Paris Rose Read online

  “I know one thing—I’ll never trust you again.”

  “Again?” She smiled wryly. “You never trusted me in the first place, or you’d have listened to my explanation.”

  “Right—how unreasonable of me. I find my wife drunk and half-naked on a hotel bed with a guy—obviously they’re just discussing cooking techniques.”

  Lucy’s face flamed. “I know it must have looked bad, but—”

  Nick laughed again. “I know, I know. It was completely innocent, right?”

  “I—I was just putting a stop to it,” she whispered. “I couldn’t let it happen, because it was you I needed.”

  “So it was my fault?”

  “No!”

  “Why are we doing this again?” he asked, his voice stony. “It’s over between us and has been for a long time.”

  Her eyes closed, as if trying to hold in tears. It didn’t work, and they spilled down her face. The urge Nick felt to reach out and take her in his arms, to reassure her that everything would be okay, angered him even further. He forced himself to turn and walk away.

  “Nick!” she called after him, her voice filled with raw anguish. “Nick, please!”

  He ignored her.

  ****

  Lucy watched her ex-husband stride off, his body rigid with anger, before closing the door. It was hopeless. Never in a million years would Nick love her again. As she retreated to the family room and collapsed on the couch, she realized she was crying. Dexter hopped up to join her, and she pulled his small, furry body close, longing for comfort.

  Memories pounded through her head, and she saw herself in the hotel room with Jean-Luc, her old friend from Paris. It had been such a shock bumping into him in the hotel lobby as she’d been grimly checking in, still furious Nick had refused to join her, saying he was too busy. Jean-Luc had smiled, his blue eyes widening in amazement, and Lucy felt some of her pain and anger begin to melt away.

  Now she grabbed a tissue and blew her nose, accepting she’d pay the price of her mistake forever. Nothing had happened—she’d realized in time that she didn’t want Jean-Luc, didn’t want any man but her husband. But by then it was too late. Nick was at the door, and Lucy knew she’d never ever forget the look in his eyes as he’d taken in the scene.

  “I’ve made such a mess of everything,” she moaned. “I’ve lost him, Dex.”

  The little dog woofed gruffly and licked her nose.

  “It’s just you and me, kiddo.”

  Lucy gazed from the window as the sun began to set on the flower-scented summer day. It started the moment she miscarried her baby, she thought bleakly. Her dreams and hopes for the future had shriveled and died, one by one. Now there was nothing left to do but complete the renovations on the house and move on, accepting the fact that she’d destroyed her marriage and lost Nick’s love. Dexter snuggled against her tummy and nestled his head between her breasts, and Lucy stroked him, struggling to hold back another torrent of tears.

  “Just you and me,” she whispered.

  ****

  Relaxing with Lucy around was difficult, to put it mildly. Every time he left the house, Nick peered from the window to ensure she wasn’t out there, fetching her mail or just returning from a walk with her dog. Only when he was sure the coast was clear would he dash for his car. But even then his problems weren’t over. He thought of her constantly. In the mornings he’d wake imagining her curled up by his side, her golden hair tousled on the pillow, and he’d get hard remembering how it felt to pull her into his arms and everything that would come next. He’d see her in the shower, then drying off and stepping into her undies and how he’d always offer to help with her bra and she’d laugh and bat at him with it. Nick swallowed hard. She’d possessed bras in every color of the rainbow—pink, orange, red, zippy lime green with polka dots.

  It was late and he needed some sleep. Instead he was standing around in his bathroom thinking about his ex-wife’s underwear. Annoyed, he finished brushing his teeth, replacing the toothbrush in its glass tumbler. It looked so lonely. Once, Lucy’s toothbrush had stood alongside, keeping it company. Nick shook his head angrily as he exited the bathroom, snapping off the light—he was being an idiot.

  Giving his pillow a vicious punch, he climbed into bed. This was crazy. She was crazy if she thought he’d ever take her back. He’d never forget what he’d seen when Lucy opened that hotel door. Her hair was all mussed, her make-up smeared, and there’d been a man in the room, sprawled on the bed. Every time he thought about it, the shock still whacked him. Perhaps the craziest thing about it all was he believed nothing had actually happened. Lucy didn’t tell lies. Still he couldn’t forgive her for being with another guy, for even considering being unfaithful to him. Hell, it had been hard for him too, when they’d lost the baby, but he hadn’t started screwing around.

  Determined to stop thinking about it, he turned on his side and reached to switch off the lamp, then tensed, his hand pausing in mid-air. He waited a moment, then shot out of bed when he heard another terrified female scream coming from next door.

  Without even bothering to pull on his jeans, Nick bolted down the stairs and out of the house in his boxers. A few months ago, there’d been reports of a peeping Tom in the next town over. They’d never caught the guy. The cool night air brushed his skin, and he felt goose bumps as he pounded on Lucy’s door. The stupid little dog barked frantically. It occurred to Nick that someone could have broken in through a window, or the back door. She’d never paid much attention to security. Again he pounded on the door and yelled her name, hearing the hoarse desperation in his voice, imagining Lucy with a knife at her throat, helpless…

  He heard hurried footsteps, and a moment later she appeared, her face white with terror, and catapulted into his arms.

  “Nick!”

  “Sweetheart, what happened?” He held her tightly, relief coursing through him, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against his chest.

  “Oh, God!”

  “It’s okay now.” She smelled of sunshine and strawberries. “Do we need to call the police?”

  A shuddering sob escaped her as she clung to him.

  “Lucy, what happened?”

  Finally she looked up at him, her huge gray eyes filled with tears. “I—I was hungry and I decided to fix myself a sandwich. I opened the pantry door, and there he was, just sitting on top of the peanut butter jar looking at me, a huge gray mouse.”

  “A mouse.”

  “A huge one,” she shuddered, looking faint.

  Nick nodded. Lucy had hated and feared mice with all her heart, ever since she’d moved into her first apartment in Paris. The place had been old and crumbling, but all Lucy saw as she paid the first month’s rent was ancient and charming. One morning, after spending hours the night before nibbling crackers and studying her cordon bleu manual in bed, she’d opened her eyes and come face to face with a mouse.

  “Could you just help me make sure it’s gone?” she whispered.

  A car going by slowed down, and Nick suddenly realized he was standing outside in nothing but a pair of shorts holding a woman in his arms. He quickly released her. Shivering, Lucy rubbed her bare arms and looked at him beseechingly.

  “It’s probably gone by now,” he said, reluctantly following her into the house.

  He’d been inside Miss Norwood’s home twice, once when the old lady wanted to give him some Christmas cookies, another time after rescuing one of her cats from a tree. Vaguely he remembered a musty smell, lots of dark paneling and green shag pile carpet. That was all gone. Lucy must have eliminated the wall between the living and dining rooms, because he stood in a wide open space with gleaming wood floors that looked funky and modern, yet at the same time comfy and inviting. Framed posters adorned the walls, and there was a chunky, bright orange lamp, bookshelves, a red couch, and a rug splashed with color. Somehow it all came together and worked beautifully.

  He followed his ex into the kitchen, trying not to stare at her bottom which w
as clearly visible through the flimsy fabric of her nighty. She stopped and pointed cautiously to the pantry door, which stood ajar. Nick went to it and peered inside, seeing only extra virgin olive oil, peanut butter, canned tomatoes, and a jar of capers. He opened the doors beneath the sink and immediately spotted mouse droppings.

  “Do you see anything?” she asked, her voice hushed.

  “You should probably get traps.” He closed the doors and turned.

  Damn.

  The nighty wasn’t transparent only at the back. He could quite clearly see Lucy’s breasts, full and round. Her nipples looked delicious. Nick cleared his throat and forced his gaze upwards, to her face, only to find Lucy staring avidly at his naked chest. Then her eyes dropped to the front of his shorts, and a pink blush spread slowly across her cheeks.

  Their gazes finally met and locked. He’d never forgotten how it used to be. Knew exactly what would happen if he went to Lucy now, if he touched her. She would moan softly as his hands cupped her breasts, gently squeezing and playing, and she would melt against him as he kissed her. By the time they’d reached the bed, she’d be ready for him, eager, hot, and wet with desire.

  “Okay.” He cleared his throat. “Okay—traps. Maybe, uh, maybe some poison, too.”

  Lucy nodded, her lips slightly parted.

  He wished she’d move. She was between him and the door, and he’d have to pass close to get out, which might not be—safe.

  “Well, goodnight, then.” He began to edge carefully past her.

  “It won’t come back, will it?”

  “I doubt it,” Nick said. “It’s probably had enough excitement for one night.” The mouse wasn’t the only one—he needed an ice-cold shower.

  She gave him a small, hesitant smile. “Thanks, Nick. I was so frightened.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “I’m sorry I disturbed you. I know you have to get up early in the mornings.”

  “Yeah,” he said, and a small silence lingered between them. She always used to get up first and start the coffee. They’d always kissed goodbye. Sometimes their kisses had turned into more, and he’d pick her up and carry her back to bed.

  “Goodnight,” he repeated, his voice husky.

  “Goodnight,” Lucy said softly.

  He opened the front door and escaped into the night, hoping nobody would see him or the front of his shorts as he hurried back into his own house. Once inside, Nick shut the door quickly and leaned against it, his heart pounding wildly.

  Holy shit.

  He really didn’t know how much longer he could do this. If Lucy didn’t move away soon, if he had to see much more of her, he just didn’t know how he’d be able to stop himself from hauling her into his arms, ripping off her clothes, and making violent love to her. And that would be a bad idea. Beyond bad.

  What the hell was he going to do?

  ****

  In spite of the lateness of the hour, Lucy made herself a cup of tea. It was far too hot for tea really, but she couldn’t think of anything else that would settle her nerves as well. She stirred in a liberal dollop of honey and sat in the family room, glancing nervously back toward the kitchen, even though she’d firmly closed the door. Mice were small and creepy enough to fit beneath doors. Shuddering with revulsion, she took a sip of tea and leaned back, thinking rodents were probably the least of her problems right now.

  It was highly doubtful she’d be able to sleep a wink tonight, after seeing Nick in all his muscled, half-naked glory, his incredibly hard butt encased snugly in his shorts, and those strong arms folding around her, pulling her close...Lucy sighed. She’d always felt so safe when he held her. A part of her knew if she’d simply shed her nighty and held out her arms to him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist. They’d have made love, and for a while she’d have felt the dizzying pleasure only Nick had ever given her. But then what? Then they’d be right back at square one, with Nick determined to never, ever trust her again. She needed more than sex to win him back.

  Dexter scratched at the back door, and Lucy let him in, her heart heavy. She’d hoped that after all this time apart Nick might have started seriously missing her and wondering if the divorce he’d initiated had been a huge mistake. Maybe he did miss her, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be married again. Nick was stubborn. She’d hurt him so much, and it didn’t look like forgiveness was in the cards.

  Leaving the teacup on the table because she was too nervous to venture back into the kitchen, Lucy finally went to bed. She closed her eyes, reliving the one part of the day she’d treasure forever—the moment Nick called her sweetheart, his arms wrapped firmly around her.

  ****

  A designer arrived the following morning to discuss plans for the kitchen, nodding approvingly as Lucy described her vision of an open space, divided only by a half-wall from the living and dining rooms. The countertops would be pale granite and the cabinets an inviting shade of cream. Work was scheduled to start the following day.

  Lucy took off on a short drive to a local DIY store, Indoors and Outdoors. School was out and several children played in the street. A family was holding a garage sale. Somebody was walking a puppy. One of the reasons she and Nick had decided to purchase a home in this area just before they wed was because they liked the mix of professionals and young families. The neighborhood was a blend of bike trails and parks, with stores conveniently close by. She’d been happy here.

  After the divorce, she’d rented an apartment that had felt cramped and depressing after the luxury of a house and a garden. Lucy sighed, thinking of the crossroads she’d reached in her life. Right now she stood on the threshold of several possibilities. One road led to London, where her mother ran an antiques business, another to Paris, the city she loved, where Jean-Luc had offered her a position in his restaurant. Another option was that she could stay exactly where she was, helping run Biscuits and Berries. The problem with all of these roads was none of them led home to Nick.

  She parked outside of Indoors and Outdoors, grabbed a cart, and went inside. She ticked the boring purchases off her list, dropping half a dozen mousetraps and some anti-bacterial wipes into the cart and then began to stroll the wide aisles, admiring rugs and bathroom tiles and wallpaper before coming to a halt in the paint department. Choosing a color for the three bedrooms was proving to be quite a challenge, and so far Lucy hadn’t been struck by any ideas. Something striking for the main bedroom, she thought, picking up a color sample that showcased shades of red, and then putting it back. She wanted restful too, nothing jarring or hectic. Yellow was a definite possibility. She frowned at a ten gallon can of dandelion yellow semi-gloss emulsion, and then hoisted it into the cart.

  “Lucy!” She looked up to see a smiling Angie.

  “Hi!”

  “I want to apologize to you,” Angie said “Thrusting Rosie on your lap that way. I just—I just wasn’t thinking, which as you know is a problem I often have.”

  “I should be the one apologizing. It was rude of me to just run off like that.”

  “Look, could we get a coffee? Mark’s got the kids for a few hours this morning.”

  Ten minutes later they were seated at a table for two, each with a long skinny cup of aromatic coffee, and Angie smiled. “This is so nice. I’ve really missed you. So what have you been up to?” Angie asked.

  Lucy filled her in briefly on the months since the divorce, then quickly switched the focus of the conversation. “I guess you’ve been pretty busy yourself!”

  “Kieran is four years old next weekend, if you can believe it.” Angie hesitated. “Would it be cheeky of me to ask you to make his cake? The one you made for his second birthday was spectacular. I’d pay, of course.”

  “Not necessary—I’d love to bake Kieran’s cake.”

  “And of course you’re invited to his party.”

  “That might be a bit awkward, don’t you think?”

  “Hey, if Nick doesn’t like it he can just turn around and go home.”<
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  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Look, what harm is there in it? Unless it’s because of Rosie—”

  Lucy shook her head. “I just have to get used to the fact that I’m not a part of your family anymore.”

  “Crap,” Angie said miserably. “You know, me and Mom were hoping that with you living next door to Nick, things might just go back to being the way they used to be.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Lucy said, thinking of the desire in Nick’s eyes when he looked at her, battling with a determination to never have anything to do with her again.

  “This sucks,” Angie said, her eyes filling with tears. “We all love you, Lucy. None of us believe for a minute you really cheated on Nick.”

  Lucy stood quickly because her eyes had filled with tears too, and she wanted to pay for her paint and mousetraps and get out. “My email’s the same. Drop me a line and tell me what kind of cake Kieran would like, and I’ll deliver it the day of his party, okay?”

  Angie nodded and Lucy rushed to the checkout, aware she’d made a terrible mistake when she’d bought 78 Meadowlark Drive. She and Nick weren’t high-school kids. This wasn’t a game. They’d shared a marriage, a life, plans for the future, and they’d devastated one another. Had she seriously thought she could win her ex-husband back with some flirting? That he’d take one look at her and promptly forget the past as he melted into her arms? She was playing a game she had no way of winning, and it already hurt almost more than she could bear.

  ****

  Nick smiled at the woman sitting opposite him in the upscale Italian restaurant he’d picked for their second date in less than a week. It suddenly hit him who Olivia reminded him of—she was a dead ringer for Penelope Cruz, with the same smoky eyes, pouty mouth, silky black tresses, and knockout figure. Olivia was smart too, a successful Realtor who knew the business inside out. A college friend of Nick’s had been trying to set them up on a date for almost a year. He’d resisted, but after the business with Lucy five days ago, Nick knew urgent action was needed. Now he wished he’d started seeing Olivia months before. There was absolutely no reason why he couldn’t enjoy a satisfying, fulfilling relationship with this woman. She was perfect.