Lori Wilde - There Goes The Bride (13 page)

Delaney looked into the older woman’s eyes and knew Lucia needed to talk about Leo. Her family surrounded her, yes, and she could talk to them, but they knew all her stories. Lucia needed a fresh audience.

“Tell me about your husband.” Delaney placed her hand on top of the older woman’s.

Soon Lucia was regaling her with stories of her life in this house with her husband, Leo. The children they’d raised, the hard times they’d endured, the fun they’d had, the love that had grown deeper and richer with each passing year.

“How did Leo propose to you?” Delaney asked.

A smile flitted across her face. “He didn’t.”

“You proposed to him?”

Lucia looked scandalized. “No, no. I was a demure girl. I would never have done something so bold.”

“So how did you two ever get together?”

There was that knowing smile again. “He kidnapped me from the chapel on my wedding day.”

“What?!” Now it was Delaney’s turn to look scandalized. “You married your kidnapper?”

Lucia giggled. “It was very romantic. I was engaged to marry the man of my parents’ choosing. They were very old-fashioned. Frank’s family had money, and my father had a struggling business.”

“Your parents were basically selling you to Frank?”

“It sounds so bad when you put it like that,” Lucia said, “and I’m certain that’s not the way they intended it. They just wanted to make sure I would be taken care of.”

“Did you love Frank?”’

“I tried,” Lucia said. “And then, a week before the wedding I met Leo at a party, and I just knew he was the one for me. But he was a penniless student who came from a poor family, and my parents would not hear of me marrying him. Leo knew what my papa was like. That he would never give him my hand in marriage. I felt so much family pressure to marry Frank. I’d known him since I was a child. We’d grown up in the same small village together, and I was not a young woman who voiced her own opinions. I’d been taught to be a dutiful daughter.”

Dutiful.

That was exactly how she felt. Dutiful and damned. Delaney fingered her engagement ring and thought of Evan. He was off in Guatemala helping people, and she was here having serious doubts about their relationship.

“Leo knew there was only one way he could have me. So he kidnapped me from the chapel on my wedding day. We took jobs on a cruise ship to get to America, and the captain married us at sea.”

One of Lucia’s daughters started singing “That’s Amore,” and soon everyone joined in. Singing and crying and laughing.

Including Lucia.

“Come on, Delaney,” Lucia invited. “Sing with us.”

To her knowledge, no one in her family had ever broken into impromptu song, much less the whole bunch of them singing in unison. She liked it, even though it felt like she had a walk-on part in
Moonstruck.
She half expected Nicolas Cage to saunter through the doorway at any minute.

Instead, it was Nick Vinetti who came traipsing through the back door.

“People, people,” he said. “‘That’s Amore’? You must be talking about the time Grampa kidnapped Nana. Knock it off. Eighty percent of you are off key. Face facts, you guys ain’t the Von Trapps.”

And then he spied Delaney. He stopped talking and stabbed her with his gaze.

Wham!

She felt it deep inside her. The forbidden pull. The taboo attraction. It made him all the more desirable.

“That certainly is a beautiful engagement ring that you’re wearing,” Gina said. “So tell us, Delaney, about the man you’re going to marry.”

“Yeah,” Nick said, still holding her gaze. “Tell us. Everyone likes the story of a good romance.” His tone was sardonic. The look in his eyes inscrutable.

“I . . . I . . . think we should go over the renovation plans. Map out the tasks in phases. The sooner we get to work, the sooner we sell the house and the sooner Lucia gets the money for her condo,” Delaney said.

Lucia got up from her chair. “Here, Nick, take my seat. You’re going to be the one doing most of the work. See what Delaney has come up with.”

Before she could protest—and how could she?—Nick plunked down beside her.

She reached for the papers, eager to have something to occupy her hands and purposefully ignored the nutmegy scent of his cologne. Clearing her throat, she launched into a thorough explanation of what she felt needed to be done to achieve the highest selling price for the house and the estimated cost of materials if the Vinettis provided all the manpower.

Nick took the papers from her and studied the list for a long time. It wasn’t going to be as easy to persuade him as the rest of the family. “Why should we strip off the wallpaper and paint all the walls white?”

“Wallpaper dates a place. It’s a fact of the real estate business, plain white walls sell better.”

“But plain white walls have no zip. Nothing to make it special,” he said. “No magic.”

“That’s precisely the point. The more people who can imagine themselves living here, the quicker the house will sell. We could do an off-white if you prefer. Ecru. French Vanilla. Eggshell.”

He leaned forward. “Let me guess. The walls in your house are all stark white.”

She took offense at the way he said it. Like he was criticizing her for having no personality. She raised her head to scowl at him, but got distracted by his face. His hair was wind-tossed, his jaw strong and stubborn, his eyes dark and challenging. “As a matter of fact they are. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Noncommittal.”

“Excuse me?”

“White is a color chosen by someone who is afraid to commit,” he said.

“And you obtained this information from what psychology textbook?” What was it about this guy? She was never confrontational. In fact, she avoided confrontation like the flu. But around Nick the contrary side of herself popped out. He was an instigator.

“No textbook. Eight years as a cop.”

“So what color are your walls?”

He shrugged. “Varies from room to room.”

She found herself wondering what color his bedroom was painted, but didn’t dare ask. “Look, whoever buys the house can paint it any color they want.”

“If they’re going to paint it after they buy it, why are we wasting time and money painting it?”

“You really don’t get the concept of presentation, do you?”

“If you mean that I can look through a fancy exterior to the truth beyond, then no, I don’t get the concept of presentation. It’s all bullshit.”

“Nick,” Lucia chided. “No cursing in mixed company. I know you’re a cop, but save that kind of language for the streets.”

“Sorry, Nana.” He looked chagrined. “By the way,” he said to Delaney, “I accept your compliment. I take pride in my ability to ferret out bull . . .” He slid a sidelong glance at his grandmother. “You know what.”

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“I’m aware of that.”

Acutely cognizant that they were being scrutinized by a bevy of Vinettis, Delaney forced a smile. Presentation is everything. Or that was her mother’s mantra. Nick had a whole different mantra that apparently involved an excess of cattle manure.

“Well, then,” she said and looked at the people standing around them. “Shall we get started? Who’s got a pickup truck? We need to make a run to Lowe’s for the initial supplies while Tish finishes videoing the house.”

“I’ll take you,” Nick drawled.

Dammit. Why him? Delaney slapped a hand across her mouth, worried that she might have spoken her thoughts aloud.

Nick was staring at her pointedly. As if he knew what she looked like naked.

He practically does.

Her cheeks heated.

Don’t blush, don’t blush.

He pulled his keys from his pocket. “Ready for a ride, Rosy?”

Rosy?

She put a hand to her cheek. Dear God, her face must be flaming red. She didn’t want to go with him, but she didn’t want to stay here and keep blushing in front of his family either.

Delaney stuffed the papers back in her briefcase. Stay cool. Presentation is everything. “Let’s go.”

“You’ll need a check,” Lucia said.

“I’ve got this one, Nana,” Nick said and hustled Delaney toward the back door.

“Dominic, you come back here and get a check. I’m not going to let you pay for the renovations on my house.”

“I grew up here. I’m responsible for some of the nicks and bruises this old house has suffered.”

“You didn’t take me to raise,” Lucia argued.

“No, you took me to raise. Let me pay my due,” he called to his grandmother over his shoulder as the screen door slammed behind them.

When they reached his red pickup truck, Nick opened the passenger-side door. “Climb in.”

Feeling as if she’d just made a pact with the devil, Delaney got inside.

Chapter 7

W
here should we start?” Delaney asked Nick when they walked through the door at Lowe’s. “I always lose my sense of direction in these warehouse stores.”

Commandingly, Nick snatched the piece of notepaper from her hand and ran his gaze down the list. “Paint department. We can shop for the rest of the items while they mix our paint.”

His proprietary manner agitated her, even though she knew it was her own fault. She’d acted helpless and asked his opinion; he was just taking over as bossy men had a tendency to do. Well, to heck with that. Surprising herself, Delaney snatched the notepaper right back. “White comes already made up.”

Amusement played across his full lips. “We should at least get beige. I’ll go nuts painting all those walls stark white.”

“The condition of your nuts is not my problem,” she said tartly, shocking herself. Dear God, why had she said that? What was the matter with her? What were these absurd impulses he stirred inside her?

“Why, Rosy, are you flirting with me?” His eyes twinkled mischievously.

“No, and stop calling me Rosy. We’re painting the rooms white because they’re small. Traditional wisdom dictates pure white walls will make the space appear larger.”

“Are you shutting off my opinion?”

She didn’t answer, just gave him a look that said “I’m the professional here.”

Nick didn’t quite know what to make of her. She had this sweet, go-with-the-flow way about her, but if you pushed her in the wrong direction, she dug her heels in with surprising stubbornness.

Delaney breezed past him, heading toward the big overhead sign pointing out the paint department, and in the process her shoulder lightly brushed against his.

His head reeled from the unexpected contact. His body stiffened and his gut clenched in a thoroughly enjoyable way.

Damn,
he thought.
Damn. She smells like morning glories, fresh and pink and perfect.

He tried to keep up with her, but his bum leg slowed him down. God, he hated feeling weak.

She glanced back over her shoulder, saw he was limping, and slowed her pace to match his.

Nick hated even more that she had to slow down for him. “Go on,” he said. “I’ll get there.”

But she didn’t. She waited. Patiently, politely. And it pissed him off.

“I’m sorry,” Delaney apologized when he caught up with her. “I forgot about your injured knee.”

“Were you stalking transvestites in dark alleys behind seedy strip bars?”

“What?” Startled, her eyes widened and she stared at him as if he were ordering takeout in Japanese.

“Were you knifing he/shes in parking lots?”

“No . . . no . . .?,” she stammered.

He knew he’d confused her. That had been his intention. His defense mechanism. Keep your enemy off guard. “Then what do you have to be sorry for?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more considerate of your . . .” She glanced at his leg. “Disability.”

“My disability, as you put it, is not your problem. So don’t apologize.”

“I was just trying to express my concern. Go ahead, be a cold loner with a huge chip on your shoulder. See if I care.” She turned away, but not before he saw the hurt expression on her face. “Obviously you don’t want or need my concern, and that’s fine with me.”

“Obviously,” he mumbled.

What the hell is wrong with you? She is just trying to be nice and you’ve hurt her feelings. Feel better now, asshole?

The truth of it was she knocked him off kilter. Nick found himself wanting her sympathy, and that was a dangerous thing to court. Better to deflect her than allow her to slip under his skin. He was already hellaciously attracted to her. He didn’t have to like her as well.

They picked up ten gallons of pure white satin paint. They lined the cans up in the bottom of the shopping cart, along with drop cloths and paintbrushes and rollers and trays.

Delaney consulted her list. “What’s the tool situation?”

Nick reacted without thinking, glancing down at his zipper to see if she’d noticed the state of semi-arousal he’d been in from the moment he climbed into the pickup truck beside her.