Kate Hardy - One Night of Passion

Edie felt her face warm, her fingers tightened on Roy’s collar. “You were asleep. I had a plane to catch.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact. In fact she knew she just sounded defensive. “Sorry,” she said after a moment. “It was …” She hesitated, trying to find the right word. “It was a lovely night.”

That was inadequate. But what else could she say? And the situation wasn’t one she’d ever been in before—or since.

He was still smiling at her, every bit as gorgeous as he had been that night, only this time in an easy California casual way. This Nick wore a pair of jeans, faded nearly white at the knees and thighs, a long sleeve sage-green oxford cloth shirt with the cuffs rolled half up his forearms and a pair of aviator sunglasses parked atop his midnight-black, wind-ruffled hair.

“It was,” Nick agreed. His gaze moved over her slowly, as if he were undressing her again now. Edie felt her whole body warm.

And then he said, “I’ve been talking with your mother.”

“My mother?” He was undressing her with his eyes and he’d been talking to her mother? Dear God, what had Mona done now?

“We were talking about an old adobe ranch house she’s got.”

Edie stared at him, feeling a total disconnect. “What?”

“She mentioned it when I met her in Mont Chamion,” Nick went on. “She said it was in need of work. So I told her I’d give her an evaluation.” He gave Edie an encouraging smile.

“Evaluation?” Edie echoed. He was here because he’d talked to her mother? It was business. It had nothing to do with her. She felt oddly deflated and off-kilter. She didn’t know quite what to say, but Nick was watching her, clearly waiting for her to say something.

Finally she said the only thing she could think of. “Mona’s not here. She’s in Thailand.”

“I know. I talked to her yesterday.”

“Really?” Edie had talked to her mother yesterday as well, and Mona hadn’t said a single word! The name Nick Savas hadn’t crossed her lips. Nor had any mention of the adobe.

“We discussed renovations a couple of weeks ago,” Nick said. “But I didn’t know when I was going to be finished then. She said it didn’t matter, just to come on ahead whenever I got my last job done.” Nick spread his hands.

Pennies were slowly beginning to drop.

“Come ahead?” Edie echoed again, wondering if he thought it was strange that she couldn’t seem to form a thought he hadn’t already said. “For what?”

“The evaluation. Working on the house, if it warrants it.” He reached out a hand to the dog, letting Roy sniff to make sure he was a friend.

Edie wished that was all the assurance it took. She felt pole-axed. And betrayed. Obviously when dangling Kyle in front of her didn’t tempt Edie, she’d moved on to the man Edie had gone off with the night of the wedding.

Had she tracked Nick down and called him? Twisted his arm?

Edie was mortified beyond belief.

“You won’t want to bother with the adobe,” she said shortly now. “It’s not worth saving.”

That wasn’t true, of course. Or at least she hoped it wasn’t. She loved the old house where she’d lived as a small child. But that didn’t mean she wanted her mother to hire Nick Savas to restore it!

Unfortunately Roy seemed to have accepted him as a friend. He began to slowly wag his tail. Edie anchored him firmly with a hand on his collar. She ground her teeth, trying to keep a polite smile in place.

“She made it sound as if it had possibilities,” Nick said. “We won’t know until I look at it, though,” he added, as if to mollify her. “When I have, I told her I’d have a look and give her a call and talk to her about it. If it looks like a go, I’ll do up a plan and explanations, then submit it for approval. There may be historical commissions to talk to, people to get on board. We’ll cross those bridges as we come to them.” This was Nick the professional talking, detailing all the steps with easy confidence.

Edie barely heard them beyond registering that all these bridges he was going to have to cross would take time. And time meant—

“Where are you staying?” she asked abruptly.

Nick blinked, then the lopsided smile reappeared. “Well, Mona invited me to stay here.”

Edie felt as if she’d been punched in the gut.

“Is that a problem?” Nick asked. He was looking at her speculatively.

“I—” Edie managed one word, then her speech dried up.

Problem wasn’t precisely the word. Try awkward, she thought. Try disconcerting . Or mortifying . But how could she explain? She’d told him that Mona was matchmaking back in Mont Chamion. She didn’t want to have to admit it again. She didn’t want him to think her mother was trying to serve him up on a plate!

Deliberately she pasted on her best mi casa es su casa smile. “Of course not,” Edie lied and stepped back to open the door wider. “Not a problem. I was just surprised. Come in. This is Roy, by the way.”

Nick hunkered down and ruffled Roy’s ears. The dog, a sucker for ear rubs, moaned his pleasure. The sound made Edie remember all too well how Nick’s hands had made her moan, too.

She was sure her cheeks were flaming when he gave Roy’s ears one last rub, then stood up. “I’ll just get my bag from the car.”

Edie waited by the door and tried to gather her wits, to find a proper emotional leg to stand on from which to handle the sudden appearance of Nick Savas into her life.

He wasn’t here for her, she reminded herself. At least not in his estimation. He’d come because her mother had given him some song-and-dance about renovating the adobe. And he didn’t care enough about her one way or the other to let it sway him.

“It’s business,” she told herself firmly. “Remember that,” she muttered under her breath as he strode back up the driveway with a leather and canvas duffel in one hand and a battered laptop case in the other.

“What’s that?” he asked, obviously having heard her saying something.

Edie shook her head. “Just talking to myself. I need to remember something.”

“You should write it down.”

Yes, Edie thought. I should. I should emblazon it on the insides of my eyelids.

“I’ll do that,” she told him briskly, then took a deep breath and turned to lead him back into the house. “Right this way.”

“Amazing place,” Nick said appreciatively as he followed her.

The living room, with its high ceilings, thick cream colored rough plastered walls and terrazzo floors, opened through a series of French doors onto a broad patio with a trellised canopy sheltering it from the sun. The doors at this time of year were open, and the light afternoon breeze drifted in, stirring a set of shell wind chimes as they passed.

“It’s hardly authentic,” Edie said over her shoulder, glad that he was looking around rather than at her. “It’s what my brother calls ‘Movie star Spanish.’”

Nick laughed. “I recognize it.” Then he shrugged. “But it pays homage to the real thing in an impressive way. The purists hate it, but it celebrated the heritage and the history in its own way. It’s made it popular and accessible.”

“You’re more forgiving than my brother.” Edie was surprised at his attitude. She would have thought an architect, especially one who dealt with authentic historic preservation and restoration, would be more judgmental, not less.

“It is what it is,” Nick said, running his hand up the smooth dark bannister as she led him up the broad staircase, then looked back at the room below them. “A romantic idealization. It’s not pretending to be authentic. Maybe your brother is responding not to the house but to what it means to him.”