Falling For Nick (5 page)

"Hello, Senator." She walked toward him.

"Clea, what are you doing out here in the cold?"

His speech sounded a little slurred, and Clea noticed the drink in his hand. "I might ask the same of you."

"I needed a breath of fresh air." He took a sip of his drink. "I hope you're enjoying the party."

"Of course I am. It's lovely. Thank you so much for hosting."

"You're most welcome." He looked out toward the lake. For a minute, neither of them spoke. When he faced her again, he gave her a small smile. "I'm afraid it's colder out here than I thought. I'm heading back inside."

"I think I'll go on down to the lake." The senator seemed a bit sad, but she wasn't sure why. "I'll see you in awhile."

With a wave of her hand, Clea left the patio. When she reached the dock she walked out to the end, taking a seat on the bench. The lake surrounded her on three sides, making her feel like she sat on an island, isolated and alone. She inhaled, taking fresh air into her lungs, wanting to clear her head.

Silence filled her, the night void of the sounds of summer: the croak of a frog, the whir of crickets, the call of a lone duck. Instead, a layer of glittering frost coated the dock, bringing with it a numbing cold. She closed her eyes. In the distance, she could hear the low purr of an electric motor.

There was a boat out there. Clea opened her eyes, scanning the dark lake. She could see the boat, a soft green light at its bow. It wasn't uncommon for people to row or take evening cruises on the water, no matter the season.

She'd done it with Nick, more than once. The lake had been a favorite make-out spot for them.

Clea crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her arms with her hands. They'd had a strange relationship from the beginning. She'd moved to Lake Bliss the summer before her senior year. Robert had lost no time in asking her out. They became boyfriend and girlfriend that first summer. In the fall Robert left to go back to the city. Clea started school in Bradley, and she'd met Nick.

Right away, Nick had pursued her. Her "lake" friends had warned her about Nick, telling Clea he was the town bad boy. There had been a line of class distinction drawn between them from the beginning, a line they never should have crossed. Nick had seduced her with words, kisses, and promises, pushing all thoughts of the summer she'd spent with Robert from her mind.

Clea watched the boat approach. When it was even with the dock, it stopped; Clea wondered if the occupants were just curious party watchers. Her hands tightened on her arms.

Nick had liked to "borrow" a boat and cruise the lake, looking at the lit up houses from the outside. He'd always been on the outside looking in.

Nick
.

Slowly, Clea rose from the bench. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck. She could feel him, out there, watching her with those intense eyes of his.

A slow heat started in the pit of her belly. She couldn't even see him, but she knew he was there. Lord help her, he still had a hold over her, the same raw power that had gotten her into trouble.

Clea backed up, her shoes slipping on the icy dock. She had to get away from him, get away from what he made her feel. She had to think with her head and ignore the rush of raw desire pulsing through her. Turning, she ran back to the house, back to the man she was going to marry and the security he offered her.

*   *   *

Monday afternoon, Clea pushed open the door to the Port Bliss Café and went straight to the counter, taking a seat on a vacant red-leather barstool. The smell of meatloaf filled the air. Her stomach rumbled in response as she placed her camera bag on the counter. She'd hoped she'd have time to take a couple of pictures before returning to work. The cloudy day provided the perfect lighting for beach shots.

"Hi, Betty," Clea said, greeting the waitress. "Robert's meeting me for lunch. We'll take two vegie sandwiches, on dark, with Swiss cheese." Betty Schuster had worked at the café for longer than Clea had been alive. For years she'd worn the same faded pink uniform, her tired platinum hair tortured into a tidy French twist.

"Any chips with those?" Betty took a pencil from its resting place behind her right ear.

"No, just the sandwiches, but how about a couple of colas?"

"Okay," Betty said with a wink. "Coming right up."

She left the counter and went into the kitchen. Clea swiveled on the stool to look and see who else was in the café. It was still early and most of the booths were empty, except for one near the back. From this angle she couldn't see who occupied it, but she could see a pair of legs encased in denim. The contrast of the denim legs against the red vinyl intrigued her. She removed her camera from the bag, and took the shot, the neat click of the shutter satisfying.

Smiling, Clea returned her camera to the bag, wondering what was keeping Robert. Not seeing any sign of him, her thoughts went back to Saturday night, to the boat on the lake. Had it been Nick watching her, or had it been her imagination? She'd been unable to get Nick out of her mind all night. She had to tell John about Nick's return soon, before someone else did, but finding the words was harder than she'd imagined.

Every time she looked at her son her the words wouldn't come. John knew about Nick, about why he'd gone to prison, yet they never spoke of Nick. John had no idea Nick was out of prison. How did she tell him? What if Nick hurt John? Lately, John had become withdrawn, angry. He was having trouble in school and she wasn't sure why. Would meeting Nick make things worse? She didn't know.

Bottom line, she feared John's reaction to Nick.

Betty came out of the kitchen and set the sandwiches in front of her. "Here you go, honey. Enjoy."

"Thanks, Betty." She smiled at the waitress, taking a napkin from the chrome holder on the bar. "I can't imagine what's keeping Robert. He was right behind me. I'm starved." Picking up half the sandwich, she took a bite.

"Hey, Nick," Betty said.

Clea swiveled around, her mouth full of bread. Nick stood behind her, his check in his hand. She glanced down at his denim-clad legs. He'd been in the booth.

"I'll take that." Betty held her hand out for his check.

Clea tried to chew, to swallow, but the sandwich lodged in her throat.

"Hello, Clea," Nick said, his tone dry. "Who's violating the No Contact Order, you or me?"

Clea swallowed. She didn't know what to say to him.

"Here's your change, Nick." Betty dropped the coins into Nick's palm. "Have a good afternoon." To Clea she said, "I'll just go and get your drinks."

The waitress disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving them alone.

"See you around, Clea." Nick walked away. Just before he opened the door, he said, "No, I guess I won't be seeing you around, otherwise I might find myself back in jail."

"Nick, wait," she said, her voice returning.

He raised one dark brow. "For what? For the sheriff to come and arrest me for being within one hundred feet of you? Maybe you should give me a copy of your schedule so I can be sure to avoid you."

Clea's stomach clenched. Anger had punctuated his words. "Robert and I thought it best that we all know where we stand."

"Boomer?" Nick laughed. "Is he still panting after you?"

Anger flared in her chest. "He's my fiancé, Nick."

The muscle in Nick's jaw tensed. "You're going to marry Boomer? Shit. Why didn't Billy tell me?" He shook his head, and his disgust washed over her. "Boomer's not the right man for you. He doesn't make you feel anything, Princess. We both know that."

A surge of anger pushed Clea off the stool and she took a step toward him. He was getting to her, just as he had in high school. She knew she should rise above this teenage baiting, but she couldn't. She wanted to fight back, wanted him to feel the same hurt he'd made her feel ten years ago. "You don't know anything about me, Nick. You never did."

He came toward her, closing the gap between them. "I know what makes you tick, Clea, and it isn't Boomer Bloomfield. You didn't even give me a chance to explain. It didn't have to be this way. You're still a coward."

"I'm a coward?" she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "You've been out of prison for three months. Where have you been? Why didn't you come back sooner, say good-bye to your mother, say hello to your son?" The smirk left his face. "Oh, that's right, I forgot, you don't want your son. From where I stand, I'd say you're the coward, Nick."

His hands closed over her arms. They glared at each other, and Clea had never felt more alive. Her blood sizzled in her veins. She tilted her head back to look into his eyes, eyes that snapped like two blue flames.

"I've never been afraid to take what I want, Clea," Nick said, his tone low and dangerous. "You know that."

His words knocked the breath from her lungs. His mouth lowered to hers.

Behind them the door opened, the tinkling of the bell breaking them apart like guilty children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Robert strode into the restaurant, an angry scowl on his face. Behind him stood Sheriff Kincade.

"I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you through the window, Lombard," Robert said. "I knew you were stupid, but I never dreamed you'd risk going back to jail. Arrest him, Sheriff. He's in violation of a court order."

"No," Clea protested, a strange d
é
j
à
vu coming over her. The scene before her played out like it had years before. The same feeling of helplessness rolled through her, and she knew Nick would hate her for this.

The sheriff stepped around Robert, heading straight for Nick. "Nick Lombard," Sheriff Kincade said. "You are under arrest."

"Who are you trying to call, Mom?" John asked, glancing up from the video game he played. He sat on the sofa, the controller in his hands.

"An old friend." Clea pressed the phone to her ear. With each unanswered ring, her anxiety grew. "How's the game? Are you winning?"

He nodded, his attention returning to the television screen. Like most nine-year-olds, John had a fondness for video games. Clea doled out his video game playing time like treats to be savored; she disliked the games, preferring John play outside in the fresh air.

On the tenth ring Clea pressed the end button and set the phone on the coffee table. Her thoughts returned to Nick. The minute the sheriff had put the cuffs on Nick, she'd known it was a mistake. This whole mess was her fault. She'd never wanted him to go back to jail. He hadn't sought her out today. He hadn't done anything but return to town to attend his mother's funeral. She knew it, and the heat of her shame could set the entire town ablaze.

Clea glanced out the window, fighting to get her guilt under control. Nick's arrest today had pleased Robert. No one had missed the superior look in his eyes as the sheriff had handcuffed Nick. Robert's attitude made her want to fight for Nick.

She and Robert had argued after Nick was put into the sheriff's car. She'd stuck up for Nick, telling the Sheriff that Nick had been at the café first, but Robert said only the end result mattered - Nick was going back to jail where he belonged. Clea had stormed back over to The Coffee House. Robert hadn't followed, and for that she'd been grateful.

Back at The Coffee House, Clea immediately had placed a call to Robert's secretary. His secretary had given Clea the instructions she needed to dissolve the No Contact Order. Clea had spoken to the prosecutor, and had left a message for Judge Payne, Port Bliss's judge. In order for her to explain why Nick shouldn't be in jail, the prosecutor told her she needed to appear at Nick's hearing. The hearing was scheduled for tomorrow morning. Judge Payne was a dear family friend; Clea knew he would listen to her. She'd been trying to call him every few minutes, but so far, no answer.