Charming You (Thirsty Hearts Book 1) (18 page)

M
icky woke
up with pleasant soreness in her muscles that signaled having had wonderfully enthusiastic sex the night before. She reached across the bed before she even opened her eyes. The other side was cold and empty. Would he have left without saying goodbye? She sat up. Nick's shirt was in a pile on the floor next to his shoes. Micky exhaled and hugged the sheets to her body before falling back against her pillows and pulling the sheets over her face.

"Are you still asleep?" Nick's voiced rolled over her just before she heard the pit-pat of Ophelia coming into the room and felt the thump of her jumping up on the bed. When Micky lowered the sheet, she was face to snout with her usual bedtime companion, who was panting, tailwagging, and starting to whine in that way she did to get Micky out of bed on the weekends.

"Someone needs a breath mint," Micky said, sitting up and petting the brown-eyed hound on her domed head.

Nick laughed. "I made breakfast." He looked proud. And hot. His bare chest narrowed to tight, hard abs that lead her eyes to the jeans slung low on his strong hips. She was hungry. For what, she couldn't determine. Two urges tugged at her psyche. She could peel those jeans down like she had the night before. She wondered how long it would take to get him hard again. Nick cleared his throat as he leaned over the bed. "I said, I made breakfast. You keep looking at me like that, and it'll get cold."

Micky blushed as her eyes met his. The electricity between them could power her house for a year. The sound of her rumbling stomach filled the silence.

Now, she laughed. "Just like me to let my need of a meal ruin a good thing."

Nick grabbed her arms and pulled her up. The sheet fell away and Micky heard Nick's sharp intake of breath as he looked down at her breasts.

"Let me grab my robe." She stepped around him, but not before giving him a sharp slap on the ass.

Nick had indeed made a breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee. Micky sat at the small, four-top table in her bright white kitchen. He'd managed to find everything he needed and make two plates of food which he picked up off the creamy granite countertop and brought to her.

"I hope you're okay with eggs. I got a little hungry, and I didn't want to get too fancy since I didn't know where everything is. Come to my place, and I'll make you the best pancakes."

"Impossible. Because I make the best pancakes," she countered. "With blueberries. And real maple syrup."

"Real?" Nick asked.

"Has to be real. No Log Cabin. No Mrs. Butterworth's."

"You feel very strongly about your syrup. You're a fan of vodka martinis and olives. What other food proclivities should I know about?"

"I'm enjoying your scrambled eggs. Thanks for making breakfast." Nick had chosen to sit next to her at her light green, country-styled table. He looked at ease and comfortable, which made Micky smile, but also made her stomach twist with nerves—or maybe it wasn't nerves. He was still shirtless. She refocused on their conversation. "What about you? Your own stance on the question of syrup? Favorite breakfast food?"

"I'm withholding my decision until I taste these blueberry pancakes."

"Not fair."

"I'm intrigued." Nick grinned.

"You've got to give me something," Micky demanded.

"Bacon. I love bacon. I looked for bacon, but all I saw was turkey bacon."

"Yeah, that's not real bacon. I think that's left over from when one of my college friends came to visit a few months ago. Just as well you didn't cook it. It probably would have sent us to the hospital. I should throw it away. You've caught me with strange old food in my fridge."

"At least you have food. I have to admit that if you were at my place, we might be having a breakfast of ketchup and beer."

"When do you make these famous pancakes?"

Nick laughed. "Not that often. I have to prepare them for when I have special company. The last time I made them I got rave reviews from a couple of very discerning little girls."

"That's so sweet. You're a good uncle."

"I wish I had more time to spend with them," he said. "I was so focused on making partner over the past couple of years, I let some more important things slide."

"You're on your way, though."

"I am."

Nick's words clipped and his lips pressed into a thin line. Micky could tell that he took his work as seriously as she did hers.

"That determination comes at a cost, doesn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Regrets." Micky sighed and wished she hadn't dragged the conversation down. Nick poked uncomfortably at his scrambled eggs.

"I have a few of those. Getting my name on the door has taken over me life." Micky saw the rueful look in his eyes and sensed him drifting away.

"Is that what ruined your engagement?" she ventured.

Nick shrugged. "A lot of things went wrong there."

"You regret it?"

"No. I don't regret that it's over. I regret that I didn't stop to notice that we were both unhappy."

"I know what you mean. Work takes over and you get blind spots."

"That's exactly it. Blind spots." For a brief moment, Micky considered telling Nick about Eric, but couldn't do it. The weight of the conversation threatened to suffocate the pleasure of the moment. Bringing up his fiancée? What had she been thinking?

"You know what we need?" she asked, changing the topic as quickly as possible.

"What?"

"Mimosas. I think I have a bottle of champagne and some OJ in the fridge."

"I didn't peg you for a morning drinker."

"I'm not, but if this conversation gets any more depressing, you may never come back. And I have to get a taste of those pancakes."

"I'll be back. No question," he stated. Resolution jolted in his voice and electrified the tension in the air. He stared at her with an incomprehensible look in his eyes.

Micky had wanted to lighten the mood. Instead, the air felt thick with unspoken desire and the weight of the past.

"Good. I still want mimosas. You want one?"

An easy grin spread across his face. "Sure."

Micky jumped up and busied herself mixing a pitcher of the morning cocktail. She poured the golden results into two highball glasses and set them on the table.

Nick sipped his. "You make a mean mimosa."

"I take brunch seriously."

"Then, you'll definitely have to come to my place one weekend so we can have our pancake battle royale. You can mix up another batch of these."

"Deal."

Micky warmed at the easy way he included her in his future plans. The apprehension she felt when she'd awakened alone was gone. Nick was a good guy. Straightforward. It made her realize how blind she'd been about Eric. This is what it looked like when a man wants you in his life.

After they finished eating, she picked up their dishes and headed for the sink.

"I can clean up after myself," he said. He grabbed the pan off the stove, turned and walked up behind her, sliding the pan into the sink of bubbly water Micky had started to prepare.

"I'm not going to make you cook and clean. The chef gets a break."

Nick wrapped his arms around her waist and bent down to kiss her neck.

"Let's both take a break."

Micky leaned back into him as he untied her robe. Nick slipped his hand inside. The gentle scrape of his palms on her nipples made her toes curl. She sighed and pushed away from the sink. As she turned around in Nick's arms, drops of water flew everywhere. The rubber gloves she'd put on dripped on the floor. She held them up.

"I don't suppose I'm going to need these."

"No, that's not the glove we're going to need." He kissed her as she peeled them off, letting them drop to the floor. Micky grabbed both sides of his face, reveling in the taste of him. By the time, they got back to her bedroom, her robe was gone—somewhere in the hallway.

"How is it I'm always naked before you are?"

Nick swept his hands up the backs of her thighs and squeezed her ass.

"I'm just lucky, I guess." He tumbled her backward onto the bed.

Micky felt pretty lucky herself right about now.

N
ick's knees
trembled as he drove home, going extra slow to compensate for the angst in his limbs and the restlessness of his mind. Maybe it was some kind of spirit possession. That alone would explain how he'd run headlong into this shitstorm.

He didn't regret sleeping with Micky. He'd never regret it no matter what happened. He regretted that Micky thought he was free and clear since his engagement was over. Worse, he'd happily used her. For that, he had regret. Sure, that was before he knew her, but she wouldn't see it that way.

Still, of all the messes he sunk himself into, none made him as giddy as this one. He thought back to the last time he'd spent the night with a woman besides his ex-fiancée.

Despite accusations from sister and his friends that he'd been a work-obsessed hermit, Nick had seen a few women regularly for mutually enjoyable, but miscellaneous, sex to ease his stress. He contrasted that with his sex life with Vivienne. Sleeping with her had fizzled more often than sizzled. Somehow throughout that relationship, he forgot how much women could enjoy sex. Or how much more satisfying it was when they did.

With those other women, however, the second he felt release, he would eye the door and countdown the seconds until he could leave. Not that he had any problem sticking around with the right woman. He just didn't have the capacity to pretend those liaisons were ever going to be any more than one or two night stands.

He was polite and never lied, but mentally, he left the bed so fast, there were virtual skid marks. Luckily, most of them seemed relieved to see him go, which only depressed him more.

Nick pictured Micky's soft cheek on his shoulder. He could practically feel her warm breath on his neck and how the curve of her hip fit neatly against him. He'd have stayed there for weeks if he could have.

But he couldn't.

No. He had to go to work and somehow extricate himself from the unethical maneuvering that had been his idea in the first place. His foot pressed harder on the gas pedal as if he could outrun the shame chasing him home.

Nick ached when he thought of how she'd looked at him in her kitchen. Micky deserved better than who he'd been, but Nick knew he could be the man she needed—the man she thought him to be.

A
fter having such a great weekend
, Micky found it hard to plow back into work on Monday, but she had an incredibly busy week with the countdown to Paris now under three weeks. Unfortunately, this meant she would have little time to see Nick.

When she got into the elevator at work, she half hoped to run into him—although she knew the likelihood of his being in the building before 7:00 a.m. was pretty low. She pressed the button for her floor and remembered his tousled hair, the light morning stubble, and his crystal green eyes gazing at her from the pillow next to hers after they'd had sex a second time.

Her body tingled, filling her with an absolute craving for him. She thought about the pace of things and vowed to keep getting to know him outside of the bedroom. She wanted to build something more than just the sexual relationship before the oxytocin made her any mushier than she was already getting.

The elevator doors opened, and she found Taryn in the lobby just ahead of her carrying two containers of coffee.

"Hey, hey, Taryn! How was your weekend?" Taryn turned and launched into work mode.

"Good, I suppose. I went back and forth with Larry to get all of the keynote presentations in the right format and find the right videos. I know the guys in France said they uploaded them to the Dropbox, but some are missing, and…" Taryn stopped. "Wait. What's wrong with me? How was yesterday? How's the man?" She delivered the last question in low tones as Micky caught up with her, and she handed the other woman one of the cups of coffee in her hand. Taryn was the best. She always stopped to get Starbucks for two before these early mornings in the office.

"Good. Really good. Maybe too good," Micky replied. "No, not too good. Just the right amount of good."

"You look happy."

"I am. Scary I know."

"Stay positive," Taryn said. "You should invite him to France. What better place to have your first official rendezvous?"

"Tempting," Micky admitted, not commenting on the "first" part. "There's no way he could just take off for a week."

"You've thought about it?" Micky stayed silent and twisted her mouth to the side. "You have!"

"A girl can fantasize. You'll be there with Jeff. And it's Paris! If one more person tells me how romantic it is, I'm going to pass out."

"Ask him."

"You're out of your mind."

Taryn laughed. "Maybe."

They hunkered down in the largest conference room on their floor to go over everything that needed to be shipped, everything that was being sourced locally to avoid shipping and customs delays, and finalize the layout for the demonstration area to be set up in the ballroom adjoining their large general session area. Micky loved coming up with the event themes, creating the multimedia, scripting presentations, and many of the other high-level activities, but the hundreds of tiny details involved with an event always drove her crazy. Thankfully, Taryn was there to dot all the "i's" and cross all the "t's."

A few hours into the day, the phone on the conference room table buzzed, and Micky answered.

"There's a delivery for you at the front desk, Micky," Brittany said. Micky excused herself. As soon as she turned the corner down the hallway to reception, she could see a bouquet of flowers sitting on the lobby desk. Micky smiled. Nick was at it again. This time, he sent her a gorgeous mix of long-stemmed lavender and creamy white roses.

"Do I need to sign for them?"

"Yeah, right here." Brittany pointed to the delivery sheet. "More flowers. Things must be going well with your hot date."

"They are," Micky admitted. She carried the flowers to her office, and then opened the card, revealing Nick's sweeping script.

Micky smiled. Jenny Babcock was an idiot. She picked up the phone and called Nick. The call went to voicemail.

"I got your beautiful delivery. If you keep this up, people are going to think I'm sending flowers to myself like that girl in
Clueless
. What guy could be this charming?" she asked. "I had a great time this weekend. I hope to see you this week. I'll try you back later. I…" Micky halted. For a brief second, the words "I love you," almost flew out of her mouth. Wherever that urge came from, she needed to get a handle on it. "I, uh, will talk to you later. Bye."

She took a deep breath and walked back to the conference room.

"Was it the USB drives?" Ben asked.

"No. It was something for another project." Taryn raised her eyebrows.

"Alright, whatever. If we're done going over all the shipments, let's go through the run of show for the opening general session. Micky, Taryn, go," he ordered.

"Do you have the master file Taryn prepared?" Micky asked, focusing on the computer screen and task in front of her. "Let's start on page four, actually, with the pre-show events that morning. The main breakfast buffet opens in Pavilion One at 7:00 a.m. The VIP breakfast with the CEO and the partner companies' execs is on the third floor. It's invitation only, and the client's event manager will be ensuring there are no party crashers. All of the attendees with access to the VIP events will have blue badges."

Micky finished the agenda overview and then turned it over to Taryn to go through the run of show—the general session plan complete with instructions on when the lights go up, when videos get played, who introduces which speakers, and a host of other details.

Everything had to be timed down to the minute so they hit their breaks on time, got to lunch on time, and finished the afternoon conference sessions without running over. The attendees need time in the early evening to prepare for their dinner event—a semi-formal cruise on the Seine. They had to get everyone to the boat on time. Things had to run like clockwork.

She and Taryn always built some slack in the schedule to plan for the long-winded presenter who ignores the signals to wrap up, transportation that shows up late, and then just the general meandering crowd. Most of the time, it was like herding cats.

"We need to get a final head count for the cruise and the hotel. Tony, you're on the line? Can you give us an update on registrations?" Micky directed her question to the conference phone on the center of the table.

Tony's voice then filled the room. "We're at 821 registrants, and talking with sales, they have a total of 40 or so more that they expect to register. Of those, we have 160 VIPs. Factoring in cancellations and last minute changes, I'd say 150 is close to the final count for the VIP dinner."

The team went through the rest of the show plans and logistics, with Ben pressing on every detail. He was a stickler for getting everything right.

When they finally finished, Taryn followed Micky back to her office. Micky was plugging her laptop back into its docking station when Taryn erupted. "Flowers again? These are even more beautiful than last week. Nick is putting on the full court press. And you haven't even plied him with nookie yet." Micky said nothing, and Taryn gasped.

"Seriously? You didn't! I thought you were taking it slow."

"Well, one of the times was kind of slow."

"Good for you. I think you needed a little rumble in the sack. I thought you were worried about getting too attached too quickly?"

"I was. I still am. I just couldn't help it. The weather was bad on Saturday night, and after he drove me home, I couldn't just send him out in the ice. So, I invited him in."

"Apparently. Did you lay out a welcome mat for your cooch?" Taryn snorted with laughter, and Micky blushed. Taryn always had a much bawdier sense of humor than she did—which Micky would admit she enjoyed.

"Funny," Micky said, rolling her eyes. "Look, I still get freaked out about how fast this is moving. I wonder if I'm making the same mistakes, but he's not Eric. He's not sneaking around. I've met his family. However it goes from here, I'm not his dirty little secret. I'm trying to go with it."

"Was it fun? You look like it was really…" Taryn paused and grinned, "fun. You walked in this morning like you'd hit the lottery over the weekend. I should've known."

"It was better than fun," Micky admitted. Then, she gave Taryn her own grin. "That's all I'm going to say. We're at work! We have stuff to do."

"Fine. I don't need details. I want them. I'm dying for them, but you keep holding out on me. Maybe I should send you flowers."

Micky threw a paper clip at her friend.

"I'm a lady."

"Whatever, Ms. Hot Pants." Taryn affected a poor imitation of Micky's voice. "'I couldn't just send him home!' Who was it who said if you have to tell people you're a lady then you aren't?" Taryn trailed off.

Micky threw another paper clip and laughed. She felt her phone buzz and looked down. Nick was calling her back. She turned the phone toward Taryn so she could who was calling." Get the hell out of my office or I really will call HR this time."

Taryn picked up both paper clips in front of her and tossed them back at Micky before giving her a thumbs up and leaving the office.

"Hi, Nick," Micky answered.

"Hello, Micky. You got my delivery?"

"I did. Thank you. They're gorgeous."

"I'm glad. I had a wonderful time this weekend, and I know you're swamped, but if you have time to go down to the deli and grab a sandwich this week, I'm right upstairs."

"I think I can find time to squeeze in a sandwich. No time today, but maybe Wednesday? I'm off-site all day tomorrow packing boxes in our warehouse. I lead a glamorous life like that."

"I'm sure it'll seem more glamorous when you're in Paris in a few weeks."

"It should." Micky thought about inviting him to France. It was so impulsive. Would he think she was pushy? Or, worse—crazy? She'd have to think it over, and she definitely didn't want to ask him over the phone. She chewed her bottom lip in contemplation and heard the ringing of another phone through the connection.

"Hey, that's my office line. I need to get this. Just wanted to say hello, and…" For once, Nick sounded nervous. "I missed you last night. I may not sleep right all week."

"I missed you too. I know you've got to go. I'll call you Wednesday."

Micky hung up, smiling. She spent the rest of the day floating through her meetings, buoyed by the thought that he'd missed her.

R
ick Calabro proved
quick and thorough in his investigation. The PI provided background on each of the eight Speedy Tech employees and their immediate families. Nick didn't recognize any of the names, but he hoped Vivienne might. Then, he could put an end to Vivienne's pestering and a bow on their relationship. He arrived at her studio doorstep resolute and with the report printed in duplicate.

An hour later, he started having doubts about whether they'd ever get to the bottom of who blackmailed his ex-fiancée.

"None of these names look familiar at all? Not any of the families? None of the places they've worked?"

"No. Trust me. I'm as frustrated as you are." She chewed her lip. "Maybe Oliver Armstrong. He worked as a caddy. Maybe he came across my dad or Jonah?"

"At a muni? Your father and your brother don't strike me as public golf course types."

"I know," Vivienne whined, throwing her face into her hands. "That's the only one. And he left his job about four months ago. That would be around the time of the first note."

"True, but that's also when he finished trade school. And I'm not sure he even would have been working there yet. Let's go through the names one more time. Maybe something will hit you this time."

"Fine, but we need to hurry. Jonah is swinging by, and we're heading up the street for dinner."

Nick started at the beginning again with Oliver Armstrong and went through the list, one by one.

"Next is Trevor Sit…How do you pronounce that again?" Nick asked, puzzled by "Sitges."

"Sit-jes or chez. It's kind of in between the two."

"How do you know that?"

"It's a city in Spain, south of Barcelona."

"Sit-chez," Nick pronounced again.

A smooth voice interjected from the doorway to the office. "What about Sitges? Planning a trip? Not your honeymoon, I know."

Vivienne jumped nearly a foot out of her chair as her brother Jonah strolled in.

"No. It's just someone's name. You're early."

"A client?" Jonah asked, ignoring her comment about his unexpected arrival.

"No. We're done here. Right, Nick?" Vivienne stacked the papers of her copy of the report and swept them into her desk drawer. Nick turned his pages over.

"Yes. Maybe I can have our friend look into the one we talked about a little more."

"Sure. Whatever. It's up to you." Vivienne shrugged as if it didn't matter.

"Sitges. That's a unique name," Jonah observed, staring at his sister.

"Do you recognize it?" Nick queried, watching closely as Jonah's eyebrows shot up.