Janet Evanovich - Full House

"Someone like you, maybe?"

"You're not my type."

Nick propped his feet on the coffee table. "How do you know I'm not your type?"

"Do you wear big, baggy boxer shorts?"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot about the boxer shorts. I'm willing to make a few concessions, but I'd have to draw the line at boxer shorts."

"Do you think Frankie is Deedee's type?"

"You're changing the subject."

"Yes, I am."

He looked thoughtful. "I think he's more her type than any of her other husbands."

"Marriage is very serious. Deedee shouldn't just rush into these things."

"You're not thinking of butting in, are you? Remember, if Deedee doesn't get married, you're the one who's stuck living with her."

"She's not so bad. Like you said, she's really very sweet. Maybe she should get counseling."

"If you really want to know, I think Deedee is happy with her lifestyle. She sort of bumbles along in her endearing innocence, but she thrives on change."

"You think I should mind my own business, huh?"

"Definitely."

Billie curled her legs under her and tried to turn her attention to the movie, but Bogart seemed pale in comparison to Nick Kaharchek. She could literally feel the heat from his body, sense his vitality and maleness. She wanted to lean into it, give in to the sheer pleasure of being in his arms. As if reading her thoughts, he suddenly pulled her close. Close enough for his breath to tangle in her hair. Close enough for his fingers to play along her neck. She swallowed against a rush of desire and knew it was time to go home.

She gave an enormous fake yawn and stretched. "Boy, I sure am tired," she said. "I'd like to see the rest of this movie, but I'm going to have to hit the road."

Nick grinned. "Feeling sexy, huh?"

She met his gaze. "Maybe a little."

He smiled knowingly.

Oh, but he was smug, so pleased with himself. She tried to conjure up some honest-to-goodness anger but wasn't successful. Instead, she burst out laughing.

"What?"

"Men and their egos."

"Hey, it's a small price to pay for the pleasure of our company." He grinned, enjoying their banter. "Know what else? I think you're starting to like me. Maybe more than you know." He sifted his fingers through the wavy hair at her temples and lowered his mouth to hers. Her kiss filled him with sweet longing. He wondered if she felt the same. "I like you, too, Billie."

"Nick, I—" Billie couldn't think of a response.

He shifted on the sofa, knowing if he weren't careful he could easily get carried away, and she would rush home in a fit of indignation like the world had never before seen, and probably thwart his future attempts at seduction.

Nick sighed. "I guess you should go home now." Besides, he'd kept her in his house longer than he should have. It had been selfish and dangerous, but he couldn't help it. Max was still lurking about, and the police feared Arnie Bates might create problems, as well.

"I'll walk you out."

Billie spied the headlights through the trees the minute she stepped outside the door with Nick on her heels. "Looks like company is on the way." A white Jaguar slipped through the trees, coasting in their direction.

"Yeah," he said, his tone flat.

Billie was not surprised to find Sheridan Flock behind the wheel. She climbed from the car, resplendent in skin-tight designer jeans, and a knit shirt that exposed her midriff and clung to every curve. If she looked surprised to see Billie, it didn't show on her lovely face.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said, her features tight.

"What can I do for you, Sheridan?" Nick asked.

She sighed and tossed her head back, her dark hair fanning one cheek. "I was restless and thought I'd ride Clementine."

"In the dark?" Billie blurted.

"I have a lighted arena," Nick told her. He regarded Sheridan. "It's fine with me. You know where to find the light switches."

She looked surprised. "No, I don't recall seeing them."

"I was just leaving anyway," Billie said. "Thanks for dinner, Nick. The ice cream was wonderful."

Sheridan laughed gaily. "Oh, don't tell me he prepared his famous homemade ice cream."

It was the first time the woman had acknowledged her. "Yes," Billie replied. "It was very good."

"Nick is real handy with his ice-cream maker. I'll bet he even pulled out his old Bogart movies and did impersonations."

Billie sensed Nick's embarrassment. She plastered a smile on her face. "Actually, we were so preoccupied with other things, we never got around to watching videos." She had the pleasure of seeing the woman's smile fade from her face. She was irritated with herself for letting Sheridan get to her. She was a thirty-eight-year-old mother of two who had better things to do than stand there swapping snide remarks with Nick's ex-fiancee. But damned if she would let someone like Sheridan Flock try to demean her. She hitched her chin high and turned for her minivan, missing Nick's amused look.

* * * * *

Billie drove home very carefully. She was afraid if she didn't concentrate on her driving, her mind would wander to thoughts about Nick and Sheridan. It was unrealistic to think Nick had not entertained other women in his home, had not prepared homemade ice cream or watched videos with them as he had with her. He'd lived a full life, and women had played a large part in it. She wasn't by nature a jealous person, but she didn't entirely trust Nick Kaharchek. He was too handsome, too charming, too sexy, and too rich. And she suspected he was saddling two horses right now so he could ride beside the woman he'd loved enough to propose marriage to. The fact that Sheridan had broken it off might make a man like Nick even more determined to win her back.

The thought wrenched Billie's heart. She already cared for Nick more than she should. She cared enough that she wanted him to be happy, whether it meant continuing his lifestyle as a womanizer or convincing Sheridan to give him a second chance. She would, as impossible as it sounded at the moment, offer him her friendship for as long as he wanted it, because wanting the best for your friends was what truly mattered. Now all she had to do was convince her heart.

* * * * *

The following morning Deedee shuffled into the kitchen at eleven-thirty and stumbled into a chair. "Coffee?" she asked weakly.

Billie was putting the finishing touches on an apple pie. She washed her hands and brought a coffee cup and the coffeepot to the table. Deedee looked at the pot and muttered something indiscernible.

"You'd like me to pour it for you?" Billie guessed.

Deedee continued to stare at the pot. She swayed in her seat and blinked, but she didn't say anything.

Billie chuckled, filled the coffee cup, and put it in Deedee's hands. "When did you get in last night? You look like you've been run over by an eighteen-wheeler."

Deedee drained the cup and slammed it onto the table. "More, please."

Billie refilled the cup and went back to her pie. "Did you have a good time at the embassy?"

"Yeah." Deedee's voice cracked. She drank some coffee and tried it again. "It was great. Everyone stared at my Stargio. You should have come with us. Is Nick mad at me for breaking his window?"

"He didn't say. I stayed to make sure the house was safe until he got home."

"Poor kid. That must have been so boring."

Billie put the pie in the oven. "No. It was nice. We made ice cream and watched a Bogart movie."

Deedee rolled her eyes. "He really does need new material if he hopes to score with you."

"Come again?"

"He only pulls out the Bogart tape in order to get a woman on his sofa. Once that happens, well, he's pretty much assured a good time."

Just what Billie needed to hear. "He didn't succeed."

"That won't stop him from trying again." Deedee made a tsking sound. "Honey, if you're looking for a husband, you need to shop in another bakery. Nick is slippery. Women are always after him. And lately, somebody has been leaving him presents. I'm willing to bet my alimony checks Sheridan is sending them."