Into Your Arms (A Contemporary Romance Novel) Read online

  Emilio shook his head slowly. “Nope.”

  Nick sighed. “Is there any chance you might tell me where she is?”

  “Well…for the next couple of hours she’ll be shopping for sex toys and x-rated party favors.”

  Nick’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

  “For the bachelorette party she’s going to tonight,” Emilio added.

  “Oh.” Disappointment washed through him again—he wouldn’t be able to see Sara until tomorrow.

  But Emilio was still talking. “Try Club Ravel at seven o’clock. Ask for the Erickson party.”

  Nick frowned. “I can’t interrupt Sara at a party.” Could he?

  “They won’t really get going till later. If you’re there at seven it’ll be fine.” Emilio patted him on the back. “Good luck, man.”

  “Thanks. I’ll need it.”

  He had a couple of hours to kill, so after he looked up Club Ravel on his handheld and saw that it wasn’t far from the theater, he got himself some dinner at a burger joint nearby. Finally, at five minutes to seven, he picked up his bouquet—still in good shape—and went around the corner to the club. The doorman directed him to a private function room on the second floor.

  Nick opened the door to find a dimly lit room with a zinc-topped bar and a couple of pool tables. It was filled with women who, despite Emilio’s assurance that the party wouldn’t get going till later, had clearly missed that memo. The alcohol appeared to be flowing, and the bride-to-be could be easily identified by her cardboard tiara and floor-length veil, worn over a tee shirt and blue jeans.

  Both pool tables were occupied, and after a minute Nick spotted Sara at one of them, facing him as she bent over to take a shot.

  Jesus. He could see right down her black silk blouse, and his mind rocketed back to the image burned permanently into his synapses—the image of Sara in her bra and panties, threatening him with bodily harm.

  She made her shot and lined up for the next, facing away from him this time.

  She was wearing a pair of old jeans, frayed at the cuffs and around the pockets, and they hugged her hips and long legs without being too tight. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of denim. He wanted to grip that perfect ass as he pulled her against him, letting her feel his—

  “Hey! I thought the strippers weren’t coming until nine.”

  A tiny woman was standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, wearing a baseball cap with Maid of Honor emblazoned on it. She looked him up and down, and a slow smile spread across her face.

  “Although I think we’d be willing to accommodate you, if this is the only time you can perform.”

  He cleared his throat. “That’s very nice of you, but I’m not actually a stripper. I missed Sara after her performance today, and I just wanted to stop by and give her these,” he explained, holding up the bouquet.

  “Oh,” the woman said, clearly disappointed. “Well, I suppose that’s all right.” Suddenly she grinned. “If you want to give it a try, though—you know, on an amateur basis—”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said gravely, before crossing the room to where Sara was standing, her back to him as she chalked her pool cue.

  He laid a hand on her shoulder. When she turned and saw him her eyes widened, and she took a quick step backwards and stumbled against a chair. He was still holding the flowers in one hand, so he grabbed her around the waist with the other to keep her upright.

  For one frozen second they stood there like that, his forearm pressing into her lower back and her breasts just grazing his chest. The room around them was filled with noise and chatter, but the only sound he was aware of was the sharp intake of Sara’s breath, a little gasp that made him hungry to hear it again.

  Her full, soft lips were parted, and his desire to taste them was like a punch in the gut. Almost without thinking he lowered his head to kiss her.

  Reality descended when Sara put both hands against his chest and shoved. “Nick? What are you doing?”

  She sounded bewildered, and as Nick took a step back, he realized he had no good answer to that question. So, like any good politico, he sidestepped it.

  “I missed you at the theater. Emilio told me where to find you, so I came by. I wanted to give you these,” he said, holding out the irises.

  She took them automatically, looking down at the flowers and then back up at him.

  “I also wanted to apologize,” he said, and damn if all the advice he’d given clients over the years wasn’t running through his head. If you want to be perceived as sincere, you have to make and hold eye contact.

  He shook his head sharply, suddenly resenting that internal voice. He didn’t want to be perceived as sincere. He wanted to be sincere.

  “I was a jerk last night, and I’m sorry.”

  She looked down again, biting her lip, and he forced himself to stay still and wait.

  “Sara! Who is this incredibly gorgeous man? Please tell me he’s a stripper who’s here for my party.” The bride had come over to stand next to them, throwing an arm around Sara and looking up at him with a wide smile.

  Sara cleared her throat. “This is Nick, who is not a stripper. Nick, this is my friend Jeanette. She’s getting married next week.”

  Jeanette looked disappointed. “You can’t come to my bachelorette party looking that sexy and not take off your clothes.”

  It was hard to tell in the dim light, but he thought Sara was blushing. “Seriously, Jeanette. Not a stripper. He just came by to…”

  “Ask Sara to forgive me.” A reckless impulse came over him, and his hand went to the top button of his oxford shirt. “But if she won’t, I guess I’ll have to find some other way to justify my presence at your party.”

  The eyes of both women widened, but he was only looking at Sara. “I’ll keep going until you accept my apology,” he said softly.

  He was down to the fifth button, and Sara hadn’t said a word. She was staring at him with the bouquet clutched to her chest, and then, when he reached the last button and his shirt fell open, her eyes narrowed.

  “You’re bluffing,” she said, and he grinned at her.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  He let his shirt slide down his arms, leaving him bare-chested, and then he slung it over the back of a chair.

  “I figure it’s only fair. After all, I’ve seen you without your shirt on.” He moved a hand to the waistband of his khakis. “Still think I’m bluffing?”

  Another moment of silence, charged with challenge and something else. Then, very slowly, he popped the button on his fly.

  “Okay, stop! I forgive you, I forgive you!”

  She reached out a hand to stop him from going any further, and her knuckles grazed his abdomen, just above his waistband.

  He felt the contact in the marrow of his bones. He sucked in a breath, and Sara snatched her hand away like she’d been burned.

  Jeanette was looking at the two of them with wide eyes. “Man, that was cool.”

  Sara cleared her throat as she took a step back. “Yes, well, the show’s over now. You can put your shirt back on, Nick.”

  “Or not,” Jeanette added.

  Nick grinned as he pulled on his shirt and buttoned it up, not bothering to tuck it in. He hadn’t missed the way Sara’s eyes had flicked over his bare chest before she’d looked resolutely away.

  When he was once more clothed and decent, he turned to Jeanette. “Would you mind if I had a private word with your friend? And congratulations, by the way. Your fiancé is a lucky man.”

  Jeanette put a hand to her heart. “How you do go on,” she said, winking at Sara before moving away. “Feel free to ditch my party if you get a better offer.”

  Once Jeanette had left, Nick took a step closer to Sara. “You really do forgive me?”

  She nodded. “Yes, of course. And I’m sorry, too. For the things I said about politics. I know I sounded insulting, but I honestly didn’t mean to insult you.”

  He shrugged. “D
on’t worry about it. It’s easy to hate politicians—and the people who work with them. I think you might like the client I’m working for now, though. Keisha Watkins?”

  Sara shook her head, and he realized that she didn’t know who Keisha Watkins was.

  “Wow. It’s one thing to avoid politics, and another to have no idea who your representatives are.”

  “Keisha Watkins is my representative?”

  “She’s trying to be. She’s running for the new seat that was created in the redistricting. You did know about that, right?”

  “Um…”

  “Wow,” he said again. “I’m going to drop this subject for now, since we’ve just achieved détente, but I will be bringing this up again in the future.”

  “Fair enough,” Sara said, tilting her head to the side as she looked up at him. “By the way, what did you think of the performance tonight? You did say you went, right?”

  Damn. He’d completely forgotten to tell her how incredible she was, and whatever he said now would sound like he was overcompensating.

  But he had to say something.

  “You gave me goose bumps,” he told her finally, remembering how it had felt to watch her.

  She smiled. “Goose bumps are good,” she said, and when their eyes met his skin prickled with awareness.

  She was giving him goose bumps again.

  “Okay. Well. I’ll let you get back to your party.”

  “Thanks for coming by, Nick. And for the flowers.”

  “Thank you for accepting my apology.”

  There didn’t seem to be anything more to say, which meant it was time to go. But as so often happened when he was with Sara, some kind of gravitational pull seemed to hold him in place. She was looking up at a him with a little crease between her brows, as though she were trying to puzzle something out, and he wanted to smooth that crease away. Then he’d run his fingers through her hair, slide his hand around to the nape of her neck, and…

  One of the partygoers called out to Sara, and when she turned to see who it was Nick said a quick goodnight and made his escape.

  As he stepped out of the club onto the crowded sidewalk, it occurred to him that it might have been smarter to let last night’s argument turn into a permanent coolness between them. With Sara single now and living right next door, it was going to take a hell of a lot of willpower to keep from making a move.

  What the hell had gotten into him up there, anyway? Temporary insanity?

  He hoped that was it. Because the other possibility wasn’t anything he was ready to deal with right now.

  Chapter Six

  It was a good thing everyone around her was drinking so much, because no one seemed to notice that she was so distracted she could barely function.

  First there’d been the almost-kiss…if that’s what it was. Everything had happened so fast, her stumbling and him steadying her, she couldn’t be sure she hadn’t imagined it. Even if he had been leaning in to kiss her, it might have been for a peck on the cheek.

  But she definitely hadn’t imagined that little striptease he’d performed, which had frozen her in place with pounding heart and quickened breath until she’d finally managed to stop him.

  As a professional dancer she was no stranger to the male torso, but she couldn’t think of another chest that could match Nick’s for sheer masculine lustworthiness. Smooth skin over hard muscle, powerful shoulders and arms, the rippled muscles of his abdomen…

  No, she hadn’t imagined any of that.

  And she hadn’t imagined the electric current that seemed to run between them, generating a spark whenever they touched.

  Nick had talked to Emilio. Did that mean he knew she’d broken up with Harry? She wouldn’t put it past Emilio to mention that fact.

  Not that it mattered. It didn’t. Nick was just passing through her life, and the last thing she needed right now was to fall for a guy who’d be leaving in a few months.

  Because that was the real problem. Simple physical attraction she could deal with…maybe. But Nick Landry wasn’t the kind of man you just had hot sex with.

  He was the kind of man you fell for.

  Walking from the subway stop to her apartment she was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice Harry sitting on her stoop until she heard his voice.

  “Sara.”

  He rose to his feet as she came to an abrupt halt. She was so surprised to see him that she just stood there, staring. He was carrying a single red rose.

  “For you,” he said, holding out the flower as he glanced down at Nick’s irises.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, taking the rose. It was beautiful, but the truth was, she found roses sort of boring.

  “I came to apologize—and to ask you to give me a second chance.”

  He was wearing black slacks and a black shirt and the soft-brim fedora he wore everywhere, and his dark eyes looked into hers with the soulful expression she’d found so appealing the first time she’d seen him on stage.

  She wasn’t sure what to say. “How long have you been here?”

  “Not too long. Half an hour, maybe. I would’ve waited upstairs, but when I buzzed Nick he wouldn’t let me in. He said if I wanted to see you I could wait out here.” He smiled the crooked smile she’d also found appealing once. “For a guy who’s just met you, he seems pretty protective. I guess you bring that out in men.”

  She did? If so, she’d managed not to bring it out in Harry. A few weeks ago at a bar downtown, a friend of his had gotten a little grabby and Harry had assured her it was no big deal, Jason didn’t really mean anything by it, he just got that way when he’d had one too many.

  Remembering that incident, Sara felt an unexpected spurt of anger—anger she hadn’t let herself feel at the time.

  “I meant what I said this morning, Harry. I don’t think we’re right for each other. But I appreciate you coming here to see me.” She held out a hand. “Friends?”

  He took her hand, but instead of shaking it he kissed it. Then his other hand was around her waist, pulling her towards him. “I want a lot more than friendship with you. And you can’t tell me you don’t feel the same.”

  He grazed his lips over her forehead, her cheek, her jaw.

  And she felt absolutely nothing.

  The truth was, she’d never felt much when Harry touched her. That, she realized now, was the reason she hadn’t slept with him. She’d been waiting for the excitement, the thrill, the electricity. But it had never come.

  Suddenly she wasn’t angry at Harry anymore—only herself. She’d let herself be with a man she wasn’t really attracted to, a man who didn’t even treat her well. She wasn’t sure why she’d been willing to settle for so little, but even if she spent the rest of her life alone she never wanted to make that mistake again.

  She took a step back and pulled her hand away from his. “I don’t feel the same way. I’m sorry.”

  She walked past him up her stoop and stuck her key in the lock. As she pushed the door open she heard Harry’s voice behind her.

  “I’ll say goodnight for now—but I’m not giving up. I’m going to win you back, baby. Whatever it takes.”

  Great, she thought as she made her way up the stairs to her apartment. Like a spoiled child with more toys than he needed, he’d decided that the one toy he really wanted was the one he couldn’t play with anymore.

  She had no illusions that Harry’s sudden interest was anything more than that. It was annoying, though…not to mention insulting.

  Maybe what she needed was a break from men. A good long break.

  She averted her eyes from Nick’s door as she unlocked her own, and decided that her impressive show of willpower should be rewarded with one small indulgence.

  She sat down at her computer and Googled him.

  The first link she found was to an article about Keisha Watkins, the woman Nick was working for. As Nick had said, she was running for a brand new congressional seat that had been created when
New York was redistricted…whatever that meant. The article mentioned the name of the previous representative, which was vaguely familiar but for whom Sara had never voted—for the simple reason that she’d never voted for anyone, ever. She’d dutifully registered when she was eighteen, but had never gone to the polls.

  Well, it was never too late to start. This November she’d go with Emilio, who voted in every election.

  Sara kept reading. The article mentioned that Ms. Watkins had hired Nick Landry as a consultant, describing him as a well-known figure in the Washington political scene with a reputation for winning tough elections. He usually worked on gubernatorial or senatorial campaigns, the implication being that he was slumming a bit by coming to New York to work for a candidate for the House of Representatives.

  Sara reached back into her high school social studies memories and recalled that the Senate was the one with equal representation—two senators for every state. The House of Representatives was the one based on population, so that a state like California had a bunch of seats while a state like Wyoming had…well, she had no idea how many representatives every state had, but she knew it varied.

  There were several links to video clips on the search results page, and she clicked on one. It was an interview on CNN about the senatorial candidate Nick had been working for at the time. It was a short clip, but it reminded her of the Nick she’d seen at the Japanese restaurant: charming, articulate, and dangerous. A member of the opposition campaign was being interviewed, too—one of those confrontational point/counterpoint things that Sara hated—and she watched Nick back the other man into a corner over women’s healthcare.

  As long as she wasn’t the one being skewered, it was actually pretty amazing to watch Nick at work. He seemed to get more relaxed as the other man got more irritated and snappish, and eventually Nick just sat back in his chair and smiled, as if to say my work here is done.

  There were a lot more clips like that from the past several years, and Sara watched a few of them at random. Nick never lost his cool, never made a misstep, and never lost an argument.