Chapter Three

Evaporated.

Vanished.

Talent, even talent that lay dormant and underutilized for years, still existed. Didn’t it? It didn’t just disappear, did it?

Just start typing, Sophie. Write Chapter One.

Computer up and running, check. Fresh glass of water with lemon, check. Comfortable clothes, meant to make it easy to sit at said computer for several hours uninterrupted, check. Zack curled up on lap to keep warm and lend moral support, check. Organized notes, ready to reference, check.

For the fiftieth time, she lifted her gaze to the window and soaked up the beautiful view. She wasn’t procrastinating. She was just getting acclimated. Keep telling yourself that, lazy girl.

Why was this so much more challenging than writing an article for the magazine? Was she one of those people who just talked about writing? If only she had the time, she could pop out a novel, a witty tale of love and adventure. Right?

Today marked one week since she’d arrived in Laguna. For the first time in her adult life, endless hours dawned in front of her with no distractions, just time to write. No excuses. As a child, she’d written countless stories. They’d been so good she’d been published in a collection of stories when she was twelve.

No longer the carefree, confident girl who didn’t worry about her audience, now she was paralyzed with journalistic training and relentless editing.

And apparently she’d developed an innate talent for procrastination along the way.

Well, here goes nothing.

She began to type.

She jolted in her seat when she heard a knock at her door. Looking at the clock, she realized she’d been writing for over two hours. Grinning like a lunatic, she jumped up, danced to the front door, and yanked it open without thinking.

“Wow, you look happy.” Nick’s tall frame filled the doorway, his dangerous grin aimed at her.

“Oh, I was just working. What can I do for you?” Her heart began beating faster as she stood there, not inviting him inside. He looked adorable with the messy strands of tawny hair falling across his tanned brow, just begging for a hand to stroke it back. Do not under any circumstances touch his hair.

“I just came by to check and make sure everything is okay with the cottage. Sometimes Alyssa had issues with the plumbing.”

“Thanks for checking. Everything seems fine.” Her traitorous tummy started tingling.

“Great. I still feel bad about Bailey. Reconsider dinner?”

“I told you I’m not here to date.” She reminded herself of her vow. No men for a year. No players.

“It’s just dinner. Come on, you’ll love Marino’s. It’s casual and has the best pasta in Orange County.” His smooth voice was persuasive.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not in a really good place right now for company. Nothing personal.” Pasta was one of her weaknesses. How did Mr. Sex-on-a-Stick know?

“Just dinner. Are you afraid to have a meal with me in a public place?” His tone turned teasing.

“Fine, I’ll have dinner with you. I’ll meet you there at seven,” she said between her teeth. As soon as the words popped out, she wanted to take them back. How had he nagged her into dinner?

“No, the restaurant is tough to find. I’ll pick you up.” His smile deepened.

“Fine, I’ll see you later.” Sophie shut the door with a decisive click in his face.

****

Nick grinned as he walked away. She’d looked cute with baggy sweats and her mahogany hair pulled back in a ponytail. Somehow, she’d looked sexy slamming the door in his face. He’d never resorted to subterfuge to get a date before. Hell, he’d never been turned down by a woman before.

Unable to stop thinking about her, he’d finally decided to use the ancient plumbing as an excuse to drop by. He wanted to know why she’d holed up in the cottage.

Why she’d moved to Laguna alone.

Why she seemed so reluctant to go out with him when the chemistry between them was obvious.

He wasn’t quite sure what was wrong with him, but he needed to discover more about her.

****

How could she have nothing to wear? She didn’t have anyone to impress, so why couldn’t she just pull something out of her closet and throw it on? It was a casual dinner, although she didn’t believe that for a minute. She’d seen the gleam lighting up Nick’s eyes. She couldn’t deny feeling the sparks between them. She was only human.

Little black dress? Negative, too obvious, trying too hard. Sundress? No, too casual and too much skin. Her favorite high-necked top with black pants? Forget it, too prim and businesslike.

Damn it, what could she wear that would scream she didn’t want to date him? Yet, she wanted to look attractive. What was wrong with her? Thirty minutes in the closet was absurd. Imagine if she actually did want to impress him on their date? Oops, not date, “just dinner.”

Not having had a first date in over four years, she no longer had a go-to first-date ensemble. Or a go-to just-dinner ensemble, for that matter. She settled on her fallback outfit: a fitted black top, with a scooped neckline and cap sleeves, paired with her favorite jeans and wedged sandals. She spent longer than she’d ever admit on her makeup, taking the time to play up her eyes. Just for herself, of course. Keep telling yourself that, Sophie.

When he arrived, she opened the door and that silly flutter appeared in her belly. Again. What? Was she Scarlett O’Hara now, fluttering at Rhett? And, really, what was fluttering?

Oh my. He looked smoking hot, with his hair still damp and a casual black shirt tucked into dark jeans. Warmth crept into her cheeks, and she prayed her pale skin didn’t betray her attraction.

“We match.” He smiled.

“Should I change?” She smiled back.

“Definitely not. You’re stunning.” His gaze drank her in.

As they zoomed down the hill toward the lights of Laguna proper, she settled into the buttery-soft leather seat. She enjoyed the view as a passenger, without having to worry about the hairpin turns that had bested her on her arrival. Soon, she’d know the roads like the back of her hand.

“Is Marino’s a regular haunt for you?” Dumb question. His presence seemed to relegate her intelligence to the back of the room. But she needed to start a conversation to distract herself from staring at his incredible hands.

“Yes, it’s owned by old family friends. I love it. You’ll see why.”

Suddenly, a car screeched out in front of them. He slammed on the brakes, simultaneously reaching over to press her back against the seat.

Her nipples tightened against her shirt, and her heart thrummed in her chest. How could he make her react that way with an unintentional brush of his arm? How utterly annoying and unfair.

“Crazy drivers. Are you okay, Sophie?” His eyes searched her face, concern etched into his features.

“I’m fine. No worries.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just a little startled.” Or aroused.

Damn it all. Those hands. Those strong, masculine hands. When she’d first noticed them, she’d pictured them stroking her. Large, square-palmed, well-shaped, powerful hands. Golden hair glistened on his forearms, which rippled with sinewy muscle as he gripped the steering wheel.

Yes, she was in trouble. Big trouble. Focus on the road. Don’t drool over his fascinating arms. Nothing like the smooth white hands of her ex, Doug.

“Cold?” He glanced at her with a raised brow.

“No, I’m fine,” she answered, striving to sound casual.

Get a grip. She wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans and struggled to focus on the road. She needed to stop acting like a naïve schoolgirl at the sight of a Hollywood heartthrob.

He pulled up to a beautiful terra-cotta building with large windows and a slanted roof. Subtle cursive lettering above the doorway spelled Marino’s.

“Ah, here we are.”

“Really? It looks like we’re going to someone’s house.” At least she wouldn’t be confined in the small car with him anymore.

“No, they just like it secluded and cozy.”

“Buona sera, signorina.” A valet was instantly at her door, offering a welcoming hand as she stepped out of the car.

“Grazie,” she replied, using one of her token words of Italian.

“Welcome, Nicholas. Welcome. Isabella has your table waiting for you. Quick, quick, go inside so your lady doesn’t catch a chill.”

With his hand resting on her lower back, Nick escorted her through the ornately carved wooden door and into a charming, candlelit lobby. Subtle music played in the background, and she glimpsed white-clothed tables in the two rooms adjoining the lobby area. Deep-rose-colored walls imparted warmth.

A stunning brunette with a wide smile and outstretched hands approached them. “Oh, Nicholas, it’s been too long since you’ve joined us. Where have you been hiding?” Her gaze flicked toward Sophie.

“I’m just working a lot, Isabella. This is Sophie, and we’re starving.”

“Of course. Follow me. Welcome, Sophie.”

Isabella led them to a cozy table tucked into the far corner of the larger room. It was private, yet offered a great view of the restaurant. Next to the table, an enormous window revealed a lush garden, sparkling with lights on the trees. Delicious aromas filled the air as they reached the table, where an open bottle of wine sat with two glasses.

“I think someone is already sitting here,” Sophie said.

“No, I requested the bottle be opened so it had plenty of time to breathe. I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of selecting the wine.” He pulled out her chair for her, his hands brushing against her hair when he pushed it closer to their table. The hairs on the back of her neck jumped to attention.

He was definitely smooth. She’d noticed his confidence at her house, but not the polished veneer. Sophie hated to admit it, but she loved when a man took charge in certain situations. She wasn’t about to divulge that to him, though. Imagine what he would do with that information.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I love wine, so you really can’t go wrong in that arena.”

Before he could reply, an elegantly clad silver-haired man arrived at their table.

“Nicholas, welcome. Are you going to have the usual tonight, or can I bring you and your lady some menus?” the waiter lilted in his lovely Italian accent.

Nick arched his brow at her. “I usually take the special here. Alberto is an amazing chef. Are you game, or would you like to order off the menu?”

“That would be lovely. I am sure whatever Alberto prepares will be wonderful.” She beamed at the waiter.

The waiter returned her smile, nodded, and hurried back toward what she assumed was the kitchen.

“Just how frequently do you come here?” She was curious as to how many dates he brought here.

A new one every night?

“It’s my favorite restaurant. Wine?”

“Of course. California wine instead of Italian? Have you had this one before?”

“Yes, it’s one of my favorite zinfandels from Sonoma.”

He poured the wine and offered the glass to her. When his fingers brushed hers, flames shot straight to her belly. Her heartbeat accelerated as she imagined those hands running down her body. Focus, girl, focus.

Flings were in her future, just not yet. She resolved to keep her mind above the table. One problem. Her body wasn’t quite cooperating with her mind.

“So what brought you to Laguna from San Diego?”

“It’s a long story, and I don’t want to bore you with the details.” She stiffened, refusing to allow memories of Doug to ruin her appetite.

“You couldn’t bore me.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

She jolted as once again her nipples pebbled. She yanked her hand back into her lap. What was going on?

“I was going to take a sabbatical, oh hell. I realized I never wanted to go back, so I guess I quit my job at Healthy Woman. I was an editor.” She guzzled down half her glass of wine.

“I’ve seen that magazine. What happened?” Nick leaned closer, heat darkening his eyes.

“The job was fine…” She polished off the rest of her wine. At this rate, she’d be sloshed by the time the entrees arrived. Slow down, Sophie.

“Being an editor was extremely stressful, and then some things, um, some things shifted. My dream was always to be a writer. Who knows, I could bomb out with this, but I had to try. What is it they say? It is better to regret the things you’ve done instead of those you haven’t?” She shrugged, setting down the empty glass.

“I think that’s great you’re following your dreams. Carpe diem, right?” He refilled her glass before toasting her.

She nodded. Was he trying to get her drunk? Not that she wasn’t doing a bang-up job of it herself.

“But why now? Most people aren’t brave enough to jump without a net.” Nick quirked a brow.

“Come on, trading in wearing grown-up clothes to an office to write in my pajamas with my cat on my lap? Who could resist?” she joked. “Tell me what you do besides rent cottages.” Keep it light.

“Sure. I’m an architect.” He shifted back in his chair, accepting her change of topic.

“So you’ve read The Fountainhead, right? Are you following in Roark’s footsteps?” She referred to one of her own favorite heroes. Architects were trailblazers, creative visionaries. Powerful.

“My favorite book. I hope to…” For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty clouded his gaze.

“To fulfilling dreams.” She clinked her wineglass against his.

He shared fascinating stories about his favorite buildings around the country, passion lighting up his face. Light conversation and laughter dominated the rest of the meal. Nick was easy to talk to and could keep up with her lightning-quick changes of topics. Doug used to snap at her to focus on one thing at a time. Jerk.

****

Nick poured the last of the wine. He smiled at her across the table, enjoying the play of candlelight across her creamy skin. When he’d first picked her up, her beauty punched him in the gut. His awareness deepened on the drive down once he’d touched her and felt her nipples harden against his arm. He’d almost pulled over right then and kissed her.

Now she’d let her guard down, and her wit and her easy laughter mesmerized him. He couldn’t remember when he’d laughed so much on a date. Her clear interest in architecture and his ambitions warmed him. Her sparkling personality only served to emphasize her external attractiveness and hinted her inner beauty was just as formidable.

Without thinking, he leaned across the table and cupped her face in his hands, sampling her full lips. Gentle, at first. When she softened and responded to his kiss, he increased the pressure and parted her lips. She tasted like his favorite wine mixed with something uniquely her own.

With a growl low in his throat, he deepened the kiss, threading his fingers into her silky hair, pulling her closer, and sinking into her delicious scent.

“Let’s get out of here, sweetheart. Let’s go back to my place,” he murmured against her lips, unwilling to part contact with her. He wanted her in his bed now.

She jerked back as if he’d slapped her. Her eyes were dark, and her lips swollen from his kiss.

“I knew it! Welcome to the neighborhood, my ass. You took advantage. This ‘casual dinner’ is finished.” Fury replaced passion in her eyes.

“Sophie. Sophie, calm down. It was just a kiss. I just—”

Shit.

“I don’t want to hear it. Now take me home, or I’m calling a cab.” She cut him off and pushed away from the table.

“Sit down.” He gripped her wrist.

Shaking off his touch, she sank back into her seat.

“Fine, I just want to go home. Alone. Are you driving me, or should I call that cab?” The chill in her eyes froze him across the white-clothed table.

“Let me settle the check, and we’ll go. Seriously, Sophie, I was out of line, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Fine.” Her words were clipped, her face an icy mask.

Idiot.

He cursed his impulsiveness. He’d never pushed himself on a woman before.

Silence weighed heavy on the ride back to the cottage. He attempted to apologize again. “Sophie—”

“No.” She threw up her hand.

He focused on the road for the remainder of what now seemed like an interminable distance. The car pulled up to her doorway, where she exited without a word or a backward glance.

He commended her for not slamming the door.