In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3) (11 page)

"A loony, I'm sure." She smiled in return. "I hope you've
changed your opinion."

"Totally. And speaking of dinner ... I bet you haven't eaten
yet, either"

"No. I was getting ready to when the press came calling."

He removed his arm from the back of the couch and rose,
his manner unhurried. "I'll let you get to it, then. I'm sure it's a
far more exciting menu than mine"

Tossing the pillow aside, she stood too. He prayed her uncertain expression meant what he hoped it meant.

"It's not bad. I got a carryout of shrimp and broccoli linguini
from one of my favorite restaurants on the way home"

"Definitely a better menu." He gave her an encouraging
smile.

She did the lip-licking thing again. Rubbed her palms on her
slacks. Adjusted her glasses. Tucked her hair behind her ear. All
good signs, he hoped.

"Listen ... I know this is rather impromptu, but ... the pasta
is in a very light sauce, so it's pretty healthy. I can't claim the
same for the bread that came with it, or the chocolate torte I
pilfered from the teachers' lounge. I do have the fixings for a
salad in the fridge, though. Anyway, I appreciate your coming
over, and I'd like to thank you in some way. If you'd care to stay
for dinner, I have plenty."

Thank you, Lord.

Nick gave her a slow, warm smile. He couldn't care less about
the food. All he wanted was a couple more hours in this woman's
company. The gourmet menu was a bonus. "If you're sure, I'd
love to join you. Tell me what I can do to help"

Her flush of pleasure at his acceptance kicked his pulse up
a notch.

"Everything's made except the salad. And the bread will heat
up in ten minutes. There's not much to do other than set the
table"

"I can handle that if you point me in the right direction"

She gave a soft, nervous chuckle. "It's pretty hard to get lost
in this house" She led the way through a doorway formed by
a spindle-topped half wall that separated the living and dining
rooms. As she flipped on the wall switch, the rich patina of a
walnut table for four was bathed in warm light from a brass
chandelier. Nick admired the contemporary glass candleholder
in the center, where three large candles were displayed on staggered levels, and ran a swift glance over a small credenza on one side that held a unique raku pottery bowl, its distinctive
iridescent glaze shimmering in the light.

But it was the far wall that held him spellbound.

Though the room was very small, a striking illusion of space
had been created by a carefully lit mural. Coral-toned stucco
arches framed a three-dimensional view of a large expanse
of azure sea on the horizon. A few red-tile roofs were visible in the distance on the lush, green hillside, suggesting a
Mediterranean setting. Sprays of bougainvillea dipped below
the arches, and the fronds of a palm tree peeked into the
scene from one side. An ornate white railing, with spindles
that matched those above the half wall on the opposite side
of the room, was topped with pots of colorful, exotic flowers
he couldn't identify.

"Wow" Nick didn't know what else to say.

"I often get that reaction." Rachel grinned and folded her arms
across her chest. "The effect is most dramatic from this angle"

Shoving back the edges of his jacket, Nick planted his hands
on his hips and studied the rendering. "If I didn't know I was
in St. Louis in the middle of winter, I'd try to walk out on that
terrace to smell the flowers and take in the view"

"That's the magic of trompe l'oeil painting. It's designed to
trick the eye and make you believe what you're seeing is real:"

"It sure worked for me" He squinted, searching his memory.
"I think I've heard that term somewhere. This technique goes
back to the Middle Ages, doesn't it?"

"Very good" She gave him an approving smile. "Most people
aren't familiar with the name, let alone the history. Actually, it
goes back further than that. There are examples of it in Pompeii. But it was very popular during the Renaissance. A lot of
wealthy people used it on the walls and ceilings of their palaces
and villas to add drama or to open the rooms up and give them
a grander scale. I decided that if it was good enough for them, it was good enough for me. This room needed all the illusion
of size it could get:'

He shook his head. "It's amazing. Who did it?"

"A company called Painted Illusions"

"How did you find them?"

"It wasn't hard. You're looking at the founder, president, and
sole employee"

Nick stared at her. "You did this?"

"Yes"

"I thought you were a teacher."

"I am. Music. This is a hobby that happens to make me a
little money."

He examined the mural again. "Some hobby. How did you
learn to do this?"

"I didn't have to learn. The talent was a gift." She smiled and
leaned a shoulder against the wall beside her. "You know, if we
keep getting sidetracked, we're never going to have dinner"

"True. I'll join you in the kitchen in a minute. I want to take
a closer look at this"

"Not a good idea."

"Why not?"

"It loses its magic up close"

That was true of a lot of things, Nick mused as he regarded
Rachel. Including the women he'd dated. But somehow he had
a feeling this woman wouldn't lose her luster at close range.

"I'll take my chances"

At the husky timbre of his words and the sudden sizzle of
electricity between them, her eyes widened and she took an
involuntary step back. Turning, she pushed through the split,
swinging louvered doors to the kitchen. "Take your time," she
called over her shoulder.

There was a hint of panic in her voice. He felt a touch of it
himself. It was obvious neither had anticipated that powerful jolt of electricity. He decided to follow her suggestion and take
his time while he assessed this unexpected situation.

Okay. He'd come here tonight to follow up on her phone call.
He'd had nothing better to do, and the thought of seeing the
woman with the velvet brown eyes and lush lips had appealed
to him. He'd expected to spend a pleasant few minutes with
her, then head home to work on his house. That much was
clear to him.

After that, things got murky.

He had no idea how his plans for a solitary evening rehabbing
his house had evolved to sharing dinner with that lovely woman
on the most romantic night of the year.

But he did know two things.

His Valentine's Day was turning out to be a lot better than
he'd expected.

And Mark would be pleased.

As the doors from the dining room swung into place behind
her, Rachel gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and tried
to process the radical revision in her Valentine plans. Instead
of a quiet, solitary evening she was going to have dinner in the
company of a handsome man.

It was surreal.

Putting the bread in the oven, she moved to the fridge on
autopilot to pull out salad fixings. Marta would be ecstatic,
though. Her friend was always telling her to be more assertive, that if she met a man who interested her she should take
the initiative. But that had never been her style. She'd always
deemed it too risky.

Yet she'd taken the risk of inviting Nick Bradley for an impromptu dinner.

Why?

She could tell herself she'd issued the invitation out of gratitude. And it was true she was grateful for both his considerate
treatment of her last week and his offer to stop by tonight and
help her sort out the leak.

But that wasn't the whole truth. Gratitude alone couldn't
account for the flutter in her stomach when she was with him.
That was attraction, pure and simple. She'd been drawn to him
at their first meeting, and his appeal had grown during tonight's
visit. Bottom line, she'd taken the chance of inviting him for one
simple reason: he seemed worth the risk.

Best of all, it had paid off. He'd accepted.

She tempered her sudden euphoria with realism, however. It
was very possible he was just angling for a good meal. He might
be a great cook, but most bachelors welcomed hassle-free, gratis
meals. She doubted Nick was an exception.

Or he could have accepted because he enjoyed her company
and wanted to spend a couple of hours with her. She liked that
theory better ... until it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps
he'd read too much into her spontaneous invitation. It was Valentine's Day, after all. And a man like Nick probably received lots
of similar overtures from women whose offer of dinner might
include more than chocolate torte for dessert.

If that was the case, the evening would end in embarrassment
for her and disappointment for him. Rachel had never believed
in moving too fast in relationships. And she'd never regretted
her caution. The appeal of the two men she'd dated for longer
than a month had faded as she'd learned more about them. Even
someone as handsome and charming as Nick wouldn't persuade
her to change her modus operandi.

The doors from the dining room swung open, and she jumped
as his broad shoulders filled the space.

"Reporting for duty." His smile faded as he scrutinized her.
"Are you okay?"

She managed a half laugh as she tried to wrestle her nerves
into submission. "A bit startled, but otherwise fine. I'm not used
to company in my kitchen"

"In that case, I'm honored to be invited in" After one more
probing look, he smiled and gave the compact but well-equipped
galley a quick scan. "Point me to the cutlery."

"Top drawer next to the stove" She gestured toward the back
of the house. "And there are placemats and napkins in the overhead cabinet. Salt and pepper is up there too. Butter's in the
door of the fridge"

He rummaged around, withdrawing all the items she'd ticked
off as she tossed the salad and filled water glasses. He shouldered
his way through the swinging doors several times as he set the
table, chatting about inconsequential things and moving with
an unhurried efficiency that helped calm Rachel's nerves.

Ten minutes later, as they carried their plates into the dining
room, she discovered Nick had lit the candles and put on a CD.
His choice of music also eased her apprehension-classical violin
versus one of the more romantic selections in her collection.

"This smells delicious:" He held her chair as she took her seat.
"Far better than any omelet I could have concocted:" He sat and
shook out his napkin, surveying the appetizing plate of pasta in
front of him. "Would you mind if I said a brief blessing first?"

The request took Rachel off guard. A macho guy who not
only prayed but wasn't afraid to admit it. Remarkable. And
comforting. That request did more to put her at ease about his
intentions than anything else he could have said or done. "No.
That's fine:"

To her surprise, he took her hand in a warm clasp as he
bowed his head. "Lord, we thank you for this food and for the
opportunity to share a meal. Please keep us in your care, and
help us to always appreciate the unexpected pleasures that grace
our days. Amen:"

He released her hand to pick up his fork, and she immediately
missed the touch of his firm, lean fingers.

"I noticed your necklace last week, and again tonight:" He
gestured to the cross that lay against her forest green angora
sweater, suspended from a slender gold chain. "That's why I felt
comfortable asking about the blessing. It's lovely, by the way:'

"It was my mother's:" She fingered the delicate filigreed pendant. "It's the only thing of hers I have, aside from the photo. I
wear it a lot. It helps me feel connected to her somehow. And
gives me some sense of family:"

"Is that the only reason you wear it?" Nick took a piece of the
crusty bread from the basket.

"If you're asking me whether it's a statement of faith, the
answer is no. I suppose I believe in what it symbolizes ... in
theory, anyway. But during my years in foster care I was exposed
to all sorts of denominations, and that smorgasbord of beliefs
confused me more than converted me:"

"That's understandable. Giving a child too many choices can
bewilder instead of enlighten. I was in my mid-teens before the
message took root in me, thanks to the intervention of a very
caring cop:'

"Intervention. An interesting word choice. Is there a story
there?"

Uh-oh.

Nick lifted his water glass and took a long, slow sip. He'd
walked right into that one. Rachel's question might be innocent, but his past wasn't. And it had been an off-limits subject
for years. He could count on one hand the trusted friends who
were privy to his checkered youth. Although he'd straightened
himself out, he wasn't proud of some of the things he'd done in
his younger days. And he saw no reason to dredge up all that
ugliness.

Setting the glass back on the table, he forced his lips into a
smile. "Not anything worth repeating:"