Ballet Shoes and Engine Grease (14 page)

She didn’
t really want to know, she told herself. But one
thing she knew for certain. She was not going to walk into the trap
of handing her heart over to Nick Constantine and then having him
trample all over it. All those warm, fuzzy feelings zipping and
zooming inside her had better stay there. Hidden. Locked away.
Until they died a natural death.

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Chapter Eight

Lights shone from the
kitche
n windows when
Nick returned to Longwood Hall around midnight. Satisfaction
swelled in his chest. Crimson had waited up for him. It had been a
long, difficult day. Despite the pressure of the investigation,
despite all the distractions, he had found time to think about her,
worry about her.

When s
he hurried out to meet him in the hall, his eager gaze slid
over her slender curves. Today, she wore stretchy silver leggings
and a pale pink leotard over them. Her hair was twisted into a
tight knot at the nape of her neck.

“
You look like cotton candy,” he told
her.

“
Sweet and fluffy?”

“
Tempting and ethereal.”

“
I’m fine.” Brown eyes flashed in defiance.
“I went to the doctor.”

“
I know.” Her combative tone drew a chuckle
from him. “Soames told me. I called the house while you were out. I
didn’t call your cell, in case you were driving.”

He
caught the flicker of guilt on Crimson’s face. Puzzled,
Nick registered the slight flush that warmed her pale skin.
“You
did
see the
doctor?” he pressed.

“
Yes I did,” she reassured him. “There’s an
inhaler in the kitchen by the coffee machine, and another one
hanging from the lemon tree in the conservatory. I’ve been doing my
ballet exercises in there. The handrail between the path and the
plants makes an excellent
barre
.”

He
gave her a nod of approval. “Good girl.”

She set off toward the kitchen.
“How bad is the damage at the
factory?”

Nick
followed her. “Two cars are a write-off. Another three will
require major refinishing on the bodywork, but the engines and the
rest of the mechanics are undamaged. The insurance assessor has
been. He is supportive, despite the safety failings.”

Crimson
turned to face him, spinning gracefully on her
toes. “What happened?”

To avoid crashing into her,
Nick had to come to an abrupt
halt. He would have liked to pull her into his arms, but he carried
a briefcase in one hand and a shopping bag full of documents that
Anna had packed for Crimson in the other.

He gestured with his head, and they
resumed their path toward the kitchen, where he dumped the
briefcase and bag of documents on the counter.
“Gregg Watkins, the supervisor who
inspects the paintwork on the finished cars, has confessed to
leaving the paints out. One of his men had to go home in a hurry,
and Gregg promised to tidy up. Then, just before he was about to
pack up, he went into the cafeteria for a cup of coffee and simply
forgot to go back to the manufacturing hall and put the paints
away. He was the last person to leave the factory, so no one else
noticed.”

“
It’s my fault,” Crimson said
glumly.

Nick studied her troubled
expression.
“How can it
be your fault?”

“
Anna and Gregg belong to Longwood Players.
The local drama society. They are putting on Midsummer Night’s
Dream. Anna is Titania and Gregg is Oberon. She uses every excuse
to run out to the factory and talk to him. I think she has a crush
on him. When you called yesterday, asking me to stay late, Anna
offered to go the cafeteria and make me a sandwich. She has a key
to the big refrigerator where food is stored overnight.”

“
And she didn’t want to put on an overall
and safety glasses,” Nick said flatly.

Crimson
pulled face. “Can you blame her? She has a crush
on the guy.”

An im
age of Anna flashed before Nick’s eyes. Small, voluptuous
brunette, with the smoldering glamour of Gina Lollobrigida, or
Sophia Loren, or Claudia Cardinale. If she was after Gregg, she
would have been reluctant to hide her feminine assets in baggy
overalls and protective goggles, as required in the factory. More
likely, she would have called out to him from the doorway, asking
him to come out to the cafeteria. And then, she would have flirted
with him like mad, making the poor man forget his own name, let
alone the small matter of storing away a few tins of
paint.

“
Damn,” Nick said. “Gregg didn’t mention it
to me.”

“
Of course he didn’t.” Crimson rolled her
eyes. “He likes Anna, or maybe he is just an old fashioned, gallant
male. A man who’ll protect a woman at all costs.”

Nick flicked his wrist to check
the time. “I’d better call Hank
and try to smooth things over. Hank wants to fire Gregg for a gross
breach of safety regulations.”

Crimson picked up the glass coffee
jug
from the hotplate,
selected a mug from the tree and poured. “What about the lamp you
found?” she asked. “Did Gregg leave it on?”

Nick hesitated. He didn’t want Crimson to
worry, but neither did he want to lie to her.
“Gregg swears he knows nothing about the
lamp,” he said finally. “The inspector from the fire department
believes the fire was started when the light, which had been left
on, toppled over and the bulb came to rest against a bottle of
solvent. The heat burned through the plastic and ignited the
contents. The mini explosion spread rapidly through anything
flammable. If we hadn’t been in, working late, the whole place
might have gone up in flames.”

“
There was a security guard on duty,”
Crimson pointed out.

“
He’s been cleared of negligence.” Nick
accepted the mug Crimson was holding out to him and paused to take
a sip of the scalding, black coffee. “The guard did his first round
as soon as his shift started at ten o’clock. He has to press a
button at the back of the factory hall to record the time. His next
inspection was twenty minutes away.”

“
The smoke alarm went off. That would have
brought him over sooner.”

“
By then, it might have been too late.”
Nick put down the coffee, searched his pockets for his phone. “I
want to get Hank before he goes to bed. Will you wait while I talk
to him?”

He raised his gaze to Crimson. As their
eyes met and held, a hunger rose inside him. Hunger to conquer, to
let passion wipe out all other thoughts. Hunger to wrap himself in
her feminine heat.

The recreation of a warrior. He
knew from experience how a
surge of adrenaline and testosterone in a male, be it from warfare,
or from taking part in dangerous sports, or from dealing with the
aftermath of a disaster, demanded a release. And throughout
history, men had used the comfort of women’s bodies to satisfy that
need.

Hesitant, Crimson nodded.
“I’ll wait.”

Nick
had to turn away from her to concentrate on the
call.

****

Crimson watched as Nick spoke on the
slim
silver phone. Every
now and then, he lifted the coffee to his lips and took a sip
before returning the mug to the countertop with an absent clunk.
His hair was ruffled, his white shirt rumpled, and his leather
shoes streaked with dust. She guessed that he had dressed in a suit
and tie to impress the insurance people.

He ended the call with a tired
good
night, put the phone
away, and turned to her. A shiver crept over Crimson at the
predatory look in his eyes. Nick took a step toward her. Without
thinking, she took a step back. He followed. Slow.
Deliberate.

While t
rawling the web, Crimson had learned that at six foot two
Nick Constantine was unusually tall for a racing driver. The height
had made it difficult for him to fit in the small cockpit of a
racing car. His lean frame must have helped, it occurred to her
now, slim hips that only widened to a classic V-shape at the chest
and shoulders.

“
Afraid of me, Crimson?” he asked
quietly.

“
No.”

“
Afraid of yourself?”

She was going to tell him
no
, but honesty
won. “Yes.”

He advanced in silence, and she retreated,
unt
il he had her backed
against a row of cabinets. “Candy floss. I never realized how
tempting it can be.” His voice was hoarse. She told herself it was
from the smoke in the factory, and from talking all day.

“
Nick—”

“
I’m not going to hurt you.”

“
Yes you are, if I let you.”

“
Then don’t let me.” He curled his hands
around her ribcage, lifted her on her toes, and lowered his head.
Crimson could see a muscle tug in his jaw, could feel the tension
that vibrated through him. “Then don’t let me,” he said again, his
lips brushing hers. He dipped his head the final fraction of an
inch, and covered her mouth with his.

Helpless to resist
, Crimson kissed him back, deeply, fully,
clinging to him. Every fantasy she’d ever had of Nick Constantine
before she had even met him rushed through her senses, reality and
make-believe tangled up in a wild burst of emotion.

Behind her on the
counter
, the coffee
machine sent out a hissing burst of steam. A droplet bounced from
the hotplate, searing her skin. She flinched and emitted a
frightened cry. Nick broke the kiss, glanced around, found the
explanation. Not pausing to talk, he swung her around, reversing
their places, his back against the cabinets.

His
mouth found hers again. His hands slid up her sides,
settling over her breasts. Through the thin fabric of her leotard,
her nipples strained against his palms. He flicked his thumb across
the peaks. A long, slow shiver travelled the length her body,
making her tremble in his arms, a reaction that drew a gruff sound
of satisfaction from Nick.

“
That’s it,” he said. “Don’t fight it.
Don’t fight
me
.”

He g
rasped her by the waist, lifted her up and found an
uncluttered stretch of surface along the countertop. Propping her
to sit up on the edge, he eased into position between her thighs.
Then he bent his head again and resumed the fierce, drugging
kisses. Pleasure swirled inside Crimson, an electric sensation
humming in her veins. A pulse beat through her, lazy and urgent at
the same time, centering somewhere low in her belly.

Nick reached between her legs, probing,
teasing, tempting. In a moment of clarity, Crimson realized that
the only thing stopping him from taking her there and then, on the
kitchen counter, despite the presence of servants and mothers in
the house, was the simple fact that het leggings and the one piece
leotard offered no easy access.

With supreme effort, she shoved him
away.
“I can’t do
this.”

Startled, Nick raised his head. His
breathing was harsh
, his
eyes opaque, his body quivering with need. “What is it, Crimson?”
he asked with thinly veiled impatience.

“
I…” She bit her lip, the tremors of
arousal ebbing as she made an effort to pull back from the
precipice. “I looked you up. You have a terrible track record with
women. I get the impression that you’re angry. Angry at the world.
Angry at women. And you make them pay for it.”

There. She’d said it.
Nick’s dark brows drew together. His body
grew rigid.

“
I see.” His voice was so soft the words
almost seemed to hold a menace. Expressions battled on his
face—incredulity, acceptance, and finally guilt.

“
Christ,” he said. He stepped away from her
and ran both hands over his face, now darkened with evening
stubble. “Maybe once I did. But that’s past history. Way, way,
past. Listen…” He reached out to take her hand. “I was engaged
once.”

“
I know. Marcela Ballard.”

He gave a slow, measured nod.
“It ended badly. Very badly.
And I admit that, for a while, I hit back at the world. I went
wild, seduced every woman I could, not caring what they wanted, or
who got hurt. But it only lasted a couple of years. And now…well,
at my age, let me tell you, sex is a lot more satisfactory when
there’s some emotion involved. Friendship, at the very
least.”

“
Let’s be friends and have sex, is that
what you’re proposing?”

“
No. Let’s have sex and find out where it
takes us.”

A
t least he is honest
, Crimson thought. No phony declarations,
no sugar coating. Nick reached out his other hand, cradled one of
hers between both of his and rubbed the back of her fingers.
Soothing. Tempting. It was that small, practiced gesture that did
it. Gave her the strength to withdraw.