They’d made a big mistake once. Only an idiot did that twice.
“Well, I guess that’s it. I, ah, can run over to the department store and pick up some clothes and sheets, if you want to take care of this stuff,” Carolyn said, digging into her purse for money and then handing him half the cost of their purchases. Nick had agreed, since he had the bigger vehicle, to transport the toys to the picnic while she brought the other items. “See you tomorrow?” She tried to keep her tone as professional as it would be with a client.
As she turned to go, Nick took a step toward her, bringing them within inches of each other. Heat tingled down her spine, igniting a fire that had been dormant for a long, long time. For a second, she wondered if he were about to kiss her. Some crazy part of her wanted him to do just that. The same crazy side that had acted without thinking back in college.
Okay, probably not the best part of her brain to listen to.
“Carolyn,” Nick said quietly.
“What?” The word escaped her in a breath.
“Don’t go. Not yet. Grab a drink with me. Catch up on old times.”
Oh, how easy it would be to let herself get caught up in him again. But no, she was older. Smarter now.
“Why, Nick? What’s changed, really? You never really got serious about us. And I was always going to put my career first. Never the twain shall meet, isn’t that what Shakespeare said?”
“There was more to our breakup than just that, Carolyn. Much more,” he said, his eyes still on hers, his mouth inches away.
Despite her words, for a second she wanted very much for the twain to meet. For this pounding need to be quieted.
The rational half of her said this was desire, nothing more. At the same time, the feeling unnerved her, toppled her off her carefully planned and organized pedestal. She had no room in her days for a man like him—a man who would distract her, turn her from the very work that fulfilled her sense of self.
She hadn’t the time then, she still didn’t have it now. Sharing a drink with him wouldn’t solve that dilemma.
“You’re right,” Carolyn said. “And all those reasons are still there, Nick.”
The temperature in the aisle dropped a few degrees. “As always, you make a compelling case, Counselor. Well, tomorrow then.” He turned to go, heading for the cash register.
As she watched him disappear, Carolyn told herself she was glad she’d turned down Nick’s invitation. Because Nick Gilbert was a much-too-appetizing bowl of chocolate and cherry ice cream, and Carolyn was definitely feeling lactose intolerant.
CHAPTER THREE
NICK stood in the kitchen of his three-bedroom house and wrestled with the iron, cursing whoever had invented the damned thing. “Remind me again why I’m going to this shindig.”
“Because you’re a guy who cares about kids,” said his brother, Daniel, who was making his regular visit to Nick’s house. He’d already raided the fridge, complained about the dearth of acceptable meal choices, flipped through Nick’s DVD collection twice and taken two of the newer flicks, as if Nick’s house was Blockbuster. Nick didn’t complain. He liked the company, and tolerated his brother’s intrusions. Most of the time.
A writer, Daniel had the same dark brown hair and blue eyes as most of the Gilberts, but preferred a more relaxed approach to clothing, meaning anything fancier than jeans didn’t exist in his closet. “And you better,” Daniel added. “You grew up with four brothers and sisters.”
“I didn’t mean about the kids, I meant, why am I attending an event where Carolyn’s going to be?” Earlier, he’d told his brother about running into Carolyn at the toy store.
A coincidence? Or a second chance with the woman he had never really forgotten?
Nick cursed the iron again as the steam sent globs of water over his shirt. “What is it with these things?”
“Didn’t Mom teach you how to take care of yourself before she released you into the wild?” Daniel slid into place beside his brother. “Here, let me do it. For Pete’s sake, you’re making a mess of it.”
Nick stepped back, amazed that his younger brother could wrangle the machine into doing his will. In five minutes Daniel had the golf shirt pressed and ready to go. “How do you do that?”
“It’s called being a bachelor and being too poor to afford dry cleaning.” Daniel grinned and held out the shirt, then waited while Nick slipped it on. Then he unplugged the iron and set it on the ironing board to cool. “And I’m not distracted by thoughts of a woman right now.”
“I’m not distracted.”
Daniel arched a brow.
“Okay, maybe I am. A little.” Nick picked up his keys, slid them into his pocket, then faced his brother. “I thought I was over her. Over the whole damned thing. Then I see her last night at the toy store and—”
“It was Love Story all over again?” Daniel hummed a snippet of the movie’s famous theme song.
“Not at all. More a remake of our worst moments together.” But there had been one moment when he’d remembered why he’d been attracted to her. Why he’d married her. They’d had fun—for a few minutes—and then Carolyn had gone back to being the stuffy city prosecutor, the woman who was about as much fun as a bag of rocks, and Nick was reminded all over again why they’d broken up.
Yet guilt pinged at him still. She hadn’t been the only one at fault, and he knew it. He hadn’t exactly been Joe Sensitive, nor had he been Husband of the Year.
“I’m just glad I got out of that marriage after a few days instead of a few years,” Nick said. “Carolyn was always too damned straight-laced for me. I want a woman who can have a good time, make me laugh, live a little. Not drive me absolutely insane. And when I think of Carolyn Duff, driving me crazy is the term that comes to mind.”
Daniel bent down to pat Bandit, Nick’s German short-haired pointer. The spotted dog wagged his tail with furious joy, nearly knocking over the scraggly ficus tree beside him. A shower of dry leaves littered the floor. “There were some good times, too, from what you’ve told me. Some very good times.”
An image of one particularly good memory—with the neon lights of Vegas shining on Carolyn’s peach skin while they made use of every surface in their suite at the Mirage—flashed in Nick’s mind. He saw her smile, heard her laughter, could almost smell the scent of her raspberry bubble bath.
“Okay, maybe one good memory. Or two.” Another one popped into his mind, followed quickly by a third, slamming with a sting like pellets into his chest. Nick shook his head. As good as those times had been, the end had been fast and unforeseen, like a sneak guerrilla attack that came and ripped him apart in the middle of the night.
Carolyn had been stubborn about leaving him in that diner, adamant about ending the marriage as fast as it began, claiming he hadn’t cared, he hadn’t been listening.
And back then he probably hadn’t. But she hadn’t given him much of a chance, either.
Just as well. They’d been totally unsuited for each other.
Since the day of the divorce, Nick and Caroline had become nothing more than strangers, albeit strangers who had once shared a bed. And yet last night he’d sensed a vulnerability in her, a chink in the Carolyn armor, that made the lawyer in him see a flicker of doubt in the witness’s case.
He wondered—could he have been wrong in letting her go? Could they make it work if they tried again now?
Nick shook his head. He hadn’t changed much in three years, and from what he’d seen, neither had she. “We were insane to get married in the first place,” he said to Daniel. Definitely