Coming Apart at the Seams (27 page)

In fact, since they'd had sex in her office, she had gone out of her way to avoid him altogether. She had conducted all necessary work meetings with him in public places, and she had even managed to steer clear of him outside of work except for the night of Quinn and Amelia's New Year's Eve engagement party.

She had been vigilant and kept him in her sight all night long so he couldn't catch her unaware. When the clock had struck midnight, he was right next to her, but she hadn't been worried because she had assumed he wouldn't kiss her in front of her entire family.

She had been wrong
. So wrong.

He had grabbed her butt in both hands, pulled her against him, and laid an open-mouthed, full-tongue kiss on her that turned her brain to mush. When it had ended, they'd been breathless, and half the room had stared at them. She had tried to laugh it off as a drunken impulse, and surprisingly, neither her parents nor her brothers had asked any questions about it.

Nick shifted behind her, brushing her hair to the side and placing his lips on the nape of her neck. He gave it a swipe with his tongue before sucking lightly.

“Do you like this house?” he asked so quietly she could barely hear him over the beat of her heart.

“It doesn't matter if I like it.”

He trailed his lips from her nape to the ticklish place behind her earlobe. He gave the sensitive skin a tiny lick before placing his mouth against her ear.

“Yes, it does.”

His deep voice rumbled through her body, and she shivered. Sliding his arm around her waist, he slipped his hand under the hem of her sweater. He rubbed circles on her stomach, his callused fingers creating pleasurable tingles up and down her spine.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes. It's nice.”

Moving his hand from her stomach, he cupped her breast, stroking his thumb over her nipple. She bit her lip, trying to hold back a moan. He tweaked her nipple, and she gasped at the pleasure-pain.

“Enough to live here?”

“Yes.”

He abruptly abandoned her nipple and grabbed her hand in his. He strode across the room, tugging her behind him, and pushed through a set of original French doors until he reached the kitchen.

He took a second to boost her onto the island before stepping back to stand in the middle of the room, his hands on his jeans-clad hips. His black sweater stretched across the dense muscles of his chest with the movement, and she had an abbreviated fantasy of delving under the soft material to stroke his pecs and fondle his flat brown nipples.

“I don't like this room,” he announced.

She glanced around, a little bemused by how quickly they'd gone from kissing to kitchen design. Although the appliances were a little dated, the room looked okay to her.

“Why?”

“Can't see the backyard.”

He was right. The kitchen was in the middle of the house, and its windows looked out on the neighbors. It also lacked backyard access; the door to the backyard was located in a guest room.

She wasn't surprised Nick had noticed such a small detail. He was one of the most observant people she knew. He had a nearly photographic memory, something she'd never realized before they'd started working together on the museum project.

He also had an amazing command of the written word, which she found odd, since he barely spoke. His vocabulary rivaled Bebe's, and his grammar, spelling, and punctuation were almost perfect. His reports were comprehensive, and his emails always started with salutations and ended with proper closings.

If not for the fact that Nick made her panties wet and her nipples hard, he was an ideal employee. His work was almost flawless, he never missed meetings or deadlines, and he was polite and respectful to everyone he worked with.

Although she had never doubted Nick's intelligence, she definitely had underestimated him. If he were anyone else on her team, she would have told him how pleased she was with his performance and how well he was doing.

But he wasn't just a member of her team. He was the man who tempted her at every turn—the man who'd torn her heart into a million tiny pieces.

“It's a problem,” Nick added, and she pulled her attention back to him and the kitchen.

“Why is it a problem to not be able to see the backyard?”

He gave her a look that translated into
Are you an idiot?

“I'm sorry.” She shrugged a little. “I don't see why it's a problem. Why don't you tell me.”

“Can't see the kids playing in the backyard.”

His statement thoroughly confused her. “What kids?”

He rolled his lips inward, and she cocked her head. He was
looking at her with a strangely intent expression, and she wondered what he was thinking.

“What kids?” she repeated.

“My future children.”

Those three words ripped open something inside her—something that had never healed completely. The pain was excruciating. It pierced all the way to her soul.

Nick had never even known about their baby. He hadn't cared enough about her to return her phone calls so she could tell him she was pregnant. He hadn't been there when she had miscarried. He hadn't been there when she'd cried herself to sleep night after night.

And now he was worried about being able to see his future children playing in the backyard.

Bastard.

She jumped off the island, tears blurring her eyes. Driven solely by the desire to get away from Nick, she darted out of the room, running as fast as she could down the hall toward the front door.

His footsteps pounded behind her, and she lunged toward the doorknob, flinging open the door. She ran down the steep steps, barely managing to stay upright, and dashed across the lawn to Rayna's Land Rover. The older woman opened the car door and jumped out to catch Teagan in her arms.

“Teagan! Honey, what's wrong?”

“Ray . . .” she sobbed.

Rayna turned sharply, pushing Teagan behind her. She glanced over Rayna's shoulder to see Nick standing a few steps away.

“What did you do to her?” Rayna shouted at Nick before shooting a quick glance toward Teagan. “Did he hurt you? Do I need to call 911?”

She stared at Rayna, too upset to answer. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her shallow breaths had made her dizzy.

“Teagan! Do I need the call the police?”

She shook her head, but Rayna's attention was focused on Nick as he moved closer to them, and the older woman didn't see her answer.

“Stay back!” Rayna yelled.

He ignored Rayna, and with his eyes locked on Teagan, he
didn't notice the older woman's pointy-toed pump as it shot forward to nail him in the balls. Groaning, he dropped to his knees before falling to the ground and rolling into a fetal position.

Teagan stared at Nick, horrified by the wounded animal sounds that came out of him. Rayna turned to face Teagan, her blue eyes wide.

“I hope he deserved that.”

The cold wind whipped across Nick's face as he sped down the double-black diamond trail on Lookout Mountain. The skiing conditions at Northstar California were perfect—sun, minimal wind, and fresh powder.

He and the O'Brien brothers had arrived at the Ritz-Carlton Lake Tahoe last night for Quinn's stag weekend. Quinn and Amelia's wedding was only two weeks away, and three more of Quinn's buddies would join them later tonight for three days of skiing, drinking, and eating. Cal would probably add sex to the itinerary, but Nick was going to stay zipped, and there was no question that Quinn would ever cheat on Amelia.

Through Nick's polarized sunglasses, he had a clear view of the steep trail ahead of him. Since it was insanely difficult and few skiers had the skill to navigate it, the trail was almost deserted. The pine trees were a greenish-black blur in his peripheral vision, and all too soon, he reached the bottom. He did a hockey stop, creating a spray of snow with his new Volkl skis, and turned to face the mountain.

Nick watched as Quinn and Cal ran the trail at a much slower speed. He was a better skier than either one of the O'Brien boys, and he wasn't being arrogant when he made that claim. He had no problem admitting that Cal was a much better
golfer, and Quinn was just as nimble as Nick was on the football field.

Nick had learned to ski when he was in grade school. Upstate New York had plenty of resorts, and Simon had pushed him to excel at every sport under the sun. Nick even knew how to play lacrosse, maybe the lamest sport in existence except for kettlebell tossing.

He'd honed his ski skills while he had lived in Colorado, spending most winters and early springs bumming around the resorts high up in the Rocky Mountains. He'd loved his time on the slopes, whether he was in Aspen, Vail, or Purgatory.

Skiing was a solitary sport, something you could do alone, so it had been perfect for him. And there had been plenty of ski bunnies eager to shake their tails for him. He had a lot of memories of plowing through powder all day before plowing through pussy all night.

Quinn reached the end of the trail first, coming to a less-than-graceful stop. Seconds later, Cal arrived with a big spray of snow and an ear-splitting holler.

The younger O'Brien brother pulled off his helmet and shook his dark head. “Holy shit! That was fucking awesome! But I'm
never
going to do that again.”

Nick laughed. He loved these guys, and it was nice to ski with friends rather than by himself.

“Want to go again?” Quinn asked.

Nick shook his head. He was cold, hungry, and thirsty, and he was ready to call it a day. They removed their skis and made the trek back to the hotel. After dropping off their equipment with the ski valet, they found seats in the hotel bar, which was nearly empty.

Nick leaned back against a leather club chair with a sigh, propping his snow boot-covered foot on his knee before studying the room. The Ritz-Carlton was one of the most luxurious resorts in the Lake Tahoe area, and he had decided to upgrade from a regular room to a suite so he'd have a fireplace and a balcony.

He would love to take Teagan to a place like this. He would love to lay her down in front of the fire and watch her creamy skin turn pink from the heat. He would love to lick a trail from her breasts to the sweet spot between her legs before pushing inside her and staying there all night.

His cock twitched, reminding him that he hadn't been inside Teagan's curvy body since they'd had sex in her office just after Christmas. He wasn't sure he would ever have the pleasure of being there again, especially after what had happened during the house walk-through.

The thought depressed him, and he forcefully pulled his thoughts away from Teagan and focused on the drink in his hand, a new bourbon whiskey called Trinity. One of Quinn's friends, Jonah Beck, owned the micro-distillery that produced it, and he would join them to celebrate Quinn's final days as a bachelor. Nick knew Quinn wished those days were already over, and Nick wished his own bachelor days were numbered, too.

He watched Quinn check his phone for the tenth time in so many minutes. His best friend seemed anxious, and he wondered why. Cal's hand shot out and grabbed his older brother's phone before shoving it between the cushions of his own leather chair.

“What the fuck, Cal?” Quinn snapped.

“Amelia is fine. Stop acting like a pussy.”

Quinn narrowed his eyes before giving a self-deprecating laugh. Leaning forward, he grabbed his drink off the oak cocktail table and settled back in the chair with a sigh.

“I
am
acting like a pussy,” he admitted before taking a swallow of his bourbon. “But there will come a day when you act like an even bigger pussy over a woman. And when that day comes, brother, I'm going to give you all kinds of shit.”

Cal's face froze, and Nick studied his old friend. Cal and his girlfriend, Saika, had broken up a few months ago, and it didn't seem like the other man was over it. Nick knew what it felt like to have your guts ripped out by a woman, and a wave of sympathy washed over him. He wanted to tell Cal there were only two ways to get through it: distraction and denial.

“You're so whipped I'm surprised you even agreed to come up here this weekend,” Cal shot back. “Especially since it means you're missing Valentine's Day.”

“I didn't miss anything. We celebrated Valentine's Day last weekend,” Quinn said, the smile on his face clearly conveying how enjoyable the celebration had been.

“What did you get Amelia for your first Valentine's Day together?” Cal asked.

“Pajamas.”

“Pajamas?” Cal repeated. “Is that code for lingerie?”

Quinn laughed, shaking his head. “No. I really bought her pajamas. She has this one pair she wears all the time. They're so damn ugly. They're flannel, and they have eggs and bacon printed on them. I
hate
them. I hate them so much I want to burn them, so I bought her a new set with pink hearts on them. They're much cuter.”

Nick stared at Quinn. The fool didn't have the good sense to be embarrassed that he'd just admitted to buying his future wife a pair of flannel pajamas with hearts on them for Valentine's Day instead of crotchless panties.

Cal was right: Quinn was whipped. Pathetically, appallingly whipped. There was no hope for mankind. It was over for all of them.

Cal glanced at Nick. “What about you, Priest?” he asked, his eyes speculative, and his lips quirked with amusement. “Are you missing Valentine's Day with anyone special?”

Nick threw back the rest of his bourbon so he could avoid Cal's question. If Teagan had given him one hint she wanted to spend Valentine's Day with him, he would have forgone the stag weekend without a moment's regret. But he had seen her only once since the house-hunting disaster. She had been traveling for work, and when she had been in the office, she'd been tied up with other projects.

When he had taken the job with Riley O'Brien & Co., he had looked forward to spending a lot of time with Teagan. He hadn't realized how busy she was and how much responsibility she juggled. Just as he'd always suspected, she kicked ass when it came to business. She was smart, dedicated, and a good supervisor.

Teagan had revamped the legal department when she'd returned from Boston. Apparently the company had used several outside firms to handle its legal work, and she'd brought most of the work back in-house and rebuilt the legal team. The move saved the company millions of dollars and also improved the quality of work.

Even though he had nothing to do with her accomplishments, he was proud of her success. She awed him, and he wished there
were a way for him to let her know. But she avoided him, and after what had happened in the Pacific Heights house, he didn't want to do anything to set her off again.

He still had no idea what he'd done to make her run from him like he was a serial killer. The look on her face before she had dashed from the kitchen had been so anguished he'd felt as if someone had kicked him in the balls. And then Rayna
had
. The memory made him wince. The older woman had been painfully accurate with her pointy-toed shoe.

“What's wrong, Priest? You don't like the bourbon?” Quinn asked, assuming Nick's wince was related to his drink rather than memories of having his testicles abused. “I think it's really good.”

“I like it.”

“Good. I'd hate to think I invested in a company that produces paint thinner rather than quality liquor.”

Nick was surprised to hear Quinn had invested in Beck's company. Quinn was an astute businessman, and he was very careful with his money. Although Nick had met Beck at Quinn and Amelia's New Year's Eve party, the conversation hadn't moved beyond basic introductions, and he was interested to know more about him.

“How long have you known Beck?” Nick asked.

“I met him in grad school. We were in the same MBA classes at Stanford.”

“W-w-w-what's the story behind Trinity?”

“When we were at Stanford, Beck put together a business plan for a micro-distillery and asked me to look over it. It was solid, really solid—one of the best plans I've ever seen, in fact. So I provided the start-up capital for Beck. He brought in two college friends to help him, and here we are.”

Abruptly, Cal shifted and pulled Quinn's phone from the seat cushion. He passed the phone to Quinn, who immediately popped open the screen. After a moment, he smiled and handed it back to his younger brother.

“Amelia says ‘hello' and to ‘behave like the men we should be rather than the boys we are.'”

All three of them laughed.

“W-w-w-what is Amelia doing w-w-w-while you're gone?”

“Ava Grace flew in a few days ago, and the two of them are going over to Teagan's for a ‘girls' night.' Whatever the hell that means.”

“They're probably going to watch
The Notebook
and drink wine,” Cal said, his voice clearly conveying his disgust.

Nick choked back a laugh, looking down into his empty tumbler. Back when he and Teagan had been friends, he'd spent an evening with her watching
The Notebook
and drinking wine.

She had snuggled up to him, close enough for him to smell her fruity body lotion and hear her soft breathing. She'd fallen asleep against him halfway through the movie, her head nestled on his chest.

He remembered the night in detail because the movie had made him cry, and when Teagan had woken up and noticed his red-rimmed eyes, he'd lied and told her that he was allergic to her lotion. She'd never worn it again, which was a damn shame because it had smelled really good.

“Want another one, Priest?” Cal asked, gesturing toward Nick's empty glass.

Nick nodded, and Cal called over the waitress and ordered drinks for all of them. When she returned with the bourbon, she leaned toward Nick, putting her cleavage right in his face. She was young and pretty, and she had a nice rack, but it wasn't nearly as mouthwatering as Teagan's.

“She was friendly,” Cal said, eyeing the waitress as she walked away, her ass swaying in an exaggerated motion. “And it's obvious she'd like to get a lot friendlier with you, Priest.”

Nick shrugged, taking another sip of Trinity. The bourbon had a palate-pleasing vanilla undertone, and he wondered if Beck was looking for any new investors.

“Are you going to get
friendly
with her?” Cal asked.

Five years ago, Nick definitely would have gotten friendly with the waitress, and he probably would have asked her to invite a girlfriend. But he was a one-woman man now, and that one woman was Teagan.

Nick shook his head, and Cal's eyebrows rose. Quinn cocked his head, his expression speculative.

“Why not?” Quinn asked. “She's hot.”

The O'Brien brothers studied him as if he had been invaded
by an alien being, and Nick abruptly decided to tell them why he wasn't fucking every hot waitress who smiled at him. He took a deep breath and got ready for the shit to hit the proverbial fan.

“Because your sister is the only person I w-w-w-want to get friendly w-w-w-with,” he answered, meeting their eyes unflinchingly.

Neither Quinn nor Cal reacted to Nick's statement for several heartbeats. Finally, Cal punched his older brother in the upper arm.

“You lost. I want your sofa to be in my office no later than Monday at noon.”

Nick looked back and forth between them, wondering what the hell they were talking about. Maybe they hadn't heard him.

Quinn groaned as he leaned his head against the leather cushion. “Priest, you
fucking
bastard,” he muttered, looking up at the vaulted ceiling. “You just made me lose the bet I made with Cal.”

Cal laughed evilly, rubbing his hands together. “I can't wait to roll around on your sofa.
With my shoes on.
”

Quinn growled, and Cal chortled loudly.