Barefoot in White (Barefoot Bay Brides) (29 page)

If he didn’t tell her, she would hate him. He would lose any chance he had with her.

He knew what he had to do. It was a no-brainer. He had to make a decision that would hurt him, but heal her. He had to make an unselfish decision this time.

Chapter Twenty-four

Willow rounded the harbor, crossing the street and jogging back toward her house with a strong, steady pace that matched the hard-rock selections she’d found on a Pandora station she loved for running. Sweat dribbled down her back, and her thighs burned for the last two miles, but she didn’t care.

She hadn’t run for days. She hadn’t done much of anything for a week and a half, except think about Nick, be with Nick, laugh with Nick, revise scenes with Nick, and find ever-more-innovative ways to give each other pleasure without…

It had to be soon. Somehow, they’d reached the agreement that “it” would happen when he finished the book. And since she hadn’t heard a word from him in two days, she had a sense that he was nearly at that point.

A familiar bass line started up the next song, and she could practically see the look of pain on Graham Senate’s face when he closed his eyes and played the chord, getting the expected scream from the crowd for Z-Train’s
Will Ya
,
Will Ya
.

She’d never hear the song again and not think of walking in on Nick, bare naked and belting out the worst version she’d ever heard. How far they’d come in these weeks since then. A warm, comfortable sensation filled her chest as she slowed her pace a little to hit the rhythm of Michael Brooker’s incredible drumbeat. She should tell Nick that “Uncle Mike” was her godfather. He’d love that.

And then Donny Z’s voice filled her ears with the low, long intro that got the song rocking. He played the part of a sex-crazy rock ’n’ roller so well, but Willow would bet everything she had and more that not once in their entire marriage had Donny Z even thought about cheating on his wife. How many rock stars could say that? In all those years. Thirty years. This month, she realized. Holy heck, in a week.

She didn’t hear her own voice softly singing the song, her father’s throaty, world-famous voice screaming in her ears.

She couldn’t help belting out the first stanza. “Gotta know if it’s real, gotta know if it’s forevah.”

“No foolin’ around, for worse or for bettah!” One strong arm wrapped around her from the back, making her stumble and yelp as someone pulled out one earbud and sang the next line right in her ear.

“Nick!” She half-laughed, half-shrieked as he turned her around and held her steady. And she needed that help, because every time she saw him, she felt a little bit weaker.

“You’re singing our song, baby.” He punctuated that with a kiss that lasted a few seconds too long.

“How’d you find me?”

“Gussie told me she saw you leave for a run, and I know your route.” He swiped some hair off her face. “God, you’re freaking hot when you sweat.”

She laughed softly. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Look at this face.” He pointed to his eyes. As if she needed the suggestion. She could look at his face for days. Months. More. “I haven’t slept yet.”

“Not at all?”

He gave her a slow, easy grin and tugged her a little closer. “But guess what I wrote?”

She knew. A tingling of warm expectation worked its way through her. “Tell me.”

“The two prettiest words in the English language.” He leaned closer to the ear without a bud in it. “The end.”

She leaned back, her mouth agape. “You did? How did it end?”

He swallowed visibly. “Badly. But only for me. I hope that means the book’s good.”

“Oh, Nick.” She reached up to cup his whisker-rough face in her hands. “Was it hard to write?”

“It was cathartic. And I have to thank you, Willow. You forced me to face some demons in the past, and in the process, I learned a few things.”

“Like?”

“Like sometimes a decision changes the course of your life, but you can’t spend the rest of it wallowing in regret. Writing about it, about how it all happened and why, that helped a lot.”

She stroked his cheek. “That’s good, Nick.”

He closed his eyes and pulled her closer. “You know what ‘the end’ also means, don’t you?”

Chills exploded down the nape of her neck. “And that means…”

He put the earbud in his right ear. “My heart’s right here…” Her father was singing the bridge notes. “Saved just for you.”

Nick put his mouth right over hers without kissing to sing, “So say yes, woman, that’s all you gotta do.”

Willow practically melted into the street, despite how horrifically off-key he was. “I really ought to get you to meet my dad someday. You’re such a fan.”

She could have sworn Nick froze at the suggestion. Probably from sheer excitement. She really should bite the bullet and see her dad. She could introduce them. The thought made her even dizzier, and by Nick’s expression, he felt the same.

“Does it mean that much to you to meet him?” she asked, a little amused and even in awe.

He didn’t answer as if the idea actually rendered him speechless.

She just laughed, but he surprised her by moving them along at a faster pace.

“What’s your hurry?” she asked.

He gave her a
get real
look. “We have
stuff
to do, Willow.”

She smiled. “Stuff? That’s what you call it?”

“A lot of stuff. You have to read and critique the end. I’m not sure about it, you know? I…told the truth.” His voice nearly cracked, and so did something in her chest at how hard that must have been for him. “And then I have to get things ready for us,” he added quickly.

She elbowed him. “What’s to get ready? Roses on the bed? Candles in the room? How epic do you want this deflowering to be?”

“Epic,” he replied. “What’s your schedule today?”

“Light on my end, but Gussie and Ari have a lot to do for Misty’s wedding next weekend. You didn’t forget about that, did you?” she asked with a laugh. “It was the reason you’re here.”

He closed his eyes as if the very idea pained him. “I did not forget.”

“When’s Misty getting in? Has she told you?”

“Sometime in the next few days.” As they reached the driveway of her house, he slowed his step and gave her a long, serious look. Maybe too serious.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Willow, about the wedding…” He looked away, clearly gathering his thoughts.

“Don’t worry, Nick. I know it’s the last thing on your mind, and I’ll never tell Misty how much you didn’t do. We had enough instructions to pull this thing off. Honestly, it’s such a small affair, and she seems to care so little about the details…” That wasn’t what was bothering him. Because whether or not they had lace napkins or the right wedding favors wouldn’t put that look of—pain? worry?—something dark in his eyes. “What’s the matter, Nick?”

He took her hands, one in each of his, and pulled her closer. “Maybe we should wait for, you know, until after the wedding.”

Wait? She bit her lip, mostly to keep from screaming.

“I want to be sure that everything is right, the timing, the place, and, well, us.”

She wasn’t sure what that had to do with the wedding, or what needed to be any “righter” about them. Every time they touched and kissed, one or both of them exploded. In fact, she may be a virgin, but she wasn’t dumb. Not having sex would be strange at this point, considering how intimate they’d been.

“If we waited,” he continued, “then you could be sure it’s me you want.”

What else did she need to say or do for him to know? “Nick, I
am
sure.”

“You might change your mind, and then you’d have lost your virginity to me and—”

She clamped a hand over his mouth and got very close to him, narrowing her eyes in a pretend warning. “If you turn me down again, Nick Hershey, after all we’ve been through, you will break my heart into a million pieces. You don’t want to break my heart, do you?”

He kissed her fingertips. “That’s just it. I don’t want to, and I’m afraid I will.”

She searched his face, trying to figure that out. Why did he think that having sex would break her heart?

Because he assumed she’d want…more. And this was the guy who was willing to not ever get married in case he ended up in a loveless union like his parents.

“From the beginning, Nick, I’ve told you that I wanted to lose my virginity. And I want to lose it with you. I’m not asking for anything more.” More would be nice…but she wasn’t going to give up sex with him to get “more” in writing.

“I know, I know, but you deserve…better.” His voice hitched a little, nearly undoing her.

“There is no better,” she said softly, lifting up on her toes to kiss him. “And let me make you this promise.”

He looked at her expectantly and unsure. “What?”

“I promise that no matter what happens, no matter how we feel afterward, or what the future holds or doesn’t, I will not blame any unhappiness on you. You’ve been amazing, carrying me through each step like you really, truly cared about me—”

“I do.”

She put her finger on his lips. “I know. You’ve proven that. So no matter what happens, I will know that everything you’ve done is because you care about me.”

“That’s so true, Willow.” He sounded desperately sincere, and it touched her.

“Then don’t worry. I couldn’t give my virginity to a more special man, and I couldn’t be happier.” She stepped back and held out her hand. “Now give it to me.”

“What?”

“The thumb drive with the rest of your book.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “How do you know I have it?”

“Please. I know you. Give.”

He reached into his pocket and took out the tiny drive and put it in her palm, closing his much larger hand around hers. “You really promise that, Willow? No matter what happens, you know that every single thing I’ve done or, for that matter, not done, is because I really care about you. You promise to believe that?”

“I promise.” She eased her hand out of his and looked at the drive. “Is this going to make me cry?”

“That’s not,” he said. But then he looked at her like he was finishing that sentence in his head. The book wouldn’t make her cry, but something would.

Was he going to leave her and break her heart? Maybe. Probably. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop the way she felt about him any more than she could stop breathing.

“I’ll be over tonight,” she told him. “Get the rose petals and candles ready.”

He smiled and watched her as she walked into the house, knowing that he was trying to let her down gently and that this brief sexual interlude was all they were ever going to have. She squeezed the thumb drive, holding tight to the little piece of him she did have.

It would have to be enough, then.

* * *

Trying to stay busy, Nick made some arrangements and phone calls and didn’t finish until he had everything he needed for tonight to be perfect.

Except the one thing he needed most: the balls to tell Willow the truth.

He paced the villa, in and out of the patio, staring at the horizon, digging his fingers into his hair and dragging his hand back with each heavy sigh. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t lay Willow down on that bed and make love to her and a few days later have her find out that he was the world’s biggest dick…for “her own good.”

She hated to be manipulated, and that’s exactly what he would be doing. Still, her father’s words echoed, so familiar since they’d been haunting him for ten days.

So who has more at stake?

Willow. Willow was the one who had the most at stake.

A young man trying to get laid…
No. He wasn’t a young man trying to get laid, despite what Donny Z thought. Nick’s game with Willow had gone way past a “favor” to help her lose her virginity to something…more.

…with the least amount of white water before he ships off to his next assignment and has nothing but a memory of a nice month on the beach…

Donny was wrong there, too. Nick didn’t care about creating “white water” because there didn’t have to be any if he told her the truth. Nothing but a memory of a nice month on the beach? Sorry, but they’d sailed past
nice
a few weeks ago. He cared about her. Deeply.

…or a family that desperately needs and wants old heartaches to disappear?

Wasn’t there a better way than ambushing her? Man, how could he have been so blind? He not only had to tell Willow, he had to help her deal with the shrapnel to the heart after the Z-bomb detonated. But how? When?

Tonight, of course. But he knew what he had to do first.

He moved like a man going into combat, certain and fast. Grabbing his phone, he clicked onto the Internet, got the phone number he needed, and dialed.

“Ritz-Carlton Naples, how can I direct your call?”

They’d never connect him if he asked for a celebrity, but he distinctly remembered the room number when he and Misty had visited. “Suite 1601, please.”