golf?” Vanessa was emboldened to say.
“Never,” Parker answered confidently. “But I’d take ten of anything you’re selling, Baby.”
Vanessa was seething inside, but she hadn’t forgotten that several million people were watching and listening. She wasn’t about to let Parker throw her in front of a national audience. “Good,” she said, beaming. “We’ll put you down for ten sets of golf clubs.”
Parker laughed, thinking she was joking. Vanessa wished she could see his face when the UPS man delivered his purchases in seven to ten working days.
2
The man was impossibly handsome, Vanessa thought ruefully as she watched Nick DeAngelo approach the table where she and the Harmons had been seated. He was tall, with the kind of shoulders one might expect of a former star football player. His hair was dark and attractively rumpled as though he’d just run his fingers through it. But it was the expression in his eyes that took hold of something deep inside Vanessa and refused to let go.
Suddenly Vanessa’s emotional scars, courtesy of Parker Lawrence, got the best of her. She could have sworn they were as visible as stitch marks across her face and she was positive that Nick DeAngelo could count them. Her first instinct was to run and hide.
Grinning, Paul stood to greet his friend. “You survived the flu,” he remarked. “From the way you sounded, I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
A half smile curved Nick’s lips, probably in acknowledgment of what Paul had said, but his gaze was fixed on Vanessa. He seemed to be unwrapping her soul, layer by layer, and she didn’t want that. She needed the insulation to feel safe.
She dropped her eyes, color rising to her cheeks, and clasped her hands together in her lap. In a matter of moments, a decade of living, loving and hurting had dropped away. She was as vulnerable as a shy sixteen-year-old.
“Vanessa,” Paul said gently, prodding her with his voice. “This is my friend, Nick De-Angelo.”
She looked up again because she had to, and Nick was smiling at her. A strange sensation washed over her, made up of fear and delight, consolation and challenge. “Hello,” she said, swallowing.
His smile was steady and as warm as winter fire. Vanessa was in over her head, and she knew it. “Hi,” he replied, his voice low and deep.
The sound of it caressed the bruises on Vanessa’s soul like a healing balm. She was frightened by his ability to touch her so intimately and wondered if anyone would believe her if she said she’d developed a headache and needed to go home to put her feet up. She started to speak, but Janet Harmon cut her off.
“I hear you’re opening another restaurant in Portland next month,” she said to Nick, her foot bumping against Vanessa’s under the table. “Won’t that take you out of town a lot?”
The phenomenal shoulders moved in an easy shrug. Nick DeAngelo was obviously as much at home in a tuxedo as he would be in a football jersey and blue jeans. His brown eyes roamed over Vanessa, revealing an amused approval of the emerald-green silk shirtwaist she was wearing. “I’m used to traveling,” he said finally in response to Janet’s question.
Vanessa devoutly wished that she’d stayed home. She wasn’t ready for an emotional involvement, but it seemed to be happening anyway, without her say-so. She was as helpless as a swimmer going down for the third time. In desperation, she clasped on to the similarities between Parker and Nick.
They were both attractive, although Vanessa had to admit that Parker’s looks had never affected her in quite the same way that Nick’s were doing now. They were both jocks, and, if the press could be believed, Nick, like Parker, was a veritable legend among the bimbos of the world.
Vanessa felt better and, conversely, worse. She lifted her chin and said, “I don’t think a jock—I mean, professional athlete ever gets the road completely out of his blood.”
Nick sat back in his chair. His look said he could read her as clearly as a floodlighted billboard. “Maybe it’s like selling electric foot massagers on television,” he speculated smoothly. “I don’t see how a person could ever put a thrill like that behind them.”
Vanessa squirmed. How typically male; he knew she was responding to him, and now he meant to make fun of her. “I’m not ashamed of what I do for a living, Mr. DeAngelo,” she said.
Nick bent toward her and, in that moment, it was as though the two of them were alone at the table—indeed, alone in the restaurant. “Neither am I, Ms. Lawrence,” he replied.
A crackling silence followed, which was finally broken by Paul’s diplomatic throat clearing and he said, “Vanessa hopes to anchor one of the local news shows at some point.”
Vanessa winced, sure that Nick would be amused at such a lofty ambition. Instead he merely nodded.
Dinner that night was delicious, although Vanessa was never able to recall exactly what it was, for she spent every minute longing to run for cover. After the meal, the foursome drifted from the dining room to the crowded cocktail lounge, where a quartet was playing soft music. Vanessa found herself held alarmingly close to Nick as they danced.
He lifted her chin with a curved finger and spoke in a velvety rasp. “Your eyes are the size of satellite dishes. Do I scare you that much?”
Vanessa stiffened. The man certainly had an ego. “You don’t scare me at all,” she lied. “It’s only that I’m—I’m tired.”
He smiled, and the warmth threatened to melt her like a wax statue. “You were married to Parker Lawrence, weren’t you?”
Suddenly it was too hot in the place; Vanessa felt as though she’d suffocate if she couldn’t get some fresh air. “Yes,” she answered, flustered, searching for an avenue of escape.
True to form, Nick read her thoughts precisely. “This way,” he said, and, taking Vanessa by the hand, he led her off the dance floor, down a hallway and into a large, tastefully furnished office. She was about to protest when she realized there was a terrace beyond the French doors on the far side of the room.
The autumn night was chilly, but Vanessa didn’t mind. The crisp air cleared her head, and she felt better immediately.
The sky was like a great black tent, pierced through in a million places by tiny specks of silver light, and the view of downtown Seattle and the harbor was spectacular. Vanessa rested her folded arms against the stone railing and drew a deep, delicious breath.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, smiling.
Nick was beside her, gazing at the city lights and moonlit water spread out below them. “I never get tired of it,” he said quietly. “The only drawback is that you can’t see the Space Needle from here.”
Vanessa shivered as an icy breeze swept off the water, and Nick immediately draped his tuxedo jacket over her shoulders. She thanked him shyly with a look, and asked, “Have you lived in Seattle all your life?”
He nodded. “I was born here.”
Vanessa marveled that she could be so comfortable with Nick on the terrace when she’d felt threatened inside the
