With Her Last Breath (22 page)

The day was glorious, promising, and for the first time in years, she felt bone-warming happy. She didn’t want to dissect why; she just wanted to accept and enjoy. “I’m running into town. Care to match me?”

In the morning, Nick’s responses apparently ran to grunts and growls. But the look in his eyes said that five minutes of those slow, deep kisses, and she’d be in his bed. “Come in.”

If he’d come from sleeping, dreaming about Alyssa, to wanting Maggie…the thought nagged a bit as a shadow crossed the glass on the tower. It was only a bird, flying in the pink dawn, Maggie knew, yet she preferred not to replace Alyssa in Nick’s bed. “No, thanks. I’ll wait.”

“What’s that?” Nick pointed to the pot of impatiens as though it were the invading enemy.

“It’s from your third grade teacher, Mrs. Friends. So are the cookies. She told me how you were mortified when Mary Jo Frasier kissed you, and you hid up in a tree until she told you kissing girls wasn’t so bad.”

“Depends on the girl. She had a tongue like a lizard,” he muttered, and looked beautifully disgusted at his notorious past in the third grade.

“Cookie?” She lifted the plastic bag up to his nose. Nick took them, jammed a hand inside the plastic, and retrieved one. He looked adorable, all drowsy and sweet. Maggie’s heart did that quiver thing, as she thought about how Nick might have looked as a little boy. “She bought too many impatiens and I’ve already done pots for outside the camper. I thought your deck needed some color. It wouldn’t hurt to weed your herbs, either. The garlic is everywhere.”

Nick looked at her as if she’d stepped down from a space ship, one gold eye in the middle of her head and all eight green arms waving. He ate another cookie, eyeing her. “So?”

She almost felt sorry for him, waking up after a night with Alyssa. “Are you up to running or not?”

“Just keep that cheerful stuff out of my face,” Nick said, closing the door between them. He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to leap from a sleepless night into the morning.

Maggie smelled like freshly baked cookies and
woman
. Before his defenses were up, the combination was lethal.

She thought about color on his deck and he thought of her in his arms, of him in her, of—Maggie was driving him nuts. Nick stumbled over one running shoe and went rummaging for the other beneath the bed. He was a pitiful excuse for pride, when with one look, he wanted Maggie in his bed, when he’d spent the night tossing and forcing himself not to go to her. To wake up from an erotic dream of her, only to find her on his doorstep, was a dark test, separating the dream that had flowed under him, silky soft and yet strong, to the woman looking healthy and strong and awake and fresh.

He didn’t feel fresh. He felt…hard and aroused and frustrated. She wasn’t sharing her past with him. She didn’t want to date, and if she knew his plans for her, she’d probably run. They were good plans, not a thing wrong with them. Conventional he-she stuff.

At least yesterday, he’d wiped the thought of another man from Maggie—even if he’d had to pay painfully. That good long, yowl at the moon had eased his frustration a bit.

Nick stopped brooding in the middle of tying his shoe. Uncertainty wasn’t for him. By the time he reached the deck, Maggie was bending over the old herb garden, pulling weeds. The pretty picture of a woman dressed in a too-large sweatshirt and cutoff jeans, her legs gleaming and smooth, took the huff out of Nick. He admired the sight for a heartbeat and then vaulted over the hand railing, perhaps to show off a bit, to impress a woman he wanted.

“First things first,” he said huskily and sealed the surprise on her lips with his kiss.

On the sandy beach, Celeste looked at the moon, the silver trail across Lake Michigan spearing straight toward her. Somewhere out there, the beast had quickened, breaking whatever leash held him, and he would be coming to kill her.

She had to summon her power, controlling and nourishing it as she had never before. When the time was ripe, she would give it to Maggie and pray that it would protect her.

Maggie’s nightmares told her the truth; and deep within her, hidden so deep that she didn’t consider the danger, was the knowledge that her past would come after her, and that whatever had begun long ago must be finished.

With Celeste’s inherited power, Maggie just might survive.

“Live with me.” Nick watched Maggie dress, and in a few minutes she’d be gone for the night and he’d count the minutes until he saw her again.

A solid week of Maggie in his bed hadn’t dimmed his need of her. She was always very careful to return to her camper for the night.

That camper had become both a challenge and a symbol that Maggie held him outside her life.

Maggie’s fingers hesitated as she buttoned her blouse, then she shook her head. “I can’t.”

Nick was on his feet, prowling around the room, careless of his naked body. He braced his hands on his hips. “Why exactly can’t you? Tell me again. The last time, I had my mind on just how fast I could get us undressed and on this bed. We’re lovers, Maggie. We’re adults. There’s not one reason why you have to go back to that camper tonight, or any other night. Stay here, with me. You see this as a temporary thing, don’t you? That you’ll be moving on as soon as you feel the need.”

Across the rumpled bed where they’d just had mind-blowing sex, Maggie shook her head. “That’s not it. You’re a traditional man. I’m not ready to move into what you need, what you’re meant for—marriage and children.”

“You’ve had your shot and it didn’t take, right? So therefore I don’t qualify to date or as a housemate.” His hand swept toward the bed. “Is this it? Nothing more?”

“You’re emotional. I don’t like dealing with you when you’re like this.” Maggie’s icy barriers shot up, angering him more.

“Tough. So everything has to be on your terms, does it? No obvious dating, you pay your own way at restaurants. We’ve
been lovers for over a week, and we still haven’t had a date. I need a date, Maggie.”

“See? You’re traditional. You go from A to B to C. And you’re angry. I don’t like to deal with you when you’re angry.”

“Oh, well, maybe I am upset.” Nick jerked on his jeans. She’d nicked his pride. He was good enough for her bed, but not for her life. “I don’t like hiding how I feel.”

“You kissed me right there in the restaurant, in front of your folks. It wasn’t any friendly little kiss, either—one of those long, slow, melting ones. How do you think I felt then?”

He leveled a look at her. “Very good. I like you when you’re all warm and pink and flustered. You’re cute like that.”

“You stood there grinning like a little boy who had just pulled off a major coup and I was your brand-new toy. I was embarrassed—you made it seem as if we were…I’m not setting up housekeeping with you. Give me a break. Stop pushing me, Nick. Things are fine as they are.” Across the room, her hand shook as she smoothed her hair. Maggie kept her emotions close and guarded, and he loved tugging them out of her, watching that fine rosy blush move up her throat and cheeks.

“Says who? You?” Nick realized his tone challenged, but he felt raw. “I don’t like sneaking around.”

Maggie bent to tie her running shoes. “I’d hardly call that kiss sneaky. I’m a private person, Nick. I don’t like people to know my business—”

Nick turned his back. She’d hurt him, keeping herself from him, setting up fences every time he came too close. He heard her move through the house, the quiet closing of the back door, and he was alone once more. Only the rumpled bed said that Maggie had been there, leaving her scent—their scents combined.

Nick fought going to her, and instead drank a beer on his deck, contemplating his non-appeal.

So he was sulking, his feelings bruised, he admitted the
next afternoon in his office. Maggie was waiting on customers at the new tasting counter, her voice sultry and warm, floating up to him in bits of easy laughter.

Nick slashed across the close-out offer on his new brochure. He should have inventoried the stock before taking the brochure to the printers, but his mind had been filled with Maggie.

She didn’t want to date. She didn’t want to stay the night. She didn’t want to move in with him. What the hell did she want?

“Okay, she wants sex and that’s all.” He slammed a file drawer a little too hard and it crept back out to mock him. Another shove and the drawer returned again, a pile of paperwork on top of the cabinet beginning to slide to the floor. He dismissed it and stood to look down on the tasting room. Maggie was behind the counter, laughing with a male customer as she poured wine into his glass.

And then into her own.

Nick frowned as she pointed to the wine list, and a ripple of her laughter nudged his dark mood. Fine. Attempting to keep his mind on business, Nick called a bottle supplier late in delivery and was sharper than he intended. Then because he was rather enjoying his nasty roll, he dialed Lorna and made another offer for the twenty acres that had once been Alessandro land. He could survive the dinner date she suggested if it meant getting back that land and keeping his mind off Maggie.

Downstairs, Maggie was still entertaining the customer, and four of Alessandro’s best wines were lined up at the cash register. She came around the counter and slowly walked to the display of nonalcoholic juices. Nick didn’t blame the man for watching that slow sway of her hips in those worn tight jeans, those long legs.

She was free to flirt up a storm if she wanted. He wasn’t jealous. Okay, he was, but he wasn’t running after her. He was setting his own terms from now on. With determination, Nick settled back into his dark, brooding mood.

Maggie felt wonderful. After a sleepless night, disturbed by the commitment Nick wanted, she’d been uncertain of him. He’d clearly avoided her, sending Eugene down with messages.

Now, with a massive order from a customer with a private wine cellar, she couldn’t wait to share the news with Nick. The customer’s buying representative was tight on time—just passing through on his way to a convention—but he would call Nick later. Don Raleigh was easygoing, and she’d enjoyed the light conversation. With the fantastic order tight in her hand, she hurried up the stairs to Nick’s office. She’d be professional and deliver the news calmly, waiting for his boyish grin, the way his eyes lighted when he was happy.

Seated at his desk, Nick was big and sexy and cute, scanning his computer and making notes, a little bit of cellar dust on his shirt and his jeans. He looked all bothered and in need of petting. Nick would be thrilled with the order, and she couldn’t wait to see his expression.

Maggie moved to his side and placed her hand on his shoulder. The sudden jerk of heavy muscle told her that he knew she was there, but he kept scanning the computer.

He hadn’t ignored her last night. He’d been intense and powerful and sensitive to her pleasure, taking his time.

She wanted his full attention before showing him the order; bubbling with excitement, she anticipated his surprise and reaction. “Hi.”

His grunt wasn’t exactly welcoming.

The order was burning her hand, but she waited for him to notice her. “Hi,” she said again, and with a jolt, realized that she’d come to celebrate her victory with him—her friend and her lover.

“Nick?”

He stood up and frowned at the computer. “I’ve got to check the cases in the cellar. I thought we had more of the Pinot Noir for that year.”

Nick brushed by her, and Maggie gripped the paper in her
hand, her anticipation of his reaction to her sales falling flat at her feet. She hurried after him and found Nick crouching on the cellar floor, inspecting the notations on the side of a box and marking them on his pad.

She wanted his full attention as her excitement slid into frustration. Nick could be very irritating and bullheaded. He was deliberately ignoring her, making her run after him, spoiling her thrilling news.

He stood suddenly, almost knocking her aside. “Don’t flirt with the customers.”

Maggie stared at him blankly. “What?”

Nick moved behind a skid loaded with wine cases, and she followed him. “You heard me,” he said briskly. “The guy was all over you. You were leaning toward him and nibbling those crackers like you’d like to…It’s a wonder he could walk out of here. Did you set up a date with him?”

“I got the order. Here.” She shoved the crumpled paper into his chest. Ignored, the order fell between them and with it, her thrilling victory, the one she wanted to share with Nick, her friend and lover—the ill-tempered, surly man in front of her, a taut muscle moving in his cheek. “You’re in an evil mood.”

“I get that way when I make love to a woman one night and see her flirting with another man the next day.”

“He was friendly, easygoing, and fun. We made a deal. You’re ruining it. He’ll call you, by the way. He represents a major buyer who’s impressed with your wines.”

“Or with you.” Nick’s head tilted, his expression challenging. “So am I on your list tonight, or do you have other plans?”

He should have known better than to push Maggie—with a cold stare, she had turned and walked away from him.

His telephone call to Celeste’s was met with Beth’s “Maggie is busy now. She’s painting my toenails and then we’re watching movies—
High Noon
with Gary Cooper. You goofed, chum. Boy, those nightmares she has are freaky.”

Nick’s early morning run past Maggie’s camper had proven that she hadn’t returned. However, her pickup was parked in front of Celeste’s house. His quiet knock at the door started Scout barking, and soon the dog was charging out the door, leaping on him. While the dog was happy to see him, Maggie frowned at Nick and shut the door. She didn’t answer his next knock.

“Unless you have any objections, sweetheart, I’m taking Scout.” He had thought she’d open the door to that, but it remained closed.

While Scout was making her friendship rounds in Blanchefleur, visiting Marco at the butcher shop to carry her bone reward to the Alessandros, Nick brooded about that firmly closed door over coffee and a slice of his mother’s
torta alle nocciole
.