Summer Reads Box Set, Books 4-6 Page 5

Aunt Lisa needs you. The words ran around in his head as Nick played the message one more time. He couldn't believe his ears. Why would Lisa need him? Why would she even be in San Diego? He rewound the tape to the messages left earlier that day. Maggie's voice came first.

  "I'm burning out, Nick," she said in a rush. "The kids are driving me crazy. They fight all the time." She paused to tell one of the kids in the background to be quiet. "I can't even talk on the phone without being interrupted. Some days, I feel like I can't go on--"

  The desperation in her voice touched a deep, resonant chord within Nick. He remembered that feeling of not being able to get up, to get dressed, to go on. He also remembered Maggie standing behind him, supporting him.

  Guilt swept through him. He should have been there for Maggie this past year, but he'd been so busy launching his business that he'd let it consume his life. When he'd asked Maggie if she was all right, if she needed anything, she'd always said no. Why hadn't he seen she was just covering up, pretending?

  Because he hadn't wanted to see. No one had. After the funeral, after those first few weeks of grief, they'd all gone on with their lives, believing that Maggie had cried all her tears. He should have known better. It wasn't until later that the real grief came, that the inescapable truth of being alone hit home.

  Maggie's voice came back as the machine played the next message. "I need to get away, Nick, at least for the day. Could you watch the kids? I hate to ask, but Mom and Dad are gone. I won't even think of calling them and ruining their trip. I'm not that bad." She tried to laugh, but it sounded forced. "I just need a good night's sleep. Anyway, call me when you get in."

  The next message was from Roxanne. Apparently unable to reach him, Maggie had called Lisa. That didn't surprise him. What shocked the hell out of him was that Lisa had actually come.

  He couldn't stop the sudden surge of energy that ran through his veins, the anticipation, the fear. For a long lime he'd wanted Lisa to come back. But as the weeks turned into months, then years, he'd let anger and disillusionment build a huge, impenetrable wall around his heart. Now that it was complete, the last thing he wanted was to tear it down.

  Aunt Lisa needs you. Roxy's words rang through his head. He tried to drum up the anger. So what if Lisa needed him?

  Hadn't he needed her? Hadn't she turned her back on him? Why the hell should he help her?

  The phone rang. He started, giving it a wary glance. What if it was Lisa? What would he say? The phone rang again and again. The machine picked up and after a moment, he heard a woman's voice. It wasn't Lisa; it was Suzanne.

  "Nick? Are you there? I made reservations for eight o'clock at the Bella Vista in La Jolla. I hope that's okay."

  Nick reached for the phone. "Suzanne. I'm here."

  "Oh, I made--"

  "I can't go," he said abruptly.

  "You can't go? Why not?"

  Nick took a deep breath. "My sister isn't feeling well. When I got home there was a bunch of messages from her. I need to go over there."

  There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. "I didn't even know you had a sister."

  "Maggie is three years younger."

  "Do you have brothers, too?"

  "One older brother. I'm in the middle."

  "You never mentioned them to me. I thought you were all alone here in San Diego."

  Nick sighed at the unhappiness in her voice, feeling both defensive and angry at the same time. He'd deliberately kept Suzanne away from the family for reasons he couldn't even bring himself to define. "My brother doesn't live here, just Maggie and my parents. If you want to meet them, you can meet them."

  "Really? Why don't I go with you, then?"

  "No," he said flatly. "Maggie's upset. Look, I'm sorry, but I have to go. I'll call you, okay?"

  "All right. Good night."

  Nick hung up the phone, debating whether or not he should call Maggie or just go over to her house. He reached for his keys on the side table, catching his reflection in the mirror. He couldn't help adjusting the collar of his white chambray shirt, running a hand through his curly brown hair.

  He hadn't seen Lisa in five years, not since Mary Bea's birth. He'd accidentally run into her in the hospital corridor outside of the nursery. It had been the worst possible place for them to meet, the memories of their love and their pain coming together in a rush of emotion. He'd seen the tears in her eyes as she'd turned away.

  He'd called after her, but she'd kept going. Lisa always kept going. Leaving was her specialty. Every time she left, she took another piece of his heart.

  Not this time. This time, he would make sure he left first.

  Chapter Four

  "Would you like assistance with your luggage, Mrs. Scott?" the reservations clerk asked with a cheerful smile.

  Maggie glanced down at her one worn overnight bag and didn't think it merited a bellboy's tip. "No thanks, I can manage."

  The clerk handed her an envelope with her key enclosed. "Have a nice evening."

  Maggie glanced around the lobby of the San Diego Court Hotel and smiled. Marble floors, gleaming chandeliers, lush green ferns, cozy table lamps and comfortable armchairs for reading or conversing decorated the lobby. It was a grown-up room for grown-ups, not a child in sight. Thank goodness!

  Maggie walked toward the elevators, feeling like a stranger in a strange land. Most of the people in the lobby were dressed for business. Some people had nametags on, boasting the name of their convention group. The hotel obviously catered more to business than to tourism, or else the noisy children and their tired parents were tucked away in some distant wing.

  Maggie hadn't stayed in a hotel since Keith had surprised her on their wedding anniversary three years earlier. He'd taken her to the Biltmore in Los Angeles so they could have some time alone together, the first night they'd spent away from the kids since Mary Bea's birth. It had been incredible. Keith had ordered champagne and chocolates, surprising her with the unexpectedly romantic gesture, which had been completely out of character but very welcome. They'd planned on dining in the restaurant but never made it past the king-size bed in the bedroom. Instead they'd ordered room service at midnight and fed each other like young lovers instead of two people who'd been married for ten years.

  Maggie's smile faded as she blinked back a sudden tear. She was not going to cry. She was not going to waste the evening in a deluge of tears. Thrusting her chin in the air, she walked over to the bank of elevators and pushed the up button.

  A man in a navy blue business suit stood off to one side, impatiently tapping his foot against the marble floor. He was a handsome man, and Maggie breathed in his musky male scent with a sense of hunger, a wash of longing for what she no longer had.

  The man sent her a curious look. "Are you all right, ma'am?"

  Ma'am? Maggie suddenly felt as old and haggard as she obviously looked. "I'm fine," she said sharply.

  He shrugged, obviously dismissing her from his mind. His expression lit up, however, when an attractive blond in a tight black dress, so short it should have been illegal, walked by the elevators, her high, high heels clicking against the floor.

  The woman paused and offered the man a dazzling smile. "Aren't you Jonathan Harman?" she asked.

  "As a matter of fact, I am." He stood a bit taller under her scrutiny.

  "I heard you speak earlier on the role of venture capitalists in today's changing economy. You have incredible insight."

  "Thank you."

  Maggie frowned. The way the man was beaming, you would have thought she'd said he had an incredible...

  The elevator bell rang, and the doors slowly opened. Maggie walked inside. The man and the woman stared at each other but didn't move.

  "Anyone going up?" Maggie asked, holding the door open with her hand.

  "You're not turning in, I hope?" the woman said to the man with a pouty twist of her mouth.

  "I could be persuaded not to."

  "Then let me persuade you. Have a drin
k with me?" She tossed her hair back over one shoulder.

  Maggie cleared her throat. The man turned to her. "You have a nice evening, ma'am." He put a hand on the other woman's back, and they walked away.

  Maggie had a feeling he'd be having a much nicer evening than she would. Ma'am. She made a face as the elevator doors closed. The word made her sound old, like someone's mother. Which, of course, was exactly what she was. She couldn't help looking down at her jeans and her sweatshirt. Her hair was a mess; she hadn't brushed it in hours, and whatever lipstick she'd put on that morning had surely vanished. No wonder he'd called her ma'am.

  The doors opened, and Maggie walked slowly down the hall. Her room was on the sixth floor, just around the corner from the elevators. After struggling with her card key, Maggie opened the door. The room was clean, elegant and quiet—oh, so quiet.

  As the door shut behind her, she dropped her bag on the floor and walked to the window. She had a view of downtown San Diego. It was a view she'd seen before. She turned and saw the bed, the king-size bed, the one she'd be sleeping in alone.

  What was she doing here?

  Maggie sat on the bed and stared at the phone. She could call Lisa and see if the kids were all right.

  At the thought of her children, the anxiety returned. A myriad of terrifying possibilities raced through Maggie's mind. What if Mary Bea started crying and Lisa panicked? What if Lisa couldn't calm Mary Bea down?

  Or what if Roxy got angry and ran off with that pimply faced, hormone-crazy boy? Lisa wouldn't know how to find her. And what if Dylan logged on to the Internet and invited some crazy person to visit him?

  Why on earth had she left them? All kinds of terrible things could be happening.

  "Get a grip," Maggie told herself out loud. She took several deep breaths, forcing herself to relax. She hadn't been gone two hours. If she called, the kids would probably talk her into coming home, and deep down she knew that home was not where she needed to be right now.

  Maggie reached for her oversize purse, hoping to find some gum or a leftover peppermint. After pulling out a hairbrush, a box of crayons, two of Mary Bea's barrettes, a parking ticket, a troll doll, three plastic spiders and twenty-seven Safeway receipts, Maggie gave up on finding anything edible.

  Unfortunately, the only thing left in her purse was a white envelope—the letter from Serena Hollingsworth. She didn't know what had possessed her to bring it with her. It wasn't as if she was going to see the woman. She didn't need to know why Keith had promised to contact Serena. It had nothing to do with her. Besides, she trusted her husband.

  Maggie needed a distraction, so she picked up the television remote control and turned on the set. She flipped through twenty-seven channels with a sudden rush of delight. Instead of cartoons or reruns on Nickelodeon, she could actually choose an adult movie. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

  Kicking her feet up on the bed, she leaned back against the pillows and let some of the tension ease out of her body. She'd made the right decision to get away. She needed some time alone, to breathe, to let go of all the stress. The kids would be fine with Lisa and maybe, just maybe, getting to know the children would remind Lisa of everything and everyone she'd walked away from.

  * * *

  The children hated her. As Lisa looked around the kitchen table, she could see it in each of their faces. They didn't want her. They wanted their mother. And so did she. Lisa knew nothing about being a mother. Her brief stint had only proved how incapable she was of taking care of one child, much less three. She didn't belong here in this noisy, chaotic house. She belonged in her cool, clean, organized office where she knew how to do everything, where there were no surprises, no uncertainties.

  "Mom always makes us eat a vegetable with dinner," Roxy announced, picking up a potato chip and deliberately placing it in her mouth. The resulting crunch was as loud as any verbal accusation.

  "Would you like me to make you some corn? I think I saw some in the freezer," Lisa suggested, watching the ketchup drip out of Dylan's hot dog bun. Her first dinner was high on fat, low on nutrients, but Maggie's refrigerator had been empty. At least the children were eating something, and Mary Bea's sobs had dwindled down to an occasional sniffle.

  "I hate corn." Dylan wrinkled his nose at the thought.

  Lisa watched in fascination as his freckles danced along his cheeks at the motion. He was all boy, big front teeth that didn't quite fit his face, blond hair that stuck up in cowlicks at the back of his head, and the dirtiest hands she'd ever seen. She sighed, recognizing yet another mistake. She should have made the children wash their hands before dinner.

  "You hate everything," Roxy said with an air of superiority.

  "And you like everything, including that dweeb, Marc." Dylan made a smooching sound with his lips.

  Roxy threw a potato chip at him. Mary Bea sat up, looking more interested in their fight than anything Lisa had tried to bring up.

  "That's enough," Lisa said sharply, trying to assert some sort of control. Three pairs of eyes fixed on her face, and she panicked. She'd faced down heads of companies, boards of directors, but here, in front of these three children, she felt like a complete idiot. And they knew. She knew they knew. In two minutes, they'd seen right through her efficient facade and recognized the bumbling, uncertain woman she'd once been—maybe always would be—at least when it came to family.

  "When is Uncle Nick coming?" Mary Bea demanded.

  "I don't know," Lisa replied. It wasn't the right answer. Mary Bea's lip turned down and trembled. "Soon. He'll be here soon," Lisa added hastily. "Look, we can do this. We can have fun and get to know each other while your mom is gone. What do you normally do after dinner?"

  "We watch TV and play video games all night," Dylan said.

  "And talk on the phone to our friends," Roxy added.

  "Mommy doesn't let you play video games all night," Mary Bea said.

  Dylan glared at her. "What do you know?"

  "Well, she doesn't. She always makes you stop when you start yelling at the TV."

  "How about homework?" Lisa asked. "Who has homework?"

  "It's Friday night," Roxy said with disgust.

  Lisa sighed. "Okay, no homework. Why don't I clear the table and we'll watch some television together, maybe play a board game?"

  "I'm too old for games," Roxy said.

  "Then you don't have to play."

  Roxy frowned. "How come you divorced Uncle Nick?"

  The question came out of the blue, stunning her with its utter simplicity.

  "I..." The words wouldn't come. Maybe because she'd never even answered the question for herself, much less for anyone else. "We just didn't get along," Lisa said finally. They'd gotten along great in the beginning. "We didn't love each other enough." They'd loved each other passionately in the beginning. "We found we each needed more space." They'd slept wrapped in each other's arms in the beginning.

  "Why didn't you just get a bigger house?" Dylan asked with simple logic.

  Lisa couldn't help but smile. "We didn't think of that."

  "I want to take a bath," Mary Bea announced. "I want to see if my new Barbie can swim underwater."

  Lisa latched on to the idea with thankful enthusiasm. "That sounds great." She stood up and began clearing the table. "Could you start the bathwater, Roxy?"

  "All right." As Roxy and Mary Bea left the room, Dylan pushed back his chair. "Can we have popcorn?"

  "Popcorn? Aren't you full?"

  "No, I'm starving,"

  "After two hot dogs and a bag of chips?"

  "Mommy says I'm growing."

  "Do you have popcorn?"

  "Yes, and I know how to make it. I learned how at Billy's house."

  "You did? Well--" The doorbell interrupted her. Lisa's heart raced at the sound, with anticipation, exhilaration and stark fear. The bell rang again sharply, decisively, impatiently. Nick, it had to be Nick. Oh, God, what was she going to do?

  Dylan stared at her
. "Aren't you going to answer the door?"

  "Sure. Of course. I'll do it right now." Lisa walked slowly to the front door. She didn't ask who it was or even peer through the peephole. She just opened the door and looked into the eyes of the man she had once loved more than anyone on earth.

  "Lisa."

  "Nick."

  She couldn't say another word. With one look, Nick completely stole her breath away. Waves of shock ran through her, followed by feelings of fear, excitement, joy, sadness. This man had been everything to her—friend, lover, husband... enemy. She'd once known every inch of his hard body, every freckle, every muscle, every line. But now—now he was a stranger.

  Though still fit and trim, Nick had lost the boyish leanness of his youth, but there was strength in his stance, in his build, in his face. The years had brought shadows to his once brilliant green eyes, lines around the corner of a mouth that at one time had known only how to smile.

  Nick crossed his arms in front of his broad chest, and Lisa's gaze was drawn down the length of him, remembering with painful clarity how it had felt to put her arms around his waist, to taste his mouth, to run her hands through his hair.

  Goosebumps ran down her arms unbidden and unrestrained. Looking at him now, Lisa found that Nick still made her heart race. He still made her palms sweat. Dammit. She didn't want him to affect her. She didn't want to feel anything, not anger or hatred or love or passion—least of all passion. They were nothing to each other anymore, nothing.

  Nick read every emotion that passed through her clear blue eyes, but when he got to desire he looked away. He'd always been able to tell exactly what Lisa was thinking. Now, he didn't want to know. He didn't want to believe that she felt anything for him. To believe would be to risk the peace that had been a long time in coming.

  As his gaze roamed across her face, he felt every muscle in his body tighten. She was everything he remembered and more. Her black silky hair still caught every bit of light that lit up a room. Even in the moonlight, her hair came alive just like her blue, blue eyes. He'd felt as if he'd been living in the shadows until she'd come into his life, with her gentle grace, her soft lips, her stubborn chin and a body he couldn't stop touching. At twenty, she had been his fantasy. At twenty-five she had been his nightmare.