“My folks built this house, and the floor plan’s a little dated, a little cut up. But the kitchen’s through the butler’s pantry, in there,” he said. “Help yourself.”
Nicki followed the direction he indicated. She waved off his suggestion, figuring she’d get lost if she tried to negotiate one more room.
“Suit yourself,” he said, peeling off his overcoat to throw it over the back of a chair. He hit the light switch, illuminating the fireplace. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll only be a minute.”
She nodded, “Thank you.”
He took a couple of steps, then paused, fiddling with his cuff links to remove them.
Nicki glanced over at him, transfixed. There was something about a man and his cuff links…the way his fingers worked at removing them, the way he turned back the cuffs, covering the thick bones of his wrists and exposing the dark hairs across the backs of his hands. She looked up, startled to realize he’d caught her watching. An odd, almost bemused expression shadowed his gaze. He slipped the cuff links into his pants’ pocket.
“If you’re still cold, I’ve got an afghan.” He pulled a chenille throw off the leather couch.
Nicki rubbed her arms and tried to protest that she’d be fine, but for an instant she was afraid this unexpected chill of awareness didn’t have a thing to do with the cold. She was acutely conscious she was in his home, alone, with him. The man-woman thing wrought unexpected havoc with her senses.
He shook open the throw for her. “Here. I can see you don’t know how to dress for the weather.” Instead of offering it to her, he moved behind her to slide the afghan over her shoulders.
Heat seeped through the afghan, in all the places his hands had touched. Her heart yammered.
“Actually,” she said, accepting the ends from him, “these are my Florida clothes.”
“Florida?”
“Oh, long story,” she said dismissively, pulling the afghan tighter around her. “And not a particularly interesting one, not when you’re already late.”
He backed away, never taking his eyes off her. “I’ll just be a few minutes. As I said, make yourself comfortable.”
Nicki nodded and turned back into the room. She could hear his distinctive tread behind her on the carpet. When she knew he was out of the room, she walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and tried to not shiver. Garden lights illuminated a winding path off the deck. At the end of the path was a gazebo where a huge Christmas tree glittered beneath a veil of carefully spaced colored lights.
It was obvious that everything had been professionally decorated. She chuckled, in spite of herself, wondering how it must be to be Jared Gillette and have everyone provide you with a Christmas.
Turning from the window, she nearly bumped into the grand piano.
“Wow…” she whispered, trailing a hand over the gold ribbon and greenery on the top. Interspersed in the arrangement were framed photos of a wide-eyed cherub with a pouty mouth, a flirtatious brow, and a riot of long, blond hair. Nicki reached over to carefully extract a photo. This child was a darling…and she’d seen her fair share of kids the past few weeks.
She didn’t think Jared was married. Maybe a niece? Cousin? Family friend, or godchild?
Carefully placing the photo back, she strolled to the other side of the room and tarried at the fireplace mantel. Black-and-white snapshots of a younger Jared and his friends scattered the length. All were framed, many were inscribed.
She sniffed. Obviously there was a different side of Jared Gillette than she was familiar with. These snapshots made the man actually seem human.
She was about to turn away when something caught her eye. A tiny pair of baby shoes, obviously worn, the white leather creased, the toes scuffed and the laces a bit dirty. She couldn’t help it, she picked up one shoe and found an inscription in black felt-tip marker on the sole. J.G.’s 1st pair of shoes.
Jared Gillette was actually this little once? He hadn’t always been a larger-than-life tyrant?
Smiling to herself, Nicki straightened the loops on one of the bows and carefully set the shoe aside. She wandered further down the mantel and discovered a grass-stained baseball encased in a plastic cover. 1st Home Run, Little League, Jared G., Age 11. Next to it, a wooden car along with a tiny plastic trophy, also housed in a plastic case, were identified with a gold plate. 1st Place, Pinewood Derby, Winter Park Cub Scout Pack #47. Further along, there was a brown-speckled rock, an autographed Indiana University baseball schedule, and a silver baby spoon.
Nicki stood back, surveying the collection of odds and ends. Jared Gillette, she thought, this is your life. You may be a hard-nosed businessman, but you definitely have another, much more curious, dimension.
Next to the mantel were two exquisitely framed water-colors. She stood for a moment, studying them.
“Like them?” Jared asked, coming up behind her. “This was my mom’s retreat and she had only her favorite family things in here. I keep telling myself I should dump the personal stuff and stick to only a few good pieces of art.”
Nicki whirled, ashamed to be caught looking. “They’re…” The words died in her throat. The image he presented took her breath away. He was wearing a midnight-black tuxedo. He’d replaced the scarlet business tie with a crisp, formal black bow tie. His pleated dress shirt sported black studs for buttons and there were heavy gold links at his shirt cuffs. He fiddled with one link, adjusting it beneath his jacket sleeve.
Then he caught her glance and lifted a brow, offering her a mind-bending smile. “Yes?”
“The watercolors are beautiful,” she said, fighting to keep her composure. “Keep them.”
His laugh was short, brittle. “Funny. I thought you were going to say something else.”
She hesitated. “I was. Seeing you dressed up like that, reminded me of only one thing. A grinch in a penguin suit.”
His brows lifted in surprise, then he threw back his head and laughed, not the least bit irked at her audacity.
Nicki caved in and actually felt herself smiling. Then she chuckled, her laughter mingling with his in the cavernous room. She slipped the afghan from her shoulders and started to fold it, even as she shook her head, marveling at what had just transpired. “Okay. That’s good. For both of us,” she admitted, replacing the afghan on the back of the leather couch. “A little laugh at the end of a bad day. We may never be business associates, but at least we can laugh about our differences. And by the way, I’m sorry for that crack I made about not working for you if you were the last man on earth. It’s bothered me that I said that. I overreacted, and I know it.”
Jared’s laughter faded and he grew silent. His gaze settled on the top of her windblown hair, then ricocheted between her dimples. The woman had an uncanny knack for amusing him. She was bright, articulate, and remarkably attractive. On top of that, she was sincere.
“Nicki Holliday…you are the most—” The phone rang, interrupting him. He blinked. “Give me a minute…”
He picked up the phone and never had time to offer up the customary “Hello?” Sandra, his ex-wife, launched into her spiel. Even from four steps away, he guessed Nicki could hear her demanding voice. He turned his back. “Sandra…of course, I’ll take her….” While his ex-wife rambled on, Jared was vaguely conscious that Nicki had discreetly moved to the other side of the room. “Then we better do something about joint custody,” he said.
Could he actually turn this around to his advantage? He’d been waiting a long time—and patience had never been his virtue. His lawyer had predicted this day would come…. But Jared could already see through the