Boiling Point (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 2) Read online

  Had she heard correctly? Madelyn intended to keep her on the assignment? She wasn’t being fired? “I absolutely agree.”

  “Do you feel comfortable discussing the matter with your client, or would you like me to call him?”

  Zoë grinned into the phone, barely able to keep from hooting out loud. Madelyn had called Lyman your client, as if she were a full-fledged field agent. She allowed herself a silent fist pump.

  Then she remembered how much more was at stake than her professional standing. Yesterday’s crash could have seriously injured or even killed one of them. The thought sobered her instantly. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll talk to him. I have a very good relationship with Mr. Prescott.”

  “Excellent. Also, you said Mr. Rosetti is working under a similar arrangement with Mrs. Prescott.”

  “Yes. I’ll ask him to have the same conversation with her.” If he’s still speaking to me.

  “Very good. Is there anything else you need right now?”

  “Not that I can think of. I’ll call you in a day or two with an update.”

  “See that you do.”

  “And Boss…thanks.”

  “I’m just doing my job, as I expect you to do yours. And Zoë…don’t call me Boss.”

  Zoë ended the call with a smile.

  She would talk to Lyman in the morning. Today, his full attention was where it belonged—on his wife. But first she needed to find Nick and get him on board with the plan. Since he’d probably retreated to his room, she might need a peace offering to persuade him to open the door.

  Ten minutes later she stood at the top of the stairs to Nick’s garage apartment with a plate of two-day-old chocolate chip cookies in one hand and a travel mug of coffee in the other. She balanced the cookies on top of the mug and knocked. And waited. And knocked again. Where the heck was he? She wasn’t interested in roaming the estate with coffee and cookies, calling his name.

  She’d turned and started down the steps in disgust when the latch clicked and a hinge creaked behind her.

  “What do you want?”

  She pivoted, taking care not to tilt the cookie plate and risk dumping her bribe on the driveway. Nick stood in the doorway with the knob firmly in hand. His tousled hair and shadowed jaw accentuated the aggravated animosity in his gaze. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to have come calling.

  Zoë gave him her best attempt at a friendly smile. “Did I wake you?”

  He scrubbed his bristly jaw with one hand. “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry. I brought you a snack.” She held up the plate and mug. “May I come in?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are those chocolate chip?”

  She climbed a couple of steps and waved the plate in front of him. “They sure are.”

  “Okay.” He stepped back and held the door open. “Come on in.”

  The cushions on the old sofa were askew and flattened in places, and a college football game played on the television. He must have fallen asleep watching the game. He grabbed the remote and clicked it off then straightened the pillows. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  She set the mug and plate on the coffee table before settling at one end of the couch. “It’s been an odd day. I thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

  Nick plopped down at the other end with a short laugh. “Odd. That’s one way to describe it.” He chose the biggest cookie and took a bite, washing it down with a slug of coffee. “These are good. Thanks.”

  She glanced down at her hands in her lap. Now for the tough part. Drawing a deep breath, she lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I wanted to apologize for the things I said earlier. I was out of line, and I’m sorry.”

  “No, you weren’t.”

  She started to protest, but he raised a hand to shush her. “I thought about what you said…a lot…and you were right. I do sound and act too much like a cop.” He ran one big hand through his hair, leaving small tufts sticking up here and there. “I guess old habits are hard to break.”

  “How long were you a police officer?”

  “Nearly ten years.” Dark pain shadowed his eyes.

  “So you haven’t been a private investigator long.”

  He shook his head and grabbed another cookie. “About six months. And Marian is the first client to request any kind of undercover work. I should have been more careful.”

  “Actually, that’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.” She leaned forward and picked up the smaller of the two remaining cookies. “I think this chauffeur/cook masquerade has outlived its usefulness.”

  The corner of his lips tipped up teasingly. “I don’t know. You are getting to be a much better cook.” He took another bite of his cookie. “I’d hate to go back to frozen dinners and Oreos. Not that I don’t love Oreos, but these are better. ”

  She gave him a quelling look. “I’m glad you like them, but be serious. I’m not proposing we abandon our current duties. The Prescotts obviously need our help.”

  Nick washed down the last of his cookie with another long swig of coffee before setting mug on the table. “It would be a lot easier to protect Lyman if I didn’t have to worry about inventing excuses to stick close to him.”

  “It would be much easier for both of us to protect the Prescotts if we were able to work together, without all the playacting and subterfuge. In light of what’s happened, it’s time to persuade Marian to come clean with her husband about hiring you.”

  “I agree. And you’ll do the same with Lyman?”

  She nodded. “I think it would be a relief to everyone.”

  “When do you want to do this?”

  “Tomorrow morning. I don’t see any reason to wait.”

  “Neither do I.”

  She pushed to her feet and headed toward the door. “Good. I’m sorry I woke you. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Before Zoë’s hand touched the knob, Nick slipped between her and the door. She had to pull up short to keep from running face-first into his broad chest. Taking a half step back, she lifted her chin, and sent him a questioning look.

  “There’s something more I want to say.”

  His voice rumbled in his chest, it’s deep tone sending goosebumps up her arms. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Was he going to try to kiss her again?

  “I’m sorry for the way I acted.”

  Not what she’d expected. Zoë released her breath and relaxed a fraction. “It’s my fault. I woke you up.”

  “Not then… earlier… in the kitchen. When you so graciously pointed out my shortcomings.”

  She glanced down at the ratty old green shag carpeting. “About that…I probably could have been more…um…diplomatic.”

  He slipped a forefinger under her chin and tipped it up until she met his gaze. “No, you were right. I’ve never taken criticism well—just ask my former lieutenant. I overreacted.”

  “Let’s agree we both could have handled the conversation more professionally and leave it at that.” She offered her hand. “Deal?”

  His hand enveloped hers with heat and strength, squeezing lightly. “Deal.”

  When she tried to release her grasp, he tightened his hold and gave a little tug, drawing her forward. “I’m wide awake now.”

  “I can see that.”

  He pulled her steadily forward until his face loomed above hers and only inches separated their lips. “You could stay a while and keep me company.”

  “I could, but then you’d get no dinner.”

  His voice dropped even lower as his head came down and one arm slid behind her back. “Maybe I’m hungry for something besides food.”

  As his lips drew closer, Zoë’s chest tightened, but she fought back, refusing to let the old panic overtake her. Instead, she focused on the solid reality of the man in front of her.

  This is Nick. You’re safe.

  His warm breath fanned her lips, and his strong arm supported her like a branch of her favorite climbing tree back home. She felt nothing but a kindling excitem
ent deep inside. He wasn’t holding her too tightly—she knew she could escape if she needed to—but he’d aroused her curiosity, among other things. At the moment all she wanted was to taste him.

  Nick’s kiss was tentative at first, but as soon as she moved her mouth, his arms tightened around her. As he increased the pressure, Zoë steeled herself against the sense of suffocation, but it never came.

  Instead, a warm tingle spread from her lower abdomen to her breasts and down her arms to her fingertips.

  He moved one hand up and speared his fingers through her hair, cradling her head and holding it steady while he teased her lips open. She half-expected his other hand to go wandering in search of more titillating destinations, but it remained firmly welded to her back.

  After a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, he slowed and ended with one last, lingering kiss before releasing her lips.

  She rested her head against his chest and listened to the rhythmic thuds of his heart while she regained her breath. She ran her tongue over her lips, missing the feel of him already. Kissing Nick had been a revelation on many levels. He was unlike any man she’d ever known—certainly unlike any she’d kissed. He hadn’t tried to overwhelm or push her. He’d taken his time, leashed his passion. Maybe that was the reason the old fears had lost their teeth.

  With a gentle push she slipped out of his arms. There was something oddly endearing about the confused frustration on his face. She smiled and touched his hard jaw. “That was delightful, but I’ve got to cook dinner. You know the old saying—man cannot live on love alone.”

  Nick grabbed her wrist and gave her fingers a light nip. “I don’t think that’s how the quote goes. Besides, who said anything about love?”

  Nobody. “You can’t live on sex alone, either.”

  “I’d be willing to give it a try.”

  “Maybe another time. I’ve got work to do.”

  ****

  Nick stood in the doorway as Zoë crossed the courtyard to the back porch of the main house. He loved the way she moved. Her purposeful, long-legged stride lent just the right amount of motion to her hips to push his personal buttons. Only when she disappeared through the kitchen door did he retreat to his apartment.

  Too edgy to settle, he picked up the mug she’d left and took a couple of swallows. Lukewarm. He set the cup back down and returned to the door to stare blindly out the row of small glass panes at the top.

  He couldn’t get the taste and feel of her out of his mind. She was a paradox—hard, yet soft at the same time. Her finely-tuned body might remind him of velvet over steel, but her emotions were the opposite. That tough-appearing exterior protected an enticingly feminine vulnerability.

  When their lips first touched, her body had vibrated, as taut as an over-tightened piano wire. He’d half expected her to break and run or, knowing her, knee him in the groin. But when he’d slowed down, eased off, and let her come to him, she’d relaxed and joined the party with enthusiasm. Too bad it had to stop there.

  Under different circumstances, he would have enjoyed taking the time to get to know her better, to let any potential relationship grow naturally. He might have asked her out for pizza and bowling with Angela and Kenny or a trip to the zoo to laugh at the antics of the penguins. But he couldn’t do that. They were both working twenty-four/seven, and despite their agreement to coordinate security efforts, they had separate responsibilities and separate priorities. He couldn’t afford any relationship that might threaten his commitment to his client’s safety, and neither could she.

  He’d learned the hard way how lethal that kind of attachment could be. An innocent man would be alive today if he’d done a better job keeping his personal and professional lives separate.

  A few hours later he crossed the courtyard to the main house for dinner. Despite having taken a nap, Marian yawned her way through the meal, and she and Lyman retired for the night shortly afterward, leaving Nick and Zoë alone in the kitchen. She studiously avoided his gaze as she rinsed the dishes and washed the big pot she’d used to boil the mostaccioli.

  He snagged a dishtowel and reached to take the pot from her hand as she was about to set it in the drainer. “Let me dry that for you.”

  She held firm to the pot. “I can do it. You go to bed. It’s been an eventful day.”

  “I’m not tired.” He twisted the pot away from her and attacked it with the towel. “And we need to talk about one of those events.”

  “I thought the bomb squad determined the stroller was no threat.”

  He set the dry pot and towel on the counter. “They did.”

  She picked up the damp towel and turned to hang it over the oven handle. “Then I don’t—”

  He laid one hand on her shoulder. “Zoë, look at me.”

  She turned and met his gaze, daring him to spit the words out.

  “It can’t happen again.”

  She didn’t ask what he meant. She didn’t say anything, just continued to watch him with those big green eyes.

  His frustration multiplied with every second she remained silent. He ran one hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “You know what I mean. The kiss. It can’t happen again. We can’t get involved…in any way.”

  “If that’s what you want.” Her words were clipped and tight.

  The question she hadn’t asked hung in the air like a toxic cloud.

  Why do women always insist on explanations?

  Nick clenched and released his jaw. “It doesn’t matter what I want…or what you want, for that matter. We have an obligation to protect the Prescotts, and I won’t risk their lives for a little fun in the sack, no matter how great it might be.”

  His apprehension grew as a dull red crept up her neck to her cheeks and forehead, until he was afraid steam might come shooting out her ears.

  “Fun in the sack?” She advanced toward him, hands balled into fists and eyes flashing. “Fun in the sack!”

  He took a step back but bumped into the front of the stove. He’d irritated more than his share of women over the years, but he’d never seen one so enraged. Zoë was madder than Angela with the hemorrhoid cream, and he hadn’t thought that possible. Suddenly, her right fist shot out of nowhere and nailed him hard on the cheekbone, beneath his left eye.

  His head reeled, and both eyes watered instantly.

  Damn. He should have known she wouldn’t hit like a girl.

  She gasped, and both hands flew up to cover her nose and mouth, her eyes round with horror. He touched his cheek gingerly. It was tender, but the skin seemed to be intact.

  She pushed his hand away. “Don’t touch that. Let me get you some ice.” She tossed a handful of cubes into a plastic bag and pressed it gently against his injured face. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. And you already have a major shiner under that eye.”

  His hand covered hers. “I’ll live. Besides, I probably deserved it.”

  “You definitely deserved it, but I’m sorry anyway.” She slid her hand out from under his, leaving him holding the ice.

  Nick moved his jaw up, down, and around. Everything seemed to be in working order. He tried a small smile. It didn’t hurt…too much. “You pack quite a wallop. Are you sure you’re not part Italian? I remember once when I was little, my mom chased my pop through the house with a giant zucchini, threatening to smack him like a baseball because he spilled half a gallon of blue paint on her new white carpet.”

  “And they stayed married?”

  “Until the day he died, five years ago.”

  The humor in her eyes faded. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too. He was a great guy and a great dad, even if he was a clumsy painter.”

  Zoë seemed to have made some sort of decision. She reached behind him and grabbed the big pasta pot by one handle. “Time for you to go to bed. Would you like some ice to take with you?”

  “Nah, I’m fine. But before I go, I want to make sure you understand what I meant earlier, about the kissing
…and any other extracurricular activities.”

  She straightened, holding the pot in front of her like a shield. “You made yourself perfectly clear. I understand, believe me.”

  “I don’t think you do. I enjoy kissing you—maybe a little too much.”

  “But…?”

  “I won’t go into details, but I’ve learned firsthand the dangers of getting involved with someone I work with.”

  Two small furrows appeared between her brows. “It’s not like you’re my boss, or vice versa.”

  “That’s true—our circumstances are much more serious. In a life-or-death situation, I never want to have to choose between the person I’ve been paid to protect and the person I care about.”

  She slowly lowered the pot. “I’ve never looked at it that way.”

  “I have.” And I never want to face it with you. “If we’d met under different circumstances, who knows? As things stand, everyone will be safer if we keep our relationship strictly professional.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Can we at least be friends? Until we wrap this case up, we have to work together and live in the same household. I’ll go crazy if I have to tiptoe around you all the time.”

  What choice did he have? “Friends it is.” He held out his hand. When she clasped it, a tiny jolt arced between them, and he released her as if he’d been burned. “I…uh…guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll talk to Lyman in the morning.”

  He nodded. “It’ll be a relief to have everyone on the same page.”

  The next morning Nick went looking for Marian after breakfast and found her in the soon-to-be nursery, pondering paint chips and fabric samples.

  When he entered the room, she glanced up with a sunny smile. “Oh, good, just what I need—another pair of eyes. Which do you like better?” She held up two short lengths of fabric, one with what looked like bunnies wearing vests and the other featuring bright, stylized zoo animals.

  Was there a right answer? He had no clue. “Um...”

  “They’re for the curtains.”

  Still nothing. “Are we talking boy baby or girl baby?”

  She grinned. “We’re talking baby baby. Lyman and I wouldn’t let the doctor tell us what we’re having, so whatever I choose has to work for either.”