How to Knit a Wild Bikini (20 page)

Could he live like this? Could he live
with
this? Maybe if he ran now, he could save himself from what ever these feelings for her were doing to him.

Her whisper sounded over the voice in his head urging escape. “Why do think she didn’t say anything? Do you think Cassandra recognized me that first day and then decided she didn’t want me to know about our connection?”

Oh, no. Oh, God. His arms tightened around her reflexively. “Of course not.” He managed to choke out the words, though there was a vise of emotion closing hard around his neck. “I can’t know what Cassandra is thinking, of course…”

Nikki’s back straightened, and she turned in his lap so she could look at his face. There was a wrinkle between her eyebrows and her bottom lip was pushed out, doing that thing that was supposed to be a frown. “You knew, didn’t you? Before to night. You knew that Cassandra and I are biologically related.”

Fate must be laughing her—of course female—ass off. When it came for Jay’s time to fall, he’d taken the dive for a woman who was all unsettling and at least half-psychic. “I…I…”

The wrinkle on her forehead disappeared as her eyebrows rose in question. “You…you…”

Thirty-two years old. Experienced with women. An editor of a national magazine. A journalist who’d met all sorts of people in the pursuit of a story. You’d think he’d have learned self-preservation along the way. But he discovered he couldn’t lie to those beautiful, mesmerizing eyes.

“I found out a few days ago,” he admitted, his muscles tensing. She was going to throw his ass out now. Cut him loose, shut him down, slap his face, at least metaphorically, if not in reality.

On the same night that he’d truly accepted that he was in love with Nikki, Nikki was going to show him the door. His mind raced, thinking what he could say to soften her. What he might do to persuade her to give him another chance.

“Oh,” she said, settling back against him. “I understand perfectly. I wouldn’t have wanted to get involved either.”

The knife, the knife he knew she didn’t even realize she’d wielded, slid deep between his ribs. The cruelest cut was the one that made clear she expected so damn little of him.

Days later, Nikki limped around the Malibu kitchen. The next afternoon was the big anniversary party and with her knee bound in an elastic bandage and with plenty of breaks to give it rest, she was managing all right. Jay wasn’t happy with the arrangement, but he wasn’t happy about her moving around at all.

“I’m going to get a butt as big as Texas if you keep this up,” she’d told him the night before as he’d come into her living room carrying bags of take-out—greasy hamburgers and fries. “Not to mention what this kind of food will do to your heart.”

He’d sent her an odd look. “My heart is my problem. Now your butt…that’s my problem, too. And my biggest problem with it is that it’s all covered up when I thought I told you before I left that I wanted you naked and willing as soon as I got back with the food.”

“Seriously, Jay, I don’t like someone doing things for me. I don’t need it.”

He grinned, ignoring her complaint. “You like someone—me—doing things
to
you, though. So cut me some slack, cookie.”

They’d eaten dinner, he’d uncovered her butt along with all of her other body parts, and she’d very nakedly and willingly let him, well, “do” what he wanted.

When it came to sex, she still let him melt her at will and on demand. She followed his sweet, persuasive suggestions, blushed at his raunchy orders, and went eagerly into every new position he introduced, in each case relying on him to make the experience something worthwhile.

God, he’d probably hate that, knowing she was thinking of Jay Buchanan as Old Reliable. A cold chill broke over her skin. She should hate that, too—she did hate that, as a matter of fact, because it wasn’t smart to be considering anyone so steadfast. Including Jay Buchanan.

Particularly Jay Buchanan.

Behind her, she heard the sliding glass door to the deck open. “Hey, Hef Junior,” she called over her shoulder, her voice purposefully light. “Remember
101 Dalmatians
? I was just thinking you reminded me of that movie’s ancient, long-eared bloodhound.”

“It’s me.”

Cassandra’s voice had Nikki spinning around on her good leg. The other woman stood in the doorway, wearing a knee-length full skirt of thin cotton and a lacy tank top she surely had crocheted. Both hands gripped a large, woven reed basket.

“What are you doing here?” Nikki asked.

Cassandra hesitated a moment, then came closer, holding out the item she carried. “I brought something for you. A peace offering. My version of a plate of baked goods or a bowl of fruit.” She set it on the counter near Nikki, then backed away.

Inside was a pretty jumble of different balls of yarn—their colors bright and their weights as varied as their shades. A pair of hand-painted knitting needles stuck up like chopsticks. Just as tempted as she was by the fresh produce at a farmer’s market, Nikki reached out a finger to test the different textures.

Cassandra had tied a bow made of a glittery knitted strip around the handle, and Nikki decided that’s what she could do with the mile-long swathe that she continued to work on. Of course, she’d have to hope someone was looking for ribbon to wrap an SUV or maybe a real elephant.

She touched the loop of the bow. “You didn’t need to do this.”

“I would have brought it earlier, but Jay warned me off.”

Nikki frowned. “What?”

“He said he didn’t think you were ready to talk to me.”

Her temper rose. Damn him. He had no right making decisions for her. Though their sexual affair was hot and heavy, she didn’t want him looking into her head. They weren’t that close, and she’d make that clear to him as soon as she finished this with Cassandra. “He should keep out of my business.”

The other woman blinked at her vehemence. “He seems to care a lot about you.”

“In a superficial kind of way,” Nikki insisted.

Cassandra tucked her hair behind her ears. “Anyhow, I came to apologize. I’d shared with the other knitters some particulars of my, uh, situation. But I didn’t plan on the way the revelation was sprung on you the other night.”

Nikki lifted a shoulder.
Never let them think you’re weak.
“I was surprised, I’ll give you that.”

“I’m sure you’ve put two and two together about how it came about. A few months ago, I started some sleuthing on the Internet. I found you, and sent you that advertisement, hoping to entice you into the shop.”

“Picking up the phone wasn’t an easier option?”

Now it was Cassandra’s turn to give an uncomfortable shrug. She looked down at her feet. “The thing is, I wanted to get a look at you first. It felt weird to call a stranger out of the blue with that kind of news. ‘Hey, we’re both products of the same sperm donor.’ And then when you came in the shop that first time…”

“You recognized me,” Nikki remembered. “Without even knowing my name.”

“Because of what I know about our father.”

“Not that. Not father.” She’d had a father. Maybe he hadn’t been a particularly warm or happy or honest one, but she couldn’t erase him from her life like that. He’d taught her important lessons—like standing on her own two feet because she couldn’t count on others to stick around and prop her up. “Sperm donor.”

Cassandra acknowledged the point with a nod. “Right. Well, he was a medical student when he donated. In the early days of artificial insemination and sperm banks, it was a common practice for the men in medical school to make extra money that way.”

“Doctor, huh? Maybe that explains why I don’t mind deboning chickens.”

Cassandra gave a little laugh. “Maybe you’re right. He’s a surgeon now. And he has eyes like yours. It was in the Records. One blue and one green. When I saw you, that’s how I knew.”

“Okay. Well, mystery solved. And thanks for the basket.”

Cassandra didn’t pick up on her dismissal. “When I actually met you that day, I had second thoughts about making contact. I realized it might be selfish of me and that you could be perfectly happy not knowing the truth about our biological relationship. So I kept quiet and continued my inner debate.” She continued standing where she was, looking miserable.

That wasn’t Nikki’s problem. She turned back to the countertop where she’d been threading vegetables onto skewers.

Cassandra cleared her throat. “But now that you do know, are there any questions—”

“No.” Then Nikki took a breath and turned around again. “Okay. Yes. Is there any medical history I should be aware of? My mom died of cancer, so I already have a concern on that score.”

“No. At least nothing he reported as a young man. He doesn’t live far from here and from what I’ve learned about him now—”

Nikki signaled “stop” with her hand. “I don’t want to hear more.”

“Okay. Okay. I respect that.” She swallowed hard, then brought her hand to her lips as if to hold something back.

Oh, God. Tears. Nikki bit down on the inside of her mouth. She
so
wanted Cassandra out of her kitchen. She’d never asked for this…this entanglement, and she wasn’t going to get drawn into its web.

She was better on her own. “Listen, you’ll have to excuse me now. I’m helping Jay throw a big party for his family tomorrow and I have a lot to do before then.”

Behind that unmoving hand, Cassandra’s head nodded.

Nikki’s stomach clenched. “Maybe this is all a mistake, have you thought of that?” she asked, desperate to cut off the emotion welling in the other woman’s expressive eyes. “We’re nothing alike. Not really. You knit. I cook. Your…your hair is longer. You talk. You cry.”

There were definite tears spilling over Cassandra’s bottom lashes. Nikki crossed to the tissue box on the counter, yanked a few out, then pressed them into the other woman’s free hand. “Here,” she said, her throat tightening in annoyance. “I’m sorry, but I’m really beginning to doubt your whole story.”

Cassandra laughed behind the tissues. “I can understand why. At this moment, I wouldn’t want to be my sister either.”

Her sister
.

Nikki hadn’t really considered that very much. During the brief moments she’d allowed herself to think over the situation the past couple of days, she’d used the time to review her childhood. While her father probably had not been an affectionate man by nature, that she was the product of artificial insemination using another man’s sperm likely explained his very palpable detachment—she wasn’t even his child! It also meant she hadn’t genetically inherited her keep-your-distance DNA from him as she’d always assumed. But that only proved when it came to temperament that nurture had its sway over nature.

So…sister?

Well, Nikki didn’t need one.

She steeled her spine and looked Cassandra straight in her now-dry eyes. “Look, you seem very nice, and it’s…it’s nothing personal, but I don’t need anyone—a donor sibling, a sister, what ever you want to call yourself—in my life.”

“There’s something more—”

“But I don’t want to hear anything more. I’m sorry. I just don’t. I’m not one of those people who gets close to others. Do you understand?”

“I can understand if you don’t like me.”

“No!” Nikki’s chest tightened on that aching thing that was thudding inside of it. This is what she didn’t want. The ache, the hurting. She didn’t want to experience the pain when bonds were broken. And they always, ultimately, did break. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

Cassandra laughed again, though it lacked humor just like the first time. “Have you been reading articles in Jay’s magazine?”

“I’m serious.” And the mention of
NYFM
gave her a way to explain it. “There are two kinds of weasels, you see. Those that socialize naturally and find it easy to make attachments with others. That’s you. Then there’s another variety, a variety like me, that do better on their own, in de pen dent of close relationships. I’m Weasel Number Two.”

Cassandra just looked at her. “You’re going to make me cry again, little sister, comparing your pretty self to a rodent.”

Not just sister.
Little
sister.

All at once, Nikki’s chest constricted tighter, shutting air from her lungs. Her face felt hot and both her knees seemed ready to give out on her. She looked away, blinking rapidly, wondering whether she could make it to the phone and dial 911. For some reason, she was without air.

As black dots did somersaults at the edge of her vision, Jay was suddenly by her side. He pulled a stool toward her and lifted her onto the seat. He said something to Cassandra about Nikki’s knee injury, and the other woman finally, finally left her kitchen, Jay at her heels.

Nikki was finally, finally alone again.

But still scared as hell, especially when Jay returned to her and she allowed herself to be held against his chest. Leaning on him, she found her first free breath.

Jay prowled the
anniversary party, nodding greetings, smiling social smiles, and accepting the compliments that came his way. Yes, his parents and aunt and uncle had been surprised. It
was
a beautiful day. A wonderful event.

None of which made him happy. His month with Nikki was coming to an end and worry gnawed at the edges of his inner peace—worry that she was going to disappear from his life without warning. It didn’t help matters that he’d wanted just that, many too many times, when it came to other women he’d invited into his bed.

What goes around, comes around.

Karma’s a bitch.

Those two little nuggets kept echoing in his head, and he couldn’t figure out a way to silence his mental voice. So he settled for sticking close to Nikki, as if that would ensure she wanted to be close to
him
.

In the kitchen, he found her directing the servers they’d hired for the day, and he waited nearby while she finished her instructions. Another disquieting note: She was dressed in her chef armor again.

He suspected those checked pants and that starchy jacket were her attempt at neutralizing her appeal to him. But the joke was on her this time, because the genderless outfit only fixated his attention on that ultra-feminine sweet spot at the back of her neck bared by her braids. The skin there was fine-grained and pale, as sexy to him as the sleek texture of her inner thigh or that delicate flesh on the inside edge of her hip bones.

“Come out of the kitchen and enjoy the party,” he coaxed, as the servers left the kitchen with trays filled with skewers of vegetables and fruit. “Mingle.”

The roll of her eyes was in her voice. “As soon as forty-plus people eat, drink, and be merry.”

“Nikki—”

Two cool hands suddenly covered his eyes. “Guess who?” a woman asked in sultry tones.

He swallowed his inward groan. The voice wasn’t immediately familiar, but he recognized the roundness of female breasts against his back. The fingers clung to his as he peeled them off, but he shook them loose and turned to face the woman, hoping Nikki was too busy to notice.

Because it was one of those cover models she so often used to poke fun at him. “Stephanie,” he said. “You’re here.”

Duh. But “glad you could make it” or “I’m so happy to see you” might have sent the wrong message to the braided chef behind him.

Stephanie Nichols, dressed in a short, clingy dress the color of orange sherbet, didn’t seem to notice his lack of a warm welcome. “I wouldn’t miss your parents’ party.” One step of her stiletto sandals and she was pressing a friendly kiss to his mouth.

Almost before it was over, he was turning in the direction of the death rays he felt sure were being aimed at the back of his neck. And there she was, the ray-beamer, not two feet away. “Nikki,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “Come meet an old friend.”

Instead of touching flesh to flesh, she slapped a napkin onto his palm. “Lipstick, handsome,” she whispered sotto voce, tapping her own mouth. “Don’t want the ladies around here to get the idea you’re taken.”

“But I am taken, cookie,” he murmured, narrowing his eyes and pulling her forward by the elbow. “Stephanie, meet Nikki.”

The other woman’s gaze jumped between their faces. “Your…?”

“Chef. For the time being,” Nikki answered. “And I really need to get back to it. If you’ll excuse me?”