Ask Me Why (25 page)

“My dad encouraged me to go back up to the window, to face what scared me again, and stand up to it, with the safety of the glass between us, of course. He told me that for the rest of my life, I'd always have a choice. I could run away from what scared me or face it head-on.”

“And did you? Go back to the window?”

He shook his head. “That would be the Hollywood ending, wouldn't it? And then I'd become some Rocky wannabe, not afraid of anything. Nope, I ran back to my dad and begged him to take me to see the penguins instead. I didn't face that tiger again until I was fifteen, and when I went back to the zoo, with a date—”

“Of course.”

“And the tiger looked so much smaller than I remembered. He was bored with me that time and just turned away and laid on a rock.” Nick traced the outline of the tattoo. “But my father's lesson stayed with me, and when I turned eighteen, I got this. It's kind of my motto for going forward with things that scare me.”

She waved off his words. “Oh, you're not scared of anything, Nick Patterson.”

He captured her jaw with his hand and traced her bottom lip with his thumb, imagining his mouth on there, hers on his. God, she was beautiful, in a way that almost broke his heart. He wanted to protect her and hold her, all at the same time, even though he knew his tough Maggie needed neither. “I am terrified of some things. Like making love to you and ruining this great thing we have going.”

“Doing this . . . it's going to change everything.”

He lowered onto one arm beside her, and whisked a lock of hair off her cheek. “Are you okay with that?”

“Are you?”

He had waited two years to move forward with Maggie. Two years of telling himself that being just her friend was the best choice. Two years of wondering what it would be like to have her in his arms, in his bed, in his life. Two years of holding back because he didn't want to screw it up like he'd screwed up pretty much every other relationship in his life. “I am definitely okay with that.”

Another heartbeat, her eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat. Maggie shook her head. “Me, too.”

“Then let me love you, Maggie,” he whispered.

“Okay,” she said, the word a breath in the closed space of the car.

Maggie rose up, reaching for the hook on the back of her bra, but he put out a hand to stop her, to slow it down, to take a moment. “Don't. I've waited a long damned time to be with you, Maggie, and the last thing I want to do is rush it. I want to admire you first.”

The blush returned to her cheeks, and he could see her ready a protest, but she lay back, and raised her arms over her head. “Admire away, Casanova.”

“For one,” he said, lowering his head to trail kisses along her neck, the valley of her shoulders, the dip between her breasts, “I'm not Casanova.” His finger toyed with the white lacy edge of her bra, slipping it to one side, exposing one dark pink nipple. “And for another.” He continued the trail of kisses, slower now, up the hill of her breast, and just beside the nipple, teasing, anticipating. “You are an incredibly sexy woman.”

“Even in work boots?”

“Especially in work boots. And out of them.” He slid his mouth along her belly, then fumbled with the snap on her shorts. He slid them down and over her hips, his gaze drinking in the flat planes of her belly, the lacy edge of her panties, the exposed breast. Seeing Maggie lying across the black leather seat like that had to be the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

“You—”

He put a finger on her lips. “We can talk later. Right now, I want to take advantage of this backseat. And you.”

She grinned and slid a hand between them to grasp his erection beneath the thick cotton of his shorts. “Then take advantage, Nick.”

He lost a button tearing off his shorts, then his boxer briefs. He slid a hand beneath the lace panties and slipped a finger inside her. Maggie gasped and arched against him, all wet and warm and ready. He lowered his head to her breast, drew one nipple into his mouth and toyed with it using the tip of his tongue. She clawed at his back, wrapping one leg around his, breathing his name.

He tugged off her panties, tossing them to the floor, then braced himself with one hand on the seat, one on the floor of the low-slung convertible, and slid between her legs. When he entered her, Nick thought it felt like sliding into heaven.

Maggie met his thrusts with her own, grasping at his skin, urging him to go harder, faster. It was loud, it was hot, it was fast, but holy hell, it was good. Too soon, the tidal wave caught them both, his strokes speeding up, her moans and gasps becoming one long song, and then, he felt her contract around him and he came in one long shuddering moment that nearly killed him.

When he could breathe again, Nick curled onto the side of the bench seat and drew Maggie close. “I swear I saw stars. You are . . . incredible. I don't know how we're going to do that again in those bunk beds, but holy hell, I want you again already.”

“Nick, let me up. I . . . I should get inside.” Maggie slid out of his arms and sat up, reaching for her bra, her gaze averted. “I have some things to do before tomorrow.”

He reached for her, but she slipped away. “Stay, Maggie. Stay for a while.”

The air chilled in the garage, the moment evaporating like summer rainstorms. “I can't. I have stuff to do.”

He sat up and watched her get dressed again. It was as if a switch had shifted inside her, and everything he'd said, everything they'd done, had been erased. “What aren't you telling me?”

She met his gaze, and the green in her eyes rippled like stormy water. “You were right. This . . . this changed everything.”

Then she was gone and he was left in the dark.

MAGGIE DID A
damned good job avoiding Nick for the next twenty-four hours. She'd gone straight to bed after they'd made love, feigning sleep when he'd come in the room and tried to talk to her. Then she'd gotten up early and spent the entire day with Rachel, doing last-minute wedding prep. While the guys were at the store picking up the alcohol, Maggie ran up to her room and got changed for the rehearsal dinner, then headed outside.

She just had to get through the rehearsal, the wedding, then the drive back. On Monday morning, they'd go back to normal—or a semblance of normal. Maybe if enough time passed, they would forget this ever happened.

Uh-huh. Like a Sequoia forgot about a forest fire.

A small white arbor had been set up at the back of Herbert and Hattie's yard. Tomorrow, flowers and ivy would be wound into the lattice, and a white runner would be spread in the aisle between the chairs. The wooden dance floor had been installed earlier today on the south side of the lawn, with a table for the DJ and several long buffet tables awaiting tablecloths and food. Christmas lights had been strung in the trees, casting a soft white twinkle over the space. Beautiful and romantic, like something out of a movie.

“I'm so nervous,” Rachel said, twisting her hands together as she spun and took in the preparations in the yard. “I keep thinking I'm going to forget something.”

“Even if you do, it won't matter. As long as you have J.W. and a preacher, you're all set.”

Rachel smiled. “That's true. And my grandpa to walk me down the aisle. I sure wish my dad had lived to see me get married.” Tears filled Rachel's eyes and the smile faded. “I miss him. He would have loved J.W., would have loved this whole thing. It's so unfair that he's not here.”

Maggie took Rachel's hand and led her toward the center of the yard where the leafy oaks and Spanish moss yielded to one bright circle of lawn. Tomorrow, the white paper runner would start in this exact spot and lead down to where J.W. would be waiting to make Rachel his wife.

A tiny flicker of envy ran through Maggie. What would it be like to have a man like J.W.—
a man like Nick?
her mind asked—waiting for her, with a proud smile on his face and a heart filled with hope?

This was Rachel's day. Not Maggie's. And Maggie wasn't interested in becoming someone's missus. Making dinners on weekdays and keeping the laundry folded. No—she had her own dreams and goals, and they didn't involve marriage.

Maggie reached into her pocket and pulled out a smooth, flat stone, a little smaller from all the wear over the years, but still almost the same as the day she'd gotten it. She ran her thumb over the surface, as calm as glass. “Do you remember when your dad gave me this?”

Rachel nodded. “That summer we camped at the lake. We were, like, eleven.”

“And not into boys yet.”

Rachel laughed. “Yep. Camping lost its appeal after we got a look at Robbie Lee Cooper without a shirt on.”

“He was the David Beckham of middle school, wasn't he?” Maggie put the stone in Rachel's palm and closed her friend's hand over it. Maggie loved Rachel's family, so normal, so welcoming. They'd taken her on camping trips and family vacations, taught her to play ball and make chicken salad. She'd been as close to Rach and her family as she could be without that blood connection, and even now, staying here, standing here, it felt like being home. Every good memory Maggie had of Chatham Ridge was wrapped up in Rachel's family, she realized, which was why she hadn't hesitated when Rachel asked her to come home and stand beside her for the wedding. Being there for Rachel, with high heels, a pink dress, and some last-minute support. And with Nick, abiding by that crazy dare. “Your dad gave me that stone when I got scared one night because there was a terrible storm outside the tent. He said to hold tight to it, and everything would be okay. That the storm would pass and the rock would still be there, solid and strong. I've kept it with me ever since, as silly as that sounds.”

Rachel's eyes welled. “That doesn't sound silly at all.”

“You, your dad, your grandparents . . . they were my family, Rachel. My rock. I know you're nervous and worried about tomorrow, but don't be because those nerves are just a storm, and they'll pass as soon as you say ‘I do.' Until then, take this and hold on to it, just like I did for all those years. And when you stand here tomorrow, take a moment, look up, and know that your father is here. He's always been here, watching you and walking with you and your grandpa, proud as a peacock of his little girl.”

Rachel's smile wobbled. “That's what he always used to say.”

“Then just keep thinking about that tomorrow.”

Rachel gave Maggie a tight hug. It was like they were ten again and saying good-bye at the end of a camping trip. Or sixteen and crying over the first boy to break Rachel's heart. Or twenty-one and Maggie was heading out of Georgia for a life unknown. “Thank you. For saying that, and for being here with me, even though I made you get pedicures and try on dresses and put your hair up,” Rachel said. “You're the best friend and maid of honor I could ask for.”

“Ditto. You were always here for me when I was young, and being here for you is the least I can do.” Maggie grinned, and leaned in. “Truth be told, I kinda enjoyed the pedicure.”

“Then we'll do it again for your wedding. Though I'd be a matron of honor, being an old married woman by then.”

“My wedding?” Maggie scoffed. “I'm not getting married anytime soon.”

“But Nick—”

“That was just a dare, remember? You know there's nothing between us. Just trying to keep Aunt Edna from fixing me up.” Maggie grinned.

“I know it was just a dare, but I have to say, after seeing Nick with you, that boy is in love, Maggie. He looks at you the same way J.W. looks at me. I wouldn't be surprised if the next wedding I go to is yours.”

The thought of a wedding—a marriage to Nick—sent a flutter of panic through Maggie. They were just pretending, putting on an act for everyone. Except pretending didn't involve sleeping with Nick. That was taking the whole faking-it act a little too far.

Last night, she hadn't faked a thing. She had been swept up in the moment, in the sheer amazing ecstasy of being with Nick, and forgotten her rule to keep things platonic. Every moment in that car had been real and true—and terrifying as hell.

“I think he's just a very good actor,” Maggie said. “I know Nick and he's not the settle-down kind.”

“I said the same thing about J.W.” Rachel shot Maggie a grin as they walked across the yard. She raised a hand in greeting at the minister, just arriving.

“Either way, there's only a few hours left of me and Nick ‘dating.' After the wedding tomorrow afternoon, we'll go back to Rescue Bay and everything will go back to the way it used to be.”

Although that was impossible.
This changes everything.

Sleeping with him made her long for him in ways she never had before. Had her wondering what he was doing every other second. Had her replaying that incredible moment in the car, over and over again in her head.

“Maybe so. Or maybe this week with Nick will change things in a good way.” Rachel smiled. “He's a good guy, Maggie. I saw that right off when I visited you last year. He'd do anything for you. Including drive all the way to Georgia to hang out with men he doesn't even know and pretend to be madly in love with you. If he does the bunny hop at the reception, then he's a total keeper.”

Maggie laughed. “That's the litmus test? Doing the bunny hop?”

“Hey, there are the guys,” Rachel said, putting a hand on Maggie's arm. “They look all handsome, don't they?”

And they did. Maggie didn't notice J.W. or the other groomsmen. Her eyes strayed to Nick, to his tall, lean frame, his sandy hair among a sea of dark hair. He had on a pale green shirt, and it accented his eyes, his hair, everything about him. She could see the edge of his tattoo peek out from under the edge of his sleeve, and something quickened in her belly.

“I'd say somebody already passed the litmus test,” Rachel said softly. “You just gotta stop grading him so hard.”

Noralee came running up to them, dragging Maggie's attention back to why she was here. “Ladies! It's time. Now let's put a bee in those bonnets and get this rehearsal started. So we can have cake, which ya'll know is the only reason I leave my house.”

The other girls arrived, and the whole lot piled toward the aisle. Noralee waved them forward, pairing them, then shooing them toward the minister. “Just like ducks, yes, indeed. Off you go. Remember, walk slowly. This isn't a race for first to the preacher. Except for you, Billy Joe. I heard there's a daddy with his shotgun after you.”

J.W.'s brother Leroy slipped Maggie's arm into his, talking about his truck the entire walk. Maggie barely heard him. Her gaze kept straying to Nick, who was standing to the side, his expression unreadable behind sunglasses. She noticed his shirt was open at the collar and exposing a hint of the chest she had been kissing less than twenty-four hours ago.

She was saved from face-planting in the aisle by Leroy's steady hand.
The rehearsal, focus on the rehearsal.

The wedding rehearsal passed in a blur of laughter and jokes, and before Maggie realized it, they were setting up for dinner inside the house. Nick tried to talk to her several times, but she feigned busy-ness and dodged him. What was she going to say?
Thanks for the sex, but I really want to pretend it never happened?

Except she couldn't pretend that, as much as she wanted to. Going back wouldn't mean a return to normal—it would mean dealing with the shift in their relationship. That was what most terrified Maggie—that the shift would be too big, and she'd have to say good-bye to Nick forever.

She picked up a giant bowl of macaroni salad and spun toward the dining room, nearly colliding with a firm, solid chest. Wearing pale green. And a grin she recognized.

“Nick!” The salad slipped forward in the bowl, dotting his shirt with mayonnaise. “Sorry. Let me get that cleaned up.”

He caught her before she could turn toward the sink and put some distance between them. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“Lots to do.” The lie slid off her tongue like melted butter. “Wedding here tomorrow.”

“I know.” He grinned. “I've been along for the ride since Wednesday.”

She gestured toward his shirt again. Toward something to do other than talk about what was coming next. “Nick, that's going to stain and—”

“You look beautiful,” he said. “Absolutely heart-stopping, stunningly beautiful. I hardly recognize you.”

She shook her head. “Of course, you like this better, this all prettied-up girlie girl.”

“I never said that.” He shifted closer, taking the bowl from her hands and placing it on the counter. “Look at me, Maggie.”

She swallowed hard, telling herself she wasn't affected by him, that her mind wasn't replaying that moment in the convertible, that a part of her didn't wish he'd just hoist her up on the counter and do it again, macaroni salad be damned.

He lifted her chin, just as he had before, with the edge of his hand. The move so tender, so gentle, she could have been a baby bird. She met his gaze with her own and held her breath.

“I love you when you're dressed up, and I love you when you're in dirty, muddy, sawdust-covered work clothes,” he said. “I love you when you put on makeup, and I love you when your face is bare and a little sunburned because that means I can see those freckles that pepper your nose, because I love those, too.”

She looked away. “Nick, you don't have to say any of that. We're alone right now. Everyone is in the other room.”

“I know we're alone. And that's why I'm saying it.”

“Nick . . .” And then it hit her. Why he was saying this. What he was saying. The words she had just heard three, four, five times. All he'd been dancing around when they were in the car, the way he'd been looking at her and touching her. “You . . . you love me?”

“I do indeed.” His grin widened, took over his face. “I think I just said that ten times.”

“But, but you don't fall in love. You don't date anyone longer than twenty minutes. You don't—”

He put a finger on her lip, silencing her protests. “I'm not what you think I am. I've only ever really loved one woman.”

Nick had been in love? How had she missed that? “Who?”

He chuckled. “You, silly. I was just waiting to be ready to prove it to you.”

Nick was in love with her? Had been for all this time? Even after hearing him say it, the truth refused to sink in. Was he still taking their charade too far? Trying to act out a little romantic scene before the cake was brought out? Yes, that had to be it. Or was he trying to make her feel better after they'd made love?