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“Great,” he said. “I’ll see you in the kitchen.”
“I won’t have time to make the boys breakfast. Tell them that I’m sorry, would you?”
“It’s not a problem. They’ve gotten used to fending for themselves in the mornings.”
“Fine. Good. Then—then, I’ll get started.”
“OK.”
But he didn’t move. Neither did she.
There was such a thing as after-sex protocol. His kind, anyway, and he’d already blown through most of it with this fumbled attempt at conversation.
He’d never been the kind of man to spend the entire night in a woman’s bed; he’d rarely encouraged a woman to spend the night in his, and this was one of the reasons, all the early morning nonsense of hi, how did you sleep, oh fine and how about you, I’ll just head for the kitchen while you get dressed because both parties knew that middle-of-the-night intimacy all too easily turned into early-morning embarrassment.
Nick stood up. Pulled on his clothes. Headed for the door. Opened it…
“Goddammit,” he said, and he spun toward the bed, toward the woman sitting up against the pillows, the duvet clutched to her breasts, her face pale, her mouth gently swollen from his kisses. “Goddammit, Melissa,” he said as he strode toward her.
“It’s Lissa,” she said, “not Melissa, and what are you doing?”
“It’s Melissa,” he said. “You can’t tell me that isn’t the name you were born with and, goddammit, I like the sound of it.”
“Well, that’s great.” Her voice shook. “You like the sound of it. And everything is about you, isn’t it? Everything is about Nick Gentry. What he wants, what he does and doesn’t do—”
“You are not leaving me,” he growled. “You got that? You-are-not, I repeat, you-are-not-leaving-me, dammit!”
“Are you crazy? I’m going back to L.A. I’m getting out of here as fast as I—”
He reached for her, pulled her into his arms.
“You are not leaving me,” he said again and this time his voice shook. “You got that? You are staying right here, Duchess, where you belong.” He kissed her, tasted the salt of her tears, then drew back, framed her face with his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “Tell me you’re not leaving me,” he said softly.
She gave a little hiccup, a sob, a laugh that went straight to his heart.
“No,” she said, “I’m not.”
“Damn right,” Nick said, and he tumbled her back against the pillows and made love to her again. She fell asleep in his embrace.
He waited until her breathing was deep and even. Then he eased out of the bed, pulled on his jeans and opened the bedroom door.
Brutus greeted him with an exuberant woof.
“I agree,” Nick said softly, rubbing the dog’s ears.
He went down the stairs, the Newf at his side.
Business first.
He phoned Ace, told him to drive to the airstrip and pick up whatever stuff Hank had brought.
“He can leave after that.” Nick cleared his throat. “Ms. Wilde—Lissa will be staying on.”
“Yessir,” Ace said, sounding happy.
Nick grinned as he ended the call. Who wouldn’t be happy, knowing Lissa was not leaving?
On to the next step. A vital step.
