Beach Colors (28 page)

The valet brought the truck around and he helped her in. When he climbed into the driver’s side, she smiled at him and she looked so right sitting there beside him that it hurt. He tried to ignore the rush of desire that pulsed through him as he drove toward the entrance.

“You probably think I’ve got a one-track mind,” she said, sounding apologetic.

“I think it’s great. I can appreciate someone being wedded to their work.” God, why had he chosen that word?

“So which work are you wedded to, Nick? Teaching history or being chief of police?”

Sucker punch. He hit the break too hard and they both rocked against the seat.

“Did I hit a nerve? Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It just sort of popped out. Because I’m interested in you. I mean. I care about . . . Oh shit. You know what I mean.”

“This is just an interim position. I needed the job for . . . well, you’ve seen what for. No big deal.”

“Sounds like a pretty big deal to me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. She was watching him with an expression he couldn’t read. Wariness. Anger. Pity. But hell, he didn’t want her to think he was some heroic person. Women did that kind of thing. Made huge leaps of faith. And he wasn’t like that. But he did pay his debts. He couldn’t bring his brother back, but he sure as hell would take care of his son.

He felt her touch on his arm. She did that when she wanted to communicate. He’d miss that when she was gone.

“I’ve seen how much you care about your family. Not every man would make his family first priority. I should know.”

He cut his eyes toward her, but didn’t comment. He knew she was getting a divorce. But not why.

He turned onto Salt Marsh Lane. They were almost at her house, and he knew he should let the subject drop. He didn’t want the evening to end on an angry note, with her thinking about her husband and him thinking about all the shit he’d done wrong in his life—a wedge hammered between them. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“I know you’re getting a divorce. Your husband must be an idiot.”

“Oh, he’s much worse. And I was a fool. It’s hard to admit you’ve wasted a huge amount of your life on a lie.”

He stopped the truck in the middle of the street and turned to her. “That’s bullshit. You didn’t waste it. You’re famous. I saw all those magazines.”

“All I ever wanted to do was design dresses. But I took a wrong turn when Danny died. I was desperate to do something to take away Mom and Dad’s pain. I married Louis. I was going to fill their lives with grandchildren, give them so much that it would ease their loss. And look—no husband, no children—” She broke off, her face looking ghostly white in the dark.

“I wanted kids, too. Now I have one.” His words sounded sharp almost bitter.

“Connor is a sweetheart.”

“Yeah.” He put the truck in gear and continued down the street. He’d confessed enough for one night.

“But what about a wife?”

The truck swerved, he steadied it. “Is this a proposal?”

“No,” she said on a laugh. “It’s just me being nosy. Forget I asked.”

“There was the army, then teaching. Time passed and I never got around to getting married. Never found anyone—never a lot of things.”

“Never found anyone you wanted to marry?”

“I loved a girl once, I think.”

“You think?”

“It was a long time ago. I was young. She was younger. I didn’t appreciate what she meant to me until years later. By then I was in the army and she was . . . somewhere else.”

“Did you ever try to find her?”

Nick shook his head. “No. But things have a way of working out for the best.” Or not. At least he’d finally said what he felt, even if she didn’t understand it.

“You mean that you might be disappointed if you met her again? Maybe she’d be really fat or something?”

“Or something. Here we are.” He pulled into the drive and cut the engine. She probably thought he was going to try to hit her up for a nightcap, but he wasn’t that smooth. Best to just open her door, give her a kiss on the cheek, and damn himself for cowardice on his ride home.

She was already getting out of the truck by the time he got there, making him redundant, but he followed her to her door.

She opened the screen and opened the door.

“Margaux, don’t you ever lock anything? There are all sorts of thieves and predators out there.”

She huffed out a sigh. “I triple-quadruple locked every door and window when I lived in the city. We never had to lock anything here. And please don’t tell me times have changed. I know they have. And now you’ve spooked me.”

“Do you want me to come in and make sure the house is empty?”

She smiled and he realized what a transparent excuse for coming inside that sounded like. He did want to come inside, wanted to pick her up and carry her caveman-style through her unlocked back door. “You can wait in the truck until I’m done.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine. Though if . . .” She turned to him. There was an awkward moment while some unseen force drew them together.

Nick stepped toward her. He meant to kiss her cheek and leave, but just as he leaned forward she shifted and his mouth found hers. The air rushed out of his lungs and his arms went around her.

She melted against him, conforming perfectly to his body as if she were made for him. Her lips opened and he explored her mouth with his tongue. She responded even better than he could have imagined, and while the kiss lasted, time stopped, his problems floated away. He was lost in the moment and damn the consequences.

With a murmur, she pulled away. He didn’t want to let her go, but he did. She looked up at him with wide expectant eyes, but he saw the uncertainty behind the desire.

“I’d better get going.”

“I know.” She stepped into him.

The next time he let go, Margaux stumbled. He shot out a hand to steady her. He knew exactly how she felt. He was pretty damn weak in the knees himself. And he had the mother of all erections.

“Good night,” she said, and went inside.

Nick just stood there. He couldn’t think clearly. Could barely think at all. It was all he could do to get into the truck and drive away.

He hadn’t wanted to stop at the kiss. Might not have been able to if it had gone on much longer. And that would just be a huge complication, though he bet it would be one hell of a night.

Or she might not have wanted that at all and told him to go to hell. He wasn’t quite ready to take the chance.

In a way it was better not knowing. Some things were better off left in the imagination, than to have them killed in reality.

M
argaux waited at the door until the truck was out of sight, then turned back to the kitchen. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be swept off her feet. To have someone really pay attention to her when he was making love to her. Okay. A kiss wasn’t exactly making love, but it sure felt close.

She knew he would have stayed if she had given him the slightest reason to, but she was afraid. There it was. Margaux Sullivan, who faced the backbiting, backstabbing world of high fashion without a blink of an eye, was afraid of a small-town cop.

That wasn’t entirely true. It wasn’t Nick Prescott she was afraid of. It wasn’t even the chance of getting hurt or disappointed again. It was the fear that if they had gone further, she might not want to pull back again. And she would start making excuses to stay in Crescent Cove instead of getting back to her career, a career that couldn’t include a gruff taciturn man, or a darling little boy who desperately needed a mother to love him. It would be professional suicide.

She reined in her thoughts. She was jumping way ahead of herself. A couple of kisses, as good as they were, weren’t an invitation to happily ever after. Not that she’d fall for that fairy tale again.

So why did being with Nick feel different? Was it just because she was starved for affection or was it real? And if there was something special between them, would she give up everything for it?

The answer had to be no. As much as she wanted a family, she just wasn’t ready to give up designing. Maybe when she was at the top of her game again, but not now, when she was down and had nothing to offer.

All the same, it was going to be damn hard to walk away from Nick and that sweet silent boy who had already won a place in her heart.

She turned out the lights and walked down the hall to the stairs. The house was so quiet she thought she could hear the distant sounds of the past. Only the present was silent. Margaux was alone.

M
argaux reached Le Coif before Linda had opened the salon for the day. She found her in the kitchen, hunched over a paperback, a cup of tea hovering near her mouth, but never quite making it.

“Good morning.”

The tea sloshed, the book erupted into the air. “Holy moly, you scared the crap out of me.”

Margaux picked up the book.
The Wench’s Secret Lover.
She handed it back to Linda. “Sorry. I came in just to thank you for suggesting the inn.”

“
Ambi-ants
got to you, huh?”

“Did you know Harlan was the maître d’?”

“Well, of course. You didn’t think I picked him up in a biker bar, did you?”

“He’s very impressive in a tux.”

“Just one of his many charms.” Linda gave her one of her toothy grins and knocked back the rest of her tea. “So you had a good time?”

“Very.”

“That’s nice, though I gotta say, I couldn’t help but notice that I didn’t hear any sneaking upstairs to Nick’s apartment going on, and since I heard him coming in at some ungodly early-bird-special hour, I’m guessing that the only dessert you had was at the restaurant.”

“It was our first date.”

“Of many, we can but hope.”

“I don’t know about that, but I do have to thank you for suggesting the inn. Have you seen that big terrace off the side of the restaurant?”

“Um . . .”

“You have.”

“No I haven’t, only the little one in back. Honest Injun.” She raised three fingers in the air and it reminded Margaux of the Selkies’ solemn oath.

“Well, it’s a perfect venue for a runway show—if I can get the space for a price I can afford. I figure most weddings and graduations are held on weekends, so maybe a weeknight. It’s perfect.”

“You should be so excited about your date with Nick.”

Margaux frowned. “We had a good time. He’s intense, but a gentleman.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “I gotta talk to him about that.”

“I’ve got work to do. Just wanted to say thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Margaux closed the door to Linda’s mumbled “Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless.”

Mrs. Prescott came in midmorning with a carpetbag of sewing supplies and Connor, wearing his cape and headband from the day before.

“He would have slept in it if I had let him,” Mrs. Prescott said. She settled him on a stool at the drafting table while Margaux rolled out paper on the larger worktable so they could begin pattern cutting.

“Nicky put my sewing machine in the trunk. He said he’d come over on his break and carry it inside for us.”

Margaux blushed. From the way Mrs. Prescott was smiling at her, she must know that the two of them had dinner together the night before. This could get dicey, Margaux thought. She should never have gone out with Nick knowing that his mother was about to become her employee.

Excuses, excuses,
she told herself.
This isn’t a sudden revelation. You knew what the situation was and went ahead and did it anyway. So deal with it.
She erased the smile that had crept onto her face.

They spent the morning planning and cutting. Margaux told Mrs. Prescott about her ideas for using the inn for a runway show.

“It must be very expensive.”

“I’m sure it is, even if they have an available time. At first I thought about having a showing here, just one or two models walking around in the clothes, but this way I could get a good video to send out at the same time.”

Margaux stood and stretched. “Let’s take a break. I could use some tea and I bet Connor would like a snack. Where is Connor?” Margaux looked around the room, no Connor. She leaned over and looked beneath the table, not there.

“Oh dear. Connor, honey, where are you?”

“Look in the back room. I’ll go see if Linda has seen him.”

Margaux found him sitting in one of Linda’s styling chairs, turning in circles while Linda combed out Dottie Palmer.

“Hi,” Dottie said. “Didn’t want to bother you, you seemed so busy, but I do want to come in and peek.”

“Sure. Though there’s not much to see yet. Connor, your grandmother’s looking for you.”

Connor slid off the chair, head bowed.

Margaux, Linda, and Dottie exchanged looks.

“It’s okay if you come across the hall, but just tell us so we won’t worry, okay?”

He nodded.

“We’re going to have a snack. Are you hungry?”

He nodded.

“Cookies in the cookie jar,” Linda said. “Connor knows where it is, don’t you, luvbug?”

Connor smiled at her, took Margaux’s hand, and led her toward the kitchen.

“Let’s get your grandmother first,” Margaux said.

She called in at the door to her studio. “Found him.”

Mrs. Prescott came out, looking chagrined. “Connor Cyril Prescott, you know better than to run off without telling anyone.”

Connor leaned into Margaux. She crouched down by him and pushed a curl off his forehead. “It’s because we don’t want anything to happen to you. We’d be really sad if you got lost or hurt and we couldn’t find you. Now, let’s go get some cookies.”

She stood and saw Mrs. Prescott. There was a strange look in her eye.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t. He needs a—someone to—I won’t bring him again. He can stay with my neighbors. They don’t mind watching him.”

Connor leaned closer to Margaux. He was warm and nearly weightless against her.

“Of course you can bring him. We’ll just have to find some things to keep him occupied.”

When they went back to work, Margaux pulled Connor’s stool to the worktable. She drew some shapes on scraps of brown paper, found some snub-nosed scissors in his backpack, and set him to cutting out the shapes.