“And you kept it?”
I nodded ever so slightly. “Of course I did. It was from you. . . .”
I felt the back of his fingers drift down the curve of my jaw and opened my eyes. He was gazing down at me so intently, my breath caught in my chest.
“Trish—”
“What the hell happened here?”
Nicky closed his eyes for a beat, then pulled back from me. “The Agency,” he explained to Nate, who’d suddenly appeared beside him. “They came in guns blazing. Killed Sophia and the guards. Trish called it in to Al Addin a few minutes ago.”
Nate nodded, then cast a concerned look toward me. “Did they hurt Trish?”
Nicky’s face suddenly went dark again. “No. I got into it with one of the agents and she was in the middle of it and got a concussion. It’s my fault she’s hurt.”
Nate leaned into the car and gave me a comforting smile, patting me on the thigh. “I’ve got this,” he assured me. “Let Nicky get you outta here, okay?”
I nodded, then rested my head back against the seat, relieved to be able to turn the crime scene over to someone else and wishing like hell that I knew what Nicky had been about to say. Unfortunately,
any hope I’d had of him renewing the conversation was extinguished the moment unconsciousness wrapped me in its arms and dragged me down into its dark embrace.
Chapter Nine
“I’m fine,” I insisted as we drove away from the hospital a couple hours later. “Really.”
Nicky’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “You shouldn’t be,” he replied. “You had one hell of a concussion. Tales heal fast, but they should’ve kept you longer. What if they sent you home too soon and something happens? I don’t trust that hack doctor.”
“Dr. Knowall might’ve been a total sham in Make Believe,” I conceded, “but he’s earned a legitimate medical degree from both the Ordinaries and Tales since coming here.”
I honestly was just as surprised as Nicky that I’d only had to spend two hours in the Tale hospital before they assured me everything looked fine and I was free to go. But I’d taken a look at the X rays myself, had gone over all the other tests, and I would’ve made the same diagnosis.
He shook his head. “I still don’t like it. And that Agency cocksucker better hope he never crosses my path again. Did you really sleep with that asshole?”
I sighed, hating to admit to my serious lapse in judgment. “Unfortunately.”
“What the hell did you see in him?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. He was hot and I was lonely, I guess.”
We didn’t speak for most of the drive back to Nicky’s. Now that my brain was fully functioning again, I was so humiliated by what Ian had divulged, I couldn’t even look at Nicky. I watched the landscape zip by, wishing the drive was just a little longer and not looking forward to the uncomfortable conversation that was going to have to take place at some point. I had no idea how I’d even begin to explain to Nicky why I’d been talking about him in my sleep. Gee, Nicky, I’ve been secretly in love with you for decades, was just this side of pathetic.
“So, is it true?” Nicky asked suddenly, making me start and bump my head against the passenger window.
“Freaking hell!” I muttered, rubbing my head where I’d smacked into the glass. “Is what true?”
“That you said my name in your sleep when you were with Ian?”
Oh. Wow. Okay. So we were going to do this now. Awesome.
I swallowed hard, but my mouth was dry and my answer came out as a quiet rasp. “Apparently.”
“So . . .” he drawled, a slow grin curving his lips, “does this mean you’ve had a little crush on me for a while, Trish?”
“Oh, God,” I muttered, my face instantly on fire. I glanced out the window, briefly wondering how much it could really hurt if I bailed out.
“It’s okay, you can say it,” he teased, then added in a ridiculously high-pitched voice that was supposed to be all girlie, “ ‘Yes, Nicky, I’ve had a crush on you for ages. You’re so handsome.’ Go ahead. It’s easy.”
I cast a tortured look his way, wondering if he knew just how close to the truth he was. “Could we just drop this, please?”
He shook his head, his grin growing, as impossible as that seemed. “Nope, not until you admit you like me.”
“Like you?” I repeated. “Are you kidding me? What are you, like ten?”
He chuckled. “Dear Trish—do you like me? Check yes or no.”
“Oh, my God,” I groaned, rolling my eyes. “This is ludicrous.”
“Then stop avoiding the question,” he prompted with a laugh.
I punched him in the shoulder, which served only to make him laugh harder. “Would you shut up?”
“Just say it.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and lifted my chin a notch. “I’m not saying it. You can just sit there and stew in curiosity.”
“Why won’t you say it?”
“Why should I?” I countered.
“Why shouldn’t you?” he shot back. “You really can’t deny I’m irresistible, doll. Charming, funny . . . devilishly handsome, too. Oh, and humble.”
“Oh, yes, humble,” I mocked. “We can’t forget that one.”
Nicky sent an expectant glance my way. “So . . . ?”
“Good Lord,” I huffed. “Fine! Yes, Nicky, I’ve had a crush on you for ages.”
He grunted, but was still grinning. “Good.” And that was it. No more questions. No more discussion. He dropped it just like that.
Which was totally infuriating.
Good? Good? What the hell did he mean by that? Was it just his male ego strutting around, metaphorical chest puffed out, because he could hold it over the other guy’s head? Or was he actually glad that I’d been dreaming about him? If so, why didn’t he ask me more? Why didn’t he ask me what I’d been dreaming about? If I’d dreamed about him often? He didn’t even ask me how long I’d had a crush on him, for crying out loud. Criminy!
I sat in the passenger’s seat torturing myself the rest of the way to Nicky’s, trying to analyze the inflection in his voice in that one simple word, the expression on his face. But when he pulled through the gates, I still hadn’t reached a satisfactory conclusion. I was scowling so intently that when I didn’t immediately get out of the Escalade, Nicky came around and opened my door.
“Trish?” he said softly, the levity we’d shared gone now. “We’re here, doll.”
I turned my scowl on him, but the tender look in his eyes dissipated my irritation in an instant. “Sorry,” I muttered. “Lost in thought.”
He took my hand and helped me out, then led me up the steps, my hand still clutched tightly in his. I expected him to turn me loose once we were inside, especially in light of what his teasing had goaded me into admitting, but instead of releasing my hand, his fingers shifted, twining with mine more securely than ever. Without a word, he led me into the kitchen and only then did he release my hand so that he could help me out of my coat. Then he pulled out one of the chairs at the island bar and handed me up before turning away and busying himself at the stove.
I propped my chin on my hand, watching him open and close cabinet doors and rummage through the pantry until he found everything he was looking for. Twenty minutes later, he set a steaming mug of hot chocolate in front of me along with a plate of herbed cheeses, crackers, and an assortment of fresh fruits and vegetables.
“Sorry it’s not more,” he said with a shrug of apology. “I’m not exactly a gourmet.”
I offered him a grateful smile. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
I took a sip of the hot chocolate, loving the path of warmth it left as it traveled down my throat and into my stomach. But that heat was nothing to what lanced through me when Nicky scooted the other bar stool close to mine and took a seat next me, silently sipping at his own mug, his elbow touching mine, his fingertips occasionally brushing against my own when we happened to reach for the same strawberry or slice of cheese. And when the food was gone and our mugs were empty, we remained there in companionable silence, elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee. At some point, I leaned my head against his shoulder, and I heard him sigh before he dipped his head to press a lingering kiss to my curls.