Nobody's Business (Nobody Romances) (21 page)

And how exactly would he take the news?

Her father's voice chastised from the Great Beyond. Don't
do it, baby. You know how people react to your celebrity. Before long, he'll be looking for handouts and favors.

But Marc's logic argued, He works for Ace Riordan, Lynnie. If he wanted to take advantage of someone's wealth and
celebrity, Ace is a much better target. I know you're scared,
but don't let your fears cloud your judgment. Go for this. You've been alone too long. I never expected you to mourn me
forever.

Her brain spun in a vacuum of questions and self-doubt.
Whose advice should she heed this time?

Me, Dad insisted.

Marc only blew exasperated air in her ear in reply.

"Almost there." Doug's voice pierced the fog of ghosts. He
led her inside the locker room for the Andiron Condominium
residents, past the row of locked skis and wooden benches meant
for removing gear, to the automatic doors that would take them
to the bank of elevators.

The hallway's creamy walls, cut crystal sconces, and taupe
carpet wore a tired air. Or maybe Lyn's mental calisthenicsjumping from this life to the other side and back again-had
exhausted her senses. By the time the elevator doors opened,
she'd made up her mind. She'd tell Doug the truth tonight. Not
during dinner-the man had a tough enough time dealing with
his prosthesis and utensils. Add this bombshell, and his head
would probably explode.

Okay, that was a weak excuse. But courage didn't just magically appear because she'd decided to follow Marc's advice
this time. So she'd cling to her anonymity for as long as possible. Feel Doug out about a few things before she spilled her
guts. Like if he could forgive someone who'd deceived him
since their first meeting.

The elevator doors slid open, and Doug placed his hand
against the jamb until she boarded, then pushed the button for
the fourth floor. Her belly flipped as the car jerked for the ascent. Through the veil of her lashes, she studied the man beside her. Would he forgive her? Would he be willing to move
into something a little more than friends? What if he decided
he couldn't become involved with her? Because she'd lied? Or
because of who she really was?

God, she was such a mess over him. How had he managed to
pierce her armor in such a short time? Simply standing close
to him released butterflies through her bloodstream. She became a teenager again, hoping her crush would ask her to the
prom. Not that she'd ever gone to the prom. Bouncing from ski resort to ski resort, her adolescence wasn't exactly the normal suburban upbringing.

She'd known Marc on the circuit for years before considering a real date with him. They'd cultivated a friendship first.
Of course, she'd been fourteen when they first met, and Dad
never strayed from her side on social occasions in those days.
Still, she'd been given ample opportunity to know Marc and
become comfortable with him before they were ever alone
together. They'd shared the spotlight, the ski world, and all
that their fame and money could provide. Theirs had been a
charmed life, a charmed romance, a charmed marriage. Too
short, but charmed.

Doug, on the other hand, was an entirely different animal-in
physical stature, in background, in interests, and probably in
the financial realm. Yet, he had won her over in less than a day.
Simply by being who he was. The one quality he had in common with Marc, a lack of guile. No ulterior motives that Dad
would fret about. With both men, what she saw was what she
got. In many ways, he saw himself as ruined, imperfect without his right arm. Perhaps that was why he appealed to her. He
shook her out of the cocoon she'd wrapped around her heart,
made her realize that, like him, she'd allowed her loss to paint
her as broken. Useless.

With Doug, she woke up after years of some sleep-life. A
grief coma. No wonder the town called her the mourning glory.
All the old platitudes murmured for years by well-meaning
friends and relatives ran through her head.

Get back on the horse.

Just because Marc died doesn't mean you did.

And her personal favorite from, naturally, April. You don't
just take a chance when you play Monopoly, kiddo.

Well, apparently, she was finally ready to take that chance
again.

The elevator's chimes announced they'd reached their destination, and the doors slid open.

As she followed him down another tired cream-colored
hallway, she bolstered her reserve. Yes. She'd tell him tonight.
Take a chance. Dare to grab for another shot at love.

Inside the condo, when Doug took her coat and turned toward the storage rack, Lyn's gaze lit on his makeshift office
setup on the kitchen counter. Despite her numb fingers and icy
cheeks, she bypassed the warm living room with its cozy furniture and gas fireplace. She headed straight for the laptop,
printer, and other paraphernalia. "You've been working?"

In three long-legged strides, he cut her off before she could
round the counter's edge. "Just testing out my prosthesis."

And obviously embarrassed by whatever clumsy attempts
he'd made. Well, she'd have to put him at ease. Assure him she
wouldn't belittle him for his struggles.

"That's wonderful." She pushed past him. "Show me what
you've done."

With one quick motion, he grabbed the sheaf of papers near
the printer and stuffed them into a manila folder.

She pretended not to notice and focused instead on the tiny
microphone and headset near the mousepad. "Ooh." She ran a
finger over the slender black cord. "The system is voiceactivated?"

"Uh-huh. I've been trying to work with both the fake arm
and the voice software. When one frustrates me, I switch to
the other."

Working his way back to normaljust like her. "When did
you get all this?"

"I ordered it the night you pushed me in the snow."

He did? A thrill rippled through her, dissolving all doubt.
She whirled and wrapped her hands around his waist. "I'm so
proud of you!"

Surprise knocked him off-balance for a breath. But on the
next inhale his arm snaked around her hips. She snuggled closer,
fitting so perfectly in his embrace-even if he couldn't hold her
with both arms. She tilted her head up, caught the warm glow in
his eyes. Inside her rib cage, her heart melted to a puddle of goo.
Every smile, every touch they'd shared had roused her attraction,
drawing her to him like a moth.

He bent and touched his lips to hers. She welcomed his invasion, mouth parting under the slightest pressure. His breath,
sweet and cool, melded with hers. Her arms rose as he deep ened the kiss. Even through the layers of clothing he still wore,
she swore she felt his heartbeat. Or perhaps she felt her own,
straining to burst from her chest.

The world tilted, stealing the breath from her lungs, and she
broke the contact on a sharp inhale. Her thumb lightly traced
the pale scar that marred his right cheek. "Is this from the accident too?"

He stiffened and stepped out of her embrace. "Yeah," he
said flatly. "The accident."

His bitterness tinged the air, turning a sweet moment into a
sour memory. Her fault. She had to tread softly around what
had happened to him. Eventually, she hoped, he'd understand
she didn't care about his missing limb. And because she didn't
care, the handicap would become less devastating to him.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I shouldn't have asked."

Opening the drawer to his left, he pulled out a cordovan
leather-bound book embossed with the words In House Dining in gold. "Here. Choose a meal based on cuisine or restaurant. I'll just be a few minutes."

She smiled shyly. "Okay if I play with your equipment for a
while?"

"Huh?"

Her fingers threaded through the voice appliance cords,
dangled them near his face. "This," she said on a giggle.

"Oh. Umm . . ." His complexion paled. "I don't have internet access up here. I'm only testing this stuff on documents."

"That's fine. I want to see how it works. Maybe Richie can
find it in the budget to add a few of these voice programs to
Ski-Hab's occupational therapy program next year."

"There's something that confuses me. I would think companies would be lining up to get involved in a program like SkiHab. Yet, Mrs. Bascomb said she and her dime bag group raised
the funds for some of the equipment. You said this Winter Wonderland we're going to raises money for Ski-Hab. And Kerri-Sue
mentioned there's a community fund-raiser every summer. Why
put the burden on the townspeople? Has Richie ever tried just
approaching companies for sponsorship, rather than relying on
the residents?"

"He prefers not to. Too much involvement from outside interests might compromise the program's goals." Her beliefs, not
Richie's, though the entire Ski-Hab staff tended to agree. Unfortunately, lying about these details only added to her list of sins
against Doug, weighing down her heart. The sooner she told
him the truth, the better. In fact, she thought, as she flipped open
the book of menus, she'd call for the quickest and easiest meal
she could get to push the evening along.

Exhausted and sweaty, Doug craved a shower. But could he
risk taking the time while Lyn played around with his laptop?
Craning his neck, he took a deep whiff of his armpit. Phew.
Yeah, he had to roll those dice. No way he could sit downwind
from her in his current state. He raced to the bathroom, turned
the showerhead on full blast, and stripped. Without waiting
for the water to fully heat up, he ducked inside the shower stall
and scrubbed himself clean in record time. All the while he
soaped and rinsed, his mind ticked off time.

What was she looking at now? Worried that Ace would try to
check up on him, he'd password-coded his article-in-progress
and all his notes about Brooklyn. Thank God. Without the internet adapter, she couldn't check his recent online searches. So,
really, he had nothing to worry about. Still, he finished the
shower, skipped the shave, and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.
When he returned to the kitchen area, barefoot because he didn't
want to waste time with socks and shoes, she still sat in front of
the laptop. She'd perched the headset behind her ears, and the
tiny microphone sat a whisper from her lips.

She looked up at his entrance and frowned. "There's still a
few bugs in this, huh?"

"You've got that mic too close." As he pushed the microphone
an inch farther away from her mouth, his fingertip brushed her
soft lips.

"Oh." On a shiver, she drew back.

"Try it now." He leaned over her shoulder, inhaling the spicy
scent of her skin, clothes, and hair. Cinnamon and cider. Like
her inn. Warm, inviting.

"Wh-what should I say?" She'd barely uttered the words when the cursor started typing them onto her document. "Oh,
look. It's working!" Her laughter rippled down his spine like a
silken ribbon. "This is amazing. I've got to talk to Richie
about this software."

He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed the top of
her head. "You're amazing."

"Why do you say that?" She whirled away from the screen,
and wound up nose-to-nose with him.

Surrendering to temptation, he brushed his lips across her
cheek, then her mouth.

Pulling away, she shivered again, this time while a smile lit
up her face. In one smooth motion, she removed the headset
and dropped it on the table beside the laptop. She traced the
stubble of his jaw with her fingertip. "You were about to tell
me why I'm amazing," she murmured.

His eyes locked on hers. "I've never met someone so passionate about a program. Tell me about your role in Ski-Hab.
You must have a pretty powerful reason to be so concerned."
Like a skeleton in your closet.

She turned away quickly, but not before he caught the clouds
in her eyes. "That's boring stuff. Let's order dinner." Her index
finger drew lazy curls on his prosthetic hand. "I could really go
for a burger and fries, if that's okay with you."

A burger and fries? Hardly the food of the gods and certainly
not a meal known for setting a mood of give-and-take. He
watched her finger on his hand and suddenly understood. She
requested the pedestrian food so he might avoid the issue of
using silverware with his prosthesis. How could he possibly
argue with her?

"Sounds perfect."

After dinner, they called the local taxi service for a ride to the
Winter Wonderland. Just as Lyn had predicted, Larry appeared
at the resort ten minutes later.

"Well, well," the cabbie remarked. "You're Lyn's new `friend,'
eh? Doug, right? I took you to Winterberry's the other night.
Lyn, how'd you like the meal?"

"Delicious, Larry." As Doug opened the cab's passenger door, she flashed him a knowing smirk. "What can I say? It's
a gift."

One of many she had. When Doug slid onto the black vinyl
seat beside her, warm air blasted his face. The old geezer must
have cranked the car's heat above eighty degrees.

Larry leaned over the front seat, his gaze locked on Lyn.
"Your boyfriend there couldn't decide what to get that night.
Seemed to me he fretted he wouldn't make you happy."

Doug attempted an argument, but Lyn squeezed his hand
and replied, "Good thing he had you to help him out."

"Dang straight," Larry agreed. "Heard he sent you flowers
the next day."

She flashed her blinding smile in Doug's direction. "Yes,
that's true."

At last, Larry faced forward again and shifted the cab into
drive. "What kind of flowers?"

"Red roses and purple irises."

In the rearview mirror, he flashed Doug a thumbs-up. "Nice
touch. That's the mark of a true gentleman. You could do a lot
worse, Lynnie."

"Gee, thanks," Doug remarked dryly.

"Actually, Larry," Lyn said, "I couldn't do much better."

"Is that a fact?" Larry asked.

"No," Doug replied.

At the very same moment, Lyn said, "Dang straight."