- -
- 100%
- +
Gina thought it over a moment and then said, “All right. Two weeks.”
“And after that, we can negotiate a longer stay.”
“I really am just passing through,” Gina said, feeling she was warning herself as much as him.
“So pass through at a walk. That way you can get a good look at the scenery.”
“From what I’ve seen so far, it’s certainly worth looking at,” Gina latched on to the impersonal subject gratefully.
Nick, feeling he’d won a victory by her agreement to stay two weeks, was perfectly willing to let her change the subject.
Ten minutes later he turned off the road, pulling onto a blacktop driveway. For a moment, a huge clapboard house was illuminated in the headlights before he cut the engine, plunging them into total darkness.
Gina blinked. “If that’s a cottage, what do you call a house?” And more important, how was one person supposed to clean something that big? she wondered.
“My great-grandfather built it as a summer house, and summer houses are always called cottages by the locals no matter how big they are,” Nick explained.
She glanced around in the stygian blackness and shivered at the house’s isolation.
“This looks like a stage in a science fiction movie,” she muttered. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to find an alien lurking in the corners.”
“I would,” he said dryly. “Any being smart enough to build interstellar spaceships would be far too smart to have anything to do with mankind.”
“Good point,” she admitted.
“Watch your step.” Nick used the irregular footing of the path as an excuse to give in to his growing compulsion to touch her.
Gina swallowed uneasily as his fingers closed around the bare skin of her upper arm. His touch made her feel both excited and safe at the same time, which made no sense. The excitement she could understand. Nick Balfour was a very exciting man. Especially given her limited experience. It was the feeling of security his touch brought that confused her. She knew full well that security didn’t come from outside. It came from within. Not only that, but she didn’t know this man. Not really. So why did she find his touch so reassuring?
Confused, she watched as Nick unlocked his front door. Maybe her whole reaction to him was nothing more than a temporary aberration? Maybe tomorrow morning she’d wake up, take one look at him in the cold, hard light of day and wonder what on earth she had ever seen in him. Other than the fact that he was ruggedly handsome, tall and well built. Very well built.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Nick’s voice broke into her thoughts. He flipped a switch just inside the door, and light flooded the entrance hall, momentarily blinding her.
Blinking to clear her vision, she followed Nick through the archway to the right into what appeared to be the living room, and looked around curiously.
About twenty by thirty, it was painted a depressing, mud color and was filled with comfortable-looking, stuffed furniture that had clearly seen better days. Early Salvation Army, she labeled the room’s decor, wondering how well paid Nick was when he was working. Or was it simply that this was what he was used to and he hadn’t noticed the general air of shabbiness? It was possible. She remembered a few of her girlfriends complaining about their husbands’ refusal to part with old, worn-out chairs because they were comfortable.
Between the pair of French doors on the opposite wall, there was a table with a large television on it. Beside it was a VCR and an elaborate stereo system. On the floor underneath were stacks of videos, DVDs and CDs.
Surreptitiously, Gina studied Nick as he tossed the truck’s keys on the dusty surface of the end table beside the door. Somehow, the house didn’t quite mesh with her initial impression of him. But she wasn’t quite sure why, and she was much too tired to try to figure it out at the moment.
“You can see why I need a housekeeper,” Nick offered into the growing silence.
Yes, she could certainly see that, she thought ruefully.
“Upstairs there are eight bedrooms and a bath. I sleep in one and use another as a study. There’s also a bedroom and bath downstairs off the kitchen. You can have it.”
Gina blinked. Eight bedrooms and one bathroom? That must have caused a few problems in the mornings.
“Come on. I’ll show you where your room is,” Nick said.
Gina followed him through the archway to the side of the living room and into a huge kitchen.
“The kitchen’s kind of…” Nick waved his arm around the room.
Gina winced. It certainly was. The room reminded her of the before pictures of a renovated, inner-city house she’d seen featured in the Sunday papers a few weeks ago.
“My mother threatened to gut this room and completely remodel it, but my dad refused to hear of it,” Nick confided. “He used to say that, if it was good enough for his father, it was good enough for him.”
“Your mother has my heartfelt sympathy,” Gina said.
“Oh, she took care of the problem,” he said. “When they retired and moved to Florida, she gave the house to me, and I don’t mind. I mean, Dad was right in a way. My great-grandmother used to prepare meals here with no trouble.”
“Your great-grandmother also didn’t have penicillin,” she shot back. “That doesn’t mean she was better off.”
“Does that mean you don’t like it?” Nick glanced around, and Gina’s heart constricted at his uncertain expression. Poor man, he probably couldn’t afford to even replace the World War II–era appliances, let alone remodel the whole room. It was hardly kind for her to make him feel bad about it.
“It’ll do just fine for the short time I’ll be here.” I hope, she added mentally with a jaundiced look at the ancient gas stove.
“Where is my room?” she asked. “And may I borrow a pair of your pajamas?”
Nick felt his entire body clench at the thought of her intense femininity actually inside his clothes.
Down, Balfour. You give her even a clue as to what you’re thinking, and she’ll be out of here so fast you won’t even see her go.
“Sorry, I don’t use pajamas,” he said. “How about a T-shirt instead?”
Gina swallowed at the captivating thought of his body sprawled out on his bed wearing nothing at all.
“That’s fine.” Her voice sounded odd to her, and she rushed on, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “I think I’ll go to bed now. I know it isn’t all that late, but I’ve been driving since six this morning, and traveling always makes me tired.”
Gina winced as her breathless babble echoed in her ears.
To her relief Nick didn’t seem to notice.
“I’ll get you a T-shirt then. Your room is through there.” He pointed to a hallway behind her. “And sheets for your bed are in the linen closet in the bathroom.”
“Just leave the shirt on the kitchen table,” Gina told him, and then beat a hasty retreat to her room. She desperately needed some time alone to regain her normal equilibrium. Exploring life’s possibilities was a lot more nerve-racking than she would have thought.
Chapter Three
Gina rolled over and opened her sleep-fogged eyes to find herself staring at a mustard-yellow wall. She frowned slightly, trying to figure out why a motel chain would paint anything such an unappetizing shade.
Not a motel! She jackknifed up as she suddenly remembered that she was in Nick Balfour’s house. Her breath escaped in a relieved whoosh as she studied the chair she’d wedged under the knob of her bedroom door. It hadn’t moved an inch. She’d been almost certain she could trust Nick, since both the waitress and the sheriff had vouched for him, but it was still nice to know she’d been right. Particularly since her judgment of people and their motives certainly hadn’t been all that great to date.
She picked up her watch from the bedside table and checked the time.
Eight-fifteen. Was she late or early? She frowned slightly. She had no idea what kind of schedule a housekeeper normally kept. Nor, she suspected, did Nick Balfour.
Nick Balfour. Gina closed her eyes to better concentrate on the mental picture forming in her mind. She imagined that he was staring down at her with a look of intense interest on his rugged face. His dark hair was slightly rumpled as if he’d been running his fingers through it, and his pale gray eyes burned with desire.
A flush washed over her body, shortening her breathing. The man should come with a consumer-warning label attached.
Not that she needed one, she assured herself. She didn’t want the complications an intimate relationship would bring. She didn’t have the time or the energy to deal with them. She had to be back in Illinois by January seventeenth. But until then she was free. Free to try to learn some of the things that her girlfriends seemed to have been born knowing.
And it was certainly past time for her to indulge in a little experimentation, she thought, as she retrieved her underwear from the radiator where she’d draped them last night after washing them out in the bathroom sink.
She could count on one hand the number of dates she’d had in the past four years. And her social life before that hadn’t exactly been anything to write home about.
A kick of excitement twisted through her at the thought of doing a little experimenting with Nick. Always provided he looked as good in the clear light of day as he had last night. She tried to dampen her expectations.
Gina winced as she slipped into her plain cotton underwear. They were cold, clammy and still slightly damp. First item on the agenda was to buy herself some clothes, she thought, mentally marking her to-do list.
She finished dressing, quietly removed the chair from in front of her door, eased it open and paused to listen. It was funereally quiet. Either Nick was normally a silent man or he was still asleep.
Not still asleep, she realized as she peered into the kitchen and saw him standing in front of the sink, staring out the window at the overgrown garden.
Compulsively, her eyes traced over the width of his shoulders, which this morning were covered by a pale blue denim shirt with the cuffs turned back. Her mouth dried as she studied the dark hair that covered his left arm, and her fingers tingled as she tried to imagine what his firmly muscled flesh would feel like beneath her exploring hands. Savoring the freedom to study him unawares, she let her gaze slowly slip over his flat hips and then down the long length of his khaki-covered legs. He was so gratifyingly tall. She could actually wear heels and not tower above him. She had a brief vision of herself in a slinky black cocktail dress and thin, strappy heels, being held in his arms as they slowly danced around a moonlit terrace.
And like every other tall man she’d ever known, he probably preferred women built like Tinkerbell, she thought ruefully.
“Good morning.” She tossed the greeting at his back.
He spun around as if startled to discover another person in the house with him.
Gina barely suppressed a wince. Instead of eagerly waiting for her to wake up, he seemed to have forgotten her existence. And to think she’d barricaded her door against him. The thought rankled. Just once she’d like a man to look at her and be consumed with good old-fashioned lust. Just once. Instead, she got a man who seemed to be desperately trying to remember where he knew her from.
Nick stared at her, caught off guard by the depth of desire that swept through him at the sight of her hovering in the doorway. His eyes lingered on the soft length of her chestnut hair, which barely brushed her shoulders. It looked shiny and silky. His palms itched to stroke it. To thread his fingers through it. To take a handful of it and to bury his face in it, and drink in the very faint floral fragrance he remembered from last night.
And as for what he wanted to do to the rest of her… His eyes slipped lower, lingering on the thrust of her breasts. She was eminently touchable. And even better, she was tall enough that he wouldn’t get a crick in his neck trying to kiss her. She would fit perfectly in his arms.
But not in his life, he reminded himself. He already had a very demanding mistress, medicine. He simply didn’t have the time to dance attendance on a woman.
Mentally he winced as he remembered the tantrums he’d had to endure, the one and only time he’d been stupid enough to try to balance the demands of his profession and a relationship. The vitriolic arguments and recriminations every time he’d been late had turned his life into a minefield. It was not an experience he cared to repeat. It had been a bitterly learned lesson, but at least he’d learned it.
On the other hand, the situation he found himself in now wasn’t normal, he rationalized. He had more time to fill than he knew what to do with. And Gina was someone who could help him fill it. Even if he couldn’t risk getting emotionally involved with her, they could still be friends for the short time she’d be here.
His mind immediately supplied him with an image of her lying in his bed gazing up at him with languorous eyes. He hurriedly sliced off the thought.
“Good morning,” he finally said. “There’s coffee if you’d like some.” He nodded toward the half-full pot on the gray Formica counter.
“Thank you.” She gratefully headed toward the caffeine only to be distracted by a whiff of his cologne. It was spicy and seemed to perfectly match the bright fall day outside. His scent made her think of crisp, chilled air and warm kisses in front of a blazing fire.
Determinedly she shoved the tantalizing thought to the back of her mind and, picking up the pot of coffee, poured herself a cup.
So much for her having exaggerated her attraction to him, she thought ruefully. If anything, her response to Nick was even stronger this morning than it had been last night. The question was, What was she going to do about it? Or, more accurately, What could she do about it? It was all well and good for her to decide to explore an emotional relationship with him, but to actually do it, Nick would have to cooperate. That was the sticking point.
Don’t worry about what might happen, she told herself. First, deal with what was. And heading the list of things that needed to be dealt with was her stolen car.
“Did the sheriff call?” she asked.
“No. Not that I expected him to. I doubt he gets out of bed much before ten o’clock on a weekend.”
“The joys of small-town living,” she said dryly.
“Human nature is the same no matter what the size of a town,” he said. “It’s just that the behavior is more visible in a small town because there are fewer things to get in the way of seeing it.”
“I’d sure like to know where you have to go to get away from crime if small towns aren’t safe,” she said.
“Heaven?”
Gina sighed dispiritedly. “Probably. This whole thing has sure taken the bloom off my big adventure.”
“That’s right. You said you were running away from home. Why?” He slipped the question in.
“Why what?”
“Why were you running away from home?”
“Because I’d rather be somewhere else. Didn’t you ever want to chuck it all and take off into the wild blue yonder?”
Nick frowned slightly as he considered her words. “Not really,” he finally said. “I’ve often had the impulse to chuck a few people off into the wild blue yonder, but I’ve had no desire to go there myself.”
Odd, Gina thought. She had thought he would have found living in this run-down house in the back of beyond stultifying. Day after day of doing nothing. Going nowhere. Personally, she’d be a basket case after a few months of it. So why wasn’t he longing for a change?
“You like living here?” she asked curiously.
“I’m being driven out of my mind!” His vehemence shocked her. “And I can’t go back to work until my arm is healed. And even then, I’ll have to have physical therapy to regain the dexterity in my fingers. It’ll be at least another eight weeks before I can work again. Maybe longer.”
Always provided he did regain his manual dexterity. Nick swallowed on the cold metallic taste of fear clogging his throat. If there had been nerve damage…
He shoved his long fingers through his thick black hair, and Gina found her eyes following the movement. Wondering about the texture of his hair. Fantasizing about what it would feel like if she were to touch it.
“What exactly did you break?” She stared at the imposing cast that covered his right arm from wrist to elbow.
“My radius,” he said shortly, having no intention of telling her that it wasn’t just a simple break. That the bone had been fractured into eight pieces by a bullet. Telling her that would lead to other questions. Questions he didn’t want to answer.
“I see,” Gina said slowly, wondering what he’d been doing when he’d broken his arm. Skateboarding? Skiing? Riding a motorcycle? But despite her intense curiosity, his almost palatable withdrawal discouraged any more questions. And she most emphatically didn’t want him to start thinking of her as nosy. Regretfully she changed the subject.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.