Borrowing Alex Page 9

  “It’s clear you love animals, and you’re definitely no dummy,” he said. “You don’t need a bachelor of science to assist someone. Why didn’t you continue to vet school?”

  She fiddled with the sleeve of the sweater she’d donned over her T-shirt before they’d begun barbecuing. Urgh, how to answer his question? With honesty or... a version of the truth?

  Usually, during these getting-to-know-you situations, she trotted out the conversation she liked to think of as My Life Before Royce, the Condensed Version. The unabridged edition took too long to relate. Besides, describing the years of disappointing her parents depressed her.

  However, Alex was different from the men and women she typically encountered in Royce’s social circles. Take this morning, for instance. During Alex’s sojourn to the shed with Murray, he hadn’t run away from her like a screaming survivor of the zombie apocalypse—like the vast majority of Royce’s buddies would have. Instead, he’d stayed and helped her de-quill Santos.

  He was helping her now, remaining at the cabin until her fiancé arrived. She swallowed a bite of steak. “Um, I didn’t say my father realized I majored in biology.”

  Alex’s head tipped. “No kidding. What did he think you majored in?”

  “Art History.”

  “That’s a far cry from biology, Nik. Hey, I’m a historian. I should know.”

  “Well, it couldn’t be helped. I had to fool him.” She tossed a tidbit of steak to Bernie sitting at attention on the lawn. A few feet away from his canine brother, Santos gnawed the bone from Alex’s meal, and Rusty napped on the bench beside her. “Father never would have allowed me to major in the sciences, much less attend vet school. At eighteen, I had no backbone. I tried discussing the issue during my first two years, but he was adamant.” Tucking in her chin, she mimicked her father’s commanding tone, “Education in and of itself is a fine thing, but a woman knows her place, Nicole. Strive to be a daughter I can be proud of, like Gillian.” She dropped the impersonation. “The ever-perfect Gillian,” she muttered.

  Alex lifted his fork. “Are you sure your father’s not in petroleum? He’s a dinosaur, Nikki. No one thinks like that anymore.”

  “Not in the Hart family, maybe.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “Mother thinks what she’s told to. As long as the money’s rolling in, she’s happy.” As happy as a woman in a loveless marriage could manage, at any rate.

  “So you’re telling me if you’d been born Nicholas instead of Nicole, you’d be managing your own vet clinic by now, with your father’s blessing?”

  “That’s about it.” She sighed. “However, even if I’d been born a boy, I’m afraid veterinary medicine isn’t my father’s idea of, well, medicine.”

  “But dermatology is.” Alex took another bite of his baked potato drenched in sour cream.

  “Any specialty would suffice—for a boy. Gillian married an ear, nose, and throat man in Chicago, and Father was ecstatic. Ear, nose, and throat? Can you imagine looking up people’s noses for a living? Yet Stewart, Gillian’s husband, looks down his nose at the very patients who own the noses he looks into!” She waved her steak knife. Every time she thought of the snob appeal Stewart possessed in polyps for someone like her father, steam practically blasted from her ears. “The point is, I’m a woman, Alex. In the world according to Geoffrey St. James, my place is behind my man—not in front of him, and probably not even beside him. I’ve fought his archaic attitude my entire life, and it’s gotten me nowhere.”

  “Unbelievable. My sisters wouldn’t stand for that kind of B.S. from my dad, Nik. Neither would my mom. She’d throw him a spade and tell him to start shoveling.”

  “But everyone in your family supports each other.” They’d talked about his sisters and parents while grilling the steaks. The easy affection and closeness he’d relayed were foreign to her. “Your folks respect and accept your choices. If they were anything like my parents, your life might have turned out very different.”

  He waggled his fork, gazing at her as she rambled.

  “Biology was quite simply out,” she continued. “Unless I was sneaky about it, taking the necessary prerequisites and declaring my major on the sly. I hated lying to my parents, though. And please don’t think I’ve developed a nasty habit of tricking people, because I haven’t.” Her campus caper and this weekend marked the two occasions during which she’d attempted to pull a fast one. “But Father’s attitude backed me into a corner. He was remarkably easy to deceive. One, ‘Yes, I’ll major in Art History, like Gillian did,’ and he was satisfied. I managed the online stuff, and it didn’t occur to him to double-check.”

  Her father’s acceptance of her bald-faced lie hadn’t been a matter of him trusting that she’d obey his old-fashioned edict, either. Her parents hadn’t kept tabs on her college career, because they rarely noticed anything she did... unless she was doing something wrong.

  She cut up her remaining steak. “He didn’t blink when the credit card bills were lower than my sister’s. I worked on campus to pay as much tuition as I could. He assumed I couldn’t handle the class load and was getting extra help. Study groups, the student center, and so forth.”

  Alex’s forehead furrowed. “When did they figure it out? They must know by now.”

  “Yeah, they know.” Her voice sounded hollow, which pretty much mimicked how she felt. Her parents’ disinterest in her lost dream had haunted her for far too long. “They learned about it at my graduation, when they read the program. Dumb me, I’d hoped that if I earned great grades, my major wouldn’t matter, that they might even feel proud of me. I thought Father would admire my ambition and support my goal to apply to vet school. Boy, was I wrong. He was livid. And Mother was livid because he was.” She pushed a piece of meat around on her plate. “I was crushed. I’d so wanted to please them. But I couldn’t afford vet school on my own.”

  “What about student loans?”

  “A possibility. However, I wanted to fix things with my parents first.”

  She still did. Regardless of her motives, she’d deliberately deceived them. “I couldn’t stand being such a disappointment to them.” Too much like Gram Sorensen, as her mother constantly reminded her. Too “high-spirited,” whatever that meant. Like she was a wild pony they needed to tame. “So when Father said I could work at a vet clinic provided I also volunteered for charities of Mother’s choosing, I jumped at the chance. I wanted to prove I could handle the obligations they considered important while also working in a field I love. Then I met Royce, through Father. He was everything my parents wanted for me—”

  She wiggled on the picnic-table bench. She sounded like she’d only started dating Royce to earn points with her parents. Yet that hadn’t been the case. No, siree. She and Royce had felt inevitable. He’d come on to her like no other man she’d ever met. She’d fallen for him because—before they’d had sex, anyway—he’d made her feel like the only woman in the world. She hadn’t been able to resist the attention he’d showered on her in the beginning. She doubted any woman as inexperienced as she had been could.

  Big deal if their sex life hadn’t rocked her universe when he’d proposed after eons of dating and they’d finally made love. So what if reaching orgasm seemed perpetually beyond her body’s grasp?

  It is better to give than to receive. Half a climax is better than none.

  Except, the tiny stabs of pleasure she experienced whenever Royce... dallied... down there before proceeding to the main event felt more like one-twentieth of the climaxes her girlfriends boasted about.

  Maybe if he dallied more often, she’d get the hang of this orgasm business. But he was always in a hurry to reach the main event!

  “Nikki? Uh, Nik, you in there?”

  She blinked. How long had she zoned out? “Royce was everything I wanted for myself,” she corrected. Crap, that doesn’t sound right, either. “He was—is—was—is—” Phew! “—everything I could possibly want in a man.”

&nb
sp; Cripes, all that obsessing about the elusive big O had turned her brain to mush and her mouth to jelly. With luck, Alex would act the gentleman and let her slip of the tongue slide away.

  Nope. Not happening. His gaze zoomed in on her again, the hazel irises compelling and the sharp professor’s mind lurking behind them too darn perceptive.

  “You sure about that?”

  “Of course. Why would you think otherwise?” Maybe because she’d strayed waaayyy beyond the boundaries of My Life Before Royce, the Condensed Version. She’d unabridged like crazy.

  No wonder Alex doubted her conviction. He was too easy to talk to, so she’d spilled her guts—an indication she wasn’t sure about anything.

  “Wait, forget I asked that.” She put down her fork and knife.

  His gaze focused in another smidgen. “Why?”

  “Because... I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Because Royce isn’t here yet?”

  Exactly.

  She blew out a breath. “Well, I can’t expect him to cancel his appointments and zip here on a moment’s notice, can I?” Okay, she’d thought her fiancé would do that very thing. However, his delay had prompted her to reconsider. “Maybe he’s waiting until Monday to reschedule. His patients rely on him, you know. Maybe he had car trouble, like I mentioned this morning. Maybe he’s hurt and in the hospital, or lying in a ditch somewhere.”

  That last scenario didn’t ring true. If Royce had been in an accident, the police would have sent word to Seattle. Someone would have contacted her, probably Karin.

  Despite that Nikki hadn’t brought her cell, her cousin would have taken whatever steps necessary to alert the local authorities, who then would have arrived at Lake Eden by car or horse or flying pig to inform her.

  Besides, wouldn’t Nikki sense it if Royce had suffered a tragedy? Didn’t soul mates possess a weird, cosmic connection that served them in times of dire need?

  Don’t ask THAT, an inner voice jangled, unless you’re prepared to hear the answer.

  Stomach cramping, she rose. The breeze rustled her sweater. She scooped up Rusty. Amid the cat’s mewling, she announced, “It’s getting cold, and I’m not hungry anymore. I’m going in.”

  “Nikki, wait.” Alex grabbed the cutlery, their glasses and plates. He trailed her along the wood-chip path with the dogs in tow. Like a neurotic support group, they wouldn’t let her out of their sight.

  She booted open the cabin door. It creaked closed behind her silent entourage.

  After freeing Rusty and dividing the last of her steak between the dogs, Nikki scraped the remains of her meal into the garbage, then tidied the kitchen. Alex assisted her, remaining quiet. The silence—broken only by the dogs’ chomps and Rusty’s meows—thickened. Alex turned to put a dried plate in the cupboard, and Nikki slid a glance his way.

  Would he really not say another word unless she indicated she was ready?

  Her insides softened. He truly was a good guy. Until now, she hadn’t honestly believed they existed. She’d been operating under the illusion that she needed to make the best of what—or who—life placed in her path.

  Whistling, he continued drying and storing dishes. As she rinsed soapsuds down the drain, she scoped him out from beneath lowered lashes. A girl couldn’t act too inconspicuous while eyeing her fiancé’s best man.

  In the dim light, Alex’s nutmeg-brown hair fell in thick shocks over his forehead. Wearing her grandfather’s ill-fitting clothes, he should look like a hillbilly moonshiner. Instead, masculinity radiated off him, and her heart thumped.

  Stress. That’s all it is. She was attracted to Royce, not Alex.

  But her thoughts refused to cooperate. They kept returning to Alex. Only thirty-something hours had passed since she’d grabbed him. However, the time frame seemed much longer. Not because he was a yawner to hang out with, either, but because he sparked loose a nervous tension inside her—a kaleidoscope-of-butterflies sensation that energized her as much as their kiss had this morning.

  Their kiss... in this very kitchen.

  Their act of betrayal against Royce.

  Her face burned. Enough scoping!

  Cheeks tingling, she yanked shut the faucet and scurried to the main room, the weight of Alex’s gaze plastered to her back. This time, he didn’t follow.

  She sat at the piano bench around the corner, heart skittering. Next, she’d hyperventilate. All because of some harmless scoping.

  She pressed a palm to her chest to slow her rapid breathing. Her other hand rested on the keyboard lid of the old upright piano. She smoothed the dark wood with her fingertips like she’d loved to do as a child, her grandmother sitting beside her.

  Smiling, she lifted the lid and caressed the worn, yellowed keys. She hadn’t played in ages. As a kid, she’d resented the lessons her parents had insisted upon, although she’d tried her hardest to please the crabby teacher. However, this piano was different from the black lacquer monstrosity dominating her mother’s living room.

  This piano sang from the depths of its soul—out of tune and not giving a damn.

  She tested the keys and then played from memory. A bit choppy and discordant, but there nonetheless, a part of her.

  Seconds later, the music rushed back to her, flooding her veins, and her fingers danced a rhythm along the sticky keys. She let the music flow through her, spirit soaring as she delivered the last chord.

  Alex’s footsteps echoed on the plank floor. “That was beautiful,” he murmured from behind her. “What is it?”

  She glanced up. “Franz Liszt. ‘Liebestraum,’ or ‘Dream of Love’ in English. Parts of it, anyway. I botched the middle.”

  “Not to me, you didn’t.”

  “Ten years of lessons.” She rubbed her hands on her white jeans. “I’m sorry about earlier, Alex. I keep going bonkers on you. First outside, then in the kitchen.”

  “It’s okay.” He sat beside her on the piano bench. His flannel shirtsleeve brushed her sweater-clad arm, and her heart bounced around in her chest. Most annoying.

  “What’s a piano doing in a summer cabin?” His large hands settled on the old keys, and he touched a finger to the ebonies. A screech-owl-like, high C-sharp rang out.

  “Gram played, and she missed it when they spent summers here. One year, Gramps surprised her with a new piano for the farmhouse. He brought this one to the cabin so she wouldn’t have to go without her music, but he could never convince a piano tuner to make the same trek.”

  Alex smiled. E, F. The out-of-key ivories tinkled. “He loved her.”

  Nikki nodded. “Their marriage... you know, that’s the kind of marriage I want. Love, tenderness, companionship. Not like my parents’ marriage, which is about money and prestige. I want the real thing.”

  “Hmm.” He picked at the keys again. D, G, A-flat, B. “The real thing includes passion.”

  Her palms prickled on her thighs. “I know. But Gram and Gramps had that, too.”

  “And you have it with Royce?”

  No.

  Omigosh, did Alex know her secret?

  “You either have it or you don’t, Nik. It’s not a trick question.”

  His thigh grazed hers on the piano bench as he shifted closer. Just close enough. His body heat seeped into her, through her. Warmth pooled. Low, then lower.

  Her breath fluttered in her throat.

  His head turned, and his gaze scanned her face. His eyes, brimming with promise, captured hers with a tortuous hunger that wouldn’t let go.

  Her lips trembled. “Alex?” This was it. She had to kiss him. The need burned within her, drowning her with an intensity that filled all the lonely places inside her.

  How could she not have known she was so lonely?

  Resting her hand on his shoulder, she gripped the soft flannel of his shirt... the width of elastic suspender and rock-solid muscle beneath. As if he read her thoughts—as if he felt as strongly as she did—he cradled her face with his large hands, and she tilted her chin, offer
ing her mouth.

  And then he took what she offered.

  Their mouths joined... a slow, warm mating. A heat that pulsed with want and need such as Nikki had never known or even realized existed.

  Sweet saints above, Roy’s kisses had never moved her like this. Her heart, her soul, every fiber of her being, craved and longed for Alex.

  If she burst into flames at his mere kiss, how would it feel to make love with him?

  But she couldn’t. They couldn’t. Because of Roy—uh, Royce.

  A different kind of heat seared her body. The burn of betrayal, not passion.

  She pulled away, pressing her fingers to her mouth, where Alex’s kiss tingled. Her engagement ring glittered, taunting her.

  “Alex, what must you think of me? Omigosh, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

  “Me, neither,” he murmured. “But I know I want to do it again.”

  “We can’t! Alex, that wasn’t an ordinary kiss. Definitely not a practice kiss. I’m engaged!”

  He studied her. “Nikki, you’re being made a fool of,” he said quietly. “Royce isn’t the knight in shining armor you believe.”

  “Don’t say that!” She jumped off the bench. “Roy-oyce is my fiancé, and he loves me. I’m the one being disloyal.”

  “Roy-oyce?” Alex’s eyebrows rose.

  “Royce.” She couldn’t even get his name right. Kissing Alex had scrambled her brains as well as her emotions. How could she kiss one man while professing to love another? How could she forget herself—and forget Royce, apparently—so easily?

  More questions she didn’t want to answer.

  Ignorance is bliss. A faithful heart never wanders... or wonders.

  Don’t borrow trouble, as Gram used to say. Count your blessings.

  One-twentieth of a climax is better than none.

  Chapter 7

  Where There’s a Willie...

  “RUSTY? RUSTY! WHERE are you, fella? Come out, baby. Rusty?”