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Impossible with Sophie.
His chest tightened. No way could he stop seeing her now. Nor could he detach his emotions and keep their relationship physical.
Not that he was a guy who spent a lot of time analyzing his feelings. But he’d found himself daydreaming about her. Visions of the future included her, the unfamiliar urge to protect her, and the need to see her all the time. When she’d told him about her ex, he’d fantasized about hunting the guy down and making him pay for the way he’d treated her.
But what if she still hung up on her ex? Was he the rebound guy? Everyone knew how that usually turned out. Damn it, Sophie was different. Wasn’t she?
He worked to ignore the niggling in the back of his brain.
Therein lay the problem––she’d just arrived in Laguna. Yet, their connection started the first day he saw her muttering to herself in front of the cottage. When he’d helped her up, the heat between them had shocked him.
Something tightened in his chest––he was falling in love with her. It was fast. It made no sense, but no woman had ever engaged him body, mind, and soul like this. Like his parents had been together. They had been madly in love, even after twenty-five years of marriage. Always a touch of the hand or a caress, always laughing and smiling with each other, always supportive in challenging or difficult times.
Dying together in the fiery car crash was probably no coincidence. Nick doubted one could have survived without the other. Was that what was happening with him and Sophie?
Just his luck to meet a woman who had him considering a real relationship and she was on the rebound. The timing sucked. Time—time was the answer. Friendship.
The day-to-day. Romance. He didn’t want to scare her away, so he’d go slow. Where to begin?
Flowers, of course. Flowers. He’d send her a huge bouquet—women loved flowers. He’d romance her and hold back on the physical side—even if it killed him—and show her he was one of the good guys, a worthy partner. He’d demonstrate he truly loved her.
Shit. He loved her. His chest tightened as the epiphany hit him. He wanted to marry Sophie. He wanted her to be his forever.
“Marriage.” Even saying the word out loud didn’t cause him to break into a cold sweat. Terror didn’t overwhelm him. Instead, energy surged through him, a desire to show her they belonged together.
Starting right now.
He picked up the phone and dialed the florist down the street.
CHAPTER12
When Sophie woke she reached out and the sheets next to her were cool. Nick was gone. A vague memory of him kissing her at some ungodly hour this morning flashed through her. She stretched her arms overhead, enjoying the lingering soreness in her muscles.
None of her steamy romance novels prepared her for the real deal. He was the most amazing lover she’d ever had. No pirate fantasy needed.
But she wished he’d stayed for coffee so she could see how her revelations had affected him. Affected them. The conversation had been tough. Being vulnerable wasn’t her forte, but she’d delved into her inner strength. Honesty and trust were vital. No space existed for secrets between them.
Her cheeks flamed recalling how after he’d asked to keep seeing her and to be exclusive, he’d swept her off her feet. And taken her to bed. So at least for last night, they’d been okay.
It was a new day. Time to get down to business and start putting pencil to paper. Or more accurately fingers to keyboard. Although that didn’t have the same ring to it.
When she was pouring her first cup of coffee, her phone rang. When she checked the screen, she grimaced. Crap, her mother. Could she handle a dose of Martine Monceau this morning? She took a fortifying breath and answered.
“Sophie, I’m so glad I caught you. I’ll be there in a few hours, and I’ve made lunch reservations at Splashes.”
She rolled her eyes. “Did you consider I might be busy for lunch?” Just like her mother to make plans without consulting her first.
“Busy? You quit your job, ran away to play at being a writer, you have no man—what could you possibly be doing? I’m heading to L.A., and I want to see my only daughter.” Her mother managed to inject a note of hurt into her accented voice.
Sophie counted to three. “I’m not playing at anything, Mom. You know writing is my new career…”
“Non, non. Let’s not argue. Please be realistic, and you’ve got to be practical. We’ll discuss your return to San Diego and a new job opportunity I’ve found for you. Meet me at eleven thirty.”
“I’m not going back to San Diego… Mom?” Her mother had hung up. Without listening to a word she said—nothing new.
Sophie sighed and headed to take a shower. At least she had a few hours to build her defenses before the onslaught. Because it was easier to polish up for her Mom than listen to criticisms about her appearance, she took extra care with her makeup.
While she perused her closet, the doorbell rang. Crap, didn’t her mom say to meet at the restaurant?
