Kiss the Bride (13 page)

“White is a color chosen by someone who is afraid to commit,” he said.

“And you obtained this information from what psychology textbook?” What was it about this guy? She was never confrontational. In fact, she avoided confrontation like the flu. But around Nick the contrary side of herself popped out. He was an instigator.

“No textbook. Eight years as a cop.”

“So what color are your walls?”

He shrugged. “Varies from room to room.”

She found herself wondering what color his bedroom was painted, but didn’t dare ask. “Look, whoever buys the house can paint it any color they want.”

“If they’re going to paint it after they buy it, why are we wasting time and money painting it?”

“You really don’t get the concept of presentation, do you?”

“If you mean that I can look through a fancy exterior to the truth beyond, then no, I don’t get the concept of presentation. It’s all bullshit.”

“Nick,” Lucia chided. “No cursing in mixed company. I know you’re a cop, but save that kind of language for the streets.”

“Sorry, Nana.” He looked chagrined. “By the way,” he said to Delaney, “I accept your compliment. I take pride in my ability to ferret out bull…” He slid a sidelong glance at his grandmother. “You know what.”

“I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

“I’m aware of that.”

Acutely cognizant that they were being scrutinized by a bevy of Vinettis, Delaney forced a smile. Presentation is everything. Or that was her mother’s mantra. Nick had a whole different mantra that apparently involved an excess of cattle manure.

“Well, then,” she said and looked at the people standing around them. “Shall we get started? Who’s got a pickup truck? We need to make a run to Lowe’s for the initial supplies while Tish finishes videoing the house.”

“I’ll take you,” Nick drawled.

Dammit. Why him? Delaney slapped a hand across her mouth, worried that she might have spoken her thoughts aloud.

Nick was staring at her pointedly. As if he knew what she looked like naked.

He practically does.

Her cheeks heated.

Don’t blush, don’t blush.

He pulled his keys from his pocket. “Ready for a ride, Rosy?”

Rosy?

She put a hand to her cheek. Dear God, her face must be flaming red. She didn’t want to go with him, but she didn’t want to stay here and keep blushing in front of his family either.

Delaney stuffed the papers back in her briefcase. Stay cool. Presentation is everything. “Let’s go.”

“You’ll need a check,” Lucia said.

“I’ve got this one, Nana,” Nick said and hustled Delaney toward the back door.

“Dominic, you come back here and get a check. I’m not going to let you pay for the renovations on my house.”

“I grew up here. I’m responsible for some of the nicks and bruises this old house has suffered.”

“You didn’t take me to raise,” Lucia argued.

“No, you took me to raise. Let me pay my due,” he called to his grandmother over his shoulder as the screen door slammed behind them.

When they reached his red pickup truck, Nick opened the passenger-side door. “Climb in.”

Feeling as if she’d just made a pact with the devil, Delaney got inside.

W
here should we start?” Delaney asked Nick when they walked through the door at Lowe’s. “I always lose my sense of direction in these warehouse stores.”

Commandingly, Nick snatched the piece of notepaper from her hand and ran his gaze down the list. “Paint department. We can shop for the rest of the items while they mix our paint.”

His proprietary manner agitated her, even though she knew it was her own fault. She’d acted helpless and asked his opinion; he was just taking over as bossy men had a tendency to do. Well, to heck with that. Surprising herself, Delaney snatched the notepaper right back. “White comes already made up.”

Amusement played across his full lips. “We should at least get beige. I’ll go nuts painting all those walls stark white.”

“The condition of your nuts is not my problem,” she said tartly, shocking herself. Dear God, why had she said that? What was the matter with her? What were these absurd impulses he stirred inside her?

“Why, Rosy, are you flirting with me?” His eyes twinkled mischievously.

“No, and stop calling me Rosy. We’re painting the rooms white because they’re small. Traditional wisdom dictates pure white walls will make the space appear larger.”

“Are you shutting off my opinion?”

She didn’t answer, just gave him a look that said “I’m the professional here.”

Nick didn’t quite know what to make of her. She had this sweet, go-with-the-flow way about her, but if you pushed her in the wrong direction, she dug her heels in with surprising stubbornness.

Delaney breezed past him, heading toward the big overhead sign pointing out the paint department, and in the process her shoulder lightly brushed against his.

His head reeled from the unexpected contact. His body stiffened and his gut clenched in a thoroughly enjoyable way.

Damn,
he thought.
Damn. She smells like morning glories, fresh and pink and perfect.

He tried to keep up with her, but his bum leg slowed him down. God, he hated feeling weak.

She glanced back over her shoulder, saw he was limping, and slowed her pace to match his.

Nick hated even more that she had to slow down for him. “Go on,” he said. “I’ll get there.”

But she didn’t. She waited. Patiently, politely. And it pissed him off.

“I’m sorry,” Delaney apologized when he caught up with her. “I forgot about your injured knee.”

“Were you stalking transvestites in dark alleys behind seedy strip bars?”

“What?” Startled, her eyes widened and she stared at him as if he were ordering takeout in Japanese.

“Were you knifing he/shes in parking lots?”

“No… no…,” she stammered.

He knew he’d confused her. That had been his intention. His defense mechanism. Keep your enemy off guard. “Then what do you have to be sorry for?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more considerate of your…” She glanced at his leg. “Disability.”

“My disability, as you put it, is not your problem. So don’t apologize.”

“I was just trying to express my concern. Go ahead, be a cold loner with a huge chip on your shoulder. See if I care.” She turned away, but not before he saw the hurt expression on her face. “Obviously you don’t want or need my concern, and that’s fine with me.”

“Obviously,” he mumbled.

What the hell is wrong with you? She is just trying to be nice and you’ve hurt her feelings. Feel better now, asshole?

The truth of it was she knocked him off kilter. Nick found himself wanting her sympathy, and that was a dangerous thing to court. Better to deflect her than allow her to slip under his skin. He was already hellaciously attracted to her. He didn’t have to like her as well.

They picked up ten gallons of pure white satin paint. They lined the cans up in the bottom of the shopping cart, along with drop cloths and paintbrushes and rollers and trays.

Delaney consulted her list. “What’s the tool situation?”

Nick reacted without thinking, glancing down at his zipper to see if she’d noticed the state of semi-arousal he’d been in from the moment he climbed into the pickup truck beside her.

She followed his gaze, and that adorable pink glow
rose swiftly to her cheeks. She flustered so easily. Her embarrassment tempered his own and restored his self-confidence.

Nick cocked a grin, ramping up the sexual tension, trying his best to embarrass her. Maybe if he made her uncomfortable enough, she’d quit the job. “Healthy.”

“Mr. Vinetti,” she said, clearly shocked by his retort. “I was speaking about the tools we’ll need to repair your grandmother’s house. Since you apparently pride yourself on being a Neanderthal, I’m assuming that you have the requisite hardware.”

Nick arched an eyebrow and started to make a joke about requisite hardware, but she rushed to finish her thought before he got a chance to gig her.

“Like hammers and screwdrivers and wrenches and such,” she said.

“I can assure you, Rosy, I’m a card-carrying caveman. It’s not an idle boast. I own a fully equipped tool chest, and I know how to use it.”

“I’m so happy for you. Now shall we continue with our shopping?”

“We shall.”

She scowled. “You’re making fun of me.”

He measured off an inch with his thumb and forefinger. “Just a little bit.”

“Are you going to keep giving me a hard time during the entire course of this project?” She primly squared her shoulders.

“Depends on what you mean by a hard time.” He lowered his eyelids and sent her his most charming smile. He was bad. He shouldn’t be toying with her like this, but he just couldn’t seem to help himself. He got a kick out of shaking her cool.

“Will you please stop with the sexual innuendos?”

Nick held up his palms. “Hey, I can’t help it if you’re reading things into what I say.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Be honest. Do most women really find this troglodyte stuff charming?”

“You’d be surprised.”

Delaney tossed her head and skirted around him, wheeling the shopping cart toward the plumbing department.

Didn’t she realize how easy she was making it for him to tease her unmercifully? Clearly, she had not grown up with brothers. She had no clue how to defend herself against verbal sparring.

“Hey, Rosy, wait up.”

“Feel free to gimp along at your own pace,” she called out over her shoulder.

Nick burst out laughing. Feistiness. All right. He knew she had it in her, and he loved provoking it. Chasing her off was going to be a lot more challenging than he’d first thought, but also a lot more fun.

When her left hand shot up over her head with the middle finger extended, he laughed so hard he almost choked. Now that was a sight worth seeing.

Miss-Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt-Between-Her-Thighs-High-Society flipping him the bird.

Delaney Lynn Cartwright, the daughter of a Montgomery blue blood, does not stoop to common vulgarity.

She heard her mother’s chiding voice in her right ear, and the small sense of satisfaction she’d just derived from flipping off the arrogant Mr. Vinetti evaporated instantly.

Don’t feel guilty. It’s about time you showed some spunk,
Skylar’s voice countered in her left ear.

Terrific. Her highly developed superego, represented by her mother’s voice, was pulling her in one direction. While her much-ignored id, in the form of Skylar-speak, was yanking her in the opposite.

Apologize to Mr. Vinetti for your rudeness,
Honey’s voice demanded. Delaney stopped, turned, and faced Nick.

He was standing at the end of the aisle, eyebrows cocked slyly, and a knowing smile playing across his lips.

To hell with that. Look at him. He’s so damn sure of himself. He deserved the bird,
Skylar’s voice argued.

Delaney whirled back around and marched in the direction she’d been heading.

Just like when her sister had been alive, Delaney felt caught in the middle between two warring personalities much larger than her own. As a child, whenever Honey and Skylar went at it, Delaney hid in the closet or under the bed to avoid the fray. Her mother the perfectionist, and her sister the free spirit.

What am I?
she wondered.

You’re the people-pleaser,
the Skylar voice and the mother voice echoed in stereo.

Feeling overwhelmed, Delaney clamped her hands over her ears to drown out the conflict.

When did she get to please herself? She was twenty-five years old, pampered and protected. How was she ever supposed to know what she really wanted if she kept letting other people tell her what to do?

Plumbing. Concentrate on plumping supplies and the repairs to Lucia’s house.

She stared at the shelf in front of her, not seeing anything because her mind was in turmoil.

“Are you okay?” a deep voice curled through both her ears as a masculine hand touched her shoulder.

Startled from her reverie, Delaney leaped, hand splayed across her heart. “Eek.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Nick dropped his hand, but very slowly, and in the process grazed the length of her arm with his fingertips.

“No, no, I’m sorry.” She wasn’t prepared for the full consequence of being touched by him again. Her breath simply flew from her lungs, and she was left with her mouth hanging open at the razor-sharp jolt of awareness blasting through her body. Quickly she stepped closer to the shelf and farther away from him.

He was staring at her intently. As if he could make her disappear merely by focusing his mind on the task. He left her feeling tongue-tied, weak-kneed, and totally inadequate. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything.”