A Night To Remember Page 9

  “You’ll have to show me all of your house later. As nice as your bedroom and bath are, I’m curious about the rest of it. I’d like to see where you spend your time.”

  “I once would have said my study was my favorite room. Since last night, I’ve changed my mind. Now it’s my bedroom.”

  She smiled and turned into his arms. “That was very nicely said. You’re very good at seducing me, Andrew Tyler.”

  He traced a warm drop of water down the side of her cheek, studying the way her wet curls framed her glowing face. “Does that worry you?”

  Though she was still smiling, her dark eyes were suddenly serious. “Should it?”

  “Probably.”

  If she knew how tempting he found it to hold her prisoner in his bedroom until another new year began—or maybe even longer than that—she’d very likely bolt in panic. He’d never actually do anything like that, of course, but he could certainly fantasize about it, though he’d never been one to indulge in fantasies before.

  He’d changed in many ways since Nicole had whirled into his life.

  And he’d known her only a matter of hours, he reminded himself, trying very hard to cling to at least a shred of logic.

  She studied his face, as though trying to read his thoughts. And then she smiled again and rose to kiss his chin. “Regardless of how you might intimidate everyone else, you don’t scare me, Andrew Tyler.”

  He didn’t think it wise to let her know that she scared the stuffing out of him. He was trying not to admit that, even to himself.

  Andrew dressed in casual clothing he’d taken from his closet, Nicole in a sweater and jeans that she’d dug out of the overnight bag he’d fetched from the bedroom where he’d originally led her. The bedroom he was very glad she hadn’t stayed in.

  He sat on the end of the bed and watched as she applied a deft touch of makeup, leaving her hair to dry naturally into a delightfully untamed cascade of curls. She didn’t fuss over her appearance, he noted approvingly. The little makeup she applied was intended to enhance rather than conceal. Though she obviously took pride in her appearance, she wasn’t especially vain about it. He liked that. But then, there were many things he liked about Nicole.

  “Do you have plans for the day?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing in particular. I’ll probably make a few Happy New Year calls, then be lazy for a few hours.”

  “You can do that here. There’s no need for you to go back to that motel. You got all your things out of your room, didn’t you?”

  She nodded. “Most of my possessions are in storage until I find an apartment. But I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality, Andrew. I can find a nicer motel for tonight.”

  Everything inside him rebelled at the idea. “Stay with me today. And tonight.”

  She set down her mascara and turned to face him, her dark eyes searching his face. And then she spoke. “All right. If you really want me to.”

  “I want you to.”

  She smiled. “Then I’d be delighted. Thank you.”

  He felt as though he should thank her instead. But he only nodded and changed the subject. “You must be hungry. We never did get anything to eat last night.”

  “I’m starving,” she said fervently.

  “So am I. I’m sure Martha has something already prepared. She’d expect me to wake up hungry.”

  “Martha?”

  “My housekeeper. She’s a great cook.”

  She twisted a curl around her fingertip. “Do you think she already knows that you, er, have company?”

  “Probably. Not much that happens around here escapes her attention.”

  Nicole didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I see.”

  He thought he’d better prepare her for his housekeeper. “Martha has been with me a long time. She tends to treat me rather like a grandson, rather than an employer. There’s little formality between us.”

  “And how will she react to me?”

  “She’ll like you,” he predicted. Martha, like his mother, had been badgering him for some time to find a woman. She’d never been overly fond of Ashley, though she’d always been gracious enough to his former fiancée. She would probably approve of Nicole right off the bat. To be honest, he couldn’t imagine anyone not liking Nicole.

  Nicole took a deep breath and gave him a smile that made her look a bit shy and vulnerable and infinitely sweet. “Well, since I’m about to faint from hunger, I suppose we’d better go find her.”

  It was all he could do not to take her in his arms. He wasn’t at all eager to leave this room with her, to share her with the outside world. He had to remind himself that she needed food. As for him, the only thing he needed at the moment was Nicole.

  Trouble, he thought again. Serious trouble.

  But, for once, he found himself unwilling to consider the consequences of his actions. He had Nicole to himself for another day. He planned to enjoy every moment of it.

  7

  “WELL, GOOD MORNING.” The kind-faced, broad-hipped housekeeper greeted them as Nicky and Andrew entered the kitchen in search of food.

  “Good morning,” Andrew replied. He tugged lightly at Nicole’s hand, pulling her forward. “Martha, this is Nicole Holiday. Nicole, my housekeeper, Martha Porter.”

  Nicky noticed only a glimmer of curiosity in the older woman’s eyes, and that was quickly masked. “Nice to meet you, Miss Holiday,” Martha said. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, very,” Nicky replied as Andrew nodded agreement.

  “I have lunch prepared—or would you rather have breakfast food?”

  “Any food is fine with me,” Nicky said with a smile.

  Again, Andrew nodded.

  “I’ve made pork chops and black-eyed peas,” Martha announced. “For good luck, you know.”

  Born and raised in the South, Nicky knew the tradition of serving black-eyed peas and pork—traditionally hog jowls, but pork chops were often substituted—for luck on New Year’s Day. As far as she could remember, she’d never had a new year begin without the meal. “That sounds wonderful,” she assured the housekeeper.

  “Then go on into the dining room and I’ll bring it in,” Martha instructed, shooing them away with quick gestures of her competent-looking hands.

  Nicky soon learned that Andrew hadn’t exaggerated about his housekeeper’s cooking skills. Savory baked pork chops, perfectly seasoned black-eyed peas, fresh turnip greens, candied sweet potatoes, warm yeast rolls—the meal was delicious, and it wasn’t simply hunger that made Nicky think so.

  “Oh, man, this is good,” she moaned after eating for a few minutes in appreciative silence.

  Andrew smiled and adjusted his glasses with one finger. “I’d bet you didn’t get food like this in Minneapolis.”

  “Why do you think I came back to Memphis? Pass the pepper sauce, please.”

  He handed her home-bottled pepper sauce and watched as she sprinkled it liberally over her greens and peas. “Better take it easy with that. Martha uses hot peppers.”

  She grinned and added a bit more. “I like it hot.”

  His eyes darkened, and she realized he’d taken her words as a double entendre. Something in his expression made her pulse race.

  Odd, she mused. She’d never been like this with anyone else. Only Andrew had the ability to simply look at her and turn her knees to jelly. What other power did he hold over her?

  “Y’all save room for dessert, now,” Martha said as she bustled in to refill their ice tea glasses. “I made pecan pie and lemon icebox, in case you’re craving something sweet.”

  Andrew’s expression didn’t waver as he glanced at his housekeeper. “As a matter of fact, I was just craving something sweet,” he murmured.

  Nicky choked on her peas.

  Martha patted her back solicitously. “Be careful, honey. That pepper sauce is hot,” she warned, spotting the bottle beside Nicky’s plate.

  Nicky glared across the table at Andrew, who only smiled bl
andly back at her.

  The man was dangerous, she decided. In more ways than one.

  WHEN THEY’D EATEN all they could hold, Nicky reminded Andrew that he’d promised to show her the rest of his house. It really was a beautiful place, she decided during the tour, though it could use a few touches of color and whimsy.

  Like Andrew, her favorite room was his study with its leather and dark wood, its many shelves of books, and paintings that seemed to reflect his tastes rather than a professional decorator’s. She could easily imagine him spending hours there with his paperwork.

  The tour ended where they’d begun the day—in Andrew’s bedroom. And within a few blissful minutes, Nicky changed her mind about her favorite room. This one was definitely superior, she decided as Andrew lowered her to the bed, his mouth fused with hers.

  She felt as though she could happily stay here for the rest of her life.

  A long time later she squirmed onto her stomach and crossed her hands on Andrew’s bare chest, which was still rising and falling rather rapidly after their vigorous play. She studied his face with narrowed eyes.

  After a moment he lifted an eyebrow. “What is it? Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “You’re a very handsome man, Andrew Tyler. Even with the bruises. They make you look quite dashing. You could have made a living as a male cover model or something.”

  He looked both embarrassed and appalled by the idea. “I don’t think so.”

  She chuckled. “That career doesn’t appeal to you?”

  “Hardly I’d prefer to run my company. Or do just about anything else, for that matter.”

  “Camera shy?”

  “Let’s just say that modeling doesn’t interest me.”

  She rested her chin on her crossed hands and studied him thoughtfully. “You have that haughty male model look,” she murmured. “You look so solemn most of the time. Don’t you ever break out in a big ol’ ear-to-ear grin?”

  He gave it some thought. “I’m not sure.”

  She laughed at how seriously he’d taken her whimsical question.

  Andrew looked pained. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you find me secretly amusing.”

  “There’s no secret about it. I do find you amusing,” she teased.

  He eyed her smile. “Is that good or bad?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  He seemed partially satisfied by that response. He nodded and tightened his hold on her. “Yes. You’re here.”

  There were so many things she wanted to know about him. His favorite foods, his favorite color, his favorite book. The first girl he’d kissed. The last one he’d loved.

  She didn’t ask any of the questions buzzing in her head. Perhaps it was because she had a niggling fear that the more she knew about him, the harder she would fall for him. And the more if would hurt when it ended.

  Nicky had always been one to make the most of the present, rather than to worry unduly about the future. And the present was very nice, indeed, she decided, admiring the wickedly attractive, deliciously naked man beneath her.

  She squirmed a bit higher on his chest and swooped down to kiss him. There were other ways to learn about him than simply to ask questions.

  She traced his mouth with the tip of her tongue, tickling the corners, nipping at his lower lip. She nibbled his firm, squared jaw, and nuzzled the faint cleft in his chin. She soothed the deep vertical lines between his straight brows with a soft kiss, then moved to his earlobe, which she took between her teeth in a teasing love bite.

  He lay very still beneath her ministrations, his eyes closed, his hands at her hips, his breathing growing labored again. “Nicole—”

  She was already wriggling lower, burying her face in his throat to taste the heavily pulsing hollow there. His head pressed back against the pillow, giving her better access. She took full advantage, moving slowly, savoringly downward.

  By the time she’d explored his chest and his nipples and worked her way down to nip at his navel, a fine sheen of perspiration glistened on his body. His breathing was harsh, and his hands trembled as they clenched in her hair. She smiled against his skin and moved lower still.

  Andrew arched upward. “Nicole!”

  He wasn’t distant and reserved now, she thought in deep satisfaction. And she reveled in the knowledge that she was the one who’d shattered his formidable control.

  Whatever happened later, she wanted him to remember this day for a very long time.

  ANDREW WAS WATCHING Nicole sleep again. Dressed in a black turtleneck and black denims, his glasses neatly in place, his hair tumbling onto his forehead, he sat in a chair near the bed, studying her as she lay in the soft pool of light cast by the dimmed bedside lamp.

  She was so beautiful that it made his chest hurt just to look at her. He’d only had a reaction like this once before that he could remember—years ago. Fresh out of college and on a business trip in Chicago, he’d wandered through the Great Impressionists exhibit at the Institute of Art and had stepped into a roomful of Monet’s water lily studies. The delicate glory of them had made his throat tighten, his fists clench in wonder.

  They were clenched now as he gazed at Nicole, asleep in his bed.

  When he’d seen the paintings, he’d had an immediate, fleeting urge to possess them. To hide them away where no one else could see them, to be admired only by his own eyes.

  He had that same irrational impulse now, with Nicole.

  It was as though a wondrous, mysterious, joyously exotic creature had wandered accidentally into his quiet, somber, ordinary home. He suspected that, like other free-spirited, untamed creatures, Nicole would not be able to thrive in captivity. Like the paintings, her beauty was too precious to be selfishly hidden away.

  She’d been his for a day. He would remind himself of that when she flitted inevitably out of his life.

  She stirred against the pillows and reached out one small hand to his side of the bed. When she encountered only air, she opened her eyes and lifted her head. It took her a moment to find him in the shadowed corner where he sat in his dark clothes. When she spotted him, she smiled, and he could almost believe the brilliance of it lightened the room.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi, yourself. Did you rest well?”

  “Yes. And now I’m starving.”

  He smiled. “I thought you would be. Martha has taken the rest of the evening off, but she left a pot of stew and a pan of cornbread in the kitchen for us.”

  “The woman is a saint,” Nicole said fervently, reaching for her clothes. “Whatever you’re paying her, it isn’t enough.”

  Nicole was probably right. He made a mental note to give Martha a raise for the new year.

  He wished it would be so easy to ensure that Nicole would stay with him.

  AFTER THEIR LEISURELY raid on the kitchen, they returned by unspoken agreement to Andrew’s bedroom. There, they reclined together in his bed and watched the late-night news, after which Nicole suggested that they turn to a cable channel that specialized in old TV sitcoms.

  She had a weakness for those wonderful old shows, she admitted with a smile. And then she happily snuggled into his shoulder to watch “The Dick Van Dyke Show,” “The Bob Newhart Show” and “Taxi.” She could quote most of the lines—and did—but still laughed at each punch line.

  Andrew wasn’t paying much attention to the television screen. He couldn’t stop watching Nicole.

  She seemed to take such delight in everything. Dancing, conversing, eating, watching TV. Making love.

  He rather envied her the ability to live for the moment, to savor each pleasure, no matter how fleeting. If she worried about tomorrow, she hid it well. Whereas his own enjoyment of being with her was slightly dimmed by his dread of eventually watching her leave.

  As though sensing his solemn gaze on her, Nicole glanced away from the television to look up at him. “Are you getting tired? Would you like me to turn this off?”

  He shook his hea
d. “Watch as long as you like. I’m fine.”

  But she seemed to have lost interest in the program. “You don’t like the old shows?”

  He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “They’re okay. I’ve always liked Bob Newhart, particularly in his original show.”

  “The one in which he plays a successful, work-obsessed, rather serious and compulsive type? Gee, I wonder why that one would appeal to you?”

  He frowned in response to her tone. “Are you implying that I’m like that?”

  “That you take everything a bit too seriously? If the shoe fits—”

  His frown deepened.

  Nicole laughed softly and reached up to kiss his cheek. “I’m only teasing you, Andrew. Don’t be offended.”

  “I’m not offended,” he replied a bit stiffly. And he wasn’t. She was probably closer to the truth than she knew in her summary of him—which only worried him more.

  It must be obvious that he was very different from her. When she was no longer amused by him, would she find him a bore? How long would it be before she was impatient to move on to someone more spontaneous and outgoing? Someone more like herself?

  She lifted a hand to his cheek. “Sometimes you look at me so seriously. What are you thinking?”

  “That I’m glad I met you,” he replied promptly.

  That, at least, was true. Whatever happened, he would always look back on this time with pleasure and with wonder. He would always remember that, for a few curious, almost surreal hours, he’d known what it was like to be happy.

  Without warning, he shifted his weight, rolling her onto her back and beneath him. He crushed her mouth beneath his, holding her against him so tightly he could almost imagine that she was permanently bonded to him.

  It took him a moment to realize that she was squirming beneath him.

  He dragged his mouth from hers and quickly loosened his hold on her. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.” She smiled and reached beneath her. “This was,” she explained, pulling out the television remote.