Wait Until Dark, page 4
Which she was, Lindsey realized suddenly. She glanced at her watch, surprised to see that it was nearly one o'clock. As if to confirm that fact, her stomach gave a purposeful growl.
Nicholas chuckled. "Ah, I see I've struck a chord. I might not measure up to your principles, but I managed to appeal to your more basic instincts. Come." He gestured toward his car. "I'll feed you."
Lindsey hesitated, as uneasy as she'd been at their first meeting, and as uncertain of Nicholas's motives. True, she'd turned him down flat on his offer to buy the manor. That didn't mean he'd given up trying. This second conversation was no less highly-charged than the first, fluctuating from tense to friendly to adversarial, ricocheting from one to the other like a stray bullet. Okay, so part of the reason for that was her defensiveness toward him - who he was, his relationship to the Falkners. But part of it was also skepticism with regard to his sincerity. What exactly was he after? Had he really given up his notion of buying the house? He seemed genuine enough, as if his only goal was to make her transition easier. So was it just his natural magnetism speaking, or did he have a more backhanded agenda, like softening her up for the kill?
She stopped in her tracks, eyeing his car but not making a move toward it. "I really can't take the time for lunch. I have so much to do, so many details to work out. I've only got a few days."
"You can't work on an empty stomach," he reasoned, and Lindsey noticed he didn't ask for any specifics about her initial restoration plans. Could that be because he didn't expect them to happen?
It was time to check out her suspicions.
"True" she agreed. "But we can accomplish both - filling my stomach and letting me get started. I could stay here and work. In the meantime, you could ride into town, buy me a sandwich and a cappuccino, and bring them back. Now that would be a godsend."
Silence.
"Not what you had in mind, is it?" she asked, a caustic edge to her words.
“No," he returned flatly. "Its not."
"And why's that? Could it be because you want an hour to try winning me over again? Could you be looking for another chance to convince me to sell you the manor?"
Nicholas's jaw set.
Lindsey sighed, massaging her throbbing temples and feeling overwhelmingly weary. "Let's not play games, Nicholas. I'm not up for it. Just lay your cards on the table. I deal much better with honesty than with manipulation. Is all this about charming me into selling you the manor?"
"In part. Most of it is about charming you into bed."
Her head snapped up, and she stared at him in amazement, wondering if she could possibly have heard him right.
The watchful expression on his face told her she had.
"A bit too honest, huh?" he murmured. "I'm not surprised. I got the feeling you weren't exactly used to the direct approach."
For the life of her, Lindsey couldn't think of a thing to say.
"Are you offended, furious, or still convinced I'm playing games?"
Visualizing the number of women she'd seen draped on his arm in newspaper photos, Lindsey slowly shook her head. "None of the above. I'm just stunned. Then again, I shouldn't be. I might not be your usual type but, then again, maybe that's the appeal. A conquest from the other side of the tracks; variety is the spice of life, and all that. I guess it's ridiculous for me to be surprised. Picking up women is standard operating procedure for you."
For the first time he looked rankled, tiny sparks of anger darting in his eyes. "Thanks for the assessment. Do you know, for a woman who keeps herself at arm's length so no one will get too close, you have no trouble inserting yourself in other people's lives. You don't want to be judged, but you're pretty quick to judge others."
Lindsey was taken aback, not only by his annoyance but by his appraisal of her. It was true she kept herself at arm's length, but she normally wasn't intrusive or judgmental. Yet here she was being both. And as for the touchiness he'd picked up on... "What makes you think I'm concerned about being judged?"
"The fact that you're so incensed by the Falkners' reaction to you. The defensive way you're responding to the knowledge that you're Harlan's daughter. The way you're sheltering your mother like she's some eighteenth-century mistress who's being whispered about at quilting bees. This is the twenty-first century, Lindsey. No one cares that your mother had a child out of wedlock, or that that child happens to be Harlan Falkner's. The tabloids will have a field day, sure, but they have a field day with everything concerning the Falkners. It'll blow over. It always does."
Lindsey drew a slow breath and turned away, feeling unnerved and off-balance, and not totally certain why. "You're probably right. But I'm a lot more provincial than the crowd I assume you're used to. My values are different. So are my priorities. I'm not used to being the center of a scandal, or to subjecting my mother to one."
"I guessed as much."
Lindsey stared at the ground, pondering his original admission. "With regard to the manor, I'm not going to change my mind. It's not for sale."
"I guessed that, too. But I'm a good businessman. I had to try." A whisper of a pause. "As for the rest, don't be so shocked. Okay, so I'm frank. I don't like playing games any more than you do. Yes, I want you. That shouldn't come as a surprise. You're a beautiful woman - a very beautiful woman."
"Thanks - I think." She'd be lying if she denied being pleased by the compliment. It wasn't one she heard often. By her own choice, she didn't date much. She had neither the time nor the trust when it came to men. Being admired by a charismatic guy like Nicholas Warner felt surprisingly good.
Maybe too good.
"Just to clarify those values I mentioned, I don't jump into bed with a stranger, no matter how charming and well-known he might be," she announced, setting the record straight for both their sakes.
"At least you think I'm charming." He didn't sound put off by her clearly stated boundaries. To the contrary, he sounded warm, teasing, whatever anger he'd been feeling having dissipated. He took a step closer, until she could smell the woodsy scent of his cologne. "As for being a stranger, I'd like to change that. So, tell me, am I charming enough to have lunch with?"
"As long as lunch is served in a public place and I'm not dessert," she heard herself quip.
My God, she'd just agreed to have lunch with Nicholas Warner. She must have lost her mind letting him get to her like this. But the truth was, it was more than his compliment, more than the knowledge that he wanted her, more even than his natural charm. None of those things would have been enough to sway her. There was something surprisingly real and down-to-earth about Nicholas, neither of which she'd expected and both of which she found appealing.
Laughter rumbled in his chest. "Fair enough. A busy restaurant and seven-layer-cake for dessert. Got it." His hand curved around her elbow and he propelled her toward his car. "Let's go."
"Just for an hour," she qualified. "I need to call several contractors before they disappear for the weekend."
"I'll have you back by two." Nicholas opened the passenger door, waited politely while she slid in. Then, he walked around to the driver's side, reaching into his pocket for the ignition key as he did.
He cast a quick glance at the house.
One hour.
He had his work cut out for him.
5
ROLLING HILLS LOOKED MORE LIKE A COUNTRY CLUB than a sanitarium.
With lush, sweeping grounds, an eighteen-hole golf course, an indoor swimming pool, and an enormous clubhouse - with one large room dedicated to bridge players, another to social gatherers - Rolling Hills was a resort-lover's dream, the uniformed staff and heavily secured front gates being the only indicators that this was indeed a place of confinement.
Stuart Falkner took an absent bite of his turkey club, watching as the nurses escorted a new patient over to the group playing croquet. The RNs introduced her around, encouraging her to join in. She was about forty, Stuart noted, wearing the same dazed, jittery expression all patients wore when they first arrived at Rolling Hills.
This place worked wonders.
"Sweetheart? Are you all right? You've scarcely touched your sandwich."
Stuart turned, smiling at the fragile-looking woman sitting in the lawn chair beside him. She was over sixty now, but with her soft brown hair, artless gray eyes and flawless complexion, she looked like a young, uncertain girl. She still was uncertain, in so many ways. The memory lapses, the occasional periods of fading out and retreating to her own little world - all that was still there, though greatly diminished in frequency and severity. The doctors had cautioned that chunks of her memory might never return. To Stuart's way of thinking, that was just as well. Bringing certain things to the surface would cost her nothing but pain, and she'd had more than enough of that to last a lifetime. She'd come such a long way from the broken woman he'd brought here seven years ago. Thanks to the incomparable treatment at Rolling Hills, she hadn't had a drink in ages or swallowed any pills other than those prescribed by the doctors in order to ensure her continued mental health.
Yes, Camille's physical and mental state had been on an upswing - until two weeks ago when her husband died. True, she'd known he'd had a heart condition. She'd also known his strength wasn't what it used to be. Not to mention that she hadn't truly lived as his wife for years. None of that had mattered. She'd fallen apart.
Stuart had expected it. Besides his own sense of grief and guilt, he'd been sick with worry over his mother's reaction to losing her beloved Harlan. He knew he had to be the one to tell her, but he'd dreaded it.
The doctors had been on hand. He'd told her gently, with as few details as possible. It hadn't helped much. She'd gone to pieces right in front of him. She'd lived on sedatives for the first few days, with Stuart spending every waking moment by her bedside. She'd alternately wept, stared endlessly off into space, and murmured endearments to Harlan.
It took a full week before she finally started to come out of it. And now, these past few days, she'd been almost herself again. The worst of the setbacks were over, the doctors assured him. She was eating her meals again, sleeping without the aid of sedatives, even doing a little reading. Those were all good signs.
The best sign of all was seeing her sitting beside him, enjoying the fresh air and sunshine.
"I'm fine, Mother," he assured her, covering her hand with his. "Just not terribly hungry. I ate a huge breakfast with Tracy."
Camille's face lit up. "Tracy's in town?"
"Um-hum. And she'll be over to visit with you later. This way we don't have to share you. I have you as a lunch companion, and Tracy gets to spend dinner with you."
"How lovely." Camille squeezed Stuart's hand. "You both take such good care of me. I'm very lucky. Of course, Harlan always took good care of me. He watched over me like a hawk and made sure that - " She broke off, her lips trembling as she did.
"I know." Stuart looped an arm around his mother's narrow shoulders. "And he's watching over you still. I'm sure of it. He knows you're in good hands. Tracy and I will be here for you no matter what."
"Especially you," she whispered. "You've never let me down."
"And I never will." For the umpteenth time, Stuart thanked the heavens that he'd managed to keep his mother from finding out about Lindsey Hall. If she had any idea Harlan's bastard daughter had inherited the house in Newport...
She didn't. And she wouldn't.
Besides, it would soon be a moot point. After Nicholas worked his magic, the house would be theirs again.
Stuart shifted in his seat. Judging from the fact that lunch trays were being collected, he guessed it was sometime around two.
He wondered how the lunch in Newport was going.
* * *
"I've got to get back." Lindsey glanced at her watch, frowning as she saw the time. "It's late."
"Ah, the contractors." Nicholas set down his cappuccino mug, leaning back in his chair and crossing one long leg over the other. "I wouldn't worry; many of them are reachable all weekend long. Depending on the size of your project, of course."
Lindsey met his gaze, resting her elbows lightly on the table where her own cappuccino sat, still half-full. "The size of my project," she repeated. "Meaning that huge condo projects take precedence over small restoration ones."
"No, that's not what I meant." A sigh. "Are we back to verbal warfare again? I thought we'd gotten past that by now."
Studying him thoughtfully, Lindsey replied, "I'm not sure we'll ever get past that. I like you, Nicholas, but the truth is I don't quite trust you."
He looked more intrigued than bothered. "Trust me about what? That I've really given up trying to buy the manor, or that I haven't given up trying to take you to bed?"
No longer shocked by his directness, she shrugged. "It's not as cut and dried as that. Let's just say I have the distinct feeling there's more to you than meets the eye. What you do say I believe is candid. It's what you don't say that worries me."
"So now it's not only honesty you require, it's openness. Fair enough." He signaled to the waitress, turning back to Lindsey as the young girl hurried over, took Nicholas's credit card, and vanished.
Waiting only until they were alone, Nicholas shifted forward, folding his hands and looking Lindsey straight in the eye. "Here's openness for you," he stated abruptly, the easy banter that had accompanied their meal replaced by a quiet intensity Lindsey could actually feel. "I really want that manor. I'm determined to build those condos. Newport is one of the East Coast's hottest vacation spots. There's a growing need for luxury housing, not for the year-rounders or the mansion-buyers, but for those who want low-maintenance retreats that are theirs, not rentals. This way, they can get the tax benefits of ownership and use the place whenever they want. The rest of the time they're free to leave their unit vacant or rent it out. The project is a gold mine. I want to be the one to supply it. Is it ego? You bet. A desire to make money? Sure. But it's also more. It's good for the economy. It's good for the job market. It's good for the vacationers who've been priced out of the Newport housing market until now. So there you have it - my cards on the table, faceup."
Lindsey swallowed, feeling Nicholas's blue eyes boring into her, gauging her reaction. She knew full well what that reaction was, and she made sure to hide it even as she berated herself for feeling it. In a word, she was deflated. "So this whole lunch was about - "
''No." He cut her off. "This whole lunch was about getting to know you. That's the second part of this full disclosure you were looking for. I want the manor, yes. But I also want you. Don't confuse the two. I planned to make one last pitch for the house whether or not you agreed to come out with me. Consider this that pitch."
It wasn't that she didn't believe him. It was just that the whole thing felt so sordid.
Then again, he wouldn't understand that. He was raised in a different world, by different rules.
"I wasn't so wrong in my judgment of you after all," she murmured.
Nicholas's hand shot out, captured hers. "To the contrary, you were very wrong. You assumed I was some vapid jet-setter who regards life as a big party and who roars through it without morals, scruples, or principles. None of that's true. Okay, I'm ambitious. That's not a crime. I'm also tenacious as hell when it comes to business. But I don't live in a vacuum, consumed only by my own needs and wants. Fine, I'm rich. I'm successful. But I'm not shallow. I'm not a spoiled brat who's used to getting whatever he wants and who'll manipulate things, and people, until he does." A small flicker of amusement. "Oh, and I also don't sleep with every woman you see me photographed with. I'm thirty-five, not eighteen. My hormones took a backseat in my decision-making a long time ago."
Lindsey wanted to yank away her hand almost as much as she wanted to leave it where it was, the heat of his palm burning through her.
What was there about this man that confused and affected her so?
"Fine," she said tersely. "I stand corrected. I shouldn't have judged you. But I'm not selling you the manor. From what I saw, there's a lot of undeveloped land near the coast. Build your condos there."
His brows drew together. "Why?" he demanded. "Just answer me that. Is it because you're resentful toward me, or the Falkners - or both?"
"None of the above." She gulped down the last of her cappuccino. "I've already told you. It's because I believe Harlan Falkner wanted my mother to have the manor. I told the same thing to Stuart when he came to my apartment. Call it sentiment; call it whatever you want. I'm not expecting you to understand. But that house is going to remain hers. And, Nicholas, I won't change my mind."
For one long, silent minute he scrutinized her face. Then, he nodded. "All right." He paused to sign the bill and rip off his copy. "Consider the subject dropped."
She eyed him suspiciously. "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"No strings?"
He grinned. "Just one. Take a stroll with me. Along the Cliff Walk. Just the first half mile or so. We won't have time to cover more than that - this time. The view is incredible, especially now that the rain has finally stopped and the sun is out. I won't bring up the subject of the house," he added quickly. "And ..." He whipped out his cell phone in anticipation of her next objection. "I'll call the contractors myself, ask them to meet with you over the weekend. That will free up your afternoon."
"You'd do that?"
"Watch." He punched up a few numbers, and spoke to people whose names Lindsey recognized as among those she'd scribbled down to call. It was clear from Nicholas's tone that he had solid working relationships with these men, and that they were more than willing to do his bidding.
Ten minutes later, he pressed END and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
