Summer at Seaside Cove (38 page)

Jamie wasn't sure what a
bischero
was, but since it was describing Raymond, she knew it wasn't complimentary.

“You haven't mentioned Nico,” Maria said with a hoisted brow. “Ah, I mention his name and your eyes, they light up
veloce come un razzo
—fast as a rocket. The same way his eyes lit up when I said your name to him an hour ago.”

Jamie's fingers tightened on her empty glass. “An hour ago?”

Maria nodded. “He came in for a late lunch. He seemed anxious to get home.” She smiled slyly. “To see you maybe?”

Jamie's heart leaped at the thought. “Not likely. But home is where I need to head myself. My mother, Alex, and Heather probably think I ran away.”

“You did. For a little while. And that is allowed. You come back soon and bring your family. This week's dinner specials are rigatoni pesto and corned beef on rye.”

“I'll do that,” Jamie promised. “And thanks for the pep talk.” After exchanging hugs, Jamie headed back to the beach for the long walk to Paradise Lost, convincing herself the entire way that the spinning in her head was courtesy of the
negroni
and had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Nick was back.

N
ick stood on his screen porch and looked toward Paradise Lost, where lights blazed in all the windows. In spite of the desire to go over there that had nearly choked him since the minute he'd arrived home, he'd forced himself to remain at Southern Comfort. After all, he needed to shower. Sort through his snail mail. Check his e-mail and pay a few bills online. Feed Godiva. Put out food for the feral cats. Yeah—he had plenty of stuff to do.

When he'd finished all that, he ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich even though he wasn't particularly hungry. He'd even gone so far as to wash the plate and knife he'd used and to make his bed. Then he'd forced himself to stay at home another hour. Just to prove he could. That he didn't have to go racing next door to see her. After all, she hadn't raced over here to see him. She had to know he was home—there was no missing his truck in Southern Comfort's carport.

Unless . . . maybe she didn't know he was home. Because maybe
she
wasn't home. Maybe while he'd been hiding out at Kevin's she'd met some other guy. Maybe she was out on a date.

His every muscle tensed and a red haze seemed to fog his vision at the thought of her being with someone else. She was
his
fling, damn it.

That's it—I'm done.
He'd proven he could stay away from her, so what the hell was he still doing here? He strode into the kitchen and rummaged around for a minute, coming up with a six-pack of beer—for those old enough to drink and who weren't pregnant—and a bag of Doritos. Gripping his offerings, he whistled for Godiva and together they headed to Paradise Lost.

As he climbed the stairs leading to the kitchen door, Maggie's voice drifted through the screen. “The cake is cool enough to frost, Jamie. Where are the candles?”

She's home.
He refused to examine the ridiculous level of relief that washed through him.

“I don't know, Mom,” came Jamie's reply. “Where did you put them?”

“
I
didn't put them anywhere.”

“You didn't put them away along with the other things you bought at Walmart?”

“I didn't buy candles at Walmart.”

“Why not?” Jamie asked, a hint of impatience in her voice. “I'd written it on the shopping list.”

“Is that what you'd written? I thought it said ‘candies.' ” Maggie gave a laugh that sounded forced. “So—no candles. Sorry. But there's a giant bag of peanut M&M's if you'd like some.”

“Unless we can light them on fire, they're not really going to work.”

“We don't need candles,” came Heather's tight voice. “Really, you guys. It's fine.”

Nick reached the top of the stairs. Through the screen door he saw Jamie, Maggie, and Heather standing in the kitchen, all staring at an unfrosted chocolate cake on a plate. Alex sat slumped on the sofa in the living area, his gaze glued to the TV, where a baseball game was in progress.

With his attention fixed on Jamie's profile, Nick knocked. In the back of his mind, it registered that four heads turned toward the door, but his gaze locked with Jamie's and damned if for a split second it didn't seem as if his lungs forgot how to work.

“It's Nick,” Heather said, her voice sounding . . . relieved?

He watched Jamie approach the door and the heat and desire he'd managed to hold at bay for the last week rippled through him. Damn, he loved the way she moved. He could just watch the woman
walk
for hours. When she opened the door, he immediately noticed the strained look in her eyes. Stress radiated off her like laser beams. The smile she offered him appeared tired. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he said. “Godiva saw the lights on and wanted to stop by. You know, to see if you had any dead clams she could rub herself in. I figured I'd tag along.”
You know, in case I could rub against you.
He held up the six-pack and the Doritos. “We brought snacks.” When she hesitated, he added, “If this is a bad time—”

“Not at all. In fact, your timing is perfect.” She sounded sincere and a bit of the tension in her eyes faded. She moved back so he could enter. “C'mon in. We're almost ready for cake.”

He smiled. “Then we agree—perfect timing.”

He stepped into the kitchen, followed by Godiva, who made a beeline for Cupcake's food and water bowls. She sucked up the handful of kibbles like a vacuum cleaner, helped herself to a few splashy slurps of water, then began a tail-wagging, sniffing exploration, no doubt looking for Cupcake so she could bestow upon her some kibble-scented drool. Good times.

Nick exchanged greetings with Maggie, who looked pale and exhausted, and with Heather, whose eyes behind her glasses were suspiciously bright, as if she were holding back tears.

Alex ambled in from the living area, and there was no missing the relief on his face. “Glad to have another guy in the house,” he said, shaking Nick's hand. “I'm severely outnumbered around here. I mean even the
cat
is a female.”

“Glad to help.” Nick nodded toward the TV. “Who's playing?”

“Yankees and Red Sox. Yanks are up four to three in the fifth.” Alex eyed the six-pack of beer Nick had set on the counter. “You sharing that?”

“You bet.” He handed Alex a beer, then looked at the trio of females, all of whom were staring at him. He could actually see the tension shimmering in the air and wondered what the hell was going on.

He tilted his head toward the cake and waded into the awkward silence. “Special occasion?”

Jamie cleared her throat and smiled. “Today is Heather's birthday.”

Nick turned to Heather and smiled. “Happy birthday.” He handed her the bag of Doritos. “From Godiva. They're not much, but the best she could do on short notice.”

A shy smile ghosted across Heather's flaming face and she dipped her chin. “Thanks.” She looked up and tucked her hair behind her ear. “You were gone a long time. The float's nearly finished.”

“Yeah? You been painting?”

Heather nodded. “Me and a bunch of other kids. It's pretty cool.”

“I can't wait to see it.” He sniffed the air. “It smells like a bakery in here.” His gaze cut toward the cake. “And that looks delicious.”

“It's not frosted yet,” Heather said, sounding agitated. Her gaze bounced between Jamie and Maggie, then returned to Nick. “You want to help?”

“Sure—if you don't mind a crappy-looking birthday cake. The only thing I know about frosting is how to eat it.”

“Then you're in the right place,” said Jamie, with what appeared to be a genuine smile, “because we whipped up a double batch of it.”

“Hey, hey, you ladies all have each other, so I'm calling dibs on the only other male company. C'mon, Nick, grab a beer and let's watch the game. You a Yankees fan?”

“Cubs.”

Alex grimaced, but said, “At least you're not a Sox fan, so the invite stands.”

“Thanks. I take it you're a Yankees fan?”

“Lifelong. Got the season tickets to prove it. You go to Wrigley Field often?”

“I went to a few games, when I lived in Chicago.” He wasn't about to share that he'd viewed those games from the comfort of his own luxury box suite. Just one more thing he'd sold when he'd walked away from his former life.

“Go ahead,” Jamie urged, shooing him out of the kitchen. “There's not enough room in here for you anyway. Too many cooks and all that.”

“First time I've ever been called a cook, but fine. And I want extra frosting on my piece of cake.” He looked at Heather. “Make sure I'm fixed up, okay?”

She giggled. “Done.”

“I'll bring you the spatula to lick when we're finished,” Jamie said.

He looked into her eyes and didn't make any attempt to hide the fact that he'd rather lick her—and that he had every intention of doing so at his first opportunity. Given the crimson that rushed into her cheeks, she saw the desire he knew burned in his gaze.

“I'll look forward to that,” he said with a grin. Then he turned to Alex. “Be right there. First I need to see what Godiva is up to.”

“I think she went out on the porch,” Maggie said.

“Thanks.” Nick crossed the living area. The sliding doors leading to the screen porch that ran the entire length of the front of the house were pushed open. He stepped onto the dark porch and waited several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then he grinned.

He looked into the house. Alex sat on the sofa, beer in hand, his full attention focused on the game. Maggie and Heather were busy frosting the cake. His gaze then settled on Jamie—who was watching him. His pulse quickened and he crooked his finger at her.

She crossed the room, then stepped out onto the porch. “Did you find—?”

“Shhh,” Nick said, touching a finger to her lips and pulling her into the far corner of the porch where they couldn't be seen from the inside. He turned her so that she faced the opposite end of the porch, then stepped up to stand directly behind her.

“Look,” he whispered in her ear, pointing toward the opposite corner, where Godiva lay sprawled on her side. Cupcake was curled against her, her head cushioned on Godiva's outstretched paw.

“Oh my God, that is so cute,” Jamie whispered.

Just then Godiva lifted her head a fraction of an inch and licked Cupcake's head. The cat's purr filled the warm night air.

“Hey—your dog just licked my cat,” she said, her whisper filled with suppressed laughter.

“Yeah, well it doesn't look like your cat is complaining.”

He breathed in and the scent of cookies filled his senses. With a low groan he turned her around and pulled her flush against him. It required every bit of his will to hold back that part of him that wanted to press her to the wall and devour her in a single gulp.

He lowered his head and fire raced through him in anticipation of kissing her, but before he could, she settled her hands on his chest and leaned back. She hiked a brow and lightly nudged his pelvis with hers. “Either you're carrying a zucchini in your pocket or you're glad to see me.”

“It's a zucchini. I was hoping we could have that cooking lesson you promised me weeks ago.”

“I see.” She eased from his embrace and cast a glance at the nearby open sliding door, through which a swath of light and the sounds of the baseball game drifted. “As I'm sure you can tell, this isn't the time. Or place.”

“I know.” His gaze searched hers. “Something's wrong.”

She expelled a slow, heavy breath. “Just a lot of tension in there,” she said, nodding toward the house. “Heather's been moody and upset all day. A birthday phone call from her dad didn't go well—he expects her to visit him next week and she doesn't want to go. A call from her mother didn't go much better.”

She rubbed her temples as if warding off a headache, then continued in a whispered rush, “My mother is still a hormonal mess—laughing one minute, crying the next. I swear she's worse than Heather. Plus, my mom is, hands-down, the most indecisive person on the planet. She
still
doesn't know what to do about Alex, and even though I've repeatedly told her only she can decide, it's clear she still wants me to tell her what to do.

“Poor Alex deserves a medal for his patience. He needs to get back to his job in New York, but he doesn't want to leave here until things are settled with my mom. He actually doesn't want to leave her, period, which I find amazing because she makes me want to run shrieking from the house. One night he's sleeping on the sofa, the next he's in Mom's bedroom . . . it's like an emotional roller coaster I can't avoid because it's right in front of me. Then the stress of trying to shield Heather from all the turmoil—it's enough to give anyone a migraine.”

Unable to not touch her, he reached out and linked his fingers with hers. “I'm sorry.”

“Me, too. I laid down the law with Mom this morning and told her she needed to suck it up, set aside her problems for today, and put on a happy face for Heather's birthday. I know she's trying, but she doesn't feel well and she's upset with Alex for God only knows what reason, and with me because she feels I'm not being understanding. Heather's picking up on it all, so she's tense as well as moody.”

She shook her head. “Personally, I like Alex's method of dealing with the tension—watch TV, drink beer, and try to ignore it all. If it wasn't for Heather, that's exactly what I'd do.” After heaving a sigh, she shot him a sheepish smile. “Bet you're really glad you came over, huh?”