Maybe Baby (19 page)

“I’m. Find,” he insisted, resisting her tugs.

“Oh, stop being a big baby and let me.” She won the struggle and pulled his hand away, kneeling before him and inspecting his face carefully from all angles.

“You’re find,” she said.

Nick grinned at her. “Told you.”

She stayed where she was for a moment, staring up at him, both hands resting on his legs. Nick’s heart started beating so loudly he was sure she could hear the excitement she aroused in him. Hell, if her hand moved over an inch, she’d feel it.

She smiled up at him. “This is weird, isn’t it?”

He reached up and smoothed one hand over her hair. “Yeah. Kinda.”

“But a good weird,” she said as she leaned her face into his palm.

He moved forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. “The best.”

They kept their eyes locked for a moment longer, then she got to her feet. Nick stood up, his eyes still on hers. One hand reached out, of its own accord, and grabbed for hers, their fingers twined together, the connection sending warmth shooting through his body. She smiled, reached blindly behind her for the doorknob. Nick saw the dress tilt on the hanger as Dana grabbed a handful of the fabric. Her eyes widened.

“Oh, God.” She pulled her hand out of his and glanced at the dress. “This looks bad, doesn’t it?”

Nick laughed. “Well, it’s a little Miss Havisham for my taste, but…”

Her face darkened, and Nick knew instantly that he’d said exactly the wrong thing.

“No.” He held up his hand in a feeble stop gesture. “Wait.”

She turned and walked out of the bathroom. Nick closed his eyes and exhaled a long breath before following her.

He was so going to get his ass kicked.

When he walked out, she was pulling the blue quilt off the bed and tossing it onto the hideous papasan chair she kept in the corner.

“Dana,” Nick said, catching the pillow that came flying at his head. “I didn’t mean—”

“You should be comfortable on the chair,” she said tightly. “And you know, the only reason I even said we’d both sleep in here is because I still don’t have a bed in the extra room upstairs.”

“Dana—”

“Although actually, now that I think about it, you can go up there and sleep on the treadmill. Bye.”

“Cut it out,” he said, tossing the pillow on the chair and taking a step toward her. “I’m not going anywhere until we iron this out.”

“Iron what out? There’s nothing to iron. Nothing even remotely crinkly here.” She gave him a flat smile. “Good night.”

“Dana, it’s been a long day and I’m too tired for all the random chatter. Just tell me why you’re upset.”

She put a thin veil of indifference over her obvious anger. “I’m not upset. Why would I be upset? Just because you seem to think I’m some crazy old maid who can’t get over the past? I mean, geez, why would I be upset over that?”

She sat down on the bed, spun her legs under the covers, threw herself down flat on her back, and shut off the light. Nick sighed, walked over to the bedside, and pulled the chain, flicking the light on again.

Dana shot up in bed and poked her index finger at him. “One stupid little moment of clarity—which, by the way, wasn’t nearly as clear as I made it sound—and you just think you’re God’s gift, don’t you?”

“Shut up, Diz.”

Her finger dropped a level. “What?”

He let out a tired laugh and sat down on the bed next to her, taking her hand in his. “I said shut up.”

She yanked her hand out of his. “Wait a minute. I’m the insulted party here. You don’t get to—”

“Shut up,” he said again. She opened her mouth to speak, but he put his fingers to her lips, and she quieted. “I made a joke. I didn’t mean it. I’m very tired and I didn’t mean anything by it and you know that.”

He lowered his fingers and took her hand again.

“I wear the dress for work,” she muttered.

“I don’t care,” Nick said.

“See, I had to get a job at this old folks home and—”

“I don’t care. Just shut up.”

They stared each other down for a moment, then Dana looked away. Nick released a breath.

“Diz, we’re here.”

She watched him expectantly for a moment, then let out a frustrated huff. “That’s it? Your big statement. We‘re
here?”

“Yeah,” he said, keeping his eyes on hers. “We’re here. Again. Right where we once were, with the curtains and the bed and the stupid bucket babies.”

Dana shot a glance up over her shoulder. “I hate those babies.”

“Then why do you still have them?”

She turned back to face him. “You don’t remember?”

He shook his head and shot a dubious look at the babies. “Must have blocked it out.”

“Crazy Lulu from the Chamber?”

Nick laughed as he caught the edge of the memory. “The one with all the hats?”

“Yeah. She gave it to me, then called to say she was dropping by and couldn’t wait to see where I’d put it—”

“Oh, God, that day you were in the basement for an hour? That’s what you were doing?”

“Yeah. So I tossed it up on the wall with mere minutes to spare.” She glanced back up at the picture. “I’ve just been too lazy to take it back down, I guess.”

“That was eight years ago,” Nick said.

Dana held out her hand, as if to shake. “Hi. I’m Dana. Obese cats marvel at the extent of my laziness. Have we met?”

Nick took her hand and pulled her palm to his lips. “Yeah. We have.”

“Really?” she said on a light sigh. “Handsome guy like you, you’d think I’d remember.”

“You’d think,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her lightly on the lips.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, when he pulled away. “It’s coming back to me.”

He glanced toward the chair. “I should probably—”

“No, you shouldn’t,” she said, grabbing a fistful of his T-shirt and pulling him to her. “That chair is stupid.”

She kissed him, and she was so soft, and so inviting, and it would be so easy, and feel so good…

But he pulled back anyway.

“Agh,” she said. “Now that’s just rude.”

He ran his finger along her jaw line and smiled. “I really need to sleep on the chair.”

“Blah blah blah, whatever.” She ran her hand self-consciously over her hair. “It’s the cargo van hair, isn’t it?”

“Your hair is fine,” he said.

“Then what’s up with the chair?”

“Dana, if I sleep in that bed with you, there will be no sleep, trust me. Even if you tell me no and I manage to hold myself back…” He watched her for a moment, looking up at him with those eyes, her hair all mussed and her lips so full…

He exhaled and got up off the bed. “I really need to sleep on the chair.”

“Something’s wrong,” she said.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Nick said, then thought again. “Unless… is something wrong?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Men
always
want sex,
always,
so if a man makes an excuse—especially one like timing, I mean, get serious—then it’s because he just doesn’t want to, and that means something’s wrong, because men
always—”

“I want to,” he said, the exhaustion from the internal battle showing in his voice. “You have no idea how much I want to. Napoleon wanted Russia less than I want you right now. But what I don’t want is to screw this up again. I don’t want…”

He trailed off. He didn’t want to tell her all the things he was afraid of, the millions of ways he was sure he’d make a mess of it all and lose her again. That wasn’t an option. Somehow, some way, he was going to make this work. He was going to marry this woman and wake up next to her every day for the rest of his life or die trying.

Which,
he thought, looking at her as she stared up at him,
just might end up being the case.

He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Good night, Dana,” he said, reaching one thumb up to gently smooth out the furrowing between her brows. “And don’t worry.”

“I won’t,” she said, offering a conciliatory smile. “I know. You’re right. The timing is bad and things have been intense and we’ll both still be here in the morning, right?”

“Right.”

“But you don’t need to sleep in the chair, do you?” she said, tugging her lower lip between her teeth. He wondered if she had any idea what that gesture did to him. “I mean, couldn’t you just crawl into bed here with me and hold me? We could make a rule. Clothes on. I’ll even get more clothes…”

He was kissing her before she could finish the sentence and she clutched at him, pulling him down on top of her, and the bedding between their bodies did nothing to keep it from feeling so good that all he wanted to do was sink into her and never have another stupid thought about what was right ever again.

But the thoughts came anyway, and he managed to pull himself back from her and stand up, dragging her into a sitting position on the bed as she still clung to his arm. A moment later, after they’d both caught their breath, she let him go.

“Um, there’s extra pillows in the armoire,” she said, “if you need them.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m just gonna ..

He gestured toward the chair with his head. She nodded.

“Yeah. You should.”

“Yeah.” He smiled at her, and she smiled back. He started back toward the chair in the corner.

“You’re walking kind of funny,” she said, a light laugh in her voice.

“Shut off the light, will ya?”

“Sure you don’t want to untuck that shirt?” she asked.

“Don’t think I won’t get even with you, Diz,” he said, throwing himself down in the papasan and pulling the blanket up over him.

“Promises, promises,” she said, then flicked off the light.

Twenty

At eight the next morning, Babs found herself standing in front of the large, heavy door of Vivian and Gary Bellefleur’s East Side town house.

Well. It was now or never. It wasn’t Vivian and Gary’s habit to be up much before noon, and she suspected they’d probably gone right back to sleep when they’d woken up in the morning to find her gone. The idea of disturbing them was pleasing.

She hit the doorbell. Moments later, Vivian pulled the door open. Her hair and makeup were done, but her eyes looked tired.

“Oh, hell,” she said.

“Good morning, Viv,” Babs said. “Mind if I come in?”

Without waiting for a response, she stepped past Vivian and went inside.

“Let’s make this short and sweet, Viv, because quite frankly, I lack the patience. I’ve got it, you want it. You give me two hundred and fifty thousand, cash, this afternoon, and I’ll give it back.”

Vivian glanced toward the living room. “Babs—”

Babs clutched her purse to her stomach and held her ground. “Do we have a deal or not? And don’t even think about trying that kidnapping nonsense again. The people who have the bird are under strict orders to immediately call the National Conservation Society in New Zealand if you so much as look at me cross-eyed.”

“Did I hear something about a bird?”

Babs blinked. The voice coming from behind her belonged to a man, but it definitely wasn’t Gary; for one, the voice was deep, and two, it was accented. She turned and found herself staring straight into a broad chest, covered in a black T-shirt and a denim jacket. She angled her head upward.

Big, bald guy. With an accent. This was the original thief, the one Nick had mentioned in the letter.

“Oh,” Babs said, “this can’t be good.”

“This is Simon Burke,” Vivian said flatly. “He’s with the New Zealand Kakapo Wildlife Conservation.”

“Where’s the bird?” he asked, his voice oddly menacing for a conservationist.

“I’m sorry,” Babs said. “Bird?”

He gave her a smile that was completely devoid of mirth. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me.” His hand moved from his pocket and Babs looked down to see a gun pointing at her. “I asked where the bird was.”

Babs let out a huge huff. “Good God. What is it with you people and the guns? Couldn’t someone just come up from behind and knock me out with some chloroform? Sake of variety?”

Simon stepped back and motioned toward the living room with the gun. Vivian led the way.

“Watch you don’t trip over Gary,” Vivian said, motioning down to where Gary was lying on the floor, bleeding from the head. Babs gasped and froze.

“Oh, my God,” she said. “Is he…?”

Vivian plopped down on the couch. “No. Gary got an attitude, and Simon knocked him in the head with the gun. Gary’s like a small dog that way. No concept of size ratios.”

Babs looked at Simon, who had the gun trained on her at the moment. “So, you Kiwis take your conservation very seriously, then?”

Simon motioned toward the couch with the gun, and Babs sat down next to Vivian.

“I like you less and less with every moment that passes, Vivian,” Babs muttered.

“Gee,” Vivian said flatly. “I’d be upset about that if I wasn’t about to die a horrible death.”

“Where’s the bird?” Simon asked.

Babs remained silent. Vivian crossed her arms over her stomach and slumped back on the couch like a petulant teenager.

“Stupid bird,” she muttered.

“Look,” Simon said. “I will shoot you.”

“I don’t understand,” Babs said, trying to stall until she thought of something clever. She had a feeling she’d have to do a lot of stalling. “This sort of behavior surely isn’t sanctioned by the Conservation Society.”

Simon leveled the gun at her. “Where is the bird?”

“He’s not easily distracted, is he?” Babs said under her breath.

“Nope,” Vivian said. “I offered to sleep with him, and he didn’t even blink.”

Babs gave Vivian a look of disgust and decided that once this was over, she was going to have to become much more selective about the people she spent time with. She turned to Simon and stood up.

“Okay. Simon, is it? Look, the same rules apply to you as Vivian. If the people who have the bird hear that I’ve so much as caught a cold, they will call the Conservation Society immediately.” That wasn’t exactly true and had only occurred to her in the cab ride over, but Babs had always been exceptional at poker, and what did she really have to lose? “So unless you want those people to know you’re over here acting like a big bully, you’ll put that gun away and let us come to a reasonable solution.”