Coming Home (11 page)

"Well, you had been working in the stables that morning. And you did almost knock me flat when you came running outside with that bubble gum you snitched from the counter."

"I didn't snitch a thing. It was Brady. I was chasing him because I knew darn well who would catch the blame! And there you were, little Miss Priss."

They both laughed aloud and Nicole found herself thinking about all the summers. At first she had been—as he claimed—just a bratty girl. He'd treated her with the same disinterest he had for all ponytailed girls who jumped rope and played with dolls.

When she was about thirteen she'd gone through a tomboy stage. She had known he admired her riding abilities, and had shown off as much as possible, even while praying he didn’t realize she had a mad crush on him. But she was still skinny, short, and flat-chested, while he'd been incredibly hot, already having his pick of the local girls.

By the following year, she’d been a moody little snot. The one after that, she’d had braces and zits. At sixteen, she’d drawn a lot more male attention, though never from the male she truly wanted. But the next year…everything changed.

"We're here," Wyatt said.

Nicole shook off the memories, and reached for the door handle.

"Let me help you," he insisted, getting out and coming around to her door. She took his arm, leaning against him, limping as they walked toward the house.

"Thank you for today," he said. "I’m glad you came with me.”

"Thanks you for the trip to the beach," she replied. "It's been a long time."

"I imagine it wasn't long enough," he said, looking pointedly at the scrapes revealed by the towel.

"It's no big deal. I just needed to get out of the sun, I'll be fine by tonight."

She smiled up at him, and Wyatt stared down at her. He stared into her face, searchingly, as if looking for something. Maybe that girl? That innocent, ponytailed girl?

She’d love to know what he was thinking. Was he remembering those old days? Wondering about the ensuing ones when they’d lived such different lives? Or was he thinking about the ones to come?

"Nicole, you have a phone call. It's your mother," Maria called from the front door.

Wyatt stiffened beside her, tension rolling off him. His jaw thrusting out, he snapped, "You'd better hurry. You don't want to keep mommy dearest waiting.”

Nicole watched as he dropped her arm, turned and stalked back to the truck. He got in and backed out of the driveway, not waving, not smiling, not even looking at her.

She suddenly felt like someone had punched all the air out of her body.

He was so bitter, and once again so remote. The change in his mood was so sudden, she wondered if she'd imagined his laughter and his kindness.

Right before Maria had called out, she’d felt optimistic. For a moment—just a flash of time—she’d wondered if he was ready to move on. To talk things out reasonably, instead of arguing. Maybe even ready to ask a few questions that
had
to be eating him up inside.

Despite his anger, he had to want to know the truth. Even if Wyatt really believed the ridiculous idea that she’d been fooling around with other guys that summer, he had to at least concede the
possibility
that he had been the one who got her pregnant.

He was no longer the rebellious nineteen-year-old, he was a calm, considerate, responsible adult.

So how could he not want to find out once and for all if Justin was his son?

"Hi sweetheart, how are you?" Nicole asked, thrilled to hear Justin’s voice as soon as she’d finished her conversation with her mother.

"Sick of school."

"Only another week and a half. Then you've got a long hot summer ahead of you."

"Yippie," Justin said, disgust evident in his voice. "Lots of real fun dressing up in sissy clothes to go to grandmother's club."

Nicole grinned and covered her mouth with her hand so he wouldn't hear her giggle. Her son sounded so much like she had when she was young. She had realized long ago that he was too much like her to ever really enjoy the sedate, privileged lifestyle at her mother's home. The kid was ten years old, and bored to tears. And his one real love, working with animals with her, had been put on hold since Nicole had left Maryland.

"Not this year, sport. How's a summer in Florida sound?"

His answering shout made her pull the phone away from her ear. "You mean it? The whole summer?"

"You got it. Grandpa's going to need some recuperation time, and you and I are going to see that he gets it. As soon as school lets out, you can fly down and we'll stay here until late August. Sound good?"

"Good? It sounds awesome! Does Grandmother know?"

Nicole chuckled, hearing the sudden concern in his voice.

"She knows, baby. I talked to her the other night."

"Bet she wasn't too thrilled," he said with a snicker.

"She'll miss us," Nicole said. "But them's the breaks."

Justin laughed out loud, his normal good humor evident in his voice and suddenly Nicole forgot the pain in her side. She forgot Wyatt's stubborn refusal to even consider he was this wonderful boy’s father. All she could think was the sheer joy Justin brought to her life and how very much she'd missed him in the past several days.

And about the fact that in just ten days, he would be here, with her. For a few months, at least, Wyatt wasn’t going to be able to ignore the possibility that he was a father. In fact, the minute he laid eyes on Justin, he was going to have to do some serious re-evaluating. Because anybody with a brain in their head could look at her little boy and see who he belonged to.

Them. Both of them.

Whether Wyatt was ready to admit it or not.

Wyatt had reached the end of Doc Ross' driveway, ready to speed like a demon in order to drive thoughts of Nicole out of his head, when he spotted her clothes behind the passenger seat.

"Damn," he muttered.

He was tempted to just hold onto them, give them back to her another time when he felt more calm. But, he didn't think she'd want to be without her new leather work boots.

Turning the truck around, he parked in the driveway. He grabbed her things. Her lacy bra slipped out from the inside of the shirt and landed on his lap. Wyatt gritted his teeth as he retrieved it. He allowed himself about ten seconds to enjoy the silky feel of the thing, and the thought of the high curve of her breasts, before he jumped out of the truck and bounded up the outside steps. The screen door was shut, but the inside door stood open, probably forgotten in Nicole's haste to rush to the phone to her psycho mother.

Wyatt stopped, his hand on the knob, as he heard Nicole’s voice. She was apparently still on the phone.

"I miss you so much. I love you, baby."

Her words hit him like tiny sharp stones, tearing chunks from his flesh much as she'd been torn up at the beach that day. Because that did not sound like a conversation anybody would have with a parent.

How could she possibly still have such power over him? He didn't understand it, but neither did he dispute it. Nicole Ross had had him in the palm of her hand for years. She still had the power to hurt him. The thought infuriated him.

Nicole must have heard him because she quickly glanced over and caught his eye. Wyatt stared at her steadily. Through the shadow of the screen, he saw her mouth tighten in a frown and waited for her to finish her conversation.

"Okay, right, I'll talk to you soon, Justin. Give my mom my love, okay?”

Wyatt tightened his jaw when he heard her mention her mother. He could not even think of that woman without feeling anger. He imagined Justin got along with her just fine...he was probably one of her own kind, rich, arrogant. The kind of man Nicole's mother had told him her daughter would marry. That was just before she shut the door to her mansion in his face. Just after she'd ripped his heart out of his body with a few callous words.

"You forgot your clothes," he said as Nicole opened the screen door to her father’s house and ushered him inside.

"Thank you for returning them," she murmured. "I didn't think to grab them, I guess I was anxious to get to the phone."

“Yeah, I heard,” he muttered. He turned to leave, not trusting himself to stand talking to her anymore.

"You
must
be curious about him,” she said softly before he could walk out.

Wyatt paused, stiffened and glanced at her over his shoulder.

"No. Not the least bit." He saw the blood drain from her face. Good. Let her know he didn't give a damn about her lover...boyfriend...whatever he was.

"How can you be so cold?" she whispered.

"Cold?" he retorted angrily as he turned again to face her. Wyatt couldn't believe she had the nerve to accuse him of being cold. He took a step back toward her and noticed she pulled away from him. "You didn't think I was cold this afternoon, did you. God knows you weren't...you were so hot I thought you were going to pull me down on top of you right on that public beach. What would
Justin
think about that?"

Nicole shrunk back, obviously intimidated by his anger. He saw tears sparkle in her eyes, which only fanned his fury. What right did she have to cry? She'd thrown away all rights to him years before. She'd thrown everything away.

Before Wyatt could think about it, he grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her against his chest, practically lifting her off the floor. He caught her mouth in a harsh kiss, almost wanting to hurt her, to punish her. To demand answers and apologies and explanations for why the hell she’d made him fall in love with her if she only meant to break his heart by hiding from him for a goddamn decade?

But he couldn't sustain the emotion. Just as his body had instantly remembered what it was like to hold her earlier when he'd kissed her on the beach, once again he was betrayed by his own feelings. The pleasure he felt from her slim form pressed against him overwhelmed him and he gentled his kiss.

She moaned against his mouth and slid her arms up around his neck. She’d still been wearing the beach towel, and it fell to the floor, so her warm skin came into solid connection with his.

It was she who parted her lips, asking for a deeper kiss. He gave her what she wanted. What they both wanted. Their tongues came together in a slow, gentle mating as their bodies began to sway, arching toward one another in a primal, instinctive dance. He dropped his hands to her hips, holding her tighter against him, knowing she had to feel his rock-hard erection, also knowing she had to be hot and wet for him beneath that sexy bikini.

The feel of her soft breasts pressed against his chest soon had him panting. He was completely unable to resist letting one hand glide up her side, until he could brush his thumb against the soft curve, which was barely concealed by the tiny bikini top.

Nicole hissed against his mouth, but didn’t pull away. Instead, she arched even closer, as if wanting a more intimate touch.

Wyatt couldn’t refuse that kind of invitation. Not even thinking about it, he tugged at the pink material, scraping his fingertips over her puckered skin. He heard her groan as he scraped a finger over one taut tip. She gasped when he gently squeezed it.

He wasn’t thinking, was driven only by sensation and instinct. Dragging his mouth from hers, he pressed hot kisses down her throat, needing to taste her. One of her straps gave way with an easy yank, and her top fell away, revealing the lush breast cupped in his hand. He swallowed hard, looking at her, noting how much more curvy she was—no longer the girl, now all lush woman.

“Wyatt,” she groaned, tangling her hands in his hair.

Unable to resist that plea in her voice, he kissed his way down her breast, until he reached the beautiful pink nipple—puckered and demanding—and covered it with his lips, kissing lightly. She whimpered, moaned, and he gave her what he knew she wanted, taking the sensitive bud into his mouth and sucking deeply. She tasted salty and sandy and sweaty…and so good he nearly forgot the world was spinning beneath his feet.

“Oh, yes,” she groaned, her hips jerking against his, as if she felt the pull of his mouth much lower in her body.

God was he dying to give her that. To taste her. Devour her. Feel her explode in pleasure against his mouth.

But suddenly, a loud clang of pots and pans emerged from the kitchen. They weren’t alone in the house. Maria was a few rooms away and could return at any moment.

Wyatt regained some sense of where he was and who the hell he was holding. He pulled away from Nicole, even as his body screamed at him to find the nearest bed and drag her down onto it. But he somehow found the strength of will to take a full step backward.

“Wyatt…”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, swiping his hand through his hair, watching as she quickly retrieved the towel and wrapped it around herself again. Her face was flushed, her lips red, her hair a mess. And she looked better to him than any other woman on the planet.

“I should go.”

“Yes,” she murmured.

He turned to the door. But before he left, he looked back over his shoulder, seeing the indecision, the confusion washing over her features.