Ranger returned and headed up the dark back steps, the tennis ball still in his mouth. Nick grinned. “Guess he’s done,” he said, and he and Elijah followed the dog back inside Rose’s little Vermont mountain house.
Rose walked Jo and her two brothers out after dinner. They were off to the lodge for drinks and more talk. Jo and Elijah would spend the night there. They hadn’t bothered to argue with her about staying another night at her house.
They knew Nick would be there, she thought, and they trusted him.
She headed back inside and found him filling the woodbox. “Jasper didn’t suspect you,” she said without preamble. “I thought you knew.”
Nick set the last of his armload of logs into the box that her father had helped her make one snowy afternoon.
Rose grabbed the afghan off the couch and folded it. “If he did suspect you, it wasn’t for long, and it was because he suspected everyone. He sought me out because he’d seen the sparks between us.”
“When?”
“The day before the fire. I’d stopped by Sean’s office. You and Jasper were there, remember?”
Nick nodded, his eyes almost black in the dimly lit room. “Jasper had a follow-up question about the fire in our building in January.”
“You took that as a sign that you were on his list of suspects.”
“It crossed my mind.” He stepped away from the woodbox and angled a look at her. “Sparks, though? I thought the sparks didn’t start until I got you into my condo.”
Heat surged to her face. “Well. I don’t know. He was an arson investigator.” She set the folded afghan back on the couch. “Maybe he was tuned in to those things.”
She remembered that day, before Jasper’s death. She’d been thinking about how good-looking Nick was in his sleek, expensive suit. He was hard-edged and self-aware, every inch a sexy rogue of a man. She’d dismissed her reaction as all mixed up because of Derek, her father’s death, Elijah’s near death, her nonstop work.
And because she’d thought it useless to lust after a man she could never have.
“You’ve been afraid Jasper died wondering if you were the one who killed him,” she said. “He didn’t. He knew you were his friend.”
“I couldn’t save him—from himself or from the fire.”
“Sometimes that’s how it works out.”
He put a log on the fire, stirred the hot coals, adjusted the dampers. He didn’t have a fireplace or a woodstove in his contemporary high-rise condo in Beverly Hills. But he had views, she thought, as incredible as hers, if different.
Finally he turned and eased his arms around her. “How do you know Jasper saw the sparks between us?”
“He said so.”
“Those exact words?”
“Not exactly.”
“Rose, what did Jasper say?”
She smiled. “He pulled me aside and said, ‘Nick’s not the playboy he pretends to be. You’re not the mountain woman you pretend to be. The two of you together…’” She felt tears form in her eyes but sniffled them back. “He stopped there, and winked. Then he left. That was the last time I saw him. I’ll never forget that knowing wink.”
“Rose…”
She placed her hands on his sides, splayed her fingers so that she could feel more of his taut muscles. His body was warm and firm under her touch. “You weren’t a mistake, Nick.” She let her hands drift down to his hips and tried to ignore the instant rush of heat that spread through her. “Not then, and not now.”
“We can go back to the lodge now,” he said, his voice hoarse as he drew her tight against him, “and have whiskey with your brothers. Or we can—”
“Or we can not go back to the lodge,” she said, smiling.
His mouth found hers, or hers found his—she didn’t care. She just shut her eyes and gave herself up to the heat that burned deep into her. She felt as if she would melt.
Nick lifted her up onto his hips as if she weighed nothing. He was fully aroused, every inch of him hard and taut. She opened her eyes again. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw his dark eyes riveted on her, as if she were the only person in the universe.
“Nothing’s changed.” He slipped his fingers into her waistband. “I want you as much as I did in June. Even more.” Slowly, he moved his hands over the bare skin of her hips. “I know what’s in store for me.”
He kissed her throat as he skimmed her jeans down over her hips. His hands were strong, rough against her smooth skin. He cupped her bottom, curving his fingertips lower. She felt her legs open for him and heard herself moan softly.
He lowered her onto the floor, drawing her jeans down to her knees, then off altogether. For all she knew he cast them into the fire. He tugged her socks off next, then coursed his hands up the inside of her legs, working his way higher. Naked from the waist down, she ached for his touch.
But he stopped, and in the stillness, she heard herself breathing rapidly. Her heart was racing. She shut her eyes and gave herself up to the sensations crackling over her, through her.
“Nick.” Her voice sounded strangled. “What are you doing? If you’re having second thoughts—”
“No second thoughts.”
She felt a hot, moist touch between her legs and her eyes flew open. Her only contact with him was his tongue. He flicked and teased, probed and lapped. Without warning, he grabbed her by the hips, his grip strong, firm, and lifted her, driving his tongue deep, thrusting into her. She shut her eyes, giving herself up to the fire raging through her.
She raked her fingers through his hair and cried out his name.
He drew back, leaving her gasping, aching.
She had no idea what was next. In another moment, she’d be a molten puddle on the floor. She heard a belt buckle, a snap. Her mind had only barely registered what was happening when he returned to her, settling between her parted thighs, his erection free, probing in the wet heat where his tongue had just teased and tormented her.
“I’ve thought about this moment for months. I knew I shouldn’t…”
“You were wrong.”
“Rose…”
He shifted, and in one swift motion, he was inside her, no hesitancy, no tentativeness. Her body responded, as if it’d been waiting, begging, for months for Nick Martini to be back inside her. She caught him by the hips and pulled him deep into her, matched his pounding rhythm.
He raised up off her, paused and searched her face in the glow of the fire. When he moved inside her, she was lost, clawing at him as the climax overtook her.
Spent, aware suddenly of the rug, the woodstove, poor Ranger dead asleep in his bed, Rose rolled onto her side, facing Nick as she smiled a little raggedly. She brushed her knuckles over his hard jawline, feeling a faint stubble of beard. “It’s still relatively early,” she said.
He kissed her fingertips. “So it is.”
They showered together and made love again in her bed, with the curtains open to the mountains and the cold, starlit winter night.
Twenty-Five
R ose appreciated the bright, cold morning as she drove up Ridge Road and pulled over at the trail leading to the falls. She, Nick, Jo and Elijah had loaded galvanized buckets and more taps and drills into the back of her Jeep. They were all meeting on the dead-end lane in a few minutes. Temperatures had fallen precipitously overnight but would climb above freezing again by midday. Why not take advantage of the continued warm spell and tap more trees?
She had Ranger up front with her and let him out the passenger door. They would wait for Nick and hike with him up the near-vertical hill below the falls to mark a half-dozen big maples for gravity tubing. Hanging buckets and emptying them every day on foot would be too difficult. The sap would run through the tubing into large plastic containers placed discreetly at the bottom of the hill. It was a practical, efficient system, if not as picturesque or quintessentially Vermont as sap buckets.