THIRTY-DAY FIANCÉ Page 3

  "Are you okay?" she asked.

  He looked at her through his intense blue eyes and gave a slow blink that was oddly sexy to her. "Fine. I'm going upstairs."

  Olivia watched him put one foot deliberately in front of the other, walking the same way a man who'd had too much to drink would. A trace of concern shot through her. "Are you sure you don't need any help?"

  "No help," he said firmly, then took the steps with the same deliberate pace.

  Arms folded, she stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for him to stop moving around. Silence finally. She exhaled in relief.

  A loud punching sound vibrated from his room, followed by a string of curses. Alarmed, she bounded up the steps to his room, hesitating a half beat at his door before she burst into his room. "What is it?" she asked breathlessly. "What happened?"

  Standing in the middle of his bedroom with his shirt torn apart and buttons on the floor, Nick swore again, glaring at his bandaged hands. "I can't even get out of these damn jeans."

  Olivia's breath caught in her throat. His bangs fell over his forehead in sexy disarray, and his loosened shirt revealed broad shoulders, a well-muscled chest, and a flat abdomen.

  He looked a little wild. The combination of his undiluted strength and frustrated determination did strange things to her insides. She shook her head at her reaction and took a deep mind-clearing breath.

  "Let me help," she said, walking closer to him.

  With heavy-lidded eyes, he watched her.

  As if she were dealing with an undomesticated animal, she unbuttoned the cuffs and gingerly pulled his shirt sleeves down his arms and over his bulky bandages. She focused on his belt buckle to keep from staring at his bare torso.

  He'd kicked off his shoes, but he'd gotten nowhere with his belt. Taking another careful breath, she bit her lip and unfastened the belt and the button.

  It shouldn't have felt intimate, she insisted, but she felt too warm, inside and out. It was too quiet. Only the sound of his breath and hers broke the silence. Chatting would help, she told herself. She'd been a hair stylist for years. After her training, she should be able to chat her way through any situation, but her mouth felt dry, and she was struggling to keep her hands steady.

  The hiss of the zipper as she slid it all the way down could have been a whisper of need. Too aware of her innocent brush against his masculinity, Olivia closed her eyes. His scent, natural and male, was sensual.

  Moving her hands to the sides of his jeans, she carefully pushed them down over his hard thighs, kneeling to pull them off of his feet.

  Done. She was all set to breathe a sigh of relief, when she felt his hand on her head.

  "Olivia," he said in a gentle tone she hadn't heard from him in many years.

  She glanced up the near-naked length of his body to his laser-bright eyes. "Yes."

  "Thank you."

  It's the least I can do. You saved my life. The thought echoed dimly in her head as she turned around and left his room. But she couldn't have formed the words if her next breath depended on it.

  * * *

  Olivia thanked her lucky stars her Western Civilization professor showed some surprising mercy and allowed her to take her exam later in the week. Between the fire and her morning with Nick, she had the concentration of a flea.

  She gave herself a stern lecture on paying attention, then focused so hard during her next two classes she got a crick in her neck. No one except Olivia knew how hard she'd worked to get to this point. No one except her knew how terrified she was of failing.

  Too many voices from her past had discouraged her.

  "Boys don't like girls who are too smart," her mother had whispered to her.

  "Learn a trade. You don't need college. You'll just end up getting married and pregnant," her father had said.

  "Your standardized test scores indicate you might be better suited for vocational school than the college preparatory program," the high school guidance counselor had told her.

  So Olivia had assumed everyone else knew what was best for her. She'd become a successful hair stylist with plenty of loyal customers, but she'd always secretly wondered how her life would have been if she'd gone to college instead. The wondering had grown to a burning desire. When she won the scholarship for her essay on the subject "Why College Is Important," Olivia knew her dream had grown wings.

  "Now, if I can just get through my first semester of calculus," she muttered as she walked through Nick's front door with a bag of groceries and a backpack full of books. She immediately inhaled the strong pungent smell of smoke and wrinkled her nose. "What is—"

  "Some of your clothes," Nick said as he leaned against the foyer wall, cocking his head toward two boxes. "Clarence brought them over."

  "Clarence? I thought he was out of town." She raced to set down the bag of groceries on the kitchen table, then hurried back. "They smell awful. You should have made him leave them outside. I need to wash them."

  "He said he'll replace anything that's ruined and he left you a hundred dollars. He'll bring everything else as soon as he can."

  Amazed, Olivia blinked. "A hundred dollars? Clarence is nice, but he's—" She broke off, not wanting to insult her former landlord.

  "Cheap," Nick conceded with a nod. "I talked to him," he said in such a casual voice that she almost didn't catch the darker undertone.

  Olivia studied him again. He wore a black sweat suit with as much style as most men wore suits. Black suited him, she thought. There was a dark power about him. "You talked to him?" she ventured.

  "Yes."

  Stingy answer, she thought. "What did you say?"

  "Not much," he said with a shrug. "Just pointed out the liabilities and possible costly consequences of faulty wiring."

  She stared at him in disbelief. "You didn't tell Clarence I was going to sue him, did you?"

  He paused. "I did not tell Clarence you were going to sue him."

  She crossed her eyes. "We're getting knee-deep into legalese, aren't we? Okay. Did you suggest it might happen?"

  "I discussed the possibilities and he became very motivated and concerned for your welfare."

  "Wow," she said, shaking her head in amazement.

  His careful-lawyer expression relented slightly. His eyes glinted with curiosity. "Wow what?"

  Olivia laughed. "If you're this good after you've burned your hands and taken a double dose of pain medication, you must be pretty hot stuff in court."

  "I do okay," he said, his lips flirting with a grin.

  "And now you're going to be humble? Am I going to be able to afford this little conversation you had with Clarence?"

  "We can negotiate a trade."

  "Dinner?"

  "Throw in the sweat suit you're wearing," he said, "and we've got a deal."

  Olivia looked down at the dingy sweat suit in amazement. "You like this?"

  "I'll use it to clean my car," he said, and left her staring after him.

  * * *

  The following afternoon, Olivia rushed in as Nick finished dictating a letter to Helen. Her dark hair swung around her shoulders as she walked past him in her clogs. Her body emanated so much nervous energy she almost buzzed. At the same time, she had a sexual aura that would make most men dizzy. She was not a calming woman. It amazed Nick that she could shake up his peaceful home without saying a word. "That should give him a kick in the pants," he said to Helen, feeling Olivia's gaze on him. "I'll talk to you later."

  "Is this what you do every day?" Olivia asked, her gaze curious. "Compose threatening letters."

  Nick felt a twinge of amusement "I think of it as motivational correspondence."

  She cocked her head to one side skeptically. "Motivational?"

  "I'm reasonable. I give several opportunities to avoid meeting me in court."

  "Do your cases usually go to court?"

  "Not usually."

  She looked at him for a long moment, and Nick suspected she was trying to decide how she felt about hi
s career. Nick knew his ruthless approach made plenty of people uneasy, but it worked, so he felt no need to defend.

  "You're a word warrior," she finally said, then her lips slid into a mysterious smile. "Do your clients ever fall in love with you?"

  The way her mind worked intrigued him. "If it's a long, drawn out case, they sometimes get a little attached."

  "And you? Do you get attached?"

  He immediately wanted to say no, but it didn't quite ring true. "Early on I lost a case because I had a lot of sympathy for my client, but I didn't have a good plan. I can't get too emotionally involved," he said, "or it clouds my head. Injustice infuriates me, but strategy is how I win."

  "But you have a passion for what you do," she said with a trace of envy. "You're luck—" The phone rang, and her eyes widened. She arched an eyebrow at him and smiled. "Would you like me to get that?"

  He gave a deep nod. The amusement in her eyes made him want to stay and watch.

  Olivia answered the phone and her smile broadened. "Stacy Evans," she repeated, giving Nick a questioning glance. When he shook his head, she grabbed a pencil. "You say you'd like to bring him a home-cooked meal. You're five foot eight, and won a contest for 'best legs' at a local bar. And you're blond. Okeydoke. Do you use double process to develop your color?"

  He smothered a chuckle.

  "Ah, highlighting," Olivia repeated, nodding her head. "Foil or cap?" After a brief discussion about touch-ups, she ended the conversation. "Of course. I can guarantee Mr. Nolan will receive your message. 'Bye, now."

  She hung up the phone as she finished scribbling. "This one can cook, but it sounds like she might have a root problem."

  Confused, he stared at her. "Why did you ask her all the questions when you know I'm not going to call her back?"

  Olivia looked at her notes thoughtfully. "I've been rethinking your perspective on this and I think you could be wasting a great opportunity. Think about it. All these women are interested in you. When you do decide you want a date, if you keep a little information on the women, you can decide if you want to give one of them a call."

  Nick was certain she had lost her mind. "They're all nuts."

  "Maybe," Olivia conceded with a smile. "But they're nuts for you."

  Nick shook his head. "They're nuts for who the media says I am."

  She met his gaze and her smile softened. "And what's the difference between who the media says you are and who you really are?"

  Nick felt the rough edge of frustration. When Olivia looked at him, he could tell she didn't see all the ways he had changed. She was still remembering that kid he'd been on Cherry Lane

  . Even as a child, she'd looked beneath the surface, a characteristic that irritated the hell out of him at the moment. "The media is making me out to be some kind of hero, a good guy, a nice guy," he said, knowing those days were long since passed. "I'm not a nice guy, Olivia," he said, and hoped she heeded his warning.

  * * *

  Nick lived in a bachelor's world. That meant the dry cleaner took care of most of his laundry and his meals were often take-out, from the freezer, or from a can. When the scent of a pastry baking in his oven wafted up to his study, he wondered if he was suffering from delusions.

  He continued reading for the next few minutes, although the delicious smell grew more distracting than a noisy party would have been.

  Finally giving up, he went downstairs and found Olivia bending to take a pie from the oven.

  The voluptuous curve of her rear end made him forget about the pie. Nick knew that beneath the fashionably loose jeans, she had a waist any man would want to gently squeeze, a derriere that begged to be cupped in his hands, and silky thighs that conjured images of pleasure and satisfaction.

  She had the kind of body that could drive a man to distraction, but it was more than her curves. It was the way she moved, the way she smiled, the way her eyes flashed with her changing emotions that made him think of wild, unrestrained sex.

  For just a moment Nick thought about taking advantage of the situation. Professionally, he was known for taking advantage of every situation. On a personal level, he'd quickly learned to choose women with a sophisticated mindset about sex who also knew how to keep their emotions in check.

  The relationships sated his body, but left him with an underlying restlessness. He would almost say they left a void. Which was ridiculous, Nick told himself. He preferred to stay away from messy relationships and messy women.

  There were always exceptions, he thought as he looked at Olivia again. She was emotional and unpredictable. He could tell just by the way she moved her body when she walked, she would be a sensual lover. Both demanding and giving, she would be a challenge. She wouldn't be easily controlled, and Nick was accustomed to being in control.

  She would be a challenge.

  Olivia whipped around to face him, her dark eyes wide with surprise, her face and blouse streaked with flour.

  Messy, he thought. He might have changed since he was a kid, but Olivia still wore her feelings on her sleeve.

  "You have a nasty habit of sneaking up on me," she told him.

  Even her voice made him think of rumpled sheets and bare skin. Her eyes, however, took him back to Cherry Lane

  . He reined in his dark urges. "The scent gave away your secret. I'm surprised the oven survived. No pies have been baked in there before. What kind?"

  "Black cherry," she said. "But we should wait until after dinner. It's way too hot now."

  An innocent comment, and Nick couldn't have agreed more, but he was thinking of a different kind of heat.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  "It's the least I can do," Olivia said, unable to watch Nick maul his slice of pie one more minute. She propped herself against the table and held the bite of pie in front of his mouth. "You did save my life."

  Nick groaned. "Do we have to go through this again?"

  She laughed. "No. You did great with the smoked turkey sandwich, but you're clobbering my pie. Quit complaining and eat it." He clearly hated needing help. "C'mon," she said. "You know you want it."

  He shot her a dark glance that carried a sensual punch. She was so surprised at the heat in his eyes that she blinked, then his expression changed. He closed his mouth around the fork and took the bite. It was crazy, but even the decisive way he devoured the bite was sensually strong. Unfortunately, Olivia had learned that strength could be a cover-up for bullying. Nick, however, didn't strike her as a bully.

  Watching his tongue skim over his lip made her stomach tighten. He made a low sound of approval, and she felt the sensation again. After he swallowed, she watched him for a long moment, distracted by her odd feelings.

  He glanced up at her. "You're right. It's great pie. I want more than one bite."

  A lick of awareness rippled through her. He would be a demanding lover, she thought. But would he be equally giving? she wondered. There was something incredibly seductive about the idea of being responsible for Nick's pleasure. She offered another bite and another, all the while feeling a tension inside her grow. He suckled a cherry with his tongue and she felt a flash of white-hot heat.

  When the full knowledge hit her that she was unbearably turned on watching Nick eat the pie, she was appalled at herself. Where was her mind! Taking a few quiet, careful breaths, Olivia reminded herself that when she'd decided to go to college, she'd made some important decisions. During her first year, she had a no-men rule. She'd mentally flicked the switches to her heart and hormones to the off position.

  When Nick finally finished the last bite, she was so unsettled she wanted to break the plate. Scooping it up, she wheeled around to the sink.

  "That was great. Thank—"

  "You're welcome," Olivia said quickly in a high voice and turned on the water.

  She felt more than heard Nick behind her. Her heart hammered, and she bit her lip as she cleaned the dish.

  "Any particular reason you're trying to
scrub the paint off my china?" Nick asked in a casual voice just behind her ear.

  Olivia felt every nerve ending in her back shimmy with awareness. She stiffened. "No," she said again in that quick, high voice that betrayed her nervousness. Olivia hated that voice. She rinsed the plate, put a determined smile on her face, and turned to face him.

  His stance was easygoing, but Olivia was certain his laser-blue eyes took in every detail from her permanently tousled hair, to the color she knew was in her cheeks, down every curve in her body, to her restless feet. His gaze was so intent she wondered if he read minds. Dashing the thought, she turned up the wattage on her smile. "I'm glad you enjoyed the pie. I'm off to study for an exam."

  He nodded, still studying her. "What subject?"

  "Western Civilization," she said, eager to take the focus off her crazy thoughts and feelings even though she was anxious about her exam. "I know the material," she said as much for herself as for Nick. "But when I first look at the questions on the quiz, I go—"

  "Blank," he said, nodding again.

  Surprised Nick might understand her nerves, she did a double take. "It's hard for me to imagine you going blank on anything."

  "I didn't have a lot of exam anxiety, but I went blank a few times," he admitted. "Taking a few breaths, going on to the next question, and coming back later to the question that stumped me usually helped."

  "I'll have to remember that," Olivia said, adding it to her little bag of tricks for surviving her first year of college. She was going to have difficulty remembering anything, however, if Nick didn't move away. Every time she breathed, she inhaled his scent and felt her hormone switch jiggle.

  He leaned closer. "You don't look anxious," he mused. "You look more…" He hesitated. "Angry," he said.

  "I'm not angry," Olivia said quickly.

  His gaze flicked over her speculatively again. "Or turned on."

  Suddenly mute, Olivia felt a slice of panic. No, no, no. She didn't want to be turned on, and if she was, she sure as heck didn't want him to know it. She should open her mouth to deny it, but the words stopped in her throat