Waking Up to You Overexposed

10



WHEN NICK MANAGED to get through another evening at Leather and Lace without watching her dance, Izzie got a little nervous. She didn’t want to ask him about it over the next few nights since they were having such an amazing time doing wildly sensual things to one another. But she couldn’t help wondering.

On Sunday night, he’d been too busy to watch her dance. Or so he’d claimed. He’d conveniently had to go put out another fire in the club every time she was scheduled to go on.

Suspicious. She didn’t want to be, but she was.

He’d said he could handle it...but he wasn’t acting like he even wanted to try.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand. In fact, putting herself in his shoes, she’d have to say she’d probably have a major problem with other women looking at her naked man with covetous eyes, thinking of ways they could have that incredible body and handsome face.

Her man. Her man? Oh, God, had he somehow become her man?

Sitting in her apartment, she realized that yes, at some point in recent weeks, Nick had become her man.

Maybe it had been when he’d made love to her in the back of the van. Or when he’d cared for her after she’d fallen in her dressing room. Maybe it was because of his sexy smile and the intimate way he watched her when he thought no one was looking.

Maybe it was even because of the way she’d felt every single time she’d woken up in his arms.

Those predawn moments. Yeah. They’d probably done it.

Because each time it had happened—whether at his apartment, or hers, she’d had to lie there and watch him sleep. Study the line of his jaw and the curve of his cheek. Wonder how a man could have such a sensuous mouth and still be so damned tough. Note the small scars on his body, and his tattoo, and grieve for the things he must have gone through as a soldier.

Yes. In those moments, her heart had opened up. And she’d let him in just as surely as she’d let him in her body.

There were moments when she allowed herself not to care. To even consider whether they could make this crazy relationship of theirs work. Maybe a masked wedding...the Crimson Rose and the sexy night watchman.

That was so lame.

But it was no more crazy to think about than the idea of an official union between Izzie Natale and Nick Santori of Taylor Street.

“Would that really be so bad?” she whispered. She’d been telling herself it would, but at moments like this, she had a hard time remembering why.

“I need sugar,” she mumbled as she headed for her kitchen, dying for something sweet. She’d been so good at the bakery and tried to resist temptation, so she never brought any of that stuff home. At moments like these, though, she regretted it.

Nick had called a while ago, saying he’d be leaving the pizzeria in an hour and would come by. She glanced at her watch, wondering if she had time to run to the corner market. She was so desperate she’d go for a packet of Ho Hos at this point.

Before she could grab her shoes and dash for something to binge on, her cell phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID and recognizing the New York City number, she immediately began to smile, now knowing another sure-fire way to escape—at least mentally—from her troubles.

“V!” she exclaimed as she answered.

“Girl-friend!” was the reply. “It has been for-evah, where have you been?”

Plopping down on the sofa, Izzie kicked her feet up and leaned back, so happy to hear a voice from her old life, she wondered if fate had sent Vanessa’s call as some kind of mental gift. Vanessa was a good friend from her Rockette days. The striking, long-legged African-American woman had been Izzie’s roommate on the road and the two of them had hit it off from their very first hotel stay, when they’d both decided to call for room-service French fries at two in the morning, despite the matron’s orders to go to sleep by eleven o’clock.

“I’m still in Chicago.”

“Still doing that bakery thing?” Vanessa asked, sounding completely shocked. “I can’t believe you’ve lasted this long.”

“Join the club. I sometimes forget I haven’t spent the past seven years with my arms in cookie dough up to my elbows.”

“How’s your father?

“Getting better every day, already pestering my mother to let him go back to work.”

“That’s great. And as soon as he does you can quit.”

Yes, she could. Why that idea would send a shot of sadness through her, Izzie didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she liked working at the bakery. Even if she had made friends with all the staff, gotten on a first-name basis with their restaurant clients and the regulars who stopped in every day for breakfast.

Well, maybe she did like it. A little. But certainly not enough to want to stay there permanently.

Vanessa laughed softly. “And then you can come home. You still thinking of choreographing, or teaching?”

She had been, though, not as much lately. But she didn’t tell Vanessa that.

Fortunately, her friend quickly moved on. “You’ve got to come back soon. You are so missing out.” Launching into an explanation of all the things that had been going on—with the Rockettes, and in her personal life, Vanessa soon had Izzie laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. The other woman was a wild one, and the ballsiest female she’d ever known.

The stories were entertaining, particularly when told with Vanessa’s flair. But even as she laughed, Izzie couldn’t help wondering whether her friend was truly happy. She sounded a little...empty. Lonely. Bored.

Which made Izzie suddenly remember the way she’d been feeling right before she’d hurt her leg.

Very much the same way.

All the things Vanessa had been describing were things Izzie had been doing the past few years in New York. She missed none of them. Honestly, all she really missed were her friends and her apartment. The lifestyle she’d already begun to outgrow even before she’d been forced to leave it.

Going back to it didn’t sound very palatable.

She shook off that crazy thought—not go back to her life? Insane. Like she had anything better going on here? “So which guy did you shove in the fountain?”

“The French dude. Pierre from Paris. Only, I think his name was probably really Petey from Poughkepsie or something. He wasn’t French any more than my dry wheat toast was French this morning.” Sighing, her friend added, “Why do men suck so bad?”

“Not all of them,” she said before thinking better of it.

Vanessa caught the tone in her voice and leaped on it. “Talk. Who is he? What’s he do? When did you start doing him?”

Having had no one to truly confide in since she’d been here...about her feelings, her relationship with Nick, even a bit about her sexy weekend job, she found herself spilling all of it to Vanessa. She must have talked for a solid five minutes without letting her friend get a word in. Finally realizing that, she whispered, “You still there?”

Vanessa murmured, “Oh, honey. This is serious.”

Yes. It was. Very serious.

“This Nick, I remember you talking about him.”

Izzie was afraid of that. Nick had always been—for her—the dream guy she’d never landed.

Now she’d landed him. She just didn’t know if she was going to get to keep him. Or if he even wanted her to, considering he hadn’t been able to bring himself to watch her dance again at the club.

“He might be a man worth settling down for, Izzie. Giving up your dancing...wait, what the hell did you say is the name of this place you’re dancing at?”

She should have known that would interest her friend more than any potential romance. “It’s called Leather and Lace.”

“Holy shit, girl, you’re strippin’.”

“Yeah. I’m stripping. And I’m having the time of my life.” Well, the stripping wasn’t giving her the time of her life. Nick was. But she’d already talked enough about Nick.

Vanessa demanded all the details on Izzie’s secret life, not sounding the least judgmental, and asked a bunch of questions. “That sounds like fun. You know, I’ve thought about taking a strip-dance exercise class they offer at my health club, but there’s a waiting list.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, honey, I’m not. It is the hottest thing going—there’s a three-month-long list to get in this class and everybody I know is putting their name on it. If you come back, you need to teach me how and maybe I’ll retire and we can start a school somewhere. Teach housewives how to shake their booties.”

Izzie laughed softly at that silly idea. Then she thought of the word Vanessa had used. If. “What do you mean, if I come back? Why wouldn’t I come back?”

Vanessa grew very quiet, as if working out what to say. Knowing her friend was streetwise in a way Izzie never had been, she very much wanted to hear it. Anything Vanessa put this much thought into had to be worth hearing.

Finally, her friend murmured, “Why would you come back here when the life you really want is there?”

“You think I want to be a baker for the rest of my life?” Izzie protested, shocked that her friend would even suggest it.

“I don’t know whether you want to be a baker or a stripper. A pizza-delivery gal or a ballerina. All I know is that whatever you end up wanting to do, it’ll be tied up with that man you’ve loved for half your life.”

Izzie’s jaw dropped. She flinched so hard the phone fell onto her lap. Scrambling to get it, she heard Vanessa’s words echoing in her head. Especially because they’d come so quickly—mere minutes—after Izzie had been tearing herself apart to try to figure out just what she felt for Nick.

She really shouldn’t have had to think about it so hard. She knew what she felt for Nick. It was the same thing she’d always felt for him, only deeper now, adult. Sensual. Mature.

Forever.

Vanessa was right. She loved him. Part of her knew she should resent that, since it had been what she’d feared—and why she’d thrown up walls between them when he’d first pursued her. But she already knew she didn’t regret it. How could she regret feeling so emotionally alive for the first time in years?

“You still there?” her friend asked when Izzie finally brought the phone back up to her ear.

“I’m still here.”

Vanessa chuckled. Then, in a very low voice, she added, “I better be in the wedding.”

Then all Izzie heard was the dial tone.

* * *

“HEY, LITTLE BROTHER, when are you gonna come talk to the business lawyer with me and Pop?”

Nick stared at Tony, who’d followed him out the front door of Santori’s Friday afternoon. He’d been planning to head up the block to Natale’s. He had a real taste for cannoli. The fresh kind that could only be found in Izzie’s kitchen.

Or in Izzie. But that was another kind of decadent dessert altogether.

“I dunno, Tony, I really haven’t thought about it.”

His brother frowned. “I don’t get it. I thought it was all set. You know how much Pop wants to retire completely.”

“Bullshit.”

Chuckling, his brother nodded in agreement. “Okay. We know he won’t ever get outta that kitchen until they pry his wooden spoon out of his hand for his own funeral. But I know he’s hoping to get you settled.”

Get Nick settled. It sounded so archaic. And constricting.

“If you’re worried about coming in as a financial partner rather than just a working one, I am sure willing to let you buy in with some of that money you said you saved while you were in the service.”

Honestly, that had been one of Nick’s big concerns. He didn’t want anyone covering his way, he liked to pay his fair share. And if he were seriously considering going into business with Tony, he would absolutely insist on those terms. He did have the money, he did have the desire to get involved in a successful business and help it grow.

But that business was not a pizzeria. He knew it in his heart. He just hadn’t figured out how to tell the family that yet. “I haven’t made any decisions.”

Tony met his stare, obviously trying to figure out what was going on in Nick’s head. Nick thought about how best to put into words that he didn’t want the life his family had mapped out for him. But before either of them could say anything, Nick spotted Izzie walking up the street, coming up behind Tony. Considering his big brother was a mountain of a man, she probably hadn’t even seen Nick yet.

The sight of her face brought a stupid smile to his. But he didn’t give a damn. At least, not until his brother turned to look over his shoulder at whatever had made him so happy.

“Whoa-ho,” Tony said, when he looked back at Nick. “Izzie? It’s Izzie? Holy shit, Gloria’s gonna love this.”

“Gloria’s not going to know about this,” Nick muttered. Izzie was not twenty steps away and if she heard what they were talking about, she’d probably bolt. Then ignore him for the next week until he could work his way around her defenses again.

Damn, but the woman was prickly.

“Why not? Cripes, the family’s been wanting you two to hook up forever.”

“That’s the problem. Izzie isn’t the kind of woman who likes to do what’s expected of her.”

Maybe that’s one reason they got along so well. Because Nick felt exactly the same way about his family. He just hadn’t been able to make that clear to them yet.

“Okay, I won’t do anything to jinx it. But I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep it from Gloria.” Tony grinned, shaking his head back and forth. “The woman can get anything out of me with her sexy...”

“Don’t want to hear it,” Nick smoothly interjected. He continued to watch Izzie, realizing the exact moment when she spotted him. A quick grin flashed across her face. But when she saw who was with him, the grin disappeared.

“Hi, Tony. Nick,” she murmured, reaching them. She sounded so cool and calm. As if she hadn’t been in a huge tub of warm bubbles and cold champagne with him twelve hours ago, loving each other until the water got cold and the champagne got flat.

God, what a night. Another amazing one in Izzie’s arms.

He didn’t know what he’d ever do without them.

“How’s it going, little sister?” Tony asked, giving her a one-armed hug. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to lunch at the folks’ house Sunday. Work—it kills me.” He glanced at Nick and wagged his eyebrows. “If only I had a partner to take up the slack.”

Nick managed to suppress a sigh. Then he turned his attention to Izzie. “I was just on my way to the bakery. I’m jonesing for something sweet.”

She chuckled. “I was last night, too. I almost dashed out and got a Ho Ho to tide me over until you...” She quickly snapped her mouth shut, remembering Tony was there.

His oldest brother had never been the king of tact. In fact, his wife affectionately called him Lunkhead. Well, usually affectionately. Right now, however, Tony managed to pull it off. “Well, it was great seeing you, Iz, but I have to get back to work. Nick, you’re gonna swing by the bank after you go up to the bakery and grab us some of Izzie’s fabulous cannolis?”

They had plenty of cannolis left in the restaurant, but, he assumed, it was the best Tony could do on such short notice. “Sure, Tony. You bet.”

They both watched Tony go back into the restaurant, with breezy hellos and good wishes to every customer he passed on the way back to the kitchen. When they were alone on the sidewalk, Izzie continued to stare at the glass restaurant door. Finally, she murmured, “He knows, doesn’t he?”

Nick nodded. “Yeah.”

“How?”

With a helpless shrug, he told her the truth. “He saw the look on my face when I saw you walking toward me just now.”

She finally tore her gaze off the door and directed it toward him. Staring into his eyes, she searched for the meaning of what he’d said.

He didn’t try to hide it. He was in love with Izzie and his eyes affirmed that, even if his mouth didn’t.

He just didn’t know if she’d want to see the truth there.

He understood why she wouldn’t. Putting the reality of their feelings out there meant they had to deal with them. It meant she could accuse him of breaking their “secret lovers” deal and freeze him out of her life again.

It could also mean she’d acknowledge that she was falling for him, too. And that maybe they could make something work between them. Something good. Right.

Permanent.

“I can’t handle this, Nick,” she whispered, appearing stricken. “He’ll tell Gloria.”

“Not intentionally.”

“And she’ll blab to the known universe and the neighborhood will have me married and fat before winter and my parents will be eyeing a perfect little row house for us right up from theirs, getting our future kids on the waiting lists to go to Sacred Heart and St. Raphael’s.”

She sounded pained, as if the very idea of living that life devastated her. He understood why. Because he didn’t want it, either. Any of it. Oh, he wanted Izzie, no doubt about it. But as for how they lived? Well, it wouldn’t be like anything anybody on Taylor Street would understand.

But before he could reassure her, Izzie shook her head and started walking. “I can’t talk about this now. Not here.”

He fell into step beside her. “Tonight.”

“I’m going to my parents’ tonight. My sister Mia’s coming into town for the weekend and I had to promise to come for dinner—which I can’t do tomorrow or Sunday.”

In a normal relationship, she’d ask him to come with her. In a normal relationship, he’d do it.

They weren’t normal, of course.

“Call me when you’re done and I’ll meet you at your place.”

She hesitated, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “I need a little time, Nick. Just a little time. Can we...maybe take a break until tomorrow?”

One night. She wasn’t asking for much. But the thought of going without her tonight nearly killed him.

“All right, Izzie.” He caught her arm, holding her elbow before she could stalk away. She looked frantically from side to side, as if to see if anyone was watching, but Nick didn’t release her. “Don’t panic,” he ordered her. “Don’t see trouble where there is none.”

She flashed him a grateful smile, murmured, “I’m mentally kissing you goodbye,” then tugged her arm free and walked away.

He mentally kissed her goodbye, too, until she disappeared into the bakery.

* * *

SPENDING FRIDAY NIGHT with her family actually turned out to be a very good experience. Izzie had been half dreading it, since she’d felt like an alien among all of them since the day she’d gotten home. But something about this gathering was different. Maybe because Mia was home and therefore got a lot of the attention. Or because Gloria’s boys were there—the grandsons always caused everything else to cease to exist for her parents.

Or maybe it was just because Izzie forced herself to relax. Not having to talk a lot meant she didn’t have to watch every word she said. Didn’t have to worry about letting something slip regarding her dancing—which they all assumed she’d given up entirely because of her knee.

Not being so on edge actually allowed her to relax and, to her shock, even enjoy herself.

She was still mulling it over the next day, remembering the smile on her father’s face as he talked about returning to work soon. When he told her he’d been talking to his brother—who was about to retire—about coming to work with him at the bakery, Izzie began to see a silver lining in the cloud of her life. With another member of the family coming in to the business, the pressure would be off Izzie to stay involved. Maybe she could get back to something like a real life of her own.

Whatever she did—staying in Chicago or going back to New York, continuing to strip or giving it up—loving Nick or letting him get away—she knew she did not want to be a baker for much longer.

Nick tried reaching her a couple of times Saturday but she’d missed his calls. Not intentionally—the first time she’d been in the shower and the second she’d been waiting on customers at the bakery. By the time she had a minute to call him back, he’d been the one who hadn’t answered.

Still, not having spoken to him for more than a day—since that tense moment on the street when she’d realized Tony had stumbled onto the truth of their relationship—she was a little nervous. Heading to work at Leather and Lace, she immediately scanned the parking lot for his car, but didn’t see it. She was early—probably two hours earlier than she needed to be, and she knew it was because she was hoping he’d be here.

“Hi, Rose,” someone said as she came in the back door.

“Hi, Bernie. How’s the week been?”

The bouncer shrugged, offering her one of his big boyish grins. “Knocked a few heads together, wiped up the ground with a drunk or two. You know, the usual.”

Laughing, she began to walk past him.

But he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. He glanced at the big canvas bag she carried, which was filled with some street clothes and supplies. “Can I help you in any way, Rose? Carry that? Get you some dinner?”

She shook her head. “You are so sweet, but no, honestly, I’ve got it.” The guy had been tripping over himself to take care of her since her first night at work. If he’d ever made a move on her, she’d suspect it was because he was interested. But he’d never been anything but a nice—if overprotective—friend.

Still smiling as she walked toward her dressing room, Izzie acknowledged just how comfortable she felt here. The club staff was like a second family already. Bernie and Harry. Leah and Jackie and the other dancers. They were all people she cared about, who seemed to care about her.

She didn’t want to give this up. Which was another reason she didn’t quite know how to deal with Nick’s seeming inability to watch her perform. It was as if ever since he’d become her lover, he no longer liked her doing her job.

That was how it seemed. But she couldn’t be sure. “Maybe he really is just busy,” she mumbled, trying to convince herself.

When she reached her dressing room, she put her new key in the new lock and twisted it. Before going inside, however, Leah stopped her. “Hey, I feel like I’m always picking up your presents!” the grinning girl said. She held up a gold-foil-wrapped box. “Yum. Have I told you how much I love chocolate?”

Izzie glanced at the box, looked down at her own full hips—at least an inch bigger than they’d been when she moved back from New York—and sighed. “Have I told you how much chocolate sticks to my hips and butt?”

The one plus was that the candies were chocolate-covered cherries. And she wasn’t too crazy about them. If they’d been caramels, she’d probably be much more tempted to grab a fistful. As it was, she easily waved them away. “Take them out of my sight, would you?”

Leah clutched the box to her chest. “Woo-hoo! Remind me to watch for the next jewelry box heading your way.”

Entering her dressing room, Izzie slowly slipped out of her clothes and put her robe on. She took her time—there was lots of it. Over the next hour, she got ready for her night. The chatter of women’s voices from the greenroom couldn’t drown out the sound of lots of footsteps walking in the lounge above her head. Customers were already pouring in, performers already onstage judging by the low bass beat she could almost feel reverberating in her chest.

The whole place felt alive and vibrant. Exactly the way she felt when she was here. The only other time she felt as good was when she was with Nick. What on earth was she going to do if he couldn’t take her working here anymore?

“Don’t think about it,” she reminded herself as she glanced at her watch. She’d been here over an hour and he still hadn’t come in. Which was making her very jittery.

Izzie forced everything else out of her head and finished putting on her makeup. Her audience might not see much of her face, but that didn’t mean she didn’t cover the stage makeup basics. She was puffing anti-shine powder on her cheeks when she heard a knock on her door. “Come in.” Almost holding her breath, she let it out with a pleased sigh when she saw Nick. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” he said. He pushed the door shut behind him, bent down and kissed her on the mouth. Quick, hard...hot and sexy. “Been needing that,” he said when he finally straightened.

“Me, too.

“Want more later.”

She grinned. “Me, too.”

“Things are already heating up upstairs, but I wanted to see you before it got too crazy.”

Izzie turned away, slowly lifting the powder puff to her face again. “Do you think it’ll be too busy again for you to be there during my numbers?”

Nick met her eyes in the mirror. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I can’t promise anything.”

He was still hesitant, she heard it in his voice. Nick was avoiding having to acknowledge how he really felt—was going to feel—about her stripping. Izzie wanted to cry, sensing she knew what that answer would be.

He’d hate it. Sure, he’d been fine with her taking her clothes off when she was a stranger. But now that they were lovers? Well, if he was like every other male of the species, he was going to turn into the caveman he’d once jokingly pretended to be and get all overbearing. He’d want her to quit, he’d be surly and pouty until she did.

There weren’t many men who’d be able to take having their girlfriend strip down to a G-string in front of a bunch of strangers...why should she expect Nick to be any different?

“I’m doing my best, Iz.”

“Okay,” she murmured, blinking rapidly against unexpected moisture in her eyes, welling up not because she didn’t understand, she did. But because she so feared what this was going to mean when it finally came to a head between them.

“Oh, God, somebody get a bucket!”

Hearing the loud shout from the corridor outside her dressing room, Izzie immediately rose to her feet.

“Catch her!”

Nick flinched. “Wait here while I see what’s going on.”

She just rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

Following him out, she immediately saw a small crowd of a half-dozen dancers gathered around someone who was lying on the floor. Nick pushed through them, and immediately bent down. “Leah, what happened? Are you okay?”

“She’s sick,” someone said. “Like, all over the floor sick.”

Poor Leah. She’d been ill last weekend, and now again. Izzie briefly wondered if the poor kid was hiding an unexpected pregnancy or something. Then, as the crowd parted and she saw Leah’s face, she discounted that idea.

The pretty blonde looked like she was in misery. Her face was ghost-white, slicked with sweat, and she appeared too weak to even stand on her own. She looked absolutely nothing like the pretty young thing Izzie had run into a little over an hour ago. She had to have been hit with some kind of fast-moving bug.

Nick didn’t waste time asking questions. He bent to lift the dancer, easily cradling her in his arms as if she was a child, and carried her into the greenroom down the hall. “Somebody get her a cold cloth.”

One of the dancers rushed off to do as Nick said. The rest of them crowded around. Izzie couldn’t say whether their avid interest was more on Leah’s behalf, or because of the incredible sight Nick made playing hero. His muscular arms bulged and flexed, but he spoke so softly—gently—to Leah as he gently laid her on the lumpy sofa in the greenroom. He even brushed her hair out of her face.

It was enough to make the hardest of women melt. Even the half-dozen strippers surrounding the sofa.

Izzie, of course, wasn’t surprised. She knew the tenderness the man was capable of. She also knew the way he’d been raised and imagined he’d have done the same thing if his little sister, Lottie, had been the one lying on that floor.

“What happened?” he asked Leah.

Leah groaned. “It just came over me out of nowhere. I haven’t been nauseous or anything, then all of a sudden, boom.”

“Have you eaten shellfish today?” someone asked.

“Or some old lunch meat?” asked another.

Leah shook her head, gratefully accepting a wet clump of paper towels her dressing-roommate, Jackie, had brought her. She pressed it to her forehead and replied, “I had a salad for lunch, then nothing until I binged on Rose’s chocolates.”

Seven heads swung around to stare at Izzie, seven pairs of eyes wide and curious. Maybe even a little accusing.

She opened her mouth to reply, wondering if they thought she’d done something to make Leah ill, but didn’t have to. The sick dancer herself spoke up again. “I found them lying on the stoop when I got to work today, with Rose’s name on them. She never even opened the box, she just gave them to me.”

That seemed to calm everyone down. Everyone except Nick. Because while all the others turned their attention back to Leah, offering to get her some ice or to drive her home, he frowned and stiffened his jaw so much it looked ready to break. “Where are these chocolates?”

“My dressing room.”

He looked up and stared at Jackie. “I’ll get them,” she said, quickly rushing out of the room.

It seemed ridiculous and Izzie didn’t for one second believe Leah had been brought down by some kind of poisoned candy...intended for her. That was strictly CSI stuff and she absolutely did not believe it. Judging by the look on Nick’s face, however, she knew better than to say that. He was going to see for himself no matter what she thought.

“Nick, I just heard one of the girls is sick, what’s going on?” Harry came rushing in the room, out of breath as if he’d just run down the stairs. The expression of worry on the older man’s face had to make all his employees feel better—no one could accuse Harry Black of not appreciating and caring about his dancers. Which probably made him a rarity in this industry...and was probably why few dancers ever quit here for any reason other than to move on to a different career.

Seeing Leah, he hurried over. “Should we call 9-1-1?”

Leah shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I do want to lie here for a little while, if that’s okay.”

“Oh, honey, don’t you even think of getting up,” another voice said. A woman’s. Delilah had heard the news, too, and followed her husband to the greenroom. She sounded concerned—a rarity for her. “We can cover you tonight and someone can take you home if you want.”

The room was getting crowded. But everybody made way for Jackie when she returned with the box of chocolates. “Here you go, Nick.” Frowning, she put her hand on his arm and nodded toward the corner of the room.

Nick took the box and followed Jackie. They exchanged a few words, and whatever she said to him made his scowl deepen. He kept the box tightly clutched in his hand and Izzie wondered if he was going to crush it.

Harry joined them, murmuring, “What’s wrong?”

Nick’s reply was softly spoken, he obviously didn’t want everyone else to hear. Jackie, having delivered whatever message it was that had gotten Nick even more fired up, called 9-1-1 after all, then went back to help take care of her friend. All the others hovered over Leah. Someone offered to get her a pillow for her feet, someone else offered a bucket for her head. That broke the ice a little and the group laughed.

Izzie didn’t join them. Nick suspected someone had tried to slip her poisoned chocolates. Damned if she was going to stay out of that conversation.

Striding across to the two men, she asked, “Well? Satisfied that I’m not a mad poisoner’s target?”

Nick didn’t look at her at first. Neither did Harry. They were both staring intently at the open box of chocolates on the makeup table. One of the men had flipped over all the remaining individually slotted pieces in the package, so they were bottom-side up. And in the bottom of each, very easily visible, was a small hole.

Something that wouldn’t have happened at the candy factory.

“Oh, hell,” Izzie whispered.

It appeared someone had, indeed, tried to poison her.

And when Nick turned to her and said, “Tell me about the roses,” she realized it might not have been the first time.