One Special Christmas & Home for the Holidays (26 page)

The deep, mellow tone of his voice had a curiously soothing effect on Laura, and she looked down at the hands clasped tightly in her lap. At last she glanced up, aware that Nick's relaxed posture was at odds with
the intensity of his eyes, which seemed to say “I care.” And for just the briefest moment she felt tempted to pour her heart out to this man who was practically a stranger. But before the urge grew too strong to resist, she abruptly stood.

Nick seemed taken aback by her sudden movement, but he remained seated, waiting for her to speak.

Now that she was on her feet, Laura was at a loss. It was important that he leave, she knew that much. Never mind that she'd just invited him to sit down. Something intuitively told her that he represented danger. “No, everything's fine,” she lied. “Except dinner. I'm afraid it will burn if I don't get into the kitchen.” Her voice was pitched above normal, and even to her ears it sounded strained.

Nick remained seated. “It smells good,” he said with a smile.

Dear Lord, why couldn't the man take the hint and just leave? Laura thought desperately. But she forced a bright smile to her lips. “Thanks. It's an old family recipe. I really hadn't planned to fix dinner tonight, but I didn't get a chance to eat much at the party,” she said, trying to talk away her nervousness.

“Me neither.”

Laura stared at him. Good grief, he was angling for a dinner invitation! This was great. Just great. She was trying to get rid of him and he wanted to stay. They were obviously not on the same wavelength. But how could she ignore the blatant hint without sounding ungracious? After all, he had come to her assistance today, and he'd gone out of his way to return the mirror.

Logic told her to ignore the prickling of her
conscience. But good manners—and something else she refused to acknowledge—told her to listen. She sighed, capitulating.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Nick smiled, the tense muscles in his abdomen relaxing. “As a matter of fact, yes.” Then, suddenly, a shadow of doubt crept into his eyes, which narrowed as they swept over her too-thin form. “On second thought, maybe I won't. I don't want to take part of your dinner.”

This was her out! All she had to say was “Maybe another time,” and she'd be safe. But other words came out instead. “Oh, there's plenty. I made a whole batch of sauce and I was going to freeze what I didn't use. It's just a matter of cooking a bit more spaghetti.”

Relief washed over his features, and he smiled. “In that case, I'll stay.”

Laura smiled back. At least, she forced her lips to turn up into the semblance of a smile. But something told her she'd just made a big mistake.

“W
hat can I do to help?” Nick asked, his engaging smile making her heart misbehave.

“There's really nothing,” Laura said vaguely, still off balance by the unexpected turn of events. A visitor for dinner was the last thing she'd expected—especially this particular visitor.

Nick placed his fists on his hips, tilted his head and grinned at her. “Were you going to make a salad? I'm not too great on cooked stuff, but I can handle a head of lettuce.”

Laura found herself responding to his lighthearted warmth, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Well, I wasn't planning to. But since you offered…”

Nick gestured toward the kitchen. “Lead the way.”

Laura was conscious of him close behind her as she walked toward the tiny kitchen, and she was even more conscious of him as they worked side by side in the cramped space, only a few inches apart. She suddenly felt all thumbs as she stirred the sauce and put the spaghetti into the boiling water. Nick, on the other hand, seemed totally relaxed. He was humming
some nondescript tune under his breath as he worked, detouring occasionally to peer in her refrigerator and withdraw some other ingredient. So far she'd watched him chop lettuce, cut up tomatoes, slice red onion, sprinkle cheese and add croutons, all with a dexterity that surprised her. She had never expected him to be so at home in a kitchen.

“Voilà! A masterpiece!” he exclaimed finally, turning to her with a smile. “I just hope your spaghetti lives up to the standards of this creation,” he said with an exaggerated French accent and an aristocratic sniff.

Laura found herself unexpectedly giggling at his comic antics, but her face quickly sobered when she saw an odd expression in his eyes. “What's wrong?” she asked uncertainly.

“Nothing. It's just that you should do that more often,” he said quietly, suddenly serious.

She frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Laugh. It makes your face come alive.”

Laura turned away, embarrassed, and stuck her head in the freezer on the pretense of looking for something. In reality, she hoped the cool air would take the flush from her cheeks. “Thanks, I think,” she said over her shoulder, her voice muffled.

“You're welcome.”

Her eyes fell on a package of garlic bread, and she reached for it gratefully. “I thought I had some of this left,” she said glibly. “Should be perfect with our menu.”

“Looks good,” he agreed.

Suddenly the kitchen seemed even smaller than before. Nick leaned against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, one ankle crossed over the other. His
cool confidence unnerved her, especially at this proximity. He was so close that if he wanted to he could simply reach over and pull her into his arms, she realized, quickly trying to stifle the unbidden thought. But it remained stubbornly in place, and her heart rate took a jump.

“Um, Nick, maybe you could set another place,” she suggested. Anything to get him just a few feet farther away! she thought.

“Sure,” he said easily, straightening up and walking around to the other side of the counter. “If you hand the stuff through, I'll take care of it.”

Laura breathed a sigh of relief, feeling somehow safer now that they were separated by a counter. “Okay.” She stood on tiptoe to open the overhead cabinet, unaware that when she reached up for the extra plate and glass, her T-shirt crept up to reveal a bare section of creamy white midriff and a perfectly formed navel.

Nick took a sharp, sudden deep breath and reached up to loosen his tie.

“Oh, you must be warm in that outfit,” Laura said innocently as she handed the plate through. “I'm sorry I don't have the air on. I usually only run it during heat waves. Why don't you take off your tie and jacket?”

Nick swallowed with difficulty. “I think I will,” he said, turning away, needing a minute to compose himself. Did Laura have any idea just how attractive she was? Even in shorts, her face now almost wiped free of makeup from the steamy kitchen, there was an appeal about her that he found strangely compelling.

He pulled off his tie and undid the top button of his shirt, slipping his arms out of the jacket and automatically rolling his sleeves to the elbows in his customary
fashion. His hand hesitated for a fraction of a second on the cummerbund, and then he unsnapped it. He'd be a whole lot more comfortable without it.

Laura watched the cotton fabric of the shirt stretch across his broad shoulders as he went through these maneuvers, and a profound yearning surged through her. It had been so long, so very long…

With harsh determination she turned away and opened a cupboard to search for some cloth napkins. Her eye fell on an unopened bottle of red wine, a Christmas gift from a client. She'd been saving it for a special occasion. Thoughtfully, she reached for it, then hesitated. Was she asking for trouble? This wasn't a romantic tryst, after all. It was just a thank-you, and Laura didn't want Nick to read any more than that into this invitation. Still, wine would be a nice complement to the meal. With sudden decision, she grasped the bottle firmly and pulled it out. She was already flirting with danger merely by having him here. Why be cautious now?

Laura turned to find Nick in the doorway, and she paused, her eyes drawn to the V of springy, dark hair revealed at the open neck of his shirt. She clutched the bottle to her chest, suddenly at a loss for words, sorry now that she'd taken the wine out.

Nick glanced at the bottle curiously. “I'm surprised,” he commented. “After your encounter today, I wouldn't think you'd be inclined to drink.”

“I told you, Nick. I have nothing against alcohol. Wine goes great with some food. But I can't tolerate abuse. It freaks me out.”

“So I noticed,” he said, watching her closely, searching for a clue to the reason why.

Laura's eyes flew to his, then skittered away at their intensity. “Well, shall we eat?” she asked a bit breathlessly.

He took the hint gracefully and dropped the subject, and Laura's heart stopped hammering quite so painfully. Nevertheless, she was sure she wouldn't be able to swallow a bite of food. Her stomach was churning, and even as he held her chair—an unexpected courtesy—she was fighting waves of panic. She was having a pleasant, intimate dinner with a man for the first time in more than a decade—never mind the circumstances. It would have been nerve-racking enough with any man. But it wasn't just any man. It was Nick Sinclair, the man who only this afternoon had awakened her dormant hormones.

Nick sat down across from her and smiled. “Shall I pour?” he asked, picking up the bottle of wine.

“Yes, please.”

“Everything smells delicious,” he commented, aware of her tension, struggling to put her at ease. “Your grandmother must have been some cook.”

“Yes, she was.”

“Was she Italian?”

Laura found herself smiling. “Hardly. She just loved to experiment with dishes from foreign lands. And in Jersey, Missouri, Italy is about as foreign as you can get.”

“Jersey,” he mused. “I don't think I've ever heard of it.”

“Not many people have. It's a tiny town in the southern part of the state.”

“Is that where you grew up?” he asked.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“It must have been nice growing up in a small town. I've spent all of my life in big cities. I grew up in Denver.”

“Small-town life has some advantages,” Laura said. “But not many opportunities.”

“I suppose that's true. So how's the salad?”

Laura looked down in surprise at her half-empty plate. Nick's gentle, nonthreatening conversation had made her relax and she'd begun to eat without even realizing it. “It's very good,” she said.

“Well, you don't have to look so surprised,” he said in mock chagrin.

She laughed. “Sorry. You just don't look like the type of man who would spend much time in the kitchen,” she admitted.

“As a bachelor, it's a matter of survival to learn some of the basics,” he said.

As the meal progressed, Laura found that the tension was slowly ebbing from her body. She realized how much Nick's quiet, attentive, undemanding manner had calmed her. With a little prompting, she even found herself telling him about her work with Christian Youth Outreach and sharing her views about the importance of a Christian influence on young people and the difference it could make in troubled lives.

By the time the last crust of garlic bread had been eaten, Laura felt mellow and relaxed, and she smiled at Nick, no longer intimidated or frightened. He was easy to be with, she realized.

“I'm afraid I can't offer you dessert,” she apologized. “I don't keep sweets in the house. It's just too much of a temptation.”

“Well, I have a suggestion.”

She looked at him curiously. “What?”

“How about Ted Drewes?”

Laura hadn't been to the South Side landmark in years, but the famous frozen custard was considered the ultimate summertime treat for many St. Louisans.

Nick watched her surprise turn to delight, and he grinned. “Why do I think this won't be a hard sell?”

She smiled back. “I must admit that I've always had a weakness for Ted Drewes,” she confessed. “But it is getting late.”

Nick glanced at his watch and let out a low whistle. “Is it actually ten o'clock?”

“I'm afraid so.”

Nick looked up and saw the disappointment in her eyes. “Well, this is the peak time for Ted Drewes on a Friday night,” he reminded her. “I'm game if you are.”

“Nick…are you sure?” she asked uncertainly. “You've already gone to so much trouble for me today…”

He reached over and covered her hand with his, his touch sending sparks along her nerve endings. “Laura, I'm doing this for
me,
” he said softly.

She looked into his eyes, trying to read his thoughts, but all she saw was a warmth and tenderness that made her breath catch in her throat. His hand still rested on hers, and she loved the protective feel of it. She'd almost forgotten that a touch could be so gentle.

“Well…in that case…okay,” she said, her voice uneven.

“Good.” He squeezed her hand and then released it. “I'm parked out in front.”

“Let me just get my purse,” she said, feeling as nervous as a teenager on her first date.

When Laura reached the sanctuary of her bedroom she groped in her purse for her lipstick and applied it with shaking hands. Then she ran a comb through her hair. All the while Nick's words kept replaying in her mind.
I'm doing this for me.
They made her feel good…and scared, all at the same time. But maybe that was okay, she thought. Maybe it was the Lord's way of reminding her to be cautious and move slowly.

When Laura returned to the living room Nick stood waiting, his jacket slung casually over his shoulder. He smiled as she walked toward him, and Laura felt nearly breathless. He really was a very handsome man. Maybe too handsome, she reflected.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

He opened the door for her and stepped aside as she carefully locked it, then followed her down the steps. When they reached the ground floor she found his hand at the small of her back as he guided her toward the red sports car, which was thankfully still in one piece, he noted.

Laura let him lead her to the car, enjoying his touch, impersonal though she knew it was. She sank into the cushions of the two-seater, the unaccustomed luxury making her smile.

“Nice car,” she said, reverently running her hand over the leather cushions.

Nick flashed her a grin. “Thanks. It was a splurge, but we all deserve those now and then, don't you think?” He suddenly remembered her older-model hatchback and clenched his jaw, realizing that she probably had little discretionary income. He was afraid he might have
offended her, but when she spoke her voice was friendly and conversational.

“Of course! What good is success if you can't enjoy the fruits of your labors?” she replied promptly. Her tone held no resentment, no envy, no self-pity that her own financial situation was not yet secure enough to allow for such luxuries. She was quite a woman, Nick thought—not for the first time that day.

As always, the lines at Ted Drewes stretched nearly into the street, and a good-natured crowd milled about. Families, couples young and old, teenagers in groups, all mingled. A stretch limo was even pulled up to the curb, but that was not an uncommon sight.

“This place never ceases to amaze me,” she said with a smile, shaking her head as Nick jockeyed for a parking place.

“It's pretty incredible,” he agreed, stopping by a spot that was being vacated. “We're in luck,” he said triumphantly, skillfully pulling into the tight slot. By the time he turned off the ignition and started to come around to open Laura's door, he discovered that she'd already alighted, and he stopped in midstride.

Laura looked at him guiltily. It had been so long since she'd dated that she'd forgotten the niceties. Over the years she had grown accustomed to doing everything herself.

“Sorry,” they said in unison.

Laura smiled. “Why are you sorry?” she asked.

He shrugged sheepishly. “I thought maybe you were one of those women who felt offended by men opening doors and holding chairs. I've run into a few who let me know in no uncertain terms that they considered such behavior the height of chauvinism. But my mother
did a good job training me, and now it's a habit. If I offended you, I'm sorry.”

“No, it's not that,” Laura assured him quickly. “As a matter of fact, I enjoy it. I just…” Her voice trailed off. How could she tell him that it had been so long since she'd been with a man that she had simply forgotten the rules? “I'm sorry,” she finished lamely, seeing no way she could possibly explain her behavior without telling him things that were better left unsaid.