I stand at the counter, my back to him, not about to turn until I figure out what the heck this reaction is that I’m having. What I’m feeling, which I guess is another curse and gift, Nick has given me. I am feeling things again because of him but he’s about to leave. And, of course, he is. It’s Sunday. And rental property or not, he lives and works in another city, and I’d planned on telling him to leave anyway. Hadn’t I? No. I hadn’t. I’m just trying to make myself feel simple and in control. And I am those things. This is a fling. This is a weekend fling. It was supposed to be one night. It’s just a—
Nick steps behind me, his hands at my waist, his touch radiating through me with more impact than any man should ever have over me, especially since this is the last time I might ever touch him. And it feels much worse in premise than I’d imagined.
He leans in and nuzzles my hair, inhaling like he is breathing me in. And God, I really love when he does that. “Come to the city with me,” he says.
Shock rolls through me and I face him, my hands landing hard on his chest. “What?”
“Come with me, Faith. I have to go back to San Francisco. If you’re with me, then we can deal with the bank together. And you need a break from all of this. We’ll come back here for the weekend.”
“I have to run the winery, Nick.”
His eyes darken, and not with disappointment, but rather awareness I have not yet realized. “At least you didn’t decide your new hard limit includes me leaving and never seeing you again.”
He’s right. I didn’t. This man is unraveling every carefully crafted plan I had and I can’t seem to care. And I should care. This is trouble. He’s trouble. I’m trouble. “What are we doing here, Nick? What is this?”
His hands settle on the counter on either side of me, his big body crowding mine without touching me. “I don’t know, Faith,” he says, “but let’s find out.”
“You don’t—we don’t—”
“I could supply a number of phrases to end that statement, but it would be words. Just words. I’m not done with you and I hope like hell you’re not done with me, Faith.”
“I wish I was,” I say, angry at him for complicating my life. Happy that he has at the same time, because yes. I’m still fucked up.
“Ditto, sweetheart. We’re here now, though. Agreed?”
“Yes,” I say. “Agreed.”
“Then let’s make a new hard limit. The only hard limit that exists until we decide together otherwise, is we take this one day at a time.”
Until we decide together. I realize with those words part of Nick’s appeal. He’s this uber alpha male. He’s sexy. He’s demanding. But he has this way of knowing when to back off, when to ask. This is new to me. This is right, not wrong. “One day at a time,” I agree.
“Come to San Francisco with me.”
I want to, I realize. I want to know who he is in his own domain, but want doesn’t equal need. And I need to be here. “I can’t just leave the winery.”
“You have a manager. A good one, you said.”
“Kasey is amazing,” I say, “But I do my best to protect him and the staff from the bill collectors who stalk us during the week. I can’t leave, Nick. I won’t. Not now.”
The doorbell rings. “Holy fuck,” he says. “This isn’t helping my case.” He starts to move away, but I catch his arm.
“Damn it, Nick,” I warn. “Just because we agreed to take this day by day is not an invitation for you to take over my life. I run my life.”
“I know you run your life, sweetheart. I can’t tell you enough times, I get it. Let me be clear. It makes me hot. It makes me want to bend you over the counter. But let me also be clear. I’m now your attorney, Faith. Unless we’ve deviated from that plan, I’m getting that door.”
I purse my lips and release him, only to have him lean over, kiss me, and then he’s on the move in about two flat seconds. “At least he has his pants zipped this time,” I murmur, taking off after him, overwhelmed by Nick’s desire to protect me and I tell myself to be smart enough to accept it, but to be strong enough not to count on it, now, or ever.
Clearing the hallway, I enter the foyer at the same moment that Josh, dressed in khakis and a button down, walks in the front door, but he doesn’t seem to notice me. He shuts the door and faces Nick, the two men crackling with opposing male energy. “Nick Rogers, was the name, right?” Josh asks, and I’m not sure if he’s being a smart ass or playing coy, considering he knew Nick’s name immediately at the art gallery.
Nick doesn’t respond. As in, at all. Seconds tick by and then more, and I can’t take it. I have to break the tension before Josh does, and it ends badly for him. “Josh,” I say, hurrying forward, remembering now. “I forgot you were stopping by.”
“Obviously,” he says, his tone acidic. “And clearly this isn’t the time to have a serious business discussion. Call me Monday and we’ll talk through decisions that need to be made, or perhaps, forgotten.” He turns and walks out of the door.
Certain this is about Macom, that this is personal not professional, I’m instantly angry and indignant, and I charge after him, not bothering to shut the door behind me. “Stop,” I call after him, a cold gust of morning wind blasting me but I’m too hot-tempered to care.
Thankfully, he does as I’ve ordered, halfway down the stairs, turning to face me. “Now is clearly not the time, Faith.”
“Because I dare to have a life again?” I demand, walking to the edge of the porch.
“That man in there is none of my business,” he says. “But you are.”
“My work is your business,” I snap back.
“Exactly,” he agrees. “And when I find out you’ve finally started painting again, that’s a good thing. A distraction is not.” He motions to my shirt. “You’re wearing an art shirt. This gives me hope that we’re back on track. You need to stay focused and get your career back on track.”
“I painted Nick,” I snap back before I can stop myself. “He inspired me to paint. Having a life again inspired me to paint.”
He goes very still. “You painted a portrait?”
“Yes. I did. And I might do more. I might do a lot of things, but not now. Now, I have to save the winery and you know what, Josh? I know you need people who make money for you. I understand if you can’t wait this out with me.”
“I do need to make money, Faith. But more than anything I need clients who are actively involved in the career I’m representing them for. You need to be painting. I need to be placing your work. I got a call after the show, from a representative of the L.A. Art Forum. They’re interested in your work for next month’s show.”
My eyes go wide at the mention of one of the most prestigious events in the art world. “They are? They never—”
“They are now because you actually got out there and did something for your art. But I’m not saying yes, when you’re telling me now is not the time. So think about that, Faith. How much can you fit in your life right now? Cut what won’t work, and if that’s your art and me, I need to know and know quickly.” He turns and walks away.