Chapter Sixteen
He felt…changed. Liberated and free, as if a two-ton weight had been lifted off his back.
He had always enjoyed his mother’s lasagna, but today it had tasted better, the sauce rich and fresh, the pasta al dente, just the way he liked it. In the past, his mother’s fussing to cook her pasta to his specific taste had irritated him. He’d felt that she was overly anxious to please him the way she’d been with his father. “I’m not your husband,” he’d wanted to shout. “I’m not that sonofabitch. Not all men are like that.”
Yet he’d come close to killing his father. For years he’d feared he was like that. If not for Ed Nolan scraping him off the floor and reshaping him into a functioning human being, a student, a responsible adult who could, if not make things right, at least make things a little less wrong, Nick might have turned into a sonofabitch, too.
That he hadn’t was a triumph in itself. That he could forgive his mother—that he did forgive her—was more than a triumph. It was a rebirth.
When he and Diana took their leave after lunch, Diana paused halfway down the front walk and turned to inspect his mother’s house. “It looks good,” she said, pointing to the shutter he’d rehung.
“It was a simple fix.”
“Simple if you’re six feet tall and know how to use a hammer,” she said. “There’s no way your mother could have done that. She’s so small.”
“There’s this thing called a ladder,” he joked. “Even I needed a ladder to hammer in the nails on top.”
“Okay, so you have to know how to use a hammer and a ladder,” Diana joked back.
He slung his arm around her shoulders as they admired his simple handiwork. Her body nestled within the curve of his arm as snugly as two puzzle pieces locking together. Had the song compelled him to change? Or Diana?
It didn’t matter. He would never love that song. But damn it, he loved her.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what? Acknowledging that you know how to use a hammer and a ladder?”
He smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Her hair felt like warm silk against his lips. “For making a new man out of me.”
She turned to face him. “Are you a new man?”
He closed his other arm around her and took her mouth with his. She tasted spicy from the lasagna, but sweet as well, her own special sweetness. Yes, he loved her. Loved her and wanted her. If they weren’t standing on his mother’s front walk, in full view of her nosy neighbors, he’d let this kiss progress from R-rated to X-rated.
But there were the nosy neighbors, and not even a wall to lean against, let alone a bed to lie down on. Before he made a fool of himself, he eased back, nuzzled her forehead with a final kiss and said, “Here’s an idea. Check out of the OB and move in with me.”
She blinked, apparently startled by what he’d said. He was startled, too. He’d known his share of women over the years, but he’d never invited one to move in with him. He’d never met a woman he’d wanted to live with. Not until now.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.” Gazing down into her suddenly solemn face, he realized he’d never been more serious about anything in his life. “I know, you’ve got your place in Boston, and your job. And I’m here in Brogan’s Point.”
“And we’ve known each other only a week.”
“Yeah. That, too.”
She peered up at him, her eyes shimmering, her brow flexing as she sifted through her thoughts. Finally, she spoke. “I guess you’d better drive me to the inn so I can check out.”
He couldn’t expect more from her than that. Hell, if he could, he’d go ahead and ask her to marry him. Not that he could give her a monstrously huge diamond, or her parents’ blessings, or the life she would have had with her rich ex-fiancé. Not that he could expect her even to want to get married so soon after she’d ended an engagement that had been based on a relationship of many years’ standing.
But he wanted it. He wanted her. He wanted the woman who had changed him, and in the process healed him.
For now, he would take what she offered. He would help her move out of the Ocean Bluff Inn, bring her back to his house, dive onto his bed, and spend the next several hours there with her. Naked.
He opened the passenger door of his car for her, then climbed in behind the wheel. They didn’t talk during the drive through town, along the waterfront and north to the inn’s winding driveway. But even without words, he communicated with her, his right hand folded around her left, his fingers imparting their heat to her, his need, his love.
He had barely pulled into a parking space and shut off the engine before she was bounding out of the car. Was she as eager as he was to get her stuff, sign her bill and race to his house for some naked-on-the-bed time? It looked that way. Her eyes were bright, her face slightly flushed. Once again her skin made him think of peaches. Honey hair, peach skin… Damn but she made him hungry.
She met him at the rear bumper and laced her fingers through his. Together they strolled up the walk to the veranda—and froze when a tall, well-groomed man rose from one of the Adirondack chairs and started toward them.
“Peter?” Diana said. “What are you doing here?”
Nick noted that she didn’t slip her hand from his. He also noted that Peter, the ex-fiancé, was staring at their clasped hands—staring and scowling. He remained on the veranda as they approached, his posture regal, his expression supercilious, as if he believed it was only right that they should come to him, not the other way, and that he should be standing above them.
Not for long. Refusing to retreat, Nick proceeded up the steps until he was eye-to-eye with the guy.
Peter met Nick’s gaze for a long second, then turned to Diana. “I’ve come to take you home,” he said. “Get your things. Let’s go.”
“What are you talking about?” She sounded a touch exasperated but not terribly concerned.
“This has gone on long enough. I gave you a few days to get your head on straight.” He looked pointedly at her hand in Nick’s and shook his head. “Evidently, you haven’t accomplished that yet. But I’m tired of waiting. You wanted a brief vacation from our engagement, so fine. Your last little…whatever. I won’t dignify it by calling it a fling.” That bit of nastiness, Nick suspected, was directed at him, not at Diana. “Now it’s time to get back to reality.”
“Peter.” Diana eased her hand from Nick’s, and he felt the loss of contact like a small death. But she needed both hands to clasp Peter’s upper arms in a reassuring hug. “You’re the one who needs to face reality,” she said gently. “I broke up with you. I ended our engagement. It’s over.”
“It’s not over. You’re just—I don’t know, experiencing a brief psychotic episode. We’re getting married. Everyone wants this.”
“I don’t want it.” She still sounded gentle, like a mother comforting a toddler whose balloon had blown away. “I don’t want to marry you, Peter. I don’t want to go wherever you have in mind to take me. I don’t want you to decide what my home is. I’m in Brogan’s Point right now. It’s where I want to be.”
“With him?” Peter shot Nick a lethal look.
“Yes. With him.”
“You’re going to stay here? In this seedy little nothing town?”
“I don’t know where I’m going to stay,” she said. “I don’t have my whole life mapped out anymore. And I like that. Please…I’m sorry you drove all the way here—”
“What about your apartment in Boston?”
“It’s still there. I’ve got five months left on my lease. I’ll figure things out.”
“No need to. Everything’s already figured out. You’re coming with me.” And with that, he flung her hands off his arms and snagged one of them in a tight grip. “We’re going to go inside, get your things, and drive back to Boston. I’ll send someone to pick up your car. It’s time for you to quit this craziness.”
“Stop it, Peter.” She no longer sounded slightly exasperated. She sounded downright furious. “I’m not crazy.”
“You dragged me to that sleazy bar, you swooned over that stupid jukebox, and you’ve been deranged ever since. Who is this guy, some local stud? What the hell has gotten into you, Diana?”
“I’ve changed,” she said. “I’ve changed.” She tugged her arm, unable to free herself. “Let go of me.”
“Let go of her,” Nick echoed. He didn’t like the way the guy was holding Diana, his grip so tight, so possessive.
“You keep out of this,” Peter snapped at him. “This is between Diana and me.”
Nick felt his temper rising like a fever inside him. That grip, those thick, brutal fingers circling Diana’s slender wrist like a manacle…and his size, looming over Diana, trying to bend her to his will with his hands when his words weren’t enough…
Memories swamped Nick, fierce, violent memories of his father grabbing his mother’s arm, shaking her, threatening her. Terrifying her.
He was no longer a little boy, watching in horror as his father beat his mother into submission. He was a man, a man who loved Diana.
A man with a criminal record. His record was sealed, but that seal could be broken if he did the wrong thing.
Yet standing by while this bastard hurt Diana was the wrong thing, too.
His hands reflexively curled into fists and he started to swing.
“Nick! Don’t!”
Her voice sliced through his feverish rage like ice water dousing the fire inside him. Miraculously—because he couldn’t remember deliberately lowering his arms—he discovered his hands at his sides. His breath came heavy, his eyes burned, and he felt a hatred almost as deep as what he’d once felt for his father. But he didn’t hit Peter.
Hell. He wanted to. He wanted to more than he could fathom.
But he didn’t. He would have pounded Peter into an oozing mass of pain for Diana. Instead, he didn’t pound Peter into an oozing mass of pain…for Diana. Because she’d asked him not to. Because if she’d asked him to let go of her, he would—no matter how much he never, ever wanted to let go of her. And if she asked him to hold her, he would, forever. Because if you loved a woman, you listened to her.
The same strength that had infused her voice when she’d shouted, “Don’t!” seemed to fill her body. She wrenched her hand loose and backed away from Peter. “You know what your problem is, Peter?”
“My problem is that my intended seems to be experiencing pre-nuptial jitters, that’s all.”
“Your problem,” Diana corrected him, “is that no one has ever said no to you. You’re handsome, you’re rich, you’re charming, and everyone has always said yes. Whatever you’ve wanted, you’ve gotten. You’re the one who’s gone crazy—because for the first time in your life, someone has said no to you. When I saw you in Boston and gave you back your ring, you bruised me.” She touched her wrist. Nick couldn’t see any bruising on her pale, delicate skin, but the mere possibility that this thug, this asshole, this monster had bruised her made Nick’s hands tighten into fists again. It took more self-control than he’d realized he had to keep his arms at his sides. “You never hurt me like that before, Peter. You never had to, because you always got your way. I always did what you wanted.
“Well, now I’m not doing what you want. I’m sorry, but that’s life. Sometimes things don’t go exactly the way you want them to. Get over it.”
Peter seemed incredulous. “I didn’t bruise you.”
“You did,” she said. “And it will never happen again. Now go away and leave me alone.” She folded her arms over her chest and glared at him, five-foot-four inches of steely resolve. Peter gaped at her, his frown deepening, growing less hostile and more perplexed, as if she were mutating before his eyes, transforming from a compliant little lady into a fire-breathing dragon.
He looked almost frightened, which suited Nick just fine.
One final gaze, and Peter turned, stormed down the steps to the parking lot, and climbed into a silver Mercedes coupe parked not far from Nick’s aged Honda. Peter revved the motor and, in an aggressive maneuver, tore out of the lot, his engine roaring and his tires sending loose gravel flying like shrapnel.
Had Diana actually chosen a rattly Honda Civic over a powerful Mercedes coupe? Or had she just chosen to reject the Mercedes? Was she going to reject Nick, too? He’d almost struck Peter. He would have, if she hadn’t stopped him. He would have resorted to violence, just like his old man.
“Are you all right?” she asked him.
He’d been focused on the empty space where the Mercedes had been, on the pebbles and dust settling back to earth in its wake. Her question startled him. He spun back to her and found her watching him, looking uncannily calm. “The hell with me. How are you?”
“Never better.” She gave him a tentative smile. “You look a little ragged.”
“I wanted to punch his lights out,” Nick confessed. “Why didn’t you tell me he hurt you when you saw him in Boston?”
“I hurt him, too,” she said.
“You didn’t leave bruises.”
“Maybe I did. On his heart, or at least on his ego.”
“His ego could use some roughing up.”
Diana laughed.
“Diana.” Nick gathered her hands in his. They were so small, so soft and fine-boned. It pained him to think that prick had hurt her, and had been well on his way to hurting her again today. Nick would have done anything to protect her—even if it meant a second criminal charge, a stint in prison, a lifelong stain on his soul. He would have done it—but she’d protected him, instead. She’d saved him from his own worst impulses.
“I love you.” He could think of nothing more to say than those three words.
She rose on tiptoe and touched her lips to his. “I love you, too.”
“I know it’s been fast, and there’s still stuff you don’t know about me—”
“I’m looking forward to learning that stuff. And you’ll learn stuff about me, too.”
“I like heavy metal music.”
“My feet turn to ice in the winter.”
“I used to smoke, but I quit about five years ago.”
“I used to bite my nails.”
“I hate doing laundry.”
“So do I.”
Their eyes met. Her smile was so sweet, he felt it resonating inside him. “This is insane,” he said.
“Maybe it’s magic.”
“I didn’t use to believe in magic,” he admitted, then bowed to kiss her. “But now, I guess I do.”
“That’s because you’ve changed,” she murmured, then pulled him to her for a longer, deeper kiss.