Читать книгу Won't You Be My Husband? - Linda Varner - Страница 9

“Well, if it isn’t Sissy West. My, how you’ve grown.”

Lauren West started at the sound of the husky, masculine drawl and looked up at its owner, standing in front of her in the hot dog line, his back now to their destination. She saw a ruggedly handsome face and finger-combed black hair. She saw glittering brown eyes fringed with thick dark lashes. She saw the sexiest smile in the state of Texas, maybe the world…

She saw a stranger. A lean, six-foot-and-more stranger, who somehow knew a nickname she’d worked years to lose.

“H-haven’t I though?” Lauren stammered, smiling politely at the man even as her brain flipped frantically through mug shots of long-lost relatives, old boyfriends and past patients of her physician father.

“You don’t have a clue who I am, do you?”

So much for fooling the guy. Lauren hesitated, then gave in to honesty. “Sorry, no.”

“Nicolas Gatewood.”

Nicolas Gatewood? Ex-beau of big sister Diana? Texas City bad boy? High school dropout? Lauren’s gaze swept down and then back up his athletic frame, looking for any of Nick Gatewood’s trademarks: boots, black leather jacket or the words Harley-Davidson. Instead she saw a navy blue cotton sweater, faded form-fitting jeans and scruffy loafers.

“You’re lying,” she blurted, an answer that made him roar with laughter. That joyous sound turned the heads of the Dallas Cowboy football fans lined up all around them. Lauren didn’t care. That laugh also confirmed the man’s claim. Only one male alive displayed mirth with such abandon, and it was with difficulty that she hid her pleasure at seeing him again.

“I’m not, and I can prove it.” He thought for a moment. “Close your eyes and picture the corner of Third Street and Marshall, Texas City, Texas, on a sunny May afternoon about…oh…nineteen or twenty years ago. There are lots of kids standing around waiting for the school bus. One of them is a thirteen-year-old squirt of a tomboy with curly blond hair, freckles and knobby knees.” He paused. “Get the picture so far?”

“It’s slowly coming into focus.” Actually the scene was crystal clear, but Lauren didn’t tell Nick that. Why, she wasn’t sure, but guessed it had something to do with his blatant masculinity, his utter self-confidence, his charm.

Or was it the fact that the longer he talked, the longer she got to stare at him?

“The tomboy, we’ll call her Sissy, is being mercilessly teased by three high schoolers—”

“Moe, Larry and Curly,” Lauren wryly supplied. Nick grinned. “She’s frightened, near tears.”

“Bull. She’s about to break Moe’s nose.”

Nick’s grin widened. “So you remember that afternoon?”

“Of course I remember it. You saved those idiots from a thrashing they would never have forgotten.”

“And all this time I thought it was you I saved when I rode up on my trusty steed.”

“Trusty steed, my foot. You rode up on that beat-up Harley of yours, and the only reason I got on behind you was pity.”

He frowned slightly. “You felt sorry for me? Why?”

“Diana had just dumped you for Brent McEntyre, remember?” Lauren’s four-years-older sister had loved ’em and left ’em at an alarming rate during her teenage years.

“Ach. So she had. I’d forgotten.”

I’ll bet. Lauren still remembered the look on Nick’s face when he’d dropped her off at her house moments after the rescue and found Brent’s sports car parked in the drive. Devastated didn’t begin to describe his expression. “That’s the last time I ever saw you.”

“Until now.”

“Yes, until now.” Lauren smiled at him and, suddenly self-conscious, tried to play it cool as she twisted a tendril of hair that had escaped from the French twist at the back of her head. The next second she abandoned that and, with a hearty “God, it’s great to see you!” threw her arms around his middle.

Nick hugged her back so hard the breath left her lungs in a soft whoosh. Just as abruptly he let go and glanced over his shoulder to check his progress in the concession line. He moved a few steps closer to the counter, then gave Lauren his attention again.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” he said, stuffing the tips of his fingers in the front pockets of his jeans. She realized then that he didn’t look totally at ease, himself. “I seem to recall that you hate football.”

Lauren shrugged casually even as she noted the slight flush now staining his tanned cheeks. Had the hug embarrassed him or did he, too, want it to go on forever?

“One of my partners had a spare ticket.”

“Partners? What are you…a lawyer or something?”

She laughed. “Or something. I’m a doctor—OBGYN.” She told him the names of her four female partners and where their clinic was located.

Nick slapped the palm of one hand to his head as though pronouncing himself a dunce. “I should’ve guessed you’d follow in the old man’s footsteps. You had his knack for healing hurts even when you were a kid.”

Lauren thought of her father, a general practitioner dead eleven years. “You think?”

“I know.” Nick glanced back to check his progress in the line once again and adjusted his position accordingly. Lauren followed suit, keeping the distance between them the same. “You live here in Irving?”

“Dallas, actually. What about you? What are you doing now and where?”

“I’m an architect.” He laughed at her startled expression “With Avery, Sanders and Wright, Inc. Heard of them?”

Still stunned by his occupation—as far as she knew the man had never finished high school—Lauren barely managed a nod. Who hadn’t heard of the prestigious firm?

“I work in Dallas, too,” Nick said, adding, as if to answer her unspoken questions, “G.E.D. in the Army, college after I got out.”

“Why, that’s wonderful!” Lauren exclaimed, giving him both a verbal and literal pat on the back.

“You’re surprised, aren’t you?”

“To be honest, I am.”

“You thought I’d wind up working in a garage somewhere, wearing grease-stained coveralls and a torn T-shirt.”

“That’s not true,” Lauren retorted even though she knew he teased. For some reason it was important that Nick understand she’d always thought he had potential. “I may not have guessed you’d be an architect, but I knew you’d go places.”

“Oh, I went places, all right—beginning with boot camp and ending up in Germany. Six countries in seven years.”

“Must have been exciting,” Lauren murmured, nudging him to close the gap in the line again.

Nick moved obediently. “Turned my life around. Taught me discipline. Gave me pride, goals. Enlisting was the best decision I ever made.”

“An architect…” Lauren shook her head, still not quite believing it. “So are you happily married now, with two-point-five children?”

“Not me.” He glanced at her left hand, obviously looking for a wedding band. His eyes widened in surprise. “You’re single, too?”

“Yes, and probably always will be unless you know a saint who wouldn’t mind his wife delivering everyone’s babies but her own…”

“Hey, Bud! Do you want a dog or not?”

Thus alerted that he was holding up the line again, Nick said, “Don’t run off,” then turned his back on her.

Lauren noted that he was just two people from the counter now. Guessing he’d face forward until served, she made the most of the opportunity to examine this view of him. Not bad, she thought, relishing how his sweater accentuated his broad shoulders and how his jeans hugged his backside and long legs. Clearly he hadn’t let his desk job get the best of his physique. No, a man had to stay active to maintain a body like that.

“Lauren? Dr. Lauren West?”

For the second time that afternoon a man called her name. This time, however, Lauren recognized the voice. She cringed.

“It is you!” Frank Montgomery, friend of Lauren’s brother-in-law, exclaimed as he angled up from nowhere and turned her around to face him. “And looking h-o-t as ever. How’ve you been, babe?”

“Fine,” Lauren replied, unsuccessfully ducking the wet kiss he planted right on her mouth. That kiss brought back vivid memories of their one and only date in Houston last month—a disaster from the get-go, thanks to his inflated ego, ever-ready lips and busy, busy hands.

Frank, who stood maybe an inch over her own five-feet-eight, lay a heavy arm across her shoulders, holding her so that her back was to the food counter and the scoop neck of her sweater in his direct line of vision.

“Would you believe I was going to call you after the game today? I’m in town until Wednesday. Thought we could get together and take up—” he gave her arm a promising squeeze “—where we left off.”

Though tempted to slap the man senseless, Lauren kept her cool. Frank Montgomery was, after all, head of the surgery department at the hospital where Diana’s physician husband, Stephen, hoped to earn operating room privileges. Diana would kill Lauren if she did anything to jeopardize his chances.

“I really can’t—” Lauren murmured, trying to ease free of his embrace without giving him a peek at her breasts.

“Playing hard to get?” His beer-scented whisper fanned the tendrils of hair framing Lauren’s face. His lips loomed inches from her own.

“I’m not playing at all…”

“Lauren, honey, do you want mustard or ketchup on your—er, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” It was Nick, and looking as dangerous as 007 ever did.

Oh so grateful he’d saved Frank from bodily harm, Lauren wrenched herself free and followed his inspired lead. “Don’t be absurd,” she murmured, pulling her sweater back up on her bare shoulder. “This is just Frank Montgomery, whom I met through Stephen a few weeks ago. Frank, this is Nicolas Gatewood, my—”

“Fiancé,” Nick interjected, extending his right hand, which a visibly flustered—or was he angry?—Frank took, shook and quickly released.

“S-Stephen is going to be on the surgical staff at Houston Regional just as soon as his appointment is approved,” Lauren stammered, still trying to adjust to Nick’s sudden conversion from friend to fiancé. “Frank, here, is head of the department.” Anxiously, Lauren searched Nick’s expression for any sign that he understood her unspoken message: be nice to this jerk.

Nick’s quick wink, which could not have been seen by their companion, told her that he did. “Houston Regional’s gain.”

“Uh, yes, of course,” Frank murmured. “Stephen is a fine surgeon.” Lauren noted that his gaze dropped to her left hand just as Nick’s had earlier. He frowned ever so slightly. “How long have you two been engaged?”

“Not long at all,” Nick replied when words failed Lauren.

“We, um, haven’t even had a chance to shop for a diamond,” she added, trying to assuage the doubt she read in Frank’s expression.

“I…see. Well, congratulations and best of luck.” He began to edge away.

“Thanks,” Nick replied, standing by Lauren’s side until the man slithered off into the crowd. At that point he glanced back toward the counter. “Rescuing damsels in distress is not without its price.”

“What…?” Lauren, still in a bit of a daze, frowned after Frank.

“I lost my place in line, and not even for bratwurst on a roll will I go to the back and start over.”

A quick glance toward the head of the line confirmed it. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. Are you very hungry?”

“My stomach is gnawing my backbone.”

“I have a chocolate bar in my purse.”

“Give it to me, oh bride-to-be,” Nick told her, holding out his hand, palm upwards and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Abruptly Lauren grabbed. Nick’s hand and as good as dragged him away from the crowded concession area to the edge of the walkway. “I can’t believe you told Frank that we’re engaged.”

“Got rid of him, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but…”

“And probably for good.”

“Probably, but…”

“Then how about a little appreciation?”

Lauren sighed and gave him the credit he surely deserved. “Thanks, Nick. I owe you.”

“One good turn does deserve another,” Nick agreed, leaning against a concrete support, arms crossed over his chest. “You can pay your bill October twelfth at my boss’s house.”

“Excuse me?”

“I have a dinner party to go to a week from Wednesday. I want you to go, too, and play fiancée the way I just did.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Never more.”

“But why?”

“So a certain someone will keep her hands to herself.”

Lauren laughed in utter disbelief. “Can’t you just tell her to cool it?”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“Who is this mystery lady, for crying out loud?” Lauren teased, enjoying Nick’s obvious discomfort at having to admit his problem. “The boss’s wife?”

“Exactly.”

Lauren’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I were. Will you help me?”

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea. Won’t there be complications at your office? I mean, your boss will surely spread the word. Telling a white lie to Frank, who, with luck, I’ll never see again, is one thing. Telling one to your co-workers is quite another. Won’t they wonder if they don’t see us out together now and then?”

“I rarely socialize with my co-workers, so I seldom see them anywhere besides the office. If I do, I’ll just tell them you’re delivering a baby or something.” He took both her hands in his. “So can you do it?” he asked, flashing her a killer smile.

Lauren sighed and gave up the ghost. Freeing her hands, she dug in her purse for her pocket calendar. A quick peek at it revealed she could probably manage a dinner party in ten days. “I can do it, and I will—”

“Thanks, Sissy.”

“—on the condition that you never, ever call me that again.”

“Agreed…Dr. West. Now dinner is at eight. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

“Okay.” Lauren dropped the calendar in her purse, then dug around for one of her personal cards, which she handed to him, along with a slightly squashed chocolate bar. “Here’s my address. There’s my home phone number. Is this thing dressy?”

“Dressy enough. I have to wear a tie.” He looked as if the thought choked him as much as the tie would.

Lauren laughed, pleased to see that a little of the old Nick still lurked inside the new. Not that there was one thing wrong with the new Nick. She found the combination of the past and present a most tempting package.

But who had time for temptation? Certainly not Lauren, who was suddenly assailed with second thoughts about the wisdom of all this. As if reading them, Nick frowned.

“You’re not going to back out on me, are you?”

“No,” Lauren heard herself say. “This is a debt of honor, after all, and I—oops!” Her pager, clipped out of sight on the waistband of her jeans before she left for the stadium that morning, vibrated against her skin. With a sigh, Lauren raised the hem of her sweater and pressed a button to illuminate the number of her paging service. “Must be a real problem for them to page me here. I’m on fifth call today.”

“Fifth call? What in the heck is that?”

“It’s a rather complicated on-call system my partners and I worked out to keep our patients happy. Most of them are…hmm, I’m not sure how to put this…”

“Filthy rich?”

Lauren laughed. “I was going to say spoiled rotten, but filthy rich is appropriate, too. Anyway, to make sure every patient gets immediate and personal attention, my partners and I rotate responsibility. First call gets called first. Second call gets called if the doctor on first call is already busy. Third call—”

Nick held up his hands as if warding off a blow. “I get the picture, I get the picture. And I’m wondering ‘who’s on first’?”

“Dr. Carmencita Renfroe has first call tonight,” Lauren replied, only belatedly realizing Nick referred to the classic Abbott and Costello routine and not her equally complicated call schedule. She stuck out her tongue at him, an action that won her his mischievous grin. “I really have to go.”

“Not before we shake on this engagement thing.” Nick reached for her hand, but instead of a shake, he gave it a kiss…right in the sweaty palm. Lauren’s heart screeched to a halt then jump started back to life. She snatched her hand away and swiped it down her jeans.

“Just what was that?” she demanded, feigning indignation. It wouldn’t do for him to know just how much she wished that kiss had landed on her lips instead of in her hand.

“Inexcusable,” Nick said with a decidedly sheepish smile. “Just because I’m already half in lust with you is no excuse for me to act like Frank. I’m sorry, and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go that far,” Lauren thoughtlessly blurted out even as she registered his “half in lust” comment. Too late she heard the echo of her own candid reply. “What I mean is, I’d never compare you to Frank. You two aren’t a bit alike.”

“That’s true. I’m an architect—he’s a doctor.”

Lauren blinked at that response. Did Nick mean he considered them alike in ways other than professional? she instantly wondered. Like, maybe, sexual…?

Half in lust.

The very concept took her breath away, probably because Lauren was already half—if not three-fourths—in lust with him, too.

Amazing what a few years of growing up could do.

She swallowed hard, suddenly as rattled as a teenager on a first date, even though she was as experienced as two serious affairs could leave her.

“Now I’ll be out of touch for a few days,” Nick said. “But I’ll call your secretary early next week to have her remind you about our date, okay?”

“Okay,” she told him, though the chances of her forgetting were slim and none. “I really have to go, Nick.” With a wave, she spun on her heel and tried to put some distance between them.

“Lauren?”

“What?” She paused but did not dare turn to look at him again.

“Who the hell is Stephen?”

Lauren smiled to herself. “Diana’s husband, Stephen Bayer.”

“So he’s family,” Nick murmured, softly adding, “Good,” a word that Lauren barely heard; a word that did not give her peace of mind…or body.

True to his word, Nick called Lauren’s office the day of the dinner party and asked for her secretary. After identifying himself, he explained that he was an old friend of Dr. West’s who wanted to remind her about a social commitment.

“You don’t sound old,” replied the young woman, who called herself Lisa.

Nick heard her playful tone and grinned, liking her on the spot. “Must be the connection. You don’t sound a day over twenty-one, yourself.”

“I’m not a day over twenty-one,” she retorted with a laugh. “I am old enough to take a message, however. What do you want me to put in this one?”

Nick grinned a little bigger. “Just remind Dr. West that she has a date with me tonight at seven-thirty.”

“Did you say…a date?” Lisa sounded as if the concept were a new one.

“A date. You do know what one of those is, don’t you?”

“I certainly do,” she replied, somewhat hesitantly adding, “Though I’m not at all sure Dr. West does.”

Her casual comment stayed on Nick’s mind all day. Lauren didn’t date? Unbelievable! Was she too busy? Too tired? Too picky?

Couldn’t be picky, Nick thought with a dry laugh as he drove his sleek silver Mercedes-Benz to Lauren’s Dallas neighborhood that night. He glanced at his gold wristwatch, purchased with money from his first Avery, Sanders and Wright, Inc. paycheck some four years ago. Remembering how he’d passed over a style he liked better so he could purchase the most expensive one in the jewelry store, he noted the time, 7:15, and shook his head. Thank goodness money had finally lost its hold on him. It had taken a couple of years—the scars of poverty ran deep—but now he could honestly say he knew what was important.

Lauren, for example. Seeing her at the stadium was a gift from the gods that Nick did not deserve, but accepted. And though certain he would one day rue their meeting—like when her class act saw through the sham of his nouveau respectability—at the moment he was grateful for the diversion.

A glance at the card Lauren had given Nick reminded him for what address he now searched: 14 Blue Moon Lane. He spotted the street just ahead and, shortly after, her house, a modest two-story brick with a neatly manicured lawn. Turning into the drive, situated mid-point in a curve he considered dangerous, Nick braked his car and killed the engine, then got out and walked to Lauren’s front door.

He raised his hand to ring the bell, but hesitated, suddenly nervous. What the hell? he wondered, trying to analyze this unexpected reluctance to see Lauren again.

Was it concern he would do something stupid tonight that kept his hand hovering inches from the bell? Or was it worry he would put his foot in his mouth? Both, Nick instantly realized…plus raw fear that he hadn’t imagined the spark of interest he saw in her eye. That he would respond to it and reveal just how incredibly, sexually attracted he was to her, too.

Damn, but she was a beauty. Tall, generously curved, graceful. He broke out into a cold sweat just remembering how she’d looked Sunday in tight jeans, leather knee boots and that sweater…dear heaven, that sweater.

Nick swallowed hard. The door suddenly swung open.

“Are you going to stand there all night or ring the bell?” Lauren demanded, hands on hips.

“I-it’s broken,” Nick lied, for lack of a better excuse for loitering like an idiot on her front porch.

“It is not,” Lauren retorted, reaching out to thumb the button. At once chimes sounded inside the house. “So what’s the real problem?”

“I’m, uh, early.” He glanced at his watch, noting with relief that he was, indeed, early—one minute and thirty seconds.

“That’s okay. I’m ready.” Laughing, clearly not fooled by Nick’s fibs, though she couldn’t possibly know the reason for them, Lauren stepped back and ushered him into the house. “So what do you think?” she demanded, throwing out her arms as if to encompass her whole house in a hug.

“I think you look like a million dollars,” Nick replied, even though he knew she wanted his opinion of the house, not her person. His hungry gaze devoured Lauren, savoring every inch of her from auburn curls to open-toed high heels. His heart turned a back flip. His knees threatened to give way.

“Not me, doofus,” she said. “My house. Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible,” he murmured, without dragging his gaze away from her glittery black dress. Cut in a style from the past, its padded shoulders, diamond cutout neck, and knee-length skirt accentuated her shapely figure and drove his pulse to triple digits.

“I rented it three months ago with the option to buy and have been working like crazy decorating ever since. Only the bedroom is finished. I know we need to be going, but would you like to come up and look at it?”

She wanted him in her bedroom? Dazed by his good fortune, Nick followed her up the stairs. He noted that Lauren had to grasp a handful of skirt, thereby widening the slit in back, so she could manage the steps.

“I have the most gorgeous bedroom suite in the world.”

And the best legs, Nick silently added, relishing the tantalizing lengths of limb Lauren unwittingly revealed. Though tempted to hang back a step or two, he resisted. It wouldn’t do for her to catch him trying to get a glimpse of her panties. As it was, he’d have to keep his jacket buttoned all night to hide his unfortunate physical reaction to the seams of her sexy black stockings.

Lauren took a right at the top of the carpeted stair, leading Nick into a bedroom that looked as if it had come straight from “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.”

“My God,” he murmured, momentarily distracted from Lauren, herself. Slowly he turned, taking in every detail of the cream-colored furniture, the diaphanous cream-colored curtains, the plush cream-colored carpet. The only color in the room besides cream, cream, cream was a splash of burnished gold here and there, the red roses he’d sent her on Monday and, at the moment, Lauren, herself, dressed as she was in take-no-prisoners black.

“You don’t like it.”

“It’s…incredible. I feel as if I’ve stepped into a fairy tale. All that’s missing is the virgin princess, stretched out on that four-poster bed, waiting to be kissed awake by the handsome prince.”

“Princess, heck! This is my room. Therefore, I’m the one who gets the kiss.”

“Then all I can say is ‘Look out, Sleeping Beauty,’ because if you’re wearing that dress when the prince shows up, you won’t be a virgin for long.”

“Oh, I took care of that little problem years ago,” Lauren told him with an airy wave of her hand. She walked over to the cheval mirror and smoothed her dress down over her hips. “So you like the outfit?”

“It’s really beautiful.”

“Why, thank you.”

“You’re welcome…” To my sex—to my heart—to my life. Hearing the echo of his unspoken offer, Nick tensed. It would be easy to get in over his head, here. So easy.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lauren, who now stood close enough to feel the reaction.

“I was just wondering where you’re going to clip your pager,” Nick quickly lied. While he didn’t mind her knowing he found her desirable tonight, he had no intentions of admitting he’d actually, even for a millisecond, thought of her in conjunction with his tomorrows. That was an insanity he could neither explain nor understand, unless seeing her again had somehow resurrected long-buried dreams of the good life. Too bad that Nicolas Gatewood, more than anyone, knew the good life wasn’t for everyone. “Assuming you’re taking it with you.”

“Of course I’m taking it with me. And I’m putting it in your shirt pocket.” Lauren scooped up her purse, took out the pager and tucked it in his shirt pocket. Then she smoothed his shirt and tie. “Goodness, but you’re all tensed up,” she murmured, the next instant stepping behind Nick and gently kneading his shoulders. “Take off your jacket.”

“What for?”

“Your muscles are in knots.” Even through the fabric of his black jacket and snow-white shirt, her probing fingers seared his flesh. “They need attention.”

I’ll show you a muscle that needs attention! Nick’s libido screamed, further rattling- his shaky nerves. “Though I appreciate the offer, we really don’t have time, for a back rub, Lauren. We have to be at Phillip Avery’s in—” he glanced at his watch, noting that his hands…hell, his whole body…trembled at her touch “—twenty minutes, and it’s going to take every one of them to get there.”

“Then I’ll give you a rain check,” Lauren murmured, tugging playfully on his earlobe.

Nick jumped as if she’d goosed him.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Lauren demanded. Serious now, and obviously concerned, she raised his left arm and ducked under it to stand eyes-to-Adam’s-apple with him.

“I guess I am a little nervous about this dinner party. I’m not sure of the reason for it. And then there’s this phony engagement business. Speaking of which—” Nick dug into his jacket pocket and retrieved the tiny blue velvet box he’d tucked there earlier “—put this on.”

Wide-eyed with curiosity, Lauren opened the box. While she examined the diamond solitaire inside, Nick examined her and saw the stuff of which a bad boy’s dreams were made: auburn hair, big blue eyes, kissable lips. Man, oh man.

She was out of his league and always had been. Yet here they stood—face-to-face and, of all things, faking an engagement.

“Where’d you get this?” Lauren held the ring up under his nose.

“My fiancée.”

“You’ve been engaged?”

“That’s right.”

“What happened?”

“Every time she set the wedding date, I found an excuse to change it.”

“Tsk. Tsk. And how many times did this happen?”

“Four.”

“No wonder she gave the ring back to you.”

“Actually, she threw it back to me, and I never blamed her.”

To Nick’s relief, Lauren slipped the ring on her finger instead of asking any more questions about that painful period in his past. “It’s a little loose, but I promise I won’t lose it.”

“Lose it. Lose it!” Ready to escape Lauren’s pristine bedroom, Nick walked out the door and down the hall to the stairs. Lauren turned off the light and joined him. Together they descended into the foyer, where she retrieved her coat from a closet. Moments after, they left the house.

The clock on the dash said 8:10 when Nick braked to a halt in Phillip Avery’s circle drive and assisted Lauren from the car. They hurried up the steps to the house, Lauren exclaiming over everything from the massive oak trees to the antique mailbox. It warmed Nick’s heart to hear her comments. Although a noted obstetrician in one of the city’s most influential clinics—at least according to the secretary who’d ordered the roses for him—Lauren was still just Sissy West from a small Texas town on the Gulf of Mexico.

Incredible, that, and disconcertingly appealing.

“Do I need to ring the bell?” Lauren asked, no doubt referring to his earlier reluctance to ring hers.

“Feel free.”

Lauren reached up, then slowly lowered her hand. “Do you really think they’ll believe we’re in love, Nick? I mean, we didn’t practice or anything—”

“Trust me, Lauren,” Nick couldn’t resist teasing. “If I’d had the slightest idea you wanted to practice loving me, I’d have been over every night this week.”