We have a lot to celebrate. That the house is worth fixing. That I’m going to be here a while. That we’re both here,” he added pointedly and turned the full heat of his gaze on her. “I think that’s worth celebrating, don’t you?”
He saw her swallow. Then she bobbed her head a little jerkily and took a breath. “Yes. Of course.” Another breath, a brittle smile. “That would be nice.”
“Nice?” He cocked his head, regarding her from beneath hooded lids. “Nice?” he repeated, teasingly.
Edie shrugged awkwardly. Her smile stayed in place but it looked even more superficial. Nick was reminded of the smile she’d worn when she’d reappeared at his side at the reception, when she had taken him up on his offer of a tour of his renovations. There had been a tense edginess about her then, too.
Then she’d been avoiding the hundred-dollar-haircut man and her mother’s expectations. Was she nervous now? Uncertain? Wishing she could avoid him?
Nick scowled. Why would she feel that way? Didn’t she remember how good it had been between them? If she didn’t, he’d be happy to remind her.
“I need to get dressed,” she said now, and she began edging toward the gate.
“Not on my account.” He grinned.
A blush suffused every bit of Edie’s visible skin, telling him that she certainly hadn’t forgotten.
Even so, the look she gave him was pained. “If we’re going out to dinner, I need to shower and wash my hair.”
“We could get take-out, stay in, celebrate here.” He could think of excellent ways to celebrate that wouldn’t require her dressing at all.
Edie shook her head. “No. If we’re going to stay here,” she said, “I have work to do.”
“Then we’re going out.”
“But—”
“Go take your shower and wash your hair, Edie Daley. Get dressed if you must,” he said. “I’ll swim and change and be at your place in an hour.”
All evening long it felt like a date.
Edie knew better, of course. Her mother had engineered the whole thing. But, knowing it didn’t entirely save her. The minute she had opened the door to Nick standing on her small front porch, it felt as if he were courting her.
Wishful thinking, she’d chastised herself even as she let him open the door of his car for her and, for a moment, brush his fingers over hers as she got in.
Though her fingers tingled with awareness, Edie tried to keep things pleasant and businesslike. That’s what it was, after all.
Business. It was like a mantra. She needed to keep the word going over and over in her head all the time—because the way he smiled at her, the way his eyes seemed to heat when his gaze met hers, the way, every time he refilled her glass of wine and handed it back to her, their fingers touched—all of it made her want more than she knew was really there.
It was a beautiful, cloudless California evening with the lightest of breezes, perfect for sitting at a table outside. The ambiance was casual, the food was fantastic and Nick was charming and flirtatious. She was sure he was like that with every woman he ever met, but telling herself that didn’t make her any less susceptible to him.
He was too easy to talk to, too gorgeous to look at. He answered her questions about the stave church in Norway and another project he was working on at a Scottish castle.
“And yet you came here?” she said. Mona’s powers of persuasion were legendary, but Edie was still surprised Nick had agreed, especially since he had to know she’d be here—and he didn’t “do” relationships.
Or did he? The thought was tantalizing.
He had awakened her, after all. Perhaps she had done the same for him.
Edie leaned in to study him more closely, as if an intent examination of his features would give her the answer to the question.
“I came here,” Nick agreed. He lounged back in his chair and regarded her from beneath hooded lids.
“Why?”
He blinked, as if her blunt question surprised him. But then he shrugged easily. “It’s what I do. And,” he added, one corner of his mouth quirking, “I like a challenge.”
And there it was again—the hum of awareness that seemed to arc between them.
Physical attraction? Oh, yes. Anything more? Edie couldn’t tell.
The noise of the dinner hour had abated and, as other diners left, their table, which was at the far end of the patio of the downtown Santa Barbara restaurant, became more isolated and intimate.
“Cup of coffee?” Nick murmured. He was watching her from beneath slightly lowered lids. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. Edie had no trouble remembering the taste of that mouth and the way his lips had felt pressed against hers.
It was time to go. Edie knew it. But going meant confronting the awareness sooner rather than later. And she wasn’t ready yet. She needed fortification. So she said yes to the cup of coffee. It was strong, black, a full-bodied Colombian roast. Meant to be savored. Meant, she suspected, to give her the stamina—and the caffeine—to stay up all night making love with him.
Which she would dearly love to do. Except …
She clutched the cup like a lifeline, stared into it, trying to find the words to say what she needed to say. Finally she lifted her gaze and met his. “We need to get something straight.”
At her tone one of Nick’s brows lifted. “Oh?”
She gave a jerky little dip of her head. Her fingers strangled the coffee mug as she plunged straight to the heart of the matter. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
Now both of Nick’s brows shot up. He sat up straighter, looking first surprised, then almost bemused. After a moment, he settled back in his chair and picked up his own cup, holding it easily. “Aren’t you?” His tone betrayed only mild interest, making Edie feel like an idiot. But she’d already begun, so she forged ahead.
“No. And yes, I know, you haven’t asked.” There, she’d pointed out the obvious, too. “But since we did once—” she took a quick breath “—I thought the issue could come up again.”
“It could,” Nick agreed. His tone was still mild, but there was a hint of something else, something deeper, yet definitely suggestive that told her she hadn’t entirely misread the situation.
She met his gaze head-on. “So I thought I should make it clear up-front that it’s not going to happen.”
For a long moment Nick didn’t say anything, but his gaze never wavered. Then finally, after what seemed like an eon, but was probably less than half a minute, he asked, “Why not?”
Edie swallowed. Her mouth was dry and her palms were damp, and she was already regretting having opened her mouth. She didn’t do confrontation. Ever. She was a negotiator,
