Heartbreaker

Chapter 28

They headed north into lake country. As soon as they left town, Nick called Noah to tell him what had happened. He suggested that he wait until the morning to tell Tommy.

"Be sure to stress that Laurant is okay," he said.

As soon as he disconnected the call, Laurant asked, "What about the house? I saw you talking to the fire chief. Is everything gone?"

"No," Nick answered. "The south side of the house is trashed, but the upstairs on the north side is still intact."

"Do you think the closets are okay?"

"You worried about your clothes?"

"I had some of my paintings stored in the guest closet. It’s okay," she hurried to add. "They aren’t very good."

"How do you know they aren’t good? Have you ever let anyone see them?"

"I’ve told you, painting is just a hobby," she answered.

She sounded so defensive, he decided to drop the subject. Their clothes smelled like smoke, and so he rolled his window down and let the breeze clear the air.

He stayed on the main two-lane highway for over an hour. Finding lodging wasn’t a problem. There were billboards crowded together near every crossroad advertising seasonal rates. He finally turned onto a tributary leading to the west and chose a strip motel located two miles from Lake Henry. The garish purple and orange neon sign was still flashing vacancy, but the office was dark. Nick woke the manager, paid for the room in cash, and to the old man’s delight, purchased two extra-large, red T-shirts sporting a white wide-mouth bass on the front and the name of the motel in bold white block letters on the back.

There were twelve units and twelve vacancies. Nick chose the end unit and parked the car behind the motel so that it wouldn’t be seen from the road.

The room was sparse but clean. The floor was gray and white linoleum squares; the walls were cement blocks painted gray, and there were two double beds against the far wall with a wobbly, three-legged nightstand in between. The shade on the chipped ceramic lamp was torn and had been patched with duct tape.

It was well after two in the morning, and both of them were exhausted. Laurant dumped the of the overnight bag on the bed and then gathered up their toiletries and put them on the shelf in the bathroom. She took her shower first, and when she was finished, she washed out her lacy underwear and hung the bra and panties on a plastic hanger to dry. She didn’t know what to do about her jeans and T-shirt. If she tried to use the bar of soap to wash them it would take forever, and she knew they wouldn’t be dry by morning. She was going to have to wear them again, but maybe they could find a Wal-Mart or Target on their way back to Holy Oaks, and she could buy clean clothing and change. There certainly weren’t any department stores this far north.

She put the concern aside and dried her hair with the blow dryer the owner had chained to the wall next to the mirror.

When she came out of the bathroom wearing the new T-shirt with the giant bass covering her chest, Nick smiled, the first bit of emotion he’d shown since they’d left town.

"You look good, babe."

She tuesed the T-shirt down to her knees. "I look ridiculous."

He grinned again. "That too," he admitted as he headed for the bathroom. "I can’t believe you got the charger for my phone. I’m damn glad you did though."

"It was on the nightstand next to my glasses. I just grabbed everything I could get my hands on. I’ll tell you, it was scary going back into that bathroom, and I just threw things in the bag."

She pulled the covers back and got into one of the double beds Nick left the bathroom door open while he showered. The clear plastic shower curtain didn’t conceal much, but she tried not to stare. She only put on her glasses so she could write a shopping list. Of course, glancing into the bathroom every now and then was just natural curiosity on her part, that was all. Liar, liar. If she’d been wearing any pants, they’d be on fire now.

Nick was built like a Greek god. He was turned away from her, so she could only see his backside. The muscles in his upper arms and thighs were incredibly well defined. She thought his body was just about perfect.

When she realized her behavior bordered on that of a voyeur-and how disgusting was that-she took her glasses off so she couldn’t see anything if the temptation became too irresistible again. The man deserved a little privacy, didn’t he?

She picked up the remote, smiling when she saw that it too was chained to the wall, and then turned on the television and squinted at the screen.

They were acting as though they’d been married for years. At least Nick was. He seemed thoroughly relaxed with her and hadn’t even given the double beds a second glance. He was taking their situation in stride.

She wasn’t. She was a nervous wreck inside, grossly uptight, as Tommy would say, but she was determined not to let it show. If Nick guessed anything was wrong, she was fully prepared to lie and tell him that it was the trauma tonight that had put her on edge. She couldn’t tell him the truth because it would be a terrible burden for him, but she couldn’t help but wonder how he would react if he knew what was going on inside her head.

Did he have any idea how she felt about him? What would he say if she told him she wanted him, and damn the consequences? One wonderful night together, and the memory could and would last her a lifetime. Not an affair or a fling, she qualified. Nick couldn’t handle that, and neither could she. But one night and no regrets. Not ever. Oh, how she longed to have his arms around her. To have him hold her and caress her.

It wasn’t going to happen, though. Nick had been up front with her from the very beginning., He didn’t want marriage or children, and because he knew she did, he would never touch her.

Even though she was certain a lasting relationship was out of the question, she still ached to touch him. She loved him, God help her. How had she allowed herself to be so vulnerable? She should have seen it coming and done something, anything, to protect herself. It was too late now. When he left her, he was going to break her heart, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

Knowing the pain that lay ahead didn’t change how she felt about him. One night, she told herself. That was all she would ever need, but she knew Nick wouldn’t see it that way. He would see it as a betrayal of her brother, and yet she still considered all the arguments she could give him to try to sway him.

They were consenting adults. What happened between them wasn’t anyone else’s business.

Laurant knew what Nick’s answer to that argument would be. She was Tommy’s kid sister. End of story.

Laurant knew Nick cared about her. But did he love her? She was afraid to ask.

Nick came out of the bathroom wearing a pair of plaid boxer shorts. He was towel drying his hair but paused when he saw her frowning. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking…"

He tossed the towel over a chair, then went to the side of the other bed and pulled back the covers as he asked, "About tonight?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what were you thinking about?"

"Trust me. You don’t want to know."

"Sure I do. Tell me what you were thinking," he prodded as he stacked the pillows against the headboard and then reached over to turn the lamp off.

"All right, I will. I was trying to figure out how to seduce you."

His hand was halfway to the lamp when he froze. She couldn’t believe she’d blurted out the truth that way. But she certainly had grabbed his full attention. He stayed perfectly still, like a deer caught in the headlights, then slowly straightened and turned to stare at her.

His expression was priceless. Had she not been mortified, she would have laughed. Nick looked dumbfounded. He was obviously waiting for some kind of a disclaimer or clarification, or maybe even a punch line, she supposed, but she honestly didn’t know what to tell him, and so she lifted her shoulders in a shrug, as if to say, there it is, believe it or not, take me or leave me.

"Are you joking?" His voice was hoarse.

She slowly shook her head. "Have I shocked you?"

He took a step back, shaking his head. He’d obviously decided not to believe her.

"You did ask me to tell you what I was thinking about."

"Yeah, well…"

"I’m not embarrassed."

Her face was the color of the red T-shirt.

"No reason to be," he stammered.

"Nick?"

"What?"

"What do you think about what I just said?"

He didn’t answer her. She pushed the covers aside and got out of bed. He quickly backed away from her. Before she could blink, he was halfway across the room. "I’m not going to attack you."

"Damn right you’re not."

She took a step toward him. "Nick…"

He cut her off. "Stay right where you are, Laurant." He pointed his finger at her as he gave the order… or, rather, shouted it. And he kept backing away until he bumped into the television, which would have crashed to the floor had it not been bolted to the wall. She was mortified. He was acting as though he was afraid of her. She certainly hadn’t anticipated such a bizarre response. Disbelief maybe, even anger. But fear? Until this moment, she hadn’t believed Nick was afraid of anything.

"What’s the matter with you?" she whispered.

"It’s out of the question. That’s what’s the matter with me. Now stop it, Laurant. Stop it right this minute."

"Stop what?"

"Talking crazy."

Too embarrassed to look him in the eyes, she bowed her head and stared at the floor tiles. It was too late to take the words back or pretend she hadn’t said them, and so she decided to make everything a hundred times worse and tell him everything.

"There’s more," she said, her voice whisper soft.

"I don’t want to hear it."

She ignored his protest. "When you kiss me, I get this funny, tingling feeling in my stomach, and I don’t want you to stop. I’ve never felt that way before. I just thought you should know." She heard him groan but couldn’t make herself look at him yet. "And you know what’s really odd?"

"I don’t want to-"

She interrupted him, desperate to get the declaration out before she lost her courage. "I think I’m falling in love with you."

She dared a quick look up to see how he was taking the announcement and wished to God she hadn’t bothered. To his credit, he didn’t look like he was afraid of her any longer. No, now he looked like he wanted to kill her. It wasn’t what she would consider a step in the right direction.

She seemed driven to make it worse. "No, I’m not falling in love with you. I do love you," she stubbornly insisted.

"When the hell did that happen?" he demanded. The anger in his voice stung like a whip. She flinched and blinked away the tears in her eyes.

"I don’t know." She sounded bewildered. "It just did. I certainly didn’t plan it. You’re all wrong for me," she said. "I couldn’t handle an affair. I want it all, marriage till death do us part, and I want babies. Lots of babies. You don’t want any of that. I understand we don’t have a future together, but I thought that if I could persuade you to make love to me just this one time, that it would be enough. It wouldn’t change anything."

"The hell it wouldn’t."

"Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop shaking your head at me. Forget I mentioned it. And by the way, I find your reaction insulting. I thought that you felt… that you cared as much as I… oh, never mind. A simple ‘no thank you’ would have sufficed. You didn’t need to let me know how appalled you are by the notion of sleeping with me."

"Damn it, Laurant, try to understand."

"I do understand. You’ve made your position perfectly clear. You don’t want me."

"Are you crying?" The question sounded like a threat.

She’d die before she admitted it. "No, of course not." She wiped the tears from her face, but it didn’t stem the tide. "It just looks that way."

"Ah, Laurant, don’t cry," he begged.

"It’s my allergies." A sob escaped. "I need a tissue."

She tried to walk past him to the bathroom, but he reached for her and pulled her toward him. She collapsed against his chest and let the tears come. He wrapped her in his arms, kissed the top of her head, then her forehead.

"You listen to me, Laurant." He sounded like a drowning man desperate for help. "You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t love me. You’ve been through hell and you’re frightened, and your emotions are all mixed up now."

He knew what was happening to her. She was mistaking gratitude for love. Easy to do, given the circumstances. Yes, that was it. She couldn’t love him. She was too good for him, too sweet, too perfect. And he didn’t deserve her. He had to stop this now, before it was too late.

"I know what’s in my heart, Nick. I love you."

"Stop saying that."

He sounded angry, but he was kissing her fervently at the same time, and he was being so very gentle. She didn’t know how to interpret the mixed signals. She couldn’t stop holding him, touching him.

"Sweetheart, please stop crying. It’s making me crazy."

"My allergies are acting up," she cried against his collarbone.

"You don’t have allergies," he whispered as he brushed his lips against her neck. He loved her scent. She smelled like flowers and soap and woman.

He was lost and he knew it. He cupped the sides of her face with his hands and gently kissed the tears away. "You are so lovely," he whispered, and his mouth covered hers, demanding and urgent now, unrelenting, his tongue stroking hers. He began to tremble like a young man experiencing his first attempt at lovemaking. Only this wasn’t awkward. It was perfect.

God, how he wanted this. And yet there was still a part of him that tried to pretend he was merely offering her comfort. Until his hands slid up under her T-shirt and he was caressing warm, silky skin. The hell with comfort. He wanted her with a burning intensity that shook him to the core and scared the hell out of him.

He couldn’t stop stroking her. She felt so good against him, so soft so right. He was pulling her T-shirt over her head and trying to kiss her at the same time, even as he told her that they couldn’t do anything they would regret in the morning light.

She frantically agreed as she tugged on the snap of his shorts and then pushed them down. Her hands slid back up his thighs and began to caress him intimately.

Her fingers were magical, the feather light touch against his groin exquisite torture. He was hard and throbbing, and when he knew he wouldn’t last another minute if she kept stroking him, he grabbed her hands and lifted them up around his neck. Then he roughly pressed against her, and the feel of her soft full breasts against him was damn near his undoing. Velvety skin rubbed against his as he tried to devour her with his mouth.

He pulled away from her. "Wait, I’ve got to protect you," he whispered and then went into the bathroom to get what he needed from his shaving kit. He returned and paused for a moment. "Laurant, I…" Any second thoughts he may have had vanished when she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

They fell into bed together, all legs and arms. He shifted positions so that he lay on top of her, nudging her thighs apart so he could rest between them. He lifted his head and looked at her swollen lips and was suddenly overwhelmed by her beauty.

His hand cupped one breast, his fingers slowly circling the hard nipple. She let out a little gasp and closed her eyes, letting him know she liked that, and so he did it again and again as he watched her aroused response.

He was determined to slow the tempo, to give her as much pleasure as he could before he surrendered.

"I have wanted you for the longest time," he whispered. "From the moment I saw you, I wanted those long legs of yours around me. It’s all I could think about."

His face was dark with passion, and his blue eyes glittered dangerously. She gently trailed her fingertips down the line of his hard jaw, then his throat.

"You know what else I’ve wanted?"

And then he showed her with his hands and his mouth what he had been thinking about. He knew where to touch, how much pressure to exert, when to withdraw. She moved restlessly against him, her caresses soon becoming more and more demanding, until her nails were biting into his shoulders and she was begging him to end his teasing.

His mouth was driving her crazy while his hands slid down the sides of her body. His fingers stroked her inner thighs, so soft, so sensitive. He felt her arch against him and heard her gasp as his knuckles deliberately brushed against the swirling dark curls between her thighs. He loved the sexy sound she made when he touched her so intimately.

He made love to her, telling her without words how he adored her.

Laurant had never experienced bliss like this. Such exquisite sensations coursed through her. She arched up against him again, far more demanding now.

"Now, Nick… please. Oh, God, now…"

He thrust into her forcefully, unable to quell the groan of sheer satisfaction as he became part of her, and when she wrapped her legs around him, he groaned again. Reality was much better than fantasy. She was better than anything he could have ever imagined. Fully imbedded inside her, his head dropped to the crook of her neck, and he took a deep, calming breath and tried to slow the pace. Nick was determined to make their lovemaking unforgettable.

He began to move slowly within her. "Do you like that?"

"Yes," she cried out.

"And this?" he whispered as his hand slid down between their joined bodies to stroke her. Her cry of ecstasy was all the encouragement he needed. Her arm curled around his neck, and she dragged him down for a long, hot kiss.

"Don’t ever stop," she whispered.

He drove deep once again. She lifted her hips, straining against him to take as much of him inside her warmth as possible. She wanted to please him, but in the web of passion that he had created, there wasn’t room for worry or for the fear of disappointing him.

Neither one of them could slow the pace, both frantic now to find release.

She came before he did and began to sob with the beauty of her surrender and the love she felt for him. Nick felt her tremble in his arms as every part of her body tightened around him, and with a near shout of pleasure, he climaxed deep inside of her. The orgasm was unlike any he had ever experienced in the past. He neither questioned the difference nor understood it. He merely accepted that this was unique and so special he would never be able to settle for anything less again.

He stayed inside of her a long time, but when he finally rolled to his side and tenderly took her into his arms to hold her close, she trustingly curled up against him, her hand splayed across the curly mat of hair on his chest.

Laurant was too overwhelmed to speak. She could barely form a coherent thought. When she was finally able to breathe again, she leaned up to look at his face.

She stared into those deep blue eyes, so intense now with the residue of raw passion, and smiled as she arched against him like a well-fed cat. She loved the feel of his hard body against hers. The hair on his legs tickled her toes, and she loved that feeling too.

She loved him. Now and always, she admitted. Then she saw the worry creep into his gaze, and she tried to think of a way to ward off the regret she knew he would be feeling soon. She gave him a long, lingering kiss, and then she smiled at him again. "You know what I think?"

"What’s that?" he asked on a yawn, still too exhausted and content to move.

"I could get really good at this."

He groaned, but then she felt the low rumble building in his chest, and he suddenly was laughing. "You’ll kill me if you get any better."

"You liked it too?"

"How can you ask me such a question?"

She traced the corded muscle along his shoulder, noticed the faded jagged scar on his upper arm, and leaned up to kiss it. "How did this happen?"

"Football."

"And this?" she asked as she touched the faint scar on his hip.

"Was it a bullet?"

"Football," he said again. She didn’t look like she believed him. "Honest," he said. "It’s a football cleat."

"Have you ever been shot?" Her voice trembled when she asked.

"No," he answered. "Stabbed, punched, kicked, scratched, and spit on, yes, but shot, no." Not yet anyway, he silently qualified. A scar from a knife wound-an ice pick actually-was on his back, down low by his left kidney. A couple of inches higher and he wouldn’t have lived. Maybe Laurant wouldn’t notice that scar, but if she did, he decided he wouldn’t lie to her.

"Most of the scars are from football," he said.

She threaded her fingers through his hair. "Except for the ones you carry inside."

He pulled her hand away. "Don’t get sentimental on me. Everybody carries around a little baggage."

He was trying to close up on her, to pull away emotionally, but she wouldn’t let him take the coward’s path. When he rolled onto his back and curtly told her it was time they got a little sleep, she ignored the suggestion.

She rolled over on top of him. Stacking her hands under her chin, she stared down into his eyes.

His hands were already on her hips. He wanted to make her get off him and go to sleep before he gave in to his desire and made love to her again, but he couldn’t make himself let go of her. "Promise me something, and I’ll let you sleep," she said.

"What?" He sounded suspicious.

"No matter what happens…"

"Yes?"

"No regrets. All right, Nick?"

He nodded. "What about you."

"No regrets," she vowed.

"Agreed," he said.

"Say it."

He sighed. "No regrets."

And both of them were lying.