Читать книгу Hearts Are Wild - Laura Wright, Laura Wright - Страница 8

Nick felt suspended, as if he’d just taken his Harley over one of the roller-coaster hills in Colorado and was hovering a few inches off the blacktop, his gut tight as he waited to hit the ground. He stared at Maggie. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s simple. I’ll rent you the room at my house—” she looked up at him, hopeful “—and in exchange you’re going to let me find you a woman.”

He leaned in closer, breathing in her soft, floral scent. “I have no trouble getting women, I promise you.”

“Let me rephrase. I’m going to find you the perfect woman. The love of your life.”

“Lady, I just want the room. No love, no perfect woman.”

“I’m sorry.” Maggie held up the keys, they swayed like a pendulum between them. “But you can’t have one without the other.”

“I already gave your grandmother a hefty deposit.”

“No problem. I can get it back to you by the end of the day if you decide not to take me up on my offer.”

For one long moment Nick could only stare. Then he ground out, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “And when I find you Miss Right, you’ll become my walking advertisement. You’ll tell everyone, especially the men in this town, that coming to Maggie’s Matches was the best thing you ever did.”

“This is blackmail.”

“Yes, I guess it is. But my business needs a leg up—of the male variety. And though I hate to do it, desperate times…”

Forget about the teeth-rattling slam of Harley hitting asphalt, Nick thought. This conversation was like walking across a field of land mines. He had no clue when the next bomb was about to go off. He didn’t like being blackmailed or coerced. No one pushed him into something he didn’t want to do anymore.

He’d had enough of that growing up with a workaholic father who’d planned his future from the age of five. Nick hadn’t stuck around to follow that empty course, and there was no way he was going to follow Maggie’s.

“Just to sweeten the deal,” she began encouragingly. “I’ll even throw in board to go along with that room.”

He rubbed his jaw, his gaze traveling her face. She was brimming with anticipation, like a little girl on Christmas morning. Adorable as hell and just as hard to resist. But, shoot, he wasn’t a damn puppy in a box for her to open and show off. He wasn’t looking for the love of his life. He wasn’t looking to settle down and get caged.

“Listen, Maggie, I’d like to help you out, here, but I’m really not interested in getting involved.”

“I understand,” she said slowly.

“Good.” He nodded, relief casually passing through him. “So, can we get back to talking about—” He stopped short, studying her expression. She had a look in her eyes. Pity or…or what? Oh, hell. She was obviously abandoning blackmail for a new tactic. “What is it exactly that you understand?”

“That you must be a pretty scared and lonely man.”

She turned and walked out of the room, leaving him standing there, his jaw growing tighter by the second. Females. They provoked you, and you knew exactly what they were up to, yet you couldn’t stop yourself from following them into the other room and trying to convince them how wrong they were.

“I’m not scared of a damn thing!” There it was. What a sucker.

“Then what’s the problem, Nick?” She stood by the front door, her back to him, her trim silhouette outlined in the sun. “I mean, it’s a perfect solution. You get the room, and I get some free advertising.” She glanced over her shoulder, a brow raised in challenge. “That is, unless your bad attitude scares the ladies away.”

If he clenched his teeth any tighter they were going to crack. “I’m not looking for Miss Right. I don’t want—”

“To go out with a bunch of beautiful women?”

“I can do that on my own.” And he did. Nick loved women. The way they looked, acted, smelled. He even liked the strange little coy fronts they put up to catch a man’s interest. Above all, he respected them and made certain they enjoyed themselves when they were with him. He was always honest about what he could and couldn’t offer. Freedom. No complications.

The two things that Maggie Conner sought to destroy.

But, man, he mused, his gaze moving up the length of her as she turned to face him. She sure was equipped to change a man’s mind on the subject of commitment.

Exhaling heavily, he racked his brain for a solution. Maybe he could find some other place to stay. A shack on the beach. Or he could rent a trailer and pretend he was seventy-five and retired. No, that was no good. Too small, too cramped. There was always the unpalatable option of showing up on his father’s Italian marble doorstep, listening to the sonorous tones of an overpriced door chime. Anthony Kaplan was practically itching to get ahold of Nick so he could attempt to convince him he’d changed—that the older man’s accident a few years ago had caused him to realize that he suddenly wanted to be a father.

Nick narrowed his gaze at Little Miss Matchmaker. Not one of those options sounded remotely reasonable. He released a weighty breath. So, he had to go out on some dates…he wasn’t about to fall in love with any of them.

“How long?” he asked.

Maggie’s smile was as bright as a twelve-year-old college grad. “Four weeks. Just in time to put your glowing quote in the full-page newspaper ad announcing my grand opening.”

The salty air whipped around them. Four weeks of discomfort for six months of meals and a place to drop at the end of the day. He didn’t usually make quick decisions. A good, long ride on his bike was what he needed.

Nick glanced over at Maggie. She didn’t look like a woman willing to give him time to mull things over. Nope. She was ready to send him out among the wolves right now.

Her eyes sparkled, and she bit her lower lip loosely, seductively and—surely—unconsciously. His body tightened in response. He was damn sure that he wasn’t going to fall in love with any of Maggie’s blind dates, but in that moment he knew that he’d just fallen in lust with his new roommate.

“All right, Maggie.” He exhaled sharply and stuck out his hand. “You got a deal. Let’s prove each other wrong.”

Later that day Maggie sat at the edge of the swimming pool at the Santa Flora Retirement Village. With her feet dangling in the cool water, she watched as her grandma’s ivory swim cap surfaced and sank with the steady rhythm of the breaststroke. Maggie shook her head and smiled. At seventy-two the woman had more energy than she knew what to do with—not to mention more pluck.

The older woman’s red cardigan lay in Maggie’s lap, and instinctively Maggie lifted it to her nose and inhaled deeply. Lilacs. It was her grandma’s favorite scent. Even the slightest trace of that fragrance took her back to her childhood. Maggie, her mother and her grandma all living together in the same house that she lived in now. Sitting side by side on the backyard’s cool cement steps, laughing at the mountain of a watermelon that clung tenaciously on the vine in the garden they’d planted together. Two contented widows and one thoughtful child. They’d been the Three Musketeers. Then, when Maggie was nine years old, her mother had died. And then there had been just two.

“It goes over your shoulders, dear. Not up your nose,” her grandma chided as she swam toward her.

Kitty Conner could always be counted on to make Maggie laugh. But today Maggie didn’t feel much like laughing. She had a bone to pick with her grandma. Her new roommate was on his way over to her house, moving his things into his room, likely to drop off his toiletries and manly scented soap in the bathroom that they would share.

Maggie’s cheeks warmed.

She closed her eyes and took a slow breath. What was wrong with her? Her cheeks hadn’t burned this way since the day before high school started when she’d slathered herself in baby oil and accidentally fallen asleep on the beach.

And it wasn’t just the heat in her cheeks that had betrayed her when she’d been with Nick Kaplan. He’d grinned at her, eyes dark and intense, and every part of her had gone warm and tight. No man had ever caused such fireworks inside her. Around him, she felt on the verge of something…something unknown—something that stirred her blood.

But those first-day-of-spring flutterings didn’t matter. Her goal was to find him the perfect woman. Not an imperfect, cursed, inexperienced virgin.

Resting her arms on the side of the pool, her grandma let out a contented sigh. “So, are you going to lay into me or what?”

Maggie tried to look perplexed. “Now, why would I do that?”

“Maybe because I gave you a gorgeous hunk of man for a roommate and you’re afraid you won’t be able to control yourself around him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Maggie scoffed, but inside her heart something fluttered. “Maybe it’s that you lied to me and told me that that hunk of man was really a shy, sweet girl.”

“You know, there actually was a girl, but when the boy came along…”

“You couldn’t help yourself.” Maggie sighed. “You’re not even going to apologize for tricking me, are you?”

“For being a matchmaker, you mean? No, I don’t think so. I will always be on the lookout for you.” Kitty grinned at Maggie’s frown. “Look, sweetheart, Nick really needed the room. And he was willing to pay a little bit extra. And with you getting your business up and running I knew you could use it.” The cunning in her eyes warmed to grandmotherly affection. “Oh, my, I can’t wait to see Maggie’s Matches. I’m so proud of you. When can I come by?”

Temporarily forgetting her irritation, Maggie allowed her grandma’s interest to veer the conversation off course. “The weekdays get pretty hectic with all the last-minute fix-ups—electrician, plumber, that sort of thing. How about next Saturday?”

“Next weekend’s no good, honey.” Kitty winked at her. “A group of us are going to Vegas.”

Vegas! Her grandma didn’t gamble, or at least Maggie wasn’t aware that she did. Kitty had always said that gambling was for people who had the social skills of a hermit and who kept the hours of a vampire.

But before Maggie could inquire further about the impromptu trip, something caught her grandma’s eye and she turned. Curious, Maggie followed her line of vision and saw a tall, tanned and very good-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair waving at them from the other side of the pool. Well, not at them, she realized quickly. The man was waving at her grandma.

“Who’s that?” Maggie asked.

Kitty turned back, her eyes bright. “Just a friend.”

Maggie stared at her grandma in astonishment. “Are you blushing, Grandma?”

“Of course not. It’s just the exercise.”

Maggie didn’t buy it. “Is he a client?” Kitty was supposed to be retired from matchmaking, but Maggie knew from very recent and personal experience that the older woman just couldn’t seem to help herself.

Kitty grinned. “You mean, am I helping him to find love?”

Maggie nodded, her own grin widening.

“I’m going to do my very best to help Ted find love, honey.” She had a faraway look in her eyes.

Was her grandma actually dating? Was she in love? Happiness filled Maggie’s heart as she watched Kitty walk up the steps of the pool. Happiness and concern. She couldn’t stop her hand from going to her throat, touching her gold locket—her constant reminder that the Conner women were great at finding love for others. Just not for themselves.

Her grandfather had died just six months after he’d married Kitty. Maggie’s mother had thought she’d found the love of her life at eighteen, but the man had taken her virginity and left her pregnant.

It was The Conner Curse.

But as Kitty watched Ted move away from the pool area and out of sight, the glow emanating from her face looked like excitement, not worry.

“Good men are hard to come by,” Kitty said as she sat down next to Maggie, swept off her swim cap and ran her hands through her short, dark-gray hair. “Nick Kaplan is a good man, Maggie.”

Maggie handed her a towel. “I’m sure he is.”

“Helping others find love doesn’t mean you shouldn’t find a little for yourself.”

“I don’t have time to think about myself right now.” She’d never told her grandma that she believed their family to be cursed. Kitty would call it rubbish and try to convince her otherwise. And Maggie didn’t want to hear it. She knew what was true, and she wasn’t going to tempt the Fates. “I have a business to run. A future to think about. I’m hoping that this new roommate you’ve found me will actually help to make it a success.”

Kitty shook her head dejectedly. “That doesn’t sound at all like what I had in mind. How is he going to do that?”

Maggie told her grandma about the four-week agreement with Nick. She tried to sound as professional as possible. She didn’t want Kitty to even suspect how incredibly attracted she was to Nick. It wouldn’t do to give the woman any room to hope that her little plan might work. And besides that, Maggie was convinced that any and all feelings for the man would subside over time like the heat of a chili pepper after an ice-cold lemonade.

“Yes, I know that scenario well,” Kitty said finally. “Converting the nonbeliever. It was one of my favorite challenges.” She slipped the red cotton sweater over her shoulders, then turned and gave her granddaughter a kiss on the cheek. “I think you’ll be a wonderful success, Maggie. But take it from me, try and make a little time for romance. All the success in the world can’t make up for the lack of it.”

If there was one thing Nick Kaplan hated it was shopping malls. Miles of stores, tons of people and a food court that sent up the unmistakable stench of fake international cuisine. He slowed his bike when he entered the parking structure, pulled his motorcycle into a space and cut the engine. He still couldn’t believe that he’d let Maggie talk him into this. He was the damn head of a construction company—not some teenager with a point to prove. But at least he had a place to leave his toothbrush.

And what a place. Situated high up on what the locals called the Riviera because of its similarity to the French Riviera, it overlooked everything—town, mountains and the ocean. Like most of the homes in Santa Flora it was Spanish in style, with two small balconies attached to the bedrooms. Lemon, orange and fig trees dotted the lush front lawn, while pots of flowers decorated the front stoop. Inside the small home, the mood was something he could definitely appreciate: comfort. Cozy couches, rustic oak tables and colorful rugs. Elegant and simple, just like her, he’d remembered thinking. No surprises there.

That was until he’d gone upstairs, into the bathroom.

Hanging over the shower rod like a scene from some racy foreign film were undergarments. And not white cotton briefs as he would have expected. Hell, no. These were male torture devices!

Nick had started to sweat while he’d mentally counted off each piece of lingerie: one red-satin teddy, one lacy black bra, one black-lace thong.

Conservative Maggie Conner wore a thong?

He hadn’t stuck around to contemplate that erotic little fact. He’d gotten the hell out of there, jumped on his bike and driven like a madman down the highway—making a pit stop at his new construction site before heading to the Santa Flora Mall where Maggie had told him to meet her at four o’clock.

“Four o’clock, and don’t be late. We have a lot to do,” she’d said as though she were instructing a child.

He’d agreed but hadn’t liked the sound of a mall on a Saturday and didn’t even want to imagine what her plans for him were.

But he’d given his word. And he never went back on his word.

If Nick understood Maggie’s personality at all, she was going to do everything in her power to prove to him that she could find him the perfect woman. Hell, she probably already had someone she thought was Miss Right all picked out and ready for him.

He cursed under his breath as he strode into the open-air mall with its endless sea of useless junk. Frowning, he shook his head. He wasn’t hanging around in here for more than an hour, deal or no deal, or he might run into someone he knew or—God forbid—his family.

But he’d agreed to this ridiculous challenge. And if Maggie wanted to introduce him to some woman who worked at the Hoagie Hut, he’d have to do it.

Beside him a couple of teenage boys whistled under their breath, and Nick looked up, following their gazes. His chest tightened as the reason for his presence in this shoppers’ Babylon walked toward him in a pink sundress. She’d gone home to change. He must’ve just missed her.

Maggie moved with grace, with just a soft sway of the hips—not too obvious. But, man, she was all female. Long, tanned legs, trim waist, full breasts, her dark hair piled high on top of her head. She still looked fairly conservative, but he knew now what she wore underneath her conservative clothes. And that made her simple, pale-pink dress sexy as hell.

Damned if she wasn’t looking just a little bit like Miss Right herself.

The thought dropped into his mind with a noisy crash. Kind of like a wrecking ball, he thought as he promptly shoved it aside. He and “Matchmaking Maggie” were roommates with a business arrangement. And he didn’t mix business and pleasure. Besides, she wasn’t even remotely close to his kind of woman. She probably dated accountants with beige Volvos, not a man who worked with his hands and drove a Harley. She was classic, elegant—a good girl with crazy ideas. Not to mention a major pain in the—

“Hi, there,” she called brightly. “Get settled in all right?”

“Fine,” he said, his body stirring from looking at her too long. “Why am I here?”

“Well, good afternoon to you, too.”

He arranged his face in what he hoped passed for a smile. “Afternoon. Now, why am I here in this gulch of discounted garbage?”

Her gaze roamed over him. “Before I send you out to find that special someone, we have to do something about—” she waved a hand at him “—this.”

“You have a problem with the way I dress?”

She seemed to consider this.

“You’re not going to turn me into one of the suits that you probably date,” he said.

“I don’t date suits.”

He raised a brow. “Oh, really? Then what kind of man turns your crank, Maggie?” What’s good for the goose, he thought. If she got to dig into his personal life, he was just as entitled.

“No one turns my crank,” she said in a hushed whisper. “I don’t date.”

“Come again?”

She hesitated, her gaze slipping to the floor. “Well, what I mean is that I haven’t dated in a while and I’m not planning to date anyone until my business is a success.”

A splash of ice water in the face couldn’t have shocked him more. “That could be months, maybe years.”

She nodded. “Maybe.”

Dating was her business. And she was too busy? He’d heard a lot of bull in his life, enough to know when he wasn’t hearing the whole truth. But he didn’t think she was going to tell him anything—not here anyway, not now. Hell, they were going to be living together. He’d find out soon enough the real reason why she didn’t want to date. His inexplicable curiosity about her seemed to demand it.

Without thinking, he leaned in and brushed her cheek with his thumb. He heard her gasp softly, and he felt like an idiot. He showed her the tiny eyelash he’d rescued from her cheek and said, “Make a wish,” feeling like an even bigger idiot. But her skin was so soft he’d forgotten himself for a moment.

“Just one?” she asked with a shy smile.

At that moment he’d give her any little thing she wanted. But he wasn’t the kind of man who showed a woman her effect on him. “Don’t get greedy,” he grumbled.

She laughed, then blew her eyelash off his thumb.

Desire poured through him. Not good, he thought. He needed to keep his distance or he was going to pull her close and kiss that long, graceful neck of hers. “If that wish was for me to go clothes shopping without complaint, it’s not coming true.”

She tilted her chin up at him. “You’re being unnecessarily stubborn.”

“I’m not changing. This is who I am, Maggie. Take it or leave it.”

“This is not about who you are. This is just about your clothes.” She smiled. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

“Fun for who?” he asked.

“For me. And it’ll be my treat.”

“Oh, please,” he grumbled. “I own my own company. I can pay for a few pairs of jeans.”

“Pants,” she corrected. “Nice pants.”

“I hate to point this out, but I never agreed to a wardrobe change.”

“Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward a men’s store. “You have a roof over your head—and I have you. For four weeks. Body and soul.”

He liked the way that sounded. He knew he shouldn’t. But he did.

She glanced at her watch as they walked. “Then after you get clothes we’ll go see Domingo.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s a Domingo?”

“Not what, who,” Maggie explained. “Domingo is a hairstylist. Well, actually he’s a hair genius, but—”

“Hell, no. No way. No!”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“No.”

She stopped at the store’s entrance, crossed her arms over her chest. “Is this a Samson thing? Shed your locks and lose your strength?”

“First of all, I don’t have locks and second, women find my hair sexy.”

“It’s not the hair, Nick,” she said.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Her gaze flickered from his face to the floor and back. “Well, maybe it’s not the hair they find sexy. Maybe…ah…maybe it’s just you.”

His gut tightened as if he was taking Suicide Pass at eighty miles an hour. She wasn’t supposed to be talking to him like that or looking at him like that, either. This whole day was just plain strange. He had no idea how it could get any stranger.

But it suddenly did.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a young woman. Blond, pretty, with eyes like his own.

He muttered an oath, grabbed Maggie’s hand and pulled her into the men’s store.

“Good decision,” she said as he turned to see the woman glance in his direction. “They have very nice things in here.”

What was she doing home from college? Nick wondered, his gaze fixed on the huge plate-glass window, on the young woman and her searching eyes.

He dropped to the floor behind a rack of pants.

“What on earth are you doing down there, Nick?” Maggie asked as she peeked around the rack and looked down at him.

“Looking for the lowest prices,” he muttered, pulling apart several pairs of pants to get a better view. She was still there.

Maggie stared at him, questions behind her eyes, then she began to laugh. “I had no idea you had a sense of humor, Nick,” she said, hunkering down on the ground next to him. “That’s going to be a big plus with the ladies.”

Yeah, right. He was a regular Jim Carrey, he mused as his gaze flickered to the store’s entrance. The woman was gone. Relief swept over him.

“We can get up…” His words petered out and he stayed where he was. Maggie was close, inches away, her sweet scent impaling his senses.

Under the soft lights, beside a mess of pressed pants, she smiled at him again, her eyes still glowing with laughter. At that moment he would’ve worn a sweater vest if she’d asked him to.

And for Nick Kaplan—a man who hadn’t worn a sweater since the third grade—that realization meant he was headed for trouble.