Falling For Nick (8 page)

But the reward would be his family.

"There's someone here to see you, Nick," Mr. Mullin said.

"Yeah, who?" Nick asked. From his position under the '56 Chevy all he could see of his boss were his greasy boots. Right now he didn't need the interruption. He'd just cleaned and installed a new fuel tank, and wasn't quite finished with the job. He didn't want to come out from under the old beauty unless he had a good reason.

"It's me, Nick." Clea's voice crawled under the car with him and he forgot all about the '56. "I need to speak with you, if you have a minute."

He turned his head to the left. It was her all right. The expensive black boots and jeans were a dead giveaway. Somehow she managed to stay true to herself, to the simple style of clothing he knew she liked, even with a mother like Vivian Rose.

Using his hands, he wheeled himself out from under the car. Grease covered him from his head to his boots, and he wished she'd given him some warning that she might come by. He didn't want her to think less of him because he got his hands dirty to make a living. Not everyone could be a senator's son. His mother always said it took all kinds of people to make a world, and for once he agreed with her.

Clea stood to the side of the car, staring down at him. She'd pulled her honey-colored hair back in a ponytail. Straight hair, not the curly hair she'd had in high school. The look made her appear more serious and in control of her life, but was she? What would it take to make her control slip? The black turtleneck she wore clung to her curves and looked sexy as hell tucked into her tight jeans. Still flat on his back, he wanted nothing more than to pull her down on top of him, grease and all.

"I'm sorry to bother you at work," she said, her brow wrinkling as if she searched for the right words to say.

"It's okay." He sat up. Glancing at his boss, he asked, "Okay if I knock off for ten?"

"Yeah, sure," Mr. Mullin said, with a knowing shake of his head. Nick swore he saw the old man smile as he went back into his office.

Nick came to his feet. He nodded toward the utility sink. "I'm going to wash some of this grease off. Don't go anywhere."

He kept one eye on her as he used the sink, scrubbing most of the grease away. As he dried his hands, Clea paced. She was nervous about something, and that made him nervous. Had she told John about him? Judging from her body language, she didn't have good news to share. He tried not to let disappointment seduce him. "Let's go outside," he said when he joined her. "I could use a little fresh air after being under a car all morning."

"All right."

He opened the door for her and she walked through. The scent of watermelon teased his nose as she passed him, the fragrance transporting him back to the year they'd been together. She'd always worn those shiny, flavored lip-glosses in the brightly colored tubes. Did she still?

In front of the garage sat an old park bench where some of the guys took a smoke on their breaks. "Do you want to sit?"

She sank onto the bench, a sigh leaving her lips.

"Whatever it is, it can't be that bad," he said.

"What?" she asked as if she hadn't heard him.

"Something's bothering you. What?"

"You were telling me the truth about working at Mullin's," she said.

"Yes. I started this morning. I meant everything I said last night."

She looked everywhere but at him. Across the street the bell tinkled on the kite shop door. Elizabeth Spencer drove by in her old Lincoln Continental.

"Did you come here to check up on me, or is this visit about John?" he asked. "Did you tell him about me?" Cold dread swirled in his gut. He could take just about anything, but now that he'd made the decision to stay in Port Bliss he didn't want to lose the chance to know his son.

"No. I haven't told him yet." She took a deep breath. "It's about what you said last night, about wanting to fight for me."

He grinned with relief. She wouldn't be here, worried, if she felt nothing for him. His determination to win her back doubled. "I haven't changed my mind."

"You can't be serious." She pressed her fingers to her temples. "I'm engaged."

"But you're not married yet." He reached over and took her hand in his. She pulled away. "Give me a chance, Princess, the chance I never got ten years ago."

She came to her feet. "No. I can't do that again, not with you."

"Why not?" He stood. She glanced away from him toward the street. "Look at me, Clea."

"No."

That one word told him what he needed to know. Her feelings for Boomer weren't solid, and that gave Nick the opening he needed. "He's not the right man for you." He longed to tell her about the Boomer he knew, the Boomer with a mean streak and a ruthless nature, but he knew Clea wasn't ready to hear the truth. "Boomer will stifle you. He'll try to turn you into someone you're not. I'd never do that."

That brought her focus to him, her eyes flashing with anger. "Do you really think you're the right man for me, Nick? We don't have anything in common except a physical attraction that produced John. Well, I'm stronger now, and wiser. I'm not the same girl you knew before."

"Oh, I have a pretty good idea what you're like."

Her hand balled into a fist and he thought she might slap him again, but she didn't. He wished he could take his words back, crass words she didn't deserve, but the apology lodged in his throat.

"It's taken me a long time to find the right man," she said, the words brittle and sharp. "You have to respect my commitment to him."

She asked the impossible. He could never accept Boomer Bloomfield, but he knew he would never earn Clea's respect by belittling Boomer.

"I'm sorry I left," he said, "but it couldn't be helped. I didn't want to go to prison." He reached for her, his fingers curling around hers. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when John was born. You'll never know how much I regret that. But I'm here now. I'm not eighteen anymore."

She raised her chin a little higher and pulled her hand free. "Let me go, Nick." Her eyes and words filled with a plea that hurt his heart. "Don't make it hard for me."

"If it's hard for you, then maybe you're marrying the wrong man."

She shook her head.

"I've been wondering something since I came back," he said. "Why is it that you haven't married Boomer before now? If you love him so much, if he's the man for you, then why the ten-year wait?"

Clea turned away and he knew he'd struck a nerve. "The timing just wasn't right. We were both in college. Robert went back east."

It was a lame excuse and they both knew it. "Give me a chance, Clea." He put every ounce of what he felt for her in those words, walking around her to see her face. Something flared in her eyes. Anger? Passion? He didn't know, but he wanted to find out. He closed the distance between them; and reached out to touch her cheek. Her skin felt like the softest rose petal under his work-roughened fingers. While in prison he'd felt starved for human contact. Touching Clea made every nerve ending in his body came alive. The urge to pull her to him and kiss her until neither one of them could think drove him. He brought his other hand up to cradle her face in his hands.

"I want you to remember how it was between us ten years ago," he said, the words low and for her ears alone. Her eyes darkened to a smoky green, and the lust in his gut tightened. "Remember the fire between us, the almost desperate hunger we felt for each other? Those feeling aren't dead, Princess. Like me, they've just been locked up. It's time to set them free."

"Ten years ago you lied to me," she said, her voice small.

"I know. I'm sorry." He rubbed his thumb against her jaw and she sucked in a breath.

"I can't do this again, Nick," she whispered without taking her eyes from his. She knocked his hands away and stepped back. "I knew this would happen. That's why I came here. Too warn you off, to make sure you understood I'm not interested."

He grinned. "Oh, you're interested, all right. What you're feeling is desire, baby. And between us we have enough to set this town on fire."

Clea covered her mouth with her hands. A strangled sound came from her. "I've won a photography internship in New York. The Graceland Mitchell Internship. I'll be working with Graceland Mitchell herself. Her work is phenomenal. It's the chance of a lifetime for me. I'm moving next month, Nick."

Nick felt like he'd been gut-punched. She couldn't go. He wouldn't let her. "Clea…"

She held her hand up to stop his words. "The move will be a fresh start for John, Robert, and me. All my dreams are finally coming true. I want to put the past behind me. I don't have room for you in my life."

She turned, running away from him just like she had ten years ago. Nick sat on the bench, a numbness spreading through him.

In the past few days he'd made some tough decisions concerning Clea and John. He hadn't even stopped to consider that Clea might have dreams of her own. She hadn't given up her photography like he'd thought. Her revelation today threw all his plans into chaos. He couldn't follow her to New York. Under the conditions of his parole, he couldn't leave the state. Could he ask to relocate? There would be terms he must meet. Did he want to follow her to New York? Yes. He would follow Clea anywhere if she wanted him. Before he worried about moving out of state he had a bigger problem. Clea had to want him in her life.

She made him crazy, but he knew without a doubt they belonged together. He'd been a fool to think he could just blow into town and fix the past. Everyone here had moved on with their lives. In so many ways, he was stuck at age eighteen. The time had come for him to catch up, time to show Clea he could take care of her and John, time to show her how much she meant to him.

"Come on, Nick," Mr. Mullin called from the doorway of the garage. "Break's over. The '56 isn't going to put itself back together."

Nick rose, wishing he could see into the future. He didn't know if he were doing the right thing, but he did know he wanted the chance to live the life he had been robbed of.

*   *   *

After her encounter with Nick at the garage, Clea went back to The Coffee House, but her mind wasn't on her work. In the space of a few days Nick had managed to take her life and twist it into something she no longer recognized.

With the threat of snow in the forecast, business was slow today. She'd only made two coffee drinks since noon, and that left her time to think as she and Mitzi restocked the shelves.

She couldn't forget the way Nick's hands had felt on her face, her neck. The smell of grease still filled her head. She knew she should find the odor offensive, but it was part of Nick, always had been. The scent made her weak in the knees. He'd made it clear that he wanted her, but she could resist the physical pull she felt for him. She was older and wiser. Sweet-talking a seventeen-year-old girl into bed had been his specialty in high school, but he'd find her a lot harder to seduce now. Sex didn't make a relationship. There were many more important things to consider - stability, honesty, respectability. And sadly, Nick lacked in most of those departments.

Clea glanced at the clock on the wall. John would be home soon. She planned to tell him about Nick right after he had his after school snack.

What if he didn't take Nick's return well? Worse, what if he wanted to go live with Nick? John wasn't crazy about moving to New York. What if he saw Nick as a way to stay in Port Bliss? Would Nick's return accelerate the anger issues John was having?

The bell on the door tinkled. Robert came into the shop. As always he looked more put together than she did, a fact she'd come to accept. Wearing a navy suit, and an eye-catching red tie and white shirt, he projected just the right image; successful, powerful, in control.