Needing Nicole (The Cantrelle Family Trilogy Book 2) (7 page)

“I have a feeling you’re regretting sending this hunk on his way,” Julianne said.

Nicole grimaced. “Maybe a little, but there’s no future in it, so why start anything with him?”

“Why indeed?” Julianne picked at her thumbnail. “Unless, of course, a woman just wanted to have some fun. Just wanted to take her pleasure and enjoy it while it lasted.”

“I can’t do that.” Even if she wanted to do something like that, Nicole had Aimee to think of.

“I know. I was only teasing you.”

“So you think I made the right decision.”

Julianne hopped off the desk. “I know you made the right decision.” She grinned. “But you
could
introduce him to me! I wouldn’t mind having some fun.”

Nicole threw a paper clip at Julianne as she made a face at her and disappeared into her office once more. Julianne was right. Nicole had made the right decision. Jack Forrester didn’t belong in her life. She would put him out of her mind, once and for all. And since she’d never see him again, that should be fairly easy.

At five o’clock, she began clearing off her desk. By five-fifteen, she was on her way downstairs. A few seconds later, she opened the gates and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Sitting there at the curb was a royal blue Miata.

And standing next to it was Jack Forrester, blue eyes gleaming in the dusky light.

“What are
you
doing here?”

His mouth tipped in an apologetic half smile. “I know what we agreed. But I changed my mind.” He opened the passenger door.

Nicole looked at him for a long moment, mesmerized by the expression in his eyes. She could feel her heart beating, its rhythm relentless: don’t go, don’t go, don’t go.

She wanted to look away, but his gaze held her spellbound. A dead leaf skittered across the sidewalk, lifted by a gust of wind, and the spell was finally broken.

She climbed into the car.

She was grateful when he didn’t try to talk to her as he navigated the heavy traffic in the Quarter. Nicole used the respite to study him. She liked the way his hands looked against the steering wheel, against the gearshift. They were tanned and square, with long fingers, and they moved swiftly and competently, with no wasted motions.

She liked watching his strong, muscular legs work the clutch and gas pedal. Each time he changed from one to the other, his thighs strained against his jeans.

She liked the clean, solid look of his profile and the tangy scent of his cologne. She liked—

Oh, please. Is there anything you don’t like about Jack Forrester?

Nicole smothered a giggle.

Jack slanted a look at her. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” But she smiled.

He braked for a red light and turned to really look at her. “Nothing has certainly put a sparkle in your eyes.” He returned her smile. “You’re very beautiful when you smile.”

Nicole’s smile faded. “Jack, why did you come back?”

The light changed, and he didn’t answer for a few seconds. But once they’d crossed Canal Street, he said, “I just couldn’t leave New Orleans without seeing you again.”

Nicole’s heart skittered just as the dead leaf had earlier. She knew her reaction was crazy. Jack could have meant anything by his answer. He could have meant he hadn’t given up on the idea that she could help him find Elise Arnold. But some primal instinct told her that wasn’t all there was between them. Nicole knew he was attracted to her, just as she was to him. And that’s what was crazy, because they could never have any kind of relationship. Jack’s presence in her life would be fleeting at best. And Nicole wasn’t interested in fleeting. She was interested in permanent.

“Are you sorry I came?” he asked softly. He reached over and touched her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it.

Something stirred deep in her belly. She swallowed. “No, I’m not sorry you came.”

He smiled. After a moment, Nicole smiled, too.

* * *

Jack had told her the truth. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from Nicole; he only knew he couldn’t walk away from her. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. He’d spent the entire day, after he’d dropped her off at work in the morning, trying to decide what to do next. Finally he’d sat down at the little table in the kitchen of his apartment, got out his notebook and reviewed all his notes.

Every lead had been followed. Every lead had turned up a dead end. There was no reason to stay on in New Orleans.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

How could he leave when the only concrete clue he had was Nicole’s uncanny resemblance to Elise Arnold?

He made a list of other angles he might try. The list was short: the Louisiana Bar Association, the public library for the phone books of other cities in Louisiana. He couldn’t think of anything else.

Nicole’s lively face kept interrupting his thoughts. Her dark eyes, filled with fire and intelligence kept interfering with his concentration. Her sassy walk, the enticing curve of her cheekbones, those captivating dimples, the cloud of glossy curls that covered her head—all these images recurred so often he finally tossed down his notebook in disgust.

He would try one more time. There
had
to be some kind of connection between Nicole and Elise. He
had
to persuade Nicole to help him.

The next thing he knew he was on his way to her office. But now that he had her in his car, he wasn’t sure what to do next. If he pushed her too hard, she might decide she wouldn’t talk to him anymore. But if he didn’t try to get her to help him, then he was just wasting time.

And he didn’t have that much time to waste. Gerald Crampton, his boss and the news director of World Press, had been reluctant to grant Jack open-ended leave.

“All you’ve got coming to you is four weeks,” he’d said, punctuating his words with an unlit cigar that seemed to be a permanent fixture between his right index and middle fingers.

“I may need more time, sir,” Jack had answered.

Crampton narrowed his eyes.

Jack smothered the temptation to smile. He and Crampton both knew Jack only called the older man “sir” when he wanted something.

“You’re pushin’ it, Forrester.”

Jack shrugged. “I may clear this up in a week. Or it may take the full four weeks. Or I may need longer.”

Crampton clamped the cigar in his mouth. When he spoke, he spoke around it, and the cigar bobbed with each word. “What if I tell you your job hinges on you bein’ back in four weeks?”

“Then I’d say I’m sorry you feel that way, but—” Jack left the sentence unfinished, and met Crampton’s dark-eyed gaze levelly. Jack knew Crampton was bluffing. It was an old game they played. Because they both knew Jack could write his own ticket anywhere. He was one of only a handful of investigative journalists so well respected in the industry that he constantly fended off other job offers. Tempting job offers.

But Jack didn’t want to leave World Press. He liked the organization, he agreed with their policies, and he especially liked working for Gerald Crampton.

Finally Crampton spoke. “If I were you, I’d get going while the going’s still good.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jack said and extended his right hand. When he walked away, he was smiling.

That conversation had taken place twelve days earlier. So two of Jack’s four weeks were already used up. He didn’t have a whole lot of time left.

Remembering this, he looked at Nicole again. She was turned away from him, staring out the window. Her full bottom lip was caught between her teeth as if she were concentrating very hard. What was she thinking? He wished she’d smile at him again. She had a wonderful smile, a ten in anyone’s book. “Have you thought about what I told you this morning?” he finally asked.

She turned her head. “Yes. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t seem to help myself.”

He grinned. “So I’ve got your curiosity stirred up, have I?”

Now she smiled, and Jack felt as if someone had just given him a gift. In the dusky interior of the car, he could see the gleam in her dark eyes. “You could say that,” she said softly.

Jack had a sudden, almost overwhelming desire to kiss her. And if he hadn’t been driving, he might have given in to the urge. So it was probably a very good thing he was driving, he told himself. Damn. It was hard to keep his mind on business when he was around Nicole. She had the kind of effect on him that he hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager with hormones gone wild.

Now, think, he lectured himself. Figure out a way to enlist her help. Because in a few minutes, it’ll be too late. You’re almost at her house.

When Jack turned on to Nicole’s street he still hadn’t decided just how he was going to get her to cooperate. He wasn’t even sure how to prolong their time together. But when he pulled into the driveway of the Reed-Douglas property, Nicole solved the first part of his problem for him.

“Would you like to come in and stay for supper?” she said as he turned off the ignition.

Jack couldn’t believe his good fortune. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t.”

“I’d love to, then.”

“You might be sorry. I’m not a very good cook.”

“Anything’s better than baloney-and-cheese sandwiches, which is about the extent of my cooking.”

“Well, okay. Come on.”

She didn’t wait for him to come around and open her door. She got out and walked around the back of the car. She pointed to the cottage at the back of the property. “That’s my place over there.”

He already knew that, but he didn’t remind her of it. He didn’t want her getting mad at him all over again. Not now when it looked as if she’d finally decided to be friendly.

“First I’ve got to collect my daughter from Margaret,” Nicole continued. “She baby-sits for me.”

So that little girl
had
been her daughter. Jack wondered where the father was, because Nicole definitely wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. He leaned back against his car. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“Okay.” Nicole walked over to the back steps of the Reed-Douglas house. The back porch light was on, and before she even had a chance to knock, Margaret Reed- Douglas opened the back door.

“Hi, Margaret. Is Aimee ready?” Nicole said.

“Hello, Nicole. Yes, she is.” Margaret looked over Nicole’s shoulder. “Oh, I see you and Mr. Forrester found each other.” She smiled and waved to Jack. “Hello, Mr. Forrester.”

Jack walked over to the porch. “Hello, Mrs. Reed-Douglas. It’s good to see you again.”

“Oh, please call me Margaret. Mrs. Reed-Douglas sounds so dreadfully stuffy.”

“Only if you’ll call me Jack,” he said. He walked up the steps and stood just behind Nicole.

The older woman smiled at him, and Jack thought how nice she was. Just the sort of woman you instinctively trusted. Nicole was lucky to have someone like Margaret to sit with her daughter.

“How would you both like to come in for a few minutes? Perhaps have a cocktail with me and Caldwell?”

“Thank you, Margaret, but Jack and I have a lot of catching up to do, so I think we’ll pass.” Nicole turned to look back at him. There was an unspoken plea in her dark eyes. “Don’t we, Jack?”

Jack echoed her excuse. He had no wish to have this nice woman and her equally nice husband discover that he hadn’t been quite honest with them when he’d met them over the weekend. And he had a feeling Nicole was through covering for him.

Margaret said, “Well, at least come in until I get Aimee.”

Jack saw no graceful way to refuse, so he followed Nicole into the large kitchen.

A few seconds later a beautiful little girl with silky blond hair and heart-melting Bambi eyes raced into the kitchen, Margaret not far behind. “Wait, Aimee. Here’s your jacket.”

“She doesn’t really need it,” Nicole said. She grinned and enfolded her daughter in her arms. “Hello, there, sweet-cheeks.” She nuzzled her daughter’s neck. “I smell peanut butter. Have you been eating peanut butter cookies again?” Margaret gave Nicole and Jack an apologetic look. “She loves them so.”

“Mommy, not so hard...” Aimee wriggled from Nicole’s grasp. She looked up at Jack and immediately put her right thumb into her mouth.

Nicole gently removed the thumb, and Aimee tried to hide behind Nicole’s back. “Aimee,
chere,
don’t be that way. Say hello to Mommy’s friend, Mr. Forrester.”

“Jack. My name is Jack,” he said, kneeling to Aimee’s height. “I’m very glad to meet you. So you’re Aimee.”

The thumb went back into her mouth, but she nodded. “And who’s this?” Jack touched the rag doll she clutched tightly in one arm.

Aimee mumbled something that sounded like
rabbity-ran.

“Now come on, sugar. Take your thumb out of your mouth, and say it right,” Nicole said.

The thumb came out slowly. “Raggedy Ann.”

“Oh! Raggedy Ann!” said Jack. “That’s a great name.” Aimee studied him gravely for a few seconds, then apparently deciding he was all right, gave him a dazzling smile.

Jack’s heart turned over. If he’d thought Nicole’s smile was a ten, then Aimee’s would have to be a twelve. The smile had made the most enchanting dimple form in her right cheek – inherited from her mother, obviously. Jack had always liked children, but he’d never had the opportunity to spend much time with them. For years he’d hoped Jenny and her husband, Kevin, would have children, because Jack figured with his life-style he’d probably never have any himself. But Jenny and Kevin were still childless after eight years of marriage, so he’d about given up hope. “I like your name, too,” he said to Aimee.

“My big name is Aimee Arlette Cantrelle,” Aimee said proudly. “After my grandma.”

The thought passed through Jack’s mind that Aimee wasn’t using her father’s name. He wondered why.

Nicole smoothed Aimee’s hair, her hand lingering on the child’s head. “My mother’s name is Arlette,” she explained.

Jack saw the love and pride in her possessive gesture. He knew that Aimee had a mother who loved her very much.

“Well, come on, let’s go,” Nicole said. She looked at Margaret. “Thank you, Margaret. I’ll see you in the morning.”