One Special Christmas & Home for the Holidays (37 page)

Laura felt her shirt being pulled free, felt his hand hesitate briefly at her waist before sliding slowly up her back. The warmth of his fingers against her bare skin made her sigh. “Oh, Nick,” she breathed, her own fingers kneading his hard, muscled shoulders. He urged her closer, his lips once more capturing hers with an urgency that stole her breath away.

It was her sudden, sharp intake of breath that stilled his hands and made him draw back. Her face had gone white and tears glimmered in her eyes. “Nick…I'm sorry,” she said breathlessly. “My side… I forgot…”

Her voice trailed off at the stricken look on Nick's face. “Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered, cradling her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?”

“It's okay. It just…surprised me. It doesn't hurt now.”
She wanted to smooth out the deep creases that had appeared on his brow, ease the sudden tension in his jaw, erase the self-recrimination in his eyes.

“I told myself not to touch you. I knew better,” he said angrily.

“Nick, it's my fault. I—I more or less asked you to.”

“Yeah, well, you're not thinking straight. You're probably half out of your mind in pain and you're doped up on those high-powered pills. Laura, let me take a look, okay? I promise not to hurt you. I just want to make sure I didn't do any more damage.”

Laura knew he needed to reassure himself, so she nodded silently. With utmost care he pulled up her shirt-tail, sucking in his breath at the bruise that extended from her breastbone to the bottom of her rib cage. “Dear God, it looks worse than yesterday,” he declared in dismay.

“Bruises usually do,” she said lightly, easing the shirt back down. “But it will fade, Nick.”

“No thanks to me.”

“Nick, I'm okay. And hungry. Where's that Chinese food you promised me?” she asked, trying to divert his attention.

For the rest of the evening he treated her like spun glass, helping her up and down the steps, getting a cushion for the back of her chair while they ate, wrapping an afghan around her before they settled in to watch an old movie on video that he'd brought home.

When he tucked her in for the night, gently pressing a chaste kiss on her forehead, Laura smiled. “You'd make a good mother,” she joked gently.

“Laura, believe me, my feelings for you are anything
but motherly,” he said with an intensity that left no doubt about exactly what his feelings were. “My restraint is the result of sheer terror. I never want to hurt you, sweetheart, and if touching you hurts at the moment, I won't touch. The important thing right now is for you to heal.”

Later, as Laura began to drift to sleep, she thought about Nick's parting words. She would heal—physically. It would just take time. It was the emotional healing that still troubled her. Today they'd been closer physically than ever before. Not because he'd pushed, as she'd feared all along, but because she'd pressed him. He'd responded readily, and she couldn't blame him; he'd long ago made his intentions clear. But they'd been heading for a level of intimacy that she believed should be reserved for a committed relationship. And even if he had suggested that, Laura knew she wasn't yet ready—just needy. And that wasn't enough. For either of them.

 

Nick didn't sleep well. His body was still vibrating with unrelieved tension, and his conscience was battering him for letting his emotions and physical needs cloud his sensitivity and judgment. It was the early hours of the morning before he finally fell into a restless sleep, and even then he only slept lightly, half expecting to again hear Laura's anguished cries, as he had the night before. But all was quiet.

It seemed he had just drifted off when he felt someone prodding his shoulder. “Come on, sleepyhead, wake up,” an amused voice said.

Nick opened one eye and stared up at Laura, fully
dressed, standing with her hands on her hips next to his bed. “What time is it?” he asked groggily.

“Seven-thirty.”

He groaned and buried his head in his pillow.

“Nick Sinclair, even if you have time to loaf, I don't. I need to get to the office.”

Nick sighed. It had been hard enough to hold Laura down for one day. He'd pretty much figured two days were out of the question. “Did anyone ever tell you that you're a hard taskmaster?” he growled.

She prodded him again. “Come on, Nick. Here, try this. Maybe it will help.” She waved a fragrant-smelling cup of coffee under his nose.

He sniffed appreciatively and grasped the mug in both hands, taking a long swallow before he even opened his eyes. And this time he took a good look at her. Her nose seemed back to normal, her eye was slightly less swollen—though no less purple—and he could only speculate about her ribs. But her face had more color than yesterday, and she seemed to be in good spirits.

“How do you feel?” he asked, watching her over the rim of his cup as he took another swallow.

She shrugged. “Compared to what? Better than yesterday, worse than last weekend. It's all in your point of view. But I'll live.”

She was her spunky self again, which meant that she really must be feeling better. Nick was glad, of course, but he felt a sudden, odd sense of loss. For the past thirty-six hours she'd needed him—really needed him—and though the circumstances had been less than ideal, the feeling had been good. Now, suddenly, he felt less needed, less important in her life. He took another
sip of the coffee and, trying to throw off his melancholy mood, he glanced at his watch. “Okay, give me fifteen minutes and we can roll.”

At her request, Nick dropped her off at the garage to pick up her car, coming around to open the door for her when they arrived. “Do you think you're up to driving?” he asked worriedly.

“Of course,” she said with more confidence than she felt.

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “Laura, will you promise me something? If you get tired, go home and rest. Don't force yourself to put in a full day.”

“I'll be fine, Nick. Okay, okay.” She held up her hands when he opened his mouth to protest. “I'll try not to push myself.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay. Now, what would you like for dinner tonight?”

“Tonight?” she asked, startled.

“Mmm-hmm. Does pizza sound okay?”

“Well, sure. But, Nick, you don't have to feel obligated. I can manage.”

“Yeah, I know. I just hoped you might like to have dinner with me. Besides, you may feel perky now, but I have a feeling that you're going to fade by this afternoon, and I doubt whether you'll be in the mood to cook.” More likely she'd just fall into bed without eating, he thought, and skipping meals was not something she could afford to do.

“Well…thank you. That would be great.”

“I'll see you about six,” he said, walking around to
the driver's side of his car and opening the door. “And, Laura…?”

“Yes?”

“Will you take it easy today?”

“I'll try,” she hedged.

Nick rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You're stubborn, do you know that?”

She grinned. “Yeah. But it takes one to know one.” Then she grew more serious. “Nick…I want to thank you for…well, for everything. You've been really great. I don't know how I would have managed without you. Knowing you were there—just having you with me—made all the difference.”

He looked at her for a long moment before speaking. “Hold that thought,” he said at last. Then he slipped into the low-slung car and was gone.

N
ick called Laura several times during the day. Though she kept her voice determinedly cheerful, he could hear the underlying weariness that intensified with each call. She stuck it out most of the day, despite his urging to go home and take a nap, and by the time he arrived at her apartment with the pizza he wasn't sure what shape she'd be in.

Not good, he thought the moment she opened the door. Her face was as pale as it had been at the hospital two nights before, making the dark, ugly colors of her bruised eye stand out in stark relief.

Nick opened his mouth to tell her she had pushed too hard, took another look at her weary face and changed his mind. She'd clearly already had all she could take today. What she needed now was support, not criticism.

“Rough day,” he said quietly. It was a statement, not a question.

“Is it that obvious?” she asked ruefully, shutting the door behind him.

“Mmm-hmm,” he replied, aware that she was moving stiffly and slowly—and trying to hide it.

“You look tired,” she said, studying his face.

He hadn't really thought it, but she was right. The strain and worry had taken their toll on him, too. “Yeah. I am.”

“Why don't you sit down and I'll get you something to drink. I'm sorry about the heat. I turned on all the fans, but I know you're used to air-conditioning. At least you changed into something cooler before you came. Would you like some iced tea, or—”

“Laura.” His quiet voice stilled her.

“Yes?”

“Would you please sit down before you fall down? You look half-dead. I did not come over here tonight to be waited on.” He took her arm and guided her to the couch, and she went unprotestingly, the stream of adrenaline that had kept her on her feet all day suddenly running dry. All at once she was overcome with a numbing lethargy, and she sank down gratefully onto the soft, chintz-covered cushions of her couch.

“Would you like a cold drink?”

She gazed up at him, her eyes slightly dazed with fatigue. “Yes, I think I would. There's some soda in the fridge.”

She heard the clatter of ice and then he was back beside her, a glass in each hand. “I put the pizza in the oven to warm for a few minutes.”

She nodded, silently sipping the sweet liquid, fighting a losing battle to keep her eyelids open. When her head began to nod, Nick reached over and gently took the glass from her fingers, then he pulled her against him, carefully avoiding contact with her bruised ribs.
She nestled into the crook of his arm, her cheek resting against the hard contours of his chest, and sighed.

“I'm not much company, am I?” she said apologetically.

“Don't worry about it. I didn't expect you to play hostess.”

“I'm just so tired.”

“I know.” What Laura needed tonight was food and sleep, in that order and preferably as quickly as possible, he concluded. What he needed was beside the point, he thought longingly as her firm, supple body molded to his caused stirrings of emotion best held in check. This was not the time. “How about some pizza?” he asked, his chin resting on her hair.

Laura wasn't hungry. Just tired. But she knew she needed to eat, and Nick had gone to the trouble of bringing food, so she nodded.

She perked up a little as she munched on the spicy, rich pizza, enough to remember that she wanted to invite Nick to dinner the next night. He protested at first, suggesting instead that they go out so she wouldn't have to cook, but she insisted.

“I really want to, Nick. It's Saturday, so I can rest all day. And I like to cook. It's not exactly strenuous, and I find it relaxing. Besides, I want to thank you for everything you've done these past couple of days.”

“You don't need to do that, Laura.”

“I want to. Unless…that is…well, I understand if you have other plans,” she said, her voice suddenly sounding uncertain.

He reached across the table and took her hand, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I don't have any other plans,” he said firmly. “I'll be here.” He gave her fingers a
gentle squeeze and then released them, standing to clear away the remnants of their meal. When she started to help, he placed a hand firmly on her shoulder. “Just sit,” he commanded.

“Can I at least move to the living room?” she asked with a tired smile.

“Sure. I'll be right in.”

By the time he rejoined her, she was sitting in a corner of the couch, her legs tucked under her, her head resting against the back, her eyes closed. He thought she might have dozed off again, but when he quietly sat down next to her, her eyelids flickered open.

“Dinner was great. You're going to spoil me,” she said with a smile.

“You could do with some spoiling.”

“Well, I'm not used to it, that's for sure.”

Nick reached over and took her hand, gently stroking the back with his thumb. “Laura?”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“Will you be okay here tonight by yourself?”

“Of course,” she lied. In reality, she was as nervous as the deer they'd spotted in the woods, but she wasn't about to admit that to Nick. He'd insist on spending the night on her couch and he looked wiped out. After the past couple of days, he deserved a decent night's sleep in his own bed.

“I could stay,” he offered.

“No. You need to get some rest. I'll be fine.”

“But what if you have another nightmare?”

“I won't. I was fine last night, wasn't I?”

“Yeah, but subconsciously you knew I was close by.”

She couldn't argue with that. The simple fact was
she
would
sleep better with Nick here. She was still spooked from the attack, and she knew that when quiet descended on the apartment after he left, every sound would seem magnified—and menacing. But she couldn't live the rest of her life afraid. “Nick, please… I've got to stay by myself eventually. It would just be postponing the inevitable,” she said resolutely. “The memory of the attack will fade in time.”

“That's true. But at the moment I'm more concerned about other memories.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the nightmare you had the other night wasn't about the attack,” he said quietly.

“How do you know?”

“Because I heard what you said. Laura…it was about Joe.”

A stricken look crossed her face, and she bit her lip. “Oh,” she said in a small voice, turning away.

He reached over and stroked her arm, and then his hand strayed to the top of her right breast, his fingers resting lightly on the spot where he'd seen the scar two nights before. “Did he do this to you?” he asked, a sudden edge to his voice.

He felt her stiffen even before she pulled away. “What?”

“The scar. I saw it at the hospital.”

She drew a deep, shaky breath. “Nick, what happened between Joe and me is in the past. Let's leave it there.”

“I'd like to, because I know it's painful for you. But I can't. Because whatever happened between the two of you is coming between us, whether you want to face that or not. We've got to talk about it, Laura.”

She wrapped her arms around her body and shook her head. “No.”

With a muttered oath he stood abruptly and walked away from her, the rigid lines of his back speaking more eloquently than words of the strain of the past two days and his longer-term frustration. He was clearly a man on the edge, pushed to the limit of his patience, struggling to maintain control. Laura had never seen him this upset, and it frightened her. Not in terms of physical danger, the way such anger once might have frightened her, but in the knowledge that Nick could very well walk away—and with very good reason. He deserved to know more than she was willing—or able—to tell. She just didn't have the courage to dredge up her painful past for anyone—not even Nick.

It seemed as if an eternity passed before he at last turned and looked at her. When he spoke, she could hear the anger—and the underlying hurt—in his voice. “How long is it going to take for you to realize that you can trust me, Laura? Can't you see how much I care about you? Why won't you share your past with me?”

Laura huddled miserably on the couch, the sting of tears hot behind her eyes. “Nick, please. What happened with Joe is over.”

“No, it isn't! If he wasn't already dead I could kill him with my bare hands for what he's done to you! For what he's still doing to you,” he said savagely.

She stared up at him, her face devoid of color. “It wasn't like that,” she whispered.

“No? Then explain to me why you're so terrified of commitment, so afraid to trust. Explain that,” he said, pointing to the scar.

Laura blinked back tears. She felt hollow inside, and
a deep emptiness echoed within the walls of her heart. “If you need answers, Nick, I can't give them to you,” she said wearily. “I told you at the beginning it was a long shot with me.” Her voice broke and she swallowed, struggling for control. “Maybe you better just give it up.”

Nick looked at her for a long moment, and then he took a deep breath. “Maybe I better,” he said tiredly, his anger suddenly spent. “Because I sure can't continue like this. When I saw what that mugger did to you, I felt like somebody had kicked me in the gut. It's tearing me up inside right now, wanting to share this with you, wanting to share everything with you, and watching you retreat behind your wall, knowing that the door is locked and I don't have a clue where to find the key.”

“I—I'm sorry, Nick.”

He sighed heavily. “Yeah. Me, too.” He jammed his hands into his pockets and walked over to the window, staring out into the darkness. The ticking of her clock echoed loudly in the oppressive stillness that had descended on the room. “What do you say we call it a night?” he said at last. “You need to get some rest.”

“I am tired.”

He nodded. “Lock the door behind me, okay?” She rose shakily and followed him to the door. He turned and looked at her for a long moment, one hand resting on the frame. “You've got to get out of this place, Laura. It's not safe.”

She nodded. “I know. I was planning to move anyway when my lease is up.”

“How long is left?”

“Seven months.”

“Seven months! That's too long. You need to move now.”

“I can't break the lease, Nick.”

He sighed, recognizing the stubborn tilt of her chin. He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but in the end he didn't. “Good night, Laura.”

“Good night,” she whispered.

Then he turned and was gone.

 

Nick ran his finger down the phone listing. Ralph Reynolds. Robert Reynolds. Rudolph Reynolds. Samantha Reynolds. That was it. He quickly punched in the numbers, praying she'd be home. He'd had all night to think about his evening with Laura, and he knew he should never have started that discussion with her. The timing was lousy. If he hadn't been so tired, so stressed out, he would have realized that. She had been in no shape for a confrontation, for a true confessions session, and he had been wrong to press her. But he had to have some answers, and Sam was his only hope.

Nick recognized the voice that greeted him and slowly let out his breath, relief washing over him. “Sam? This is Nick Sinclair.”

“Nick?” The surprise in her voice quickly changed to alarm. “Is Laura okay?”

“Yes, she's fine,” he assured her. “Or as fine as can be expected after what happened. Would you by any chance have time to meet me for lunch?”

There was a fractional hesitation, a question hovering palpably in the air, and Nick was grateful when Sam left it unasked. “Sure. I have to show houses at ten and two, so how about around eleven-thirty?”

“Fine. Just name the place.”

Nick arrived early at the designated restaurant and was waiting in a quiet, secluded booth when Sam appeared in the doorway, her striking red hair announcing her arrival even before he caught a glimpse of her face. When she turned to scan the room he motioned to her, rising as she joined him.

“Nick, it's good to see you.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“It sounded important,” she said as she slid into the booth.

“It is.” A waiter appeared, and Nick glanced at Sam questioningly.

“Iced tea, please,” she said.

“The same for me,” Nick told the waiter, then turned his attention back to Sam. “I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you to meet me,” he began.

“You might say that,” she replied mildly.

He sighed. “The trouble is, I'm not sure myself. It's just that I don't know where else to turn.” He paused as the waiter deposited their drinks and they gave their orders. Then he took a long swallow of his iced tea.

“You really do have a problem, don't you?” Sam said.

“Yeah. Laura.”

“I figured as much.”

He twirled the ice in his glass and stared broodingly into it. “Sam, I care about Laura. But she's running scared. It's like she puts up a No Trespassing sign on certain areas of her life.”

Sam nodded. “I know. She's a very private person.”

“I realize that. I also realize she's been burned.
Badly. From what I can gather, her husband was not only a first-class jerk, but abusive.”

“Did she tell you that?”

“No. I just put two and two together. Her mother casually mentioned the separation when we were there for the Fourth. Then I saw the scar above Laura's right breast at the hospital. And the night of the mugging, she had a nightmare. Not about the attack. About Joe. She was pleading for him not to hurt her.” A muscle in his jaw twitched convulsively, and his lips compressed into a thin, white line.

“I knew it was bad, but it must have been even worse than I thought,” Sam said in a subdued voice. “He really did a number on her, didn't he?”