Needing Nicole (The Cantrelle Family Trilogy Book 2) (10 page)

“No.” She backed up. She could feel hot tears threatening. God, she wished she could crawl into the ground and hide forever. What had happened to her? She had been all over him. What must he think? That she fell into bed with anyone who asked? My, God, she’d only known Jack Forrester for three days! She must be crazy. She must be sex-starved, or something. Hadn’t she learned
anything
from her mistakes?

She didn’t know where to look. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

He touched her shoulder. “Nicole, I’m sorry...”

She flinched. “Please, Jack. Don’t say anything. Just go—”

She turned her back on him and refastened her bra. She rebuttoned the bottom button of her blouse. She tucked it in. She stalled for time.

When she finally turned around once more, he had gotten himself under control, too. The lipstick traces were gone. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Let’s just forget it, okay?”

“Nicole.” The word was a whisper. His eyes were gentle.

Please, please,
she begged silently.
Don’t look at me like that.
“Good night, Jack.” She opened the front door.

“We can’t pretend this didn’t happen.”

“We
will
pretend this didn’t happen.” She didn’t say
or else.
He was smart enough to understand.

She saw the resignation in the almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders and in the tightening of his mouth. His voice, when he spoke, was even, almost impersonal. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yes.” Nicole’s chest felt tight from the effort of holding herself together.

Finally he walked out the open door, his gaze capturing hers for one instant as he brushed past.

Nicole shut the door.

And then she burst into tears.

Jack could have kicked himself. What had possessed him to lose control like that? He had rushed her. He knew from the things she’d said earlier in the evening that she was sensitive about her situation. That she was vulnerable. That she’d been hurt badly. He’d known she wasn’t a woman who could casually enter into a love affair. She’d made that very clear.

So why hadn’t he done the smart thing? Why hadn’t he just said good-night and gone home? Tonight he’d forgotten his basic tenet: think before you act. He hadn’t thought at all, just acted on instinct, on feelings. He was powerfully attracted to Nicole, and he’d indulged that attraction, giving no thought to the consequences.

Aside from consideration for Nicole’s feelings, he wanted and needed her help. His whole reason for being in New Orleans, for taking time off from his job, was to find out what had happened to Elise Arnold.

What if he’d blown it? What if, after thinking about what had happened between them, Nicole decided she didn’t need the complications he was introducing into her life, and she refused to see him again?

He was a damned fool.

All the while he lectured himself, he drove back to his apartment much too fast. But by the time he’d parked his car in the underground garage, taken the elevator up to his floor, unlocked the door of the apartment and turned on the lights, he’d calmed down enough to be philosophical. After all, what was done was done.

If Nicole decided not to cooperate with him any longer, there was probably nothing he could do to change her mind. He might as well quit worrying about it.

He opened the refrigerator, removed a can of soda, popped the top and took a long swallow. Then he walked into the living room, parted the drapes and stared out the front window.

The lights of downtown New Orleans winked below like tiny fireflies. He could see the dark ribbon of the river, the mammoth gray hulk of the Superdome, the red-and-white lights of the cars on the street below, but all were superimposed with an image of Nicole as she’d looked when she’d pushed him away: her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed, her expression stricken.

Even closing his eyes didn’t banish the image.

Something had happened to him tonight. It had started in the car, when he was driving her home from work, when she’d first smiled at him—a faint stirring deep within.

It had grown when he had met Aimee and seen mother and daughter together, seen the love between them.

The feelings had gotten stronger when they’d talked in the kitchen as Nicole made supper, when she’d talked about her family, when she’d revealed so much of herself in her admission about Aimee’s birth.

And then, when he’d kissed her, when his mouth first tasted the sweetness of hers, when his hands touched her firm yet pliant body, felt the softness of her skin and the fullness of her breasts, those feelings had erupted into full life.

What he’d felt,
still felt
for her was more than desire.

More than passion.

More than anything he’d ever felt for any woman before.

Even now, just remembering, his body ached, his hands trembled, and his heart thudded with slow painful beats.

Admit it, Forrester. Admit it.

Okay, goddammit, okay! I want more than information and help from her. I want more than sex from her. I admit it!

What do you want? Are you afraid to say it?

Hell, no, I’m not afraid to say it.

Then why don’t you?

Jack clamped his teeth so hard his jaw ached. But that taunting inner voice wouldn’t leave him alone.

Can’t fool me. You ’re afraid.

Shut up. Shut the hell up.

You stupid jerk. Did you think you were immune?

Jack pounded his right fist into his left palm, then winced. God, he
had
thought he was immune. He’d been so smug when he’d seen buddies of his fall head over heels for some woman. He’d never been able to understand how they could just toss all their plans and dreams out the window just became they’d gotten the hots for some good-looking skirt.

He’d vowed that kind of thing would never happen to him. He wanted different things from his life than any woman would ever want. His life, his ambition, his nomadic existence, would be anathema to a woman. Women like Nicole Cantrelle wanted ruffled curtains, a picket fence, a wedding ring and kids. They wanted a husband coming home every night. They wanted security and safety and routine. They wanted ties.

Jack wanted professional challenges, life on the edge. No ties.

Unfortunately, he was also damned afraid he wanted Nicole Cantrelle.

The two desires would never mesh.

* * *

Nicole felt as if someone had beaten her up. She stretched in her secretary’s chair. The small of her back ached. Her neck and shoulders ached. Her head ached.

She was one sorry mess.

She rotated her head in slow circles. Some of the tension in her neck eased. She’d been working on a long deposition for what seemed like hours. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly noon, thank God. Instead of eating lunch in the office, she decided to take her lunch and walk down to Jackson Square and sit on one of the benches on the Moonwalk overlooking the river. She needed fresh air and blue sky. She needed the serenity of the water. She needed to think, although God knows, she’d been doing little else since Jack had left her the night before.

Jack.

She no longer felt upset by what had transpired between them. She was just disgusted with herself. She’d made the decision to keep their relationship strictly casual, then at the first opportunity, she’d completely forgotten her resolution. With all her heart she wished she’d been able to resist the powerful attraction she felt for him, for now things could never be the same between them. She was afraid they’d be awkward with each other now, and since she’d agreed to help him in his quest for Elise Arnold, it would be so much easier if she’d been able to keep their relationship friendly but casual.

Unfortunately, she felt anything but casual about Jack. Each time she remembered his touch, his heated kisses, she felt exactly the way she did when she stood at a great height and looked down. As if the bottom were falling out of her stomach.

That’s why she felt so lousy today. She’d lain in bed and gone over and over last night’s events. She hadn’t been able to fall asleep for hours. And when she finally did, her dreams were laced with erotic images. Of him. Of them. She’d awakened from one particularly vivid and explicit dream to find her heart racing and her cotton sleepshirt clammy with perspiration.

Even now, remembering the dream, Nicole could feel her cheeks warming. She leaned her head against her computer monitor and closed her eyes.

“Nicole?”

Nicole jumped.

“Is something wrong?”

Julianne stood in front of the desk, her forehead furrowed.

“No, nothing’s wrong. I was just resting my eyes for a minute.” Nicole managed a feeble smile. “The Templeton deposition is a long one.”

Julianne nodded. “Awful, too, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Nicole, despite a headful of thoughts of Jack had still been shaken by the contents of the deposition—a recitation of the events that had led up to the murder of Buster Templeton—told to Julianne by Janet Templeton, his wife.

“Hard to believe a woman would put up with that much abuse for that long a period of time,” Julianne said, shaking her head.

“I know.” In the deposition, Janet Templeton related how Buster, for eighteen years, had beaten, battered and abused her. How he had nearly killed her at least a half dozen times. How she had called the police again and again. How she had tried to leave Buster. How he had found her no matter where she went, and dragged her back. Threatened her to force her to come back. Even threatened the lives of her mother and sisters. And how, one day, Janet Templeton had simply had enough. So when Buster, in a black rage, had swung his meaty fist at her and she’d heard one of her teeth break and tasted bitter, coppery blood in her mouth, she had picked up the heavy mallet she’d been using to tenderize a round steak for his dinner. She’d swung it up and then down onto his head with all the pent-up rage and strength that all those years of abuse had fostered.

Janet Templeton had told her story in an unemotional, flat voice, as if all her ability to feel had been killed along with her husband.

Nicole shuddered, thinking about Janet. “The scary part is that while I was typing up everything, I didn’t feel the least bit sorry for Buster. In fact, I was glad she killed him.”

“I know.”

“It’s a miracle she didn’t kill him years ago.” Nicole frowned, reminded of Elise Arnold, who, according to Jack and his sister, was also an abused wife. “Wouldn’t you think a woman would suspect that kind of thing about a man before she married him? I can’t believe a man could completely hide these tendencies. Don’t you think women like Janet would have at least had a hint before they married abusive men?”

Julianne grimaced. “Well, in Janet’s case, I think I’d have had my first clue when I found out his name was Buster!”

Nicole couldn’t help laughing.

“I shouldn’t make fun of something so serious, but honestly, sometimes if you don’t laugh you’ll spend your whole day crying.” Julianne’s stomach emitted a soft growl, and she rolled her eyes. “Sorry about that. I’m starving. Do you want to go to lunch with me?”

“I brought my lunch, but I’m going to walk down to the river and sit there and eat it.”

“Can I tag along?”

“Sure.” Julianne would probably be better company than her own thoughts.

“I’ll pick up a Po’ Boy or something on the way.”

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, Nicole and Julianne sat on a wooden bench warmed by the sun and watched the activity on the river. Nicole munched at her tuna salad sandwich and tried to empty her mind. She sighed.

“Something’s bothering you,” Julianne said. “But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay.” She stretched her legs out in front of her, and the sun glinted off her shiny black pumps. “If you
do
want to talk about it, though, I’ve got a willing ear. And I don’t repeat things.”

Nicole knew that. Julianne’s discretion, her loyalty and her kind heart were all traits Nicole valued.

She sighed again. “Maybe I should talk about it. Maybe I need an objective ear. I’m not sure I’m thinking straight right now, and I’ve got to come to a decision.”

Julianne took a bite of her oyster Po’ Boy and quietly waited. Nicole tried to keep her voice as neutral as the unlucky Janet Templeton’s. “I told you about Jack Forrester, the investigative journalist who followed me home last week”

“Oh, yeah, the hunk.” Julianne’s hazel eyes sparkled.

“Well, yesterday he was waiting for me when I left work.”

“I swear, you really
do
have all the luck!”

“And I invited him to stay for supper.”

“I don’t blame you. I would’ve, too.”

“And we ended the evening with—” Nicole hesitated, then plunged ahead. “Him kissing me, and me kissing him back, and things going just a little too far before I stopped it. And now I’m embarrassed, and I don’t know what I’m going to do or say when I see him again.” She cut a glance at Julianne.

Julianne absentmindedly tore off a piece of the bread from her sandwich and threw it to an aggressive pigeon who had been watching her. The pigeon swooped on the bread, and several other squawking birds converged on the spot, their wings flapping excitedly.

“I don’t even know if I
should
see him again.”

“Nicole,” Julianne said thoughtfully, “tell me something. Answer me as honestly as you can.” She tore off another small piece of bread. The pigeons dive-bombed.

“Okay.”

“How do you feel about this guy? Not the physical stuff. I know you’re attracted to him. I mean the man himself. Do you like him?” She took another bite of her sandwich, chewed slowly.

Nicole nodded. “Very much.”

“Do you
want
to see him again?”

Nicole stared at the river’s surface. Today the water looked almost blue, and it was smooth and flat as a polished stone. “Yes. God help me, but I do.”

“Well, as I see it, you have two choices. You can live dangerously and see him again, or you can play it safe and forget about him.” Julianne’s face assumed her don’t-interrupt-when-I’m-analyzing-this-problem look. “If you see him again, anything can happen, which is positive. If you don’t see him again, nothing will happen, which is negative. So your real choice is between positive or negative.” She smiled, obviously pleased with herself.