I'll have to kill you. Where's your key, kid?"
"Right here." She waved it under his nose before sliding it into the slot. "Want to come in?"
"I've got to finish off the late shift and close the bar. So…" His words, and his thoughts, trailed off as she turned back and slipped her arms around him. The quick flash of heat stunned him. "Get some sleep," he began, and lowered his head to give her a chaste peck on the cheek.
She wasn't that giddy—or perhaps she was just giddy enough. She shifted, tilting her face so that their lips met. Only for two heartbeats, two long, unsteady heartbeats.
She savored it, the taste of him, the firm, smooth texture of his mouth, and the quick, instinctive tightening of his hands on her shoulders.
Then she drew away, a bright, determined smile on her lips that gave no clue as to her own rocky pulse. "Good night, Nicholas."
He didn't move, not a single muscle, even after she shut the door in his face. It was the sound of his own breath whooshing out that broke the spell. He turned, walked slowly toward the elevators.
His cousin, he reminded himself. She was his cousin, not some sexy little number he could enjoy temporarily. He lifted a hand to push the button for the lobby, noticed it wasn't quite steady, and cursed under his breath.
Cousins, he thought again. Who had a family history and a potential working relationship. No way he was going to forget that. No way in hell.
Chapter Three
"Hi, Rio." Freddie balanced bag, purse and briefcase as she entered through the kitchen of Lower the Boom.
"Hey, little doll." Busy with lunch preparations, Rio had both hands occupied himself. "What's doing?"
"Nick and I are working together today," she told him as she headed for the stairs.
"Be lucky if you don't have to pull him out of bed by his hair."
She only chuckled and kept going. "He said noon. It's noon." On the dot, she added to herself, maneuvering up the narrow, curved staircase. She gave the door at the top a sharp rap, waited. Tapped her foot. Shifted her bags. Okay, Nicholas, she thought, up and at 'em. After fighting the door open, she gave a warning shout.
In the silence that followed, she heard the faint sound of water running. In the shower, she decided, and, satisfied, carried her bundles into the kitchen.
She'd taken him seriously when he told her to bring food. Out of the bag she took deli cartons of potato salad, pasta salad, pickles and waxed-paper-wrapped sandwiches. After setting them out, she went on a search for cold drinks.
It didn't take long for her to realize they had a choice between beer and flat seltzer. And that Nick's kitchen was crying out for a large dose of industrial-strength cleaner.
When he came in a few minutes later, the sleeves of her sweater were pushed up and she was up to her elbows in steaming, soapy water.
"What's going on?"
"This place is a disgrace," she said without turning around. "You should be ashamed of yourself, living like this. I wrapped the medical experiments that were in the fridge in that plastic bag. I'd take them out and bury them if I were you."
He grunted and headed for the coffeepot.
"When's the last time you took a mop to this floor?"
"I think it was September 1990." He yawned and, trying to adjust his eyes to morning, measured out coffee. "Did you bring food?"
"On the table."
With a frown he studied the salads, the sandwiches. "Where's breakfast?"
"It's lunchtime," she said between her teeth.
"Time's relative, Fred." Experimentally, he bit into a pickle.
With a clatter, Freddie set the last of the dishes she'd found crusted in the sink aside to drain. "The least you could do is go in and pick up some of the mess in the living room. I don't know how you expect to work in this place."
The tart taste of the pickle improved his spirits, so he took another bite. "I pick it up the third Sunday of every month, whether it needs it or not."
She turned, fisted her hands on her hips. "Well, pick it up now. I'm not working in this pit, clothes everywhere, trash, dust an inch thick."
Leaning back on the table, he grinned at her. Her hair was pulled back, in an attempt to tame it that failed beautifully. Her eyes were stormy, her mouth was set. She looked, he thought, like an insulted fairy.
"God, you're cute, Fred."
Now those stormy eyes narrowed. "You know I hate that."
"Yeah." His grin only widened.
With dignity, she ripped off a paper towel from a roll on the counter to dry her hands. "What are you staring at?"
"You. I'm waiting for you to pout. You're even cuter when you pout."
She would not, she promised herself, be amused. "You're really pushing it, Nick."
"It stopped you from ordering me around, the way you do with Brandon."
"I do not order my brother around."
Nick scooted around her to get one of the coffee mugs she'd just washed. "Sure you do. Face it, kid, you're bossy."
"I certainly am not."
"Bossy, spoiled, and cute as a little button."
To prove her own control, she took one long, deep breath. "I'm going to hit you in a minute."
