unless she had a hangover. She stood in the doorway and reminded herself to breathe. In and out, in and out until the involuntary function kicked back in on its own. He wasn’t wearing a suit, or handmade shoes, or even a tie. Instead, he’d dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His boots looked worn. But the smile was just as devastating as it always had been. Thank the Lord she could blame her weak knees on her hangover.
“You look awful,” he said cheerfully and pushed past her into the town house. “Hangover?”
“No,” she murmured between clenched teeth. The volume of his voice made her head ache. “I feel fine.”
“Uh-huh.” He moved in front of her, shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I can tell. Are you packed?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t only the effects of the alcohol that were slowing her down. It was also lack of sleep. At four in the morning, her eyes had popped open. Despite how awful she felt, or perhaps because of it, she hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. She’d stared at the ceiling alternately praying that her memories about their evening together had been a dream, then hoping they were real.
“Did you take anything?” he asked. “Aspirin?”
She nodded, then wished she hadn’t actually moved her head.
His smile was sympathetic. “You’re such a straitlaced person, I doubt I could talk you into trying the hair of the dog, right?”
She stared at his face, at the wide blue eyes, the straight nose that should have been broken countless times but obviously hadn’t been. At the strong mouth, stubborn chin, the freshly shaved, tanned skin. He was gorgeous. It wasn’t fair.
His being nice to her only made it worse, she thought miserably as her stomach churned again. She hated when people tried to take care of her. She knew what was going on. They wanted to lull her into trusting them, then they would leave. She wasn’t about to play that game again.
“I’m fine,” she snapped and took a step back. “And I’m ready to go.”
“Great.”
She sucked in a deep breath, grabbing hold of the front door when dizziness threatened. “Where’s my car?”
“In the carport.”
That’s what she’d been afraid of. Her recollections of the end of the evening were fuzzy at best. She did remember Nick telling her she was way too drunk to drive and her agreeing with him about that. So instead of taking her back to the police station to collect her car, he’d brought her home. She vaguely recalled he’d promised to have her car delivered to her town house carport. Simple enough…except for one small problem.
She reached up toward the keys hanging from the lock in the front door. She found her car key and tugged on it gently. “You didn’t have a car key,” she said.
His sympathetic smile broadened and she nearly lost her balance. “I know. I asked one of my associates to take care of it. You probably don’t want to ask too many questions.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Nick was right. Questions—or rather, answers—would only make her uncomfortable. She didn’t want to think about the ramifications of someone breaking into and then hot-wiring her car, all while it sat in a police department parking lot.
“Do I have to worry about this person joyriding in my car?” she asked, opening her eyes and looking at him. “It wasn’t used in a drive-by shooting or anything, was it?”
He touched his hand to his chest. “I’m wounded. You talk as if I’m a thug. Hannah, I’m in real estate. I’m willing to admit a few of my employees are a little…” He paused.
“Creative in their dealings with the law?” she offered.
“Exactly. But my record is clean. You’ve seen that for yourself.”
“Right.”
She’d also seen him in the station bailing his associates out of jail. Only a madwoman would take Nick Archer to meet her mother. A really desperate madwoman.
“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” he asked.
“Oh, no.” That was true. She was up to fifth or sixth thoughts. She opened her mouth to tell him that and to let him know that this was never going to work, but instead, she motioned to her luggage. “I’m packed.”
In her weakened condition, she was willing to admit she wanted to spend a few hours in his company and discover the man behind the smooth facade. Crazy, certainly. He was a criminal and she was cop. She should loathe and despise him. And she did. Sort of. She also had to admit—if only to herself—that Nick’s charm was hard as hell to resist. The way he made her laugh felt nice.
He moved toward her luggage. I’m doing this for you, Mom, she thought and hoped it was the right thing to do. A dying old woman expected Hannah to have a husband. Was it so very wrong to allow her to think one really existed?
Nick grabbed two of the suitcases. “This is a lot for a weekend.”
“I’m not going for a weekend.”
“You said a couple of days.”
“That’s right. You’re staying with me for a couple of days, but I’ll be staying for two weeks.”
He raised his eyebrows and managed a hurt expression. “You’re going on vacation and didn’t tell me? Hannah, that’s so insensitive.”
She wanted to laugh, but he looked amazingly sincere. Yet he couldn’t be. This was a game of some kind. She was too befuddled to figure it out right now, but when her hangover wore off, she was sure everything would make sense.
“Nice place,” he said, nodding toward the living room on his left.
She glanced at the floral-print sofa, the white brick fireplace and the pale pine coffee table. What did her place look like to him? Everything was tidy. The colors were bright, definitely feminine. He probably sensed a man had never spent the night under her roof. The thought embarrassed her, although she wasn’t sure why. It was none of his business. So what if she chose not to sleep around? In this day and age, anything but caution was foolish.
He headed out the front door. She picked up the remaining suitcase and followed him. After carefully turning off the lights and securing the lock, she moved down the two steps to his Mercedes parked at the curb.
Thankfully, the convertible top was up. She wouldn’t have been able to face all that fresh air. Just the thought made her head ache more. Intellectually, she knew the car had been paid for with illegally obtained funds. It might even have been stolen, although Nick was probably smarter than that. It was more than she could ever afford and it was stunning. Even knowing where it had come from, she couldn’t help admiring the beautiful lines.
She remembered the interior smelled of fine leather and the seats were a luxurious combination of softness and support. The car was going to make the nine-hour drive seem like four.
She set her suitcase on the sidewalk beside the
