With Her Last Breath (21 page)

A silly victory, he mused, as he nodded to Beth and Celeste. He struggled with the aching hot pit of need in his belly
and forced himself out of the shop. Only when he was on the street did he release his breath and realize he was strangling the bottle of polish, that his palms ached to hold more than glass.

He tried to appear casual when he dragged air into his lungs, his hands sweating and shaking as Mrs. Friends smiled up at him, her blue eyes twinkling and knowing. All those years ago, when he’d been a boy, disgusted by a girl’s kiss, Mrs. Friends had been right—a girl’s kiss was something he could manage.

At least he’d left Maggie speechless and hungry, and that small thing soothed his ruffled pride.

Nick leaned back against Maggie’s pickup and watched her carry a box from the camper. He’d handled the situation too roughly, emotionally, and he’d pushed Maggie too far, prying into the dark corners of her life. Frustrated and angry with himself, he made no attempt to hide his emotions. “So you’re leaving. You’re running away. That’s what you do, isn’t it? When life doesn’t suit you and someone comes too close, you just pack up and go.”

In the afternoon sunlight, overcast by heavy rain clouds, her face was pale, shadows beneath her eyes. She’d finished cleaning his house, and had left him with a sleepless night.

George Wilson had called Nick. Maggie had dropped by to talk with George and make arrangements for the return of the camper key. She’d brought Beth, who’d evidently “spilled a tear or two,” and had showed her how to massage George’s legs.

Eugene’s call was next. Maggie had stopped by to tell him she was leaving and to instruct him on exercises. The old man was furious with Nick, telling him he was letting “one in a million slip through his fingers.”

Nick didn’t offer to help Maggie heft the box into the back of the pickup. He kept his arms folded across his chest because if he didn’t, he’d reach for her, just to hold her against him once more. “I think you owe me an explanation for leav
ing. I’m not asking for anything else. Was it that bad between us?”

Maggie still gripped the box in her hands, her knuckles white, and she didn’t look at him. “You know it wasn’t. I’m a hard luck story, Nick. I don’t want you involved.”

“This isn’t personal. It’s business. You need money, and I need help at the winery, especially when we open the tasting counter at the vineyard. I’ve got a wine festival in August, and I’ll need help manning the booth. I should sign up for a couple more. They’re only for a few hours, but are pretty intense. Eugene is better off resting that day.”

“Ask Beth. She’s trying to start a new life away from Ed.” Maggie looked at Nick, her eyes bright beneath the shadow of her ball cap. “I want you to see that nothing happens to Beth, that Ed doesn’t hurt her. She’s staying at Celeste’s now and helping with the shop. Celeste seems bothered and seems to need reassurance.”

“Does she know you’re leaving?” Odd, Nick thought, that Celeste, a woman who held Maggie’s friendship dear, hadn’t called.

“Yes. I wouldn’t leave without talking with her. She’s distracted, but didn’t seem concerned, almost as if I weren’t planning to leave. I’ll send Vinnie’s Automotive a check for the battery when I have some money.”

He wanted to hit whoever had hurt her so badly. “You can work right here.”

Her body stiffened, her head went back, and those dark green eyes narrowed, the gold flecks catching the light, as she looked directly at Nick. “I don’t need your charity. I’ve managed.”

Nick fought for the right persuasive words because Maggie was clearly offended. “Maybe I need you—for my business—to help me with these first shows and to work the showroom this first season. It’s an important one for the business, the first big step out into competition. Hopefully that big road sign and our brochures will bring in tourists who will buy. In tourist season, it’s hard to get help, even from
relatives—they’ve got their own businesses to manage. I really need someone this first season, Maggie. Someone to help with brochures and mailings and taking calls. You had a business and the experience we need.”

“It’s hard work, promotion and developing a clientele.”

“That’s exactly why you would suit the job.” She lifted her face to the drops of rain and Nick held his breath, waiting for her to decide. “You can keep up with George and Eugene and your job at Looking Good, just by shifting your hours around a little. The pay isn’t that much, but I’m hoping you’ll stay.”

Blanchefleur’s gossip traveled fast: According to Dante, Maggie had visited Ed at the tavern. The timing placed her visit just after Nick’s morning kiss.

Nick could only hope that Maggie was working off the frustration he’d given her when an hour earlier she had tossed Ed on his dirty barroom floor; she’d sat on his back, twisting his arm and making him promise to stay away from Beth.

She’d faced a man twice her size and had flattened him, and hadn’t asked for Nick’s help.
She hadn’t even told him.

Things would have to change, Nick thought darkly as his frustration stormed him afresh. Independent, Maggie moved on her own, careless of his need to help her. But with Maggie on the verge of leaving, he could wait to make his point. And he’d always been a patient man.

She turned and stood on tiptoe, leaning into the pickup bed, and the hem of her cutoff shorts lifted over a round cheeky softness that he had held the night before. Nick tore his stare away to look up at the gray rolling clouds. He corrected his thoughts—
before
meeting Maggie, he had always been a patient man.

Finding a woman he wanted had a way of confusing big plans. Maggie was definitely a physical woman, enjoying the challenge of lovemaking, and giving as well as taking. If that’s all there was between them—

“Think about staying,” he said abruptly, fearing that he would say more and humble himself entirely. “If not for a job with me, then for Celeste. Something is going on with her.
She’s visited my cousin Dom, who’s an attorney. He’s not talking, but it’s like she’s putting her life in order.”

“Yes, I know,” Maggie agreed softly. “It’s there—a sadness and an acceptance.”

“Think about it, Maggie,” Nick said again and hoped she would. “It’s only part-time, but if you’re free, it’s work and a paycheck.”

She leaned a hip against her pickup and reached a hand to pet Scout’s head. The gold flecks swirled in her eyes, and he caught that bit of heat from her temper. She hadn’t mentioned the kiss in Journeys, but it simmered between them. “On your terms,” he added slowly. “Friends or something more. I’d prefer the more, but it’s your choice.”

Her finger traced his lips, and Nick regretted the softening in him, the nip he took at the tip.

“Your choice, Maggie,” he stated firmly and knew his voice was raw with need, curling out of his gut. In another minute, he’d be having her on the ground—if she’d have him.

“If I stay, you’ll pay for that kiss today.”

“I can only hope, sweetheart. Inviting me into the camper, are you?”

“Not a chance. You mess up my thinking—you’re a complication, Nick.”

Her admission was some comfort, he decided as he managed to place his aching body into his pickup. Through the windshield, he held her look, sultry with a challenge that only a woman could give a man. Then she turned, leaving him with a mouth-watering view of the denim, tight across her swaying bottom as she moved toward the camper.

Nick’s hands shook as he shifted into reverse, and he didn’t look back as he drove away. He wasn’t certain he could withstand Maggie on the prowl.

M
aggie awoke to her own scream. The nightmarish vision of her father’s hand reaching out to her, Glenda’s lifeless face staring at her, faded into the silent night. Damp with sweat, Maggie kicked off the sheets and lay listening to the racing of her heart. Why couldn’t she sleep without the dreams? Why were they stirring so furiously? Was it because she wanted to run from the pain and memories inside her and couldn’t?

She automatically let Scout outside, then stepped into the cool, star-filled night. The moon and stars reminded her of Celeste’s favorite caftan.

She hadn’t wanted attachments, yet since she’d arrived in Blanchefleur, she’d seemed to gather friendship whether she’d wanted it or not.

And Nick’s lovemaking wasn’t exactly a forgettable experience. After a long sexual drought, it should have relieved some pressure—instead, now she wanted more. Nick wasn’t an easy man. He wanted answers and had the patience to get
them. He wouldn’t stop pushing. She rubbed Scout’s ears. “He’s got that macho thing going…wants to protect and gets all emotional and frustrated when he’s not invited to help. I didn’t need him to handle Ed. We could stay longer…What do you think, Scout? Do you like it here? I know you do—but I can’t make any promises.”

Maggie looked up at the stars and shivered. “I dread going back to sleep. Let’s stay outside awhile, okay?”

She thought of Nick roaming the old lighthouse, missing his wife. Maggie pushed away the urge to go to him, to burn Alyssa away. Sex was one thing; a complicated man like Nick was something else.

She knew she should leave town. But she could use the extra cash, and she wanted to stay in Blanchefleur for a while—just until she was certain that Celeste would be all right, Maggie told herself as she followed Nick in the wine cellar the next day. A new employee, she listened to his explanations and noted that his open hand caressed the oak barrels and tanks as if they held his life and dreams.

Maggie tensed, her body remembering the gentle skimming of that big hand on her body, the roughness of calluses and controlled strength, and admitted that Celeste’s distraction wasn’t her only reason for staying.

“We started with a well-insulated one above ground, but use this cellar now. I’ve shown you the fermenting vat and the crusher-destalker. We’re only doing estate wines, the grapes grown on Alessandro Vineyards. The skins are left in the vat, and they rise to the top of the fermenting must. This ‘cap’ has to be continuously mixed back into the juice as it ferments. After fermentation, the first run of juice, the ‘free-run’ comes naturally. After the free-run is off, then the ‘must’ is squeezed for ‘press wine.’ The waste, or ‘pomace,’ is returned to the earth. Depends on the year, but sometimes we blend with the free-run. Our best red wines need barrel time to let the flavors harmonize.”

Nick’s pride and love mixed with the shadowy cool room.
He lifted a bottle from a large rack of others, studying it, cradling it like a baby in his hands. “This was a good year. Some years aren’t. That’s important, Maggie, to know the year—they’re all different, the sugar is different, the weather, everything is a factor. We’re small, tight, and good, varietally correct for our grapes. Michigan’s even climate and close distance to the lake is good for Rieslings and Pinot Noirs and others.”

He moved to a smaller rack, frowning as he picked up a bottle. “Not so good. A drought year, small grapes, lots of skin and not enough pulp…too tannic. I planned to enter competition that year, but decided not to. Still, we have a special order customer in Chicago who likes it, and more so as it ages. We’ll be showing two-and three-year-old wines in competition, nothing younger.”

He smelled of fresh air and the blooms he’d been thinning when she arrived, of the earth that he’d bent to clasp in his hand, letting it drift through his fingers. In the shadowy musty cellar, he smiled at her like a boy showing off his favorite toy, and her heart stopped, turned, and quivered, and finally settled. She pushed herself into thinking about her new job and asked questions as they walked toward the steps leading to the showroom.

“You’re right,” Nick answered. “We do have alternatives. Over there are the sparkling juices—nonalcoholic. We recommend a few years cellaring for most of our wines. We only made a few cases of that free-run, and are limiting the purchases.”

With a gallant sweep of his hand, Nick said, “Ladies first.”

Maggie knew by his grin that he would be watching her bottom. She added a little sway to torment him, and maybe herself. At the top of the stairs, Nick was suddenly all business, moving behind the rough wood counter and explaining her new job.

But then, she’d already felt the heat of his body, that storm of hunger swirling around them, and noted the thrust of his body against his jeans.

The jolt of her own reaction stunned her, the driving need to leap upon him, rip off his clothes and hers, and feed.

She wanted to leave him mindless and hungry, just as he had left her at Journeys, weak-kneed and grasping a chair for support. Beth’s bawdy, knowing laughter had taken a few moments to register and nettle.

Maggie toyed with a wineglass, not the best quality, but good enough for some heavy-handed tourists. She lifted it to the dim light and turned it, finding better quality than she supposed.

She tilted her head and studied Nick, whose bland, innocent look covered whatever he had planned for her. And just maybe she was a little miffed that he treated her like an employee when they had been lovers. So he was determined, was he, to torment her sexually? To be methodical and cool, waiting for her to take the first move? she wondered with an irritated flick of her hand to her loose hair.

Nick caught her left hand and turned it, running his thumb over her third finger where Ryan’s wedding ring had circled. Brooding and dark, an accusation lay in his deep voice. “You dated him, your ex-husband.”

He moved too fast, leaping into her emotional trails, shocking her. She gave him the truth as she had no other. “Yes. For years before we married—through high school and college. I thought he was perfect, the other part of my heart and soul. I loved him desperately. I trusted him completely. I thought I knew him. But I didn’t. And now, I don’t know myself, who I am and what I really want. Here I am, thirty-one years old, a professional in my field and it’s really
his
field. I lived my life for Ryan, and now—”

Maggie stopped, the bitterness still echoing in the room. She hadn’t meant to free her resentment, yet it nipped in the air between them. “I take responsibility for my own life. I’m not looking for pity. I did it. I lived it.”

Nick’s dark eyes roamed her face, considering the emotions she held safe from him. He’d slipped inside her emotions, dissecting them, exposing her. “He didn’t give you
what you want. You gave him everything and he hurt you. That’s what you have locked inside you. You’re afraid to give too much again. I know how that feels.”

He’d seen too much, and Maggie drew her hand away, rubbing it on her jeans. She’d lived and breathed for Ryan, for his dreams and hopes, and he’d betrayed her when she needed him most.

Of all, the betrayal of her trust was the worst cut; she’d believed in him completely, believed that Ryan would stand beside her to avenge Glenda. He hadn’t.

“What else do I need to know?” she asked, pushing herself out of the past and into her new part-time job.

“Just this.” Nick’s breath curled on her palm before his lips rubbed it lightly. He lifted her hand away from his face, studying it. “I like your hands. They’re good, strong hands—capable.”

With a tug, she was in his arms, and he was smiling down at her. “I like them on me.”

His change of mood startled her, and was just what she needed. Maggie returned his smile and stood on tiptoe to nip his bottom lip. “You are certainly unpredictable, Alessandro.”

“Mmm.” Nick was busy nuzzling her throat. He back-walked her into the shadows, his hand busy at her back, unhooking her bra. “I knew practicing with Mom’s old bra would pay off someday.”

With a laugh, she kissed him hard. “Are you as good at garter belts?”

He froze, still holding her in the air. Nick sounded startled, amazed, and eager. “Do you wear those?”

“Not today, not for a long time. What are you going to do with me now?”

Nick looked mildly disappointed, then he was smiling and easing her to her feet. “Give you something to think about.”

There in the cool, dark shadows of the cellar, Nick’s hands smoothed her body until she ached, holding him tight. Then with one touch, he sent her soaring, quivering and hot and bursting.

Maggie gripped his shoulders for an anchor, felt the burning of his skin, the heaviness of his body against hers, the pulse beating deep within him, and let herself fly—

When she surfaced, Nick held her limp body safely against him, his hands soothing and gentle.

“If I could move, I’d hit you,” she whispered raggedly against his rapid heartbeat. “You did that deliberately.”

“I want you thinking about me. I’m selfish that way.” He bent to give her a mind-blowing kiss, and when her hips started moving against him, Nick’s big body shuddered. He eased away from her, and with a satisfied, arrogant nod, he turned and started walking from her.

Maggie could have killed him. He was deliberately playing her, making her want more. Instead, she managed to take off her canvas shoe, and threw it at him. It hit Nick’s back, and he stopped for a heartbeat before going up the stairway.

“Well, he’s certainly right,” Maggie whispered raggedly as she jammed her shoe back on and shakily straightened her clothing. She wasn’t thinking about Ryan anymore. She was thinking about revenge. If Nick wanted to play games, he’d picked the wrong woman.

Brent Templeton hurried to pack—at last, he’d found Maggie.

His time spent searching in gyms and spas had paid off. In San Francisco, a man named Leo Knute had come to brood and to beat the punching bag with his fury. He’d seen Maggie’s picture pinned to a bulletin board, and had called Brent’s number written beneath it. Over dinner and drinks, Leo’s face bore the glazed marks of an ungloved fist, and he moved stiffly, quickly downing the alcohol as he described “the bitch” and her friends. “Saw her up in Michigan. We were all set to party when two big guys moved in. I could have taken both of them,” Leo had bragged, “but they used sucker punches. One of them was her boyfriend, and that dog she has was a devil. Big and black and mean. It belonged to the woman from the way she held it.”

“Dog?” Brent’s mind had turned to the high-priced, pedigreed Labrador who had shamed him in front of his friends, fearing the sound of gunfire, cowering in the marshes when she should have been retrieving. She’d cost him a five-thousand-dollar bet. Evelyn, his ex-wife, had told him that the dog had run away that night, but instead, Maggie had taken her.
Maggie had stolen his dog
.

Once that five thousand dollars had been little to him, and now he couldn’t raise money to go after Maggie.

But then Leo Knute had slapped a thousand dollars into Brent’s hand. “I’d give a lot to pay the Alessandros and Maggie back. You look like you’re down on your luck and it sounds like you’d like to get your hands on her, too. Check it out and call me when you’ve got something. There’s more in it for you if you can set something up privately.”

Brent had managed a humble, grateful attitude, but inside he hated Leo’s arrogance and casual payoff. The man was a slob who didn’t polish his shoes.

On the other hand, Leo could be useful to a man much smarter than he; Brent was that man. He knew how to take the weaker and use them, play upon their needs until they were in his grasp and playing his game…Yes, Leo could be very useful indeed, but there would be others, and he would use them all to get Maggie…

After a fitful night, Maggie’s only compensation was the fact that yesterday, in the cellar, Nick’s body had been very hard against hers, his body hot and heavy and throbbing with sexual need. She wanted to see the night’s damage in his face, to know that he’d ached for her as well.

She rapped on his back door and shivered in anticipation. She admitted that after Ryan’s coldness, Nick’s hunger gave deep inner satisfaction, in more than one way.

Maggie waited for Nick to come to the door, and it seemed only right to place the potted mound of salmon-colored impatiens on the board railing circling the deck. At dawn, she
shushed Scout and let the cool mist layering Nick’s overgrown yard curl around her. It rose upward to the tower, caressing pink shades upon the glass windows.

Had Nick gone there to brood last night? Did Alyssa still hold him in the midnight hours, when he sprawled big and warm and drowsy in his bed?

Maggie’s stomach tightened with the sensual punch, and she sniffed lightly, wishing Alyssa away into the dawn. She retrieved a bag of cookies from her bike’s basket and set to enjoying the fresh scents, the dew dripping from a spider’s web like a trail of diamonds in the morning light. She tilted her head, studying the effect of splashed color on the dark wood, and, satisfied, turned to knock on his door again.

Her hand met warm flesh and Nick, rumpled from sleep and needing a shave, stood, legs apart in his boxer shorts. Sleep fogged his eyes, or was it dreams of Alyssa? He rubbed a shaggy length of thick, wavy hair and eyed her owlishly. “What’s up?”

Was she jealous of a dead woman? Maybe. Maggie braced herself against the full blast of Nick-in-the-morning. She crossed her arms and slowly took in his body—aroused and hard. She could have leaped on him. “Been dreaming of anyone?”

With a low growl of disapproval, he eyed her warily. Then he eyed the earthen bowl of impatiens as though the flowers were somehow encroaching on his territory. He frowned at Eugene’s old bicycle that she had used to pedal to his house. “Why are you here? And why are you happy?”

So he hadn’t slept soundly…
The fact that he was equally unsatisfied—perhaps even more, because he hadn’t had release the day before—brought a smile to her lips.

“You’re smirking,” Nick noted darkly, warily. “Why?”