“Oh, yes, you do. You’ve been hacking off and on ever since you went to sleep. Down the hatch.”
With that, she handed him a medicine-dose cup already brimming with gold liquid that no doubt tasted like lighter fluid.
“You’re a bossy nurse,” he complained, without any real heat.
She beamed, apparently taking it as a compliment. “I’m good at my job.”
“No argument there.” Curling his lip, he drained the cup like a shot of whiskey. God knew it sure burned like one. “Christ, that’s terrible.”
“Like they say, if it tastes good, it’s not good for you.”
“
You’re
good for me . . . and I happen to know you definitely taste good,” he said, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. He might’ve felt stupid making the admission aloud, if not for her body melting against his. Her quiet sigh of contentment as she rested her head on his chest, hand over his heart.
“You’re good for me, too.”
His arm went around her and they stayed put for a few minutes, holding each other, the fragile new bond strengthening even more. However, something had been nagging him since their walk, a detail his mind had filed away as unimportant at the time. He broke the silence first, pulling back to kiss her forehead.
“Did you happen to notice anything while we were out walking? Something out of place?”
She thought a moment, shook her head. “No. Why?”
“I glimpsed what might’ve been a vehicle parked up on the curve of Neptune Road, but it was so far away I couldn’t see much except a sliver of the side through the trees. When we came back, it was gone.”
Cori’s eyes widened. “You couldn’t tell whether it was a car, truck, or van? Did you see a man?”
“I’m sorry, honey. I couldn’t tell.” Taking her hand, he kissed the soft skin of her palm and tried to be reassuring. “I didn’t think much of it before and it’s probably nothing. But considering the intruder who surprised you, we need to keep our eyes and ears open. I know you have classes and I can’t be with you every second, but I’d feel better if you’re out alone as little as possible. Wouldn’t hurt for you to check in with me periodically, too.”
“Of course, you’re right. I’ll be careful and keep my cell phone handy, too.”
She looked so worried, he felt bad for upsetting her when she’d gone to the trouble to make dinner. He smiled, hoping to recapture the happy mood.
“Let’s eat. I don’t want your excellent meal to get cold.”
“I
am
hungry.”
“Go ahead. I’ll be right there.”
He made a quick pit stop in the bathroom to brush his teeth—pointless when they were about to eat, but he hated the aftertaste of cough syrup—and headed downstairs.
In the entry to the formal dining room he’d never once used, Zack stared in humbled awe at the table she’d set for them. The lights were dimmed, two long candles gracing the center of an array of fragrant dishes. She stood near the head of the table where two places were set, fairly vibrating with anticipation.
To his absolute horror, his eyes stung. And filled. Totally uncool, and as he looked away, he hoped she didn’t notice.
Which she did, of course, and mistook his reaction.
“Is—is something wrong? You said you hated pasta, but I thought you’d like chicken and—oh, no. I went overboard, didn’t I? With the candles and the romantic setting and—”
“Cori.” He strode toward her.
“I can move us to the breakfast nook or—”
“Corrine.”
Her mouth snapped shut as he reached her and cupped her face in his palms. “I love everything. It looks fantastic. It’s just that . . . nobody’s ever done this for me before.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened, expression softening. “No one’s ever made dinner for you?”
“Just for me? Special, like this? No.”
He saw the significance of that statement hit her, and spread like sunshine through her whole body.
“Then I’m glad to be your first.”
“Beautiful, you have no idea.”
“What?”
Tilting Cori’s chin up, he distracted her with a kiss that left him wishing they’d skip the meal. But she’d gone to so much trouble, no way would he disappoint her. Releasing her, he pulled out her chair, relieved he’d gotten himself together.
“You’re supposed to be at the head of the table,” she protested.
“Nope. You’re the chef, and that makes you the boss.” He took the seat next to her, and her eyes twinkled.
“You don’t think I’m bossy enough already? You called me a ‘bossy nurse.’ ”
“Maybe I’ve discovered I have a serious thing for take-charge, alpha females.”
“Intriguing,” she teased, steepling her fingers. “And are you a take-charge alpha male?”
Oh, no. He wasn’t very good at this innuendo thing. But what did he have to lose? Might as well up the ante. He was enjoying himself too damned much not to. He shot her a heated look that dipped to the swell of her breasts, lingered on the pucker of her braless nipples against the fabric of her shirt, and rose back to her surprised face.
“Guess that depends on the situation.”
“Maybe you’re a switch.” She grinned, obviously into their little game.
“A switch?”
“A man who takes pleasure in receiving with as much enthusiasm as he dishes out.”
At that, little Zack awoke from his nap. Holy shit, she was determined to kill him. Death by eternal erection.
“A possibility worth exploring, I’d say.” He congratulated himself on managing to sound smooth and collected instead of croaking like a frog.
“Chicken?” She started serving food on their plates as though she hadn’t a care in the world.
The she-devil knew she had him by the short and curlies. He’d heard from the guys that women were better at this sort of premating dance, were able to hold out for a long frigging time, and guessed it must be true.
He tucked into his dinner, groaning in bliss at the burst of flavors on his tongue. “This is wonderful. Where did you learn to cook?”
She lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug, though her face flushed with delight. “I used to spend hours in the kitchen with our cook back home, helping her, mostly because it kept me under my brothers’ radar. None of them would be caught dead in a so-called woman’s domain.”
He barked a laugh. “Woman’s domain? They’d starve to death at the fire station—if one of the guys didn’t beat the crap out of them first.” Her brothers sounded like a bunch of spoiled pansies. He’d love to see one of them prepare a meal for six starving men, then rush to a call and run straight into a burning building.
“That’s right—firemen are rumored to be excellent in the kitchen.” She leaned forward with interest. “Is it true?”
“For the most part, though some of us are better than others. I hold my own, but Six-Pack doesn’t just cook—he creates culinary masterpieces. On the other hand, Tommy’s not allowed to heat anything except hot dogs right now. He’s learning, though.”
“You talk about them as if they’re your family.”
“Those guys are the closest I’ve ever had to one, and I consider myself fortunate. Anyway,
your
tutoring sure paid off. I haven’t eaten so well in ages.” A huge understatement. He paused, taking a swallow of his iced tea, thinking it was time to reroute the subject. “You mentioned home. Where’s that?”
“Here, in Sugarland,” she said firmly. “The family estate outside Atlantic City could never be mistaken for anyone’s idea of a home. Well, except for my brothers. They like it well enough, especially Rafael. Another roll?”
Atlantic City.
His gut cramped, food turning a somersault in his belly, and he suddenly felt cold to the bone. Had to be a coincidence. Shoving aside the chill, he forced the issue from his mind.
“Sure.” He took the bread, aware she was trying to change the subject. She didn’t want to discuss her family or former life, but hey, his own upbringing hadn’t exactly been an episode of
Family Ties
. He decided to nudge a bit more. “About Rafael, you were saying?”
“He’s the youngest of my brothers—well, technically my half brother, the result of my father’s affair with his personal assistant. He’s just as hard and uncompromising as the others, though. Really embraced the whole ‘family honor’ thing. Nothing like the zeal of a convert, huh?”
“And he lives with your family? That’s kind of . . . unusual, isn’t it, considering the circumstances?”
She gave a rueful laugh. “I suppose so. He was raised at first by his mother, but came to live with us when he was ten, after she killed herself. Oh, he was such a sad little boy. He’d just lost his mother and barely knew our father. It was a huge adjustment for everyone, especially Rafael, but we all did our best to make him feel welcome, even Mother. I don’t think he ever got over our father not being there for him during his formative years, though.”
Dumped on his father’s doorstep. Yeah, he could relate. “How does your father feel about Rafael?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.
“Treated him about as coldly as he did the rest of us, I guess. I don’t know. Our father wasn’t an open man and he died rather suddenly about ten years ago.”
“I’m sorry. Illness?”
“He was murdered. An unidentified intruder walked into his office and blew his brains out.” She chewed a piece of chicken calmly. “He didn’t have many mourners.”
Apparently not. He scrambled for the right thing to say, but she put him out of his misery.
“Mother died four years ago of breast cancer. Said she’d outlive us all, and I think we were all rather shocked when she didn’t.” This time, she blinked furiously, pushing the green beans around on her plate. “The one and only instance I ever knew her to fail at something she’d set her mind to.”
Zack laid his hand over hers. “You loved her.”
“Yes. She was my rock and when she passed . . . I couldn’t stand living alone with my brothers. They were overbearing and impossible before, but afterward the oldest in particular took it upon himself to run my life.”
“How so?”
“Pressuring me to attend boring society functions, telling me what to wear, how to act, how to live. Pushing me to date pedigreed men with his stamp of approval, of which Alex had neither.”
“So you married the guy, fleeing for higher ground,” he prompted.
“I was immature and stupid. I’d made it halfway through nursing school—which everyone in my family assured me was a waste of time—but then I quit because my attentions being focused on something I enjoyed made my husband unhappy.”
“You were in love.”
“I thought so, until he started beating me.”
His fingers curled around hers, squeezing in encouragement. “How often did this happen?” he asked softly, recalling that the vicious asshole had nearly killed her. Too bad he was already dead, because Zack would very much enjoy strangling him. The violence of his thoughts scared him.
“The first year he got his kicks by verbal abuse, but soon it wasn’t enough. Every time he hit me, he’d go overboard making up and life would be great for a while. Each subsequent beating got worse. I hid it from my brothers because I knew they’d gut him like a pig and wind up in prison. My husband watched my every move and controlled the finances, so I didn’t know where to go. It didn’t stop until the night Alex . . . died.”
“Do you want to talk about it? I’ll fetch you something stronger than tea if you’d like.”
“No. I hope you understand.”
“Of course.” She looked so forlorn, his heart turned over. This wasn’t the sassy stick of dynamite he’d rear-ended in his car. The image of a brutal monster trying to douse her fire forever made Zack postal. Best to move the topic along. “Then you moved to Sugarland?”
Her expression brightened. “I had no clue where I intended to go. I just packed my SUV to the gills and headed west. I fell in love with Tennessee on sight, though Nashville was too big and touristy for what I wanted. I drove a little farther west, and here I am, finishing nursing school.”
“Lucky me.”
“I’m the lucky one to have met you, Zack. You’re kind and gentle, and you’d never harm another person. You have a dangerous job and you save lives,” she said, gazing at him as if he were some sort of superhero. “You saved me, literally.”
Jesus. Good thing she couldn’t read his mind. There was nothing
kind
or
gentle
about what he’d do to anyone else who attempted to harm her. “Don’t put me on too high a pedestal, baby. The fall might break my neck.”
“Nah, you’d bounce.” Pushing aside her plate, she eyed him from under long, dusky lashes. “Your turn. Spill it all.”
“Me? Nothing to tell.”
“Uh-uh. Not fair.”
“Okay, um . . . I once read Stephen King’s
It
. Worst mistake I ever made. Didn’t sleep for a month.”
She arched a brow. “Because of your deep-seated fear of clowns.”