Summer in Eclipse Bay (19 page)

“Huh.” But he was clearly somewhat mollified by the prospect of making decisions.

“Who knows?” she said. “Maybe someday you'll be in a position to buy one of Anne's paintings.”

“I'm not gonna buy any pictures of her dumb dog, that's for sure.”

Dinner went well, Nick thought later. He was unaccountably relieved, even pleased. It had, after all, been a new experience for him. Not that he couldn't do salad and boil a pot full of some of Rafe's ravioli stuffed with gorgonzola cheese, spinach, and walnuts. He had, after all, been cooking for himself and Carson for quite a while now.

But when he had resumed a social life a year or so after Amelia's death, he had consciously or unconsciously confined himself to women who, he was fairly certain, would not have been comfortable sitting at a kitchen table with a precocious kid.

Maybe the women of the Harte family had been right all along, he thought. Maybe he just hadn't wanted to see any of his dates in a domestic light. You looked at a woman differently after you'd seen her hanging out in your kitchen, carrying on an intelligent conversation about dogs and dinosaurs with your son.

Whatever the case, one thing was certain. When he looked across the old kitchen table this evening, a wooden table that had been scarred and scuffed with the marks of three generations of Harte family meals, it had hit him with shattering clarity that Octavia looked perfect sitting here with Carson and himself.

They played all of the ancient board games that had accumulated in the hall closet over the years until Carson reluctantly fell asleep on the sofa. Nick carried him upstairs to bed. When he returned to the living room, Octavia was in her coat, fishing her keys out of her pocket.

“It's getting late,” she said, smiling a little too brightly. “I'd better be on my way. Thanks for dinner.”

She was the one running away this time, he thought.

“I'll walk you out to your car.”

He collected his jacket from the closet and put it on without buttoning it. When he opened the front door he smelled the sea and saw the trailing wisps of a light fog.

“Good thing I'm going now,” Octavia said. She stepped out onto the porch and looked around. “This stuff looks like it's going to get heavier.”

“Probably.” He followed her outside, leaving the door ajar. “Thanks for what you said to Carson earlier. He's feeling a lot better now that he knows you're not going to judge him solely on his art.”

“No problem.”

“The kid's a Harte, what can I say? He wants you to like him and he'll do whatever he thinks will work.”

“He doesn't have to worry. I like him. A lot. He's a pretty terrific kid.”

He gripped the railing with both hands and looked out into the gathering mist. “What about me?”

“You?”

“I'd better warn you that this is a case of like son, like father.”

She went still on the top step and gave him a politely quizzical look. “You want me to like you?”

“I want you to like me a lot.”

She jangled her keys. “If this is about sleeping with me again—”

“It
is
about sleeping with you again,” he said deliberately. “But it's also about explaining why I left in such a rush the other night.”

“I know why you left in a rush. You panicked.”

He released the railing and swung around abruptly to catch hold of her by the shoulders. “I did not panic.”

“Sure you did. You're obviously dealing with a lot of unresolved issues connected to the loss of your wife, and when you get too close to a woman, you panic.”

“Bullshit.”

She gave him a gentle, sympathetic pat on the arm. “It's all right, I understand. I spent some time going through the grieving process after Aunt Claudia died. I can't even imagine how hard it would be to lose a beloved spouse.”

He tightened his hands on her now. “It was hard, all right. But not for the reasons you think. I'm going to tell you something that no one else, not even anyone in my family, knows.”

She stiffened. “I'm not sure I want to hear it.”

“Too late, I'm going to tell you, whether you want to hear it or not. You probably know that the man at the controls of that small plane that crashed with Amelia on board was a family friend.”

“Yes. Everyone knows that.”

“Yeah, well hardly anyone else except his wife and me knows just what a very good friend he was of Amelia's.”

“Nick, please stop.”

“I found out after the funeral that they had been lovers at one time. They'd quarreled and each of them wound up marrying someone else. A couple of months before that plane crash, they had reconnected. It seems they'd both reached the earthshaking conclusion that they had married the wrong people.”

She touched his cheek and said nothing.

“They were going off to spend the weekend together at a ski resort that day. His wife thought he was out of town on business. I thought Amelia had gone to visit her sister in Denver.”

Octavia said nothing, just shook her head sadly.

“After the funeral his widow and I talked. We both decided that, for the sake of her son and mine, we would let the story stand about her husband having given my wife a lift to Colorado. Everyone bought it.”

“I see.” She lowered her fingers. “I'm sorry, Nick.”

“I don't want you to feel sorry for me.” He took his hands off her shoulders and cupped her face between his palms. “I just want you to understand why I've been a little reluctant to rush back into a serious relationship.”

“You're scared.”

He set his jaw. “I am not scared.”

“Yes, you are. You made the kind of mistake that Hartes aren't supposed to make. You screwed up and married the wrong woman once, and you're absolutely terrified of screwing up again. So it's easier to play it safe.”

“I made a mistake. I'll give you that much. And it's true that Hartes don't usually make those kinds of mistakes. But I'll never regret it.”

She comprehended immediately. “Because of Carson.”

“Amelia gave me my son. I will always be thankful to her memory for that.”

“Of course you will, and that is as it should be. But that doesn't mean that deep down you're not afraid of trusting your emotions again.”

“I am not afraid,” he said evenly, “but I am damn careful these days. Amelia and I rushed into marriage because we both thought passion was enough. It wasn't. Next time around, I'm going to take my time and make certain that I know what I'm doing.”

“Know what I think? I think you're being so careful that you get nervous when there's even a hint that a relationship might cross the line between casual and serious.” She searched his face. “Is that what happened the other night? Did you panic because you thought our one-night stand might turn into something more than that?”

“For the last time, I did not panic. And for the record, I never intended it to be a one-night stand.”

“I beg your pardon, did you freak out because you were worried that
our little summer fling
might get too heavy and too complicated?”

He refused to let her push him into losing his temper. He was trying to accomplish an objective here. Hartes never lost sight of their goals.

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” he said, “but I was under the impression that you weren't looking for anything more than a short-term arrangement either, Miss Free Spirit.”

She flushed. “I wasn't the one who ran for the door that night. I was doing just fine with the summer-fling thing.”

“I did not run for the door. I left in a hurry, but I did not run.”

“Details.”

“Important details. And I'd like to remind you that I showed up at your gallery the next morning,” he said. “It's not like I didn't call. And how the hell do you think I felt when you told me that the sex had been therapeutic? You made it sound like a good massage or a tonic, damn it.”

She bit her lip. “Well, it was, in a way.”

“Great. Well, do me a favor. The next time you want physical therapy, call a masseuse or a chiropractor. Or buy a vibrator.”

Her eyes widened. She was starting to look a little unnerved, he thought. For some reason, that gave him an unholy amount of satisfaction.

“Don't push me,” she warned.

“I haven't been pushing you.” He hauled her close. “
This
is what I call pushing you.”

He kissed her, using everything he had to seduce her into a response. He was not sure what he expected, but he knew what he wanted. He had his agenda. He was going to make her admit that the sex hadn't been merely a therapeutic tonic.

He was vaguely surprised and somewhat reassured when she made no move to free herself. After an instant's hesitation, her mouth softened under his. Her arms went around his neck and her fingers sank into his hair. Heat swirled through him, igniting his senses.

He had been right about this much, at least, he thought. She still wanted him. Nothing had changed on that front. He could feel the passion quickening within her.

When she shivered in his arms and tightened her hold on him, his triumph was tempered by the sheer enormousness of his sense of relief.

He dragged his mouth away from hers and nibbled on her earlobe. “It was good between us. Give me that much at least.”

“I never said that it wasn't good.” She tipped her head back, giving him access to her throat. “It was great.”

“Then why not enjoy it?” The taste of her skin and the herbal fragrance of her hair combined into an intoxicating perfume. He knew that he would never forget her scent as long as he lived. “We have the rest of the summer.”

She tensed in his arms. Her fingers stopped moving through his hair. Very slowly she pulled away and raised her lashes. “Maybe you're right.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “No
maybe
about it.”

“It's possible that I overreacted the other night.”

“Understandable,” he assured her. “You were coming off a difficult year. A lot of emotional stuff going on in your life. You're making some major decisions about your business and your future. Lot of stress.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you were right about one thing,” he offered, feeling generous now. “Okay, it's not easy to think of myself as a sort of physical therapist, but I have to admit that there is a therapeutic side to really good sex.”

“Probably releases a lot of endorphins, and then there's the exercise aspect.”

“Right. Exercise.” He was not sure this was going the direction he had intended, but it wasn't like he had a lot of alternatives.

“Rather like taking a brisk walk on the beach, I think,” she mused.

He made himself count to ten and forced a smile. “No need to analyze it too much. Sex is perfectly natural and there's no reason that two healthy, responsible adults who happen to be single and uncommitted shouldn't enjoy it together.”

She did step back then, slipping out from under his hands. “I'll think about it.”

He did not move. “You'll
think
about it?”

“Yes.” She turned and went down the steps. “I can't give you an answer tonight. I'm not thinking clearly right now, and I don't want to make another rash decision based on overheated emotions. I'm sure you can understand.”

“Now who's panicking?” he asked softly.

“You think I'm afraid of having an affair with you?”

“Yeah. That's exactly what I think.”

“Maybe you're right.” She sounded regretful but accepting of that possibility. “As you said, I've been under a lot of stress lately. It's difficult to sort out logic and emotions.”

He followed her down the steps, shadowing her to the car. When she stopped beside the vehicle he stopped too, very close behind her. He reached around her, letting his fingers skim across the lush curve of her hip, and opened the door.

“I'll see you in the morning,” he said. “Meanwhile, try to get some sleep.”

She slipped into the front seat. “I'm sure I'll sleep just fine, thank you.”

“Lucky you.”

She started to put the key into the ignition and then paused. “One more thing I wanted to say.”

He gripped the top of the car door. “What's that?”

“I think you should give Jeremy a call. Invite him out for a beer or whatever men do when they want to talk things over.”

“Now, just why in hell would I want to do that?”

“Because you were once good friends and there's no reason why you can't be friends again. Deep down, he knows that you didn't have an affair with his wife.”