Triple Threat Read online

“I’m not sure guacamole goes with my braciole and succu.”

  Perfect. Another thing she screwed up.

  “It’s an appetizer, Mom. It goes with anything.”

  “Fine, cara. I hope you bought enough to make plenty. We have some unexpected guests today.”

  “Let me guess. Cade?”

  “Naturally. Although, as Gabe’s best friend, he’s hardly unexpected, is he?”

  “And Mr. Bauermann?” Their elderly neighbor, a recent widower, was a frequent guest.

  “That’s two.”

  “You mean there’s more?”

  “Just one. I ran into him outside Maude’s. The poor man was going to have dinner there. Now, I don’t mean to insult Maude’s cooking. It’s perfectly serviceable. But Sunday dinner? In a diner? It’s criminal.”

  “What poor man?”

  “You know him, cara.”

  Oh, God. Her mother. The ultimate drama queen. She’d draw this out as long as humanly possible.

  Holly’s phone beeped, sparing her from having to listen to her mother’s spiel. “Mom, I have to go. Devin’s on the other line. She’s keeping an eye on my apartment for me while I’m gone. I’ll be there in a few minutes and I’ve got enough for everyone.”

  Less than fifteen minutes and a short conversation with Devin later, Holly passed the familiar weather-beaten Grower’s Paradise sign. It marked the entrance to the long gravel driveway leading to the Nelson house and the nursery and gardens beyond. Parking, she recognized Gabe’s Land Rover and Noelle’s Mini Cooper but not the unfamiliar silver Audi S6 sandwiched between them.

  “Hey, guys,” she called, the screen door banging shut behind her. “I’m home.” She set the groceries on the counter and knelt to pet Jasper, the orange tabby she’d found abandoned as a kitten. The cat gave her his traditional greeting, weaving around her legs. “Where is everyone?”

  “Back here,” a voice answered. It sounded like Gabe but was too muffled for her to be sure. “On the porch.”

  Abandoning the cat, she made her way through the house she’d grown up in, the familiar smells of lemon wax, fresh-baked bread and her mother’s sauce simmering on the stove welcoming her home. “Hey there, baby brother.”

  She stepped onto the veranda that spanned the back of the house. “Long time no—”

  The end of her sentence died in her throat.

  Gabe’s short, neat, almost military haircut was a far cry from the thick, tousled locks on the man standing in front of her. And although at around six-one Gabe was considered fairly tall, he was a good three inches shorter than the giant on the porch.

  “Nick.” Her voice wavered, betraying her.

  “In the flesh.” His eyes lifted, then dropped the length of her body. “Surprised?”

  She drew herself up, ignoring the skip of her heart at his heated appraisal. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  10

  JUDGING FROM THE look on her face, he figured he had about five seconds to explain himself before she lost it.

  “Holly, I—”

  “Why are you here? You’re supposed to be in New York. And what have you done with my family?”

  Make that three seconds.

  Nick shifted his feet, then forced them still. He could do cool-and-distant in his sleep. “They’re in the greenhouse. Your father’s showing off a hybrid rose.”

  “The New Dawn?” She started for the porch steps, but he blocked her, stepping between the two pillars that framed the stairway.

  “I stayed behind to see you. We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “About us.”

  “There is no us.”

  “There could be.”

  “One night, Nick. One. Uno. Ein.”

  “I can count.”

  “Prove it.”

  He leaned against one post, head cocked, arms crossed. His mouth quirked into a subtle half smile. “Why are you so dead set against an encore? It sure seemed like you were enjoying yourself. Unless all that screaming and moaning was just—”

  “Would you pipe down, for God’s sake?” she hissed under her breath, scanning the yard. “My family will be back any minute. And the last thing I want is for them to know that we... You know. They think I’m enough of a screw-up already.”

  Great. She considered their night together a mistake. Another first for him. He straightened, fists clenched, his whole body, which was relaxed a heartbeat ago, radiating tension. She raised a hand to her throat as she took a step back from him.

  Damn. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. Someone had sure as hell done a number on her to make her so skittish. Probably her ex, Nick thought, remembering those scars and wondering not for the first time how much of Holly’s play was autobiographical. He had a sudden and overwhelming desire to find the bastard and beat the mother-loving crap out of him. Instead, he made a conscious effort to loosen up and soften his voice when he spoke next.

  “I can be professional about this.”

  “Really? Had a lot of practice with sex on set?” She spun on her heel and headed back into the house.

  “Last I checked, my bedroom’s not a movie set,” he called, following her. “Neither is my kitchen. Or my bathroom.”

  “Whatever. I can be professional, too. Or however you act after recreational sex.”

  Recreational sex? Who talked like that?

  His sweet little bookworm/playwright/sex kitten, who probably hadn’t ever had a one-night stand.

  Until him.

  It was kind of adorable watching her try to act worldly. It made him want to spin her around and kiss her until she melted like butter in a hot frying pan. The way she had when he’d first kissed her back in high school. But that wasn’t likely, seeing as how she was royally pissed at him for showing up and throwing a monkey wrench into her carefully constructed one-night-only plan.

  She grabbed a knife and began eviscerating a poor avocado with quick, sure strokes. He sat a safe distance away from her at the oversize farm table that dominated the room. “We’re going to be working together. Don’t you think we should...?”

  “No.” The rhythmic slap-slapping of her knife against the cutting board added extra emphasis to her denial. “We shouldn’t.”

  He leaned back in his chair, balancing on two legs. “You don’t—”

  Slap.

  “—even know—”

  Slap.

  “—what I was going—”

  Slap.

  “—to suggest.”

  Slap.

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea.” She exchanged the knife for a spoon and began scooping the meat from the avocado into a glass bowl.

  “Do you?” He shifted his weight, dropping the front legs of the chair back onto the floor. They landed with a thwack on the tile, making Holly flinch.

  She continued scooping as if he hadn’t spoken.

  “Earth to Holly...”

  She turned to face him, bracing her hands against the counter behind her. “Look, Nick. I’m only going to say this once, so listen close. We had sex.”

  The corner of his mouth curled. “A lot of sex.”

  “And it was great.”

  “Really great.” His smile widened.

  “But it can’t happen again, no matter how much we both want it to. I won’t let it.”

  We’ll see about that. Out loud he said, “Agreed.”

  She tilted her chin to look up at him, all five feet three inches of her bristling with righteous indignation. He liked that about her, her feistiness. She reminded him of Tinker Bell, with an attitude. “Fine.”

  He took a step closer, meeting her challenge. “Fine.”

  “I—”

  The screen door slammed and footsteps tromped toward the kitchen, leaving whatever she’d been about to say stuck in her throat.

  “Hey, Holls, you in there?” called a female voice.

  “Come see the New Dawn. It’s beautiful,” her father added.

  “Mom said you’re ma
king guacamole. I hope you didn’t forget the onion like last time. It’s nowhere near as good without the onion.”

  Nick stepped back and leaned against the counter, keeping his distance from Holly as her family descended on her like a swarm of locusts. Loud, love-starved locusts. He watched, his chest feeling as if someone had parked a Humvee on it, as they laughed and hugged, talking over one another. So this was how a family was supposed to behave. Who knew?

  Sundays at his house had been spent alone, hiding in his bedroom, listening to his father get progressively drunker, progressively louder, progressively meaner. Back then, he’d wish he was old enough and strong enough to protect his mother, or that she was strong enough to protect herself. And him.

  Nick looked away.

  “Everything all right?” Holly’s father stood slightly apart from the group, his voice quiet but firm. He might have been talking to his daughter but his eyes were locked on Nick. Clearly, Nick hadn’t moved away from his little girl far or fast enough. He remembered Nils Nelson as a large, jovial man, the logical choice to play Santa Claus every year in the Stockton holiday parade. There wasn’t a damned thing jolly about him now.

  “Oh, Nils. Stop scowling.” Elena Nelson gave Nick a smile that seemed to spread throughout her tiny frame. At least someone was happy to have him there. “Nick is our guest. I’m sure he and Holly were just talking shop.”

  “Uh, yeah.” Holly pasted a polite smile on her face and went back to preparing her guacamole. “Talking shop.”

  “You two must have lots to discuss.” Noelle took a seat at the table and shot Nick a grin that was both reassuring and apologetic at the same time. “Since you get to keep working together.”

  “Where’s Cade?” Holly’s attempt to change the subject was about as subtle as a kick to the groin.

  “Next door getting Mr. Bauermann.” Gabe went to stick a finger in the guacamole and Holly slapped it away.

  “They’ll be here any minute.” Elena made a shooing motion with her hands. “Now out, all of you, or I’ll never get dinner on the table.”

  * * *

  HOLLY HAD SAT through many a Nelson Sunday supper. The fatty food. The constant questions. The mostly good-natured ribbing. She thought she’d seen—and survived—it all.

  She was wrong. Nothing could have prepared her for the humiliation of having her worst moments replayed for Nick Damone.

  “Remember when Holly tried to rescue that poor squirrel with the broken leg?”

  “The one she kept in a box under her bed?”

  “Yeah, until it chewed its way out. Stupid rodent terrorized us for three days before Dad caught it.”

  “How about her unforgettable performance as Muff Potter in the Stockton Elementary School’s production of Tom Sawyer?”

  “You mean when the seat of her pants split open in front of the entire student body? Who could forget that?”

  “The sight of her Strawberry Shortcake underwear scarred those kids for life.”

  “See what you missed, Nick, not moving here until high school?”

  She was going to kill them. One by one. Slowly and painfully.

  “Stop embarrassing your sister.” Holly’s mother spooned a heaping serving of pasta onto her husband’s plate. “You too, Cade.”

  Sufficiently chastised, the Three Amigos ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sound in the cavernous farmhouse kitchen the clanking of forks and knives.

  It was too good to last.

  “So, Holly.” Noelle, twirling a single strand of spaghetti around her fork, was the first to start in on her again. Did she ever eat? “Seeing anyone special?”

  Holly almost choked on one of her mother’s super-secret-recipe meatballs. Her eyes flicked to Nick, sitting next to her, naturally, huge and hot and devastatingly handsome. He was no help at all, acting all strong and silent as he dug into his plate of pasta and braciole. She had half a mind to grab the fire extinguisher from the hall closet and hose him down. Then again, maybe it’d be better to turn it on herself and cool off her own raging hormones.

  “That’s a good question.” When he finally spoke it was low enough that only she could hear. She hoped. “One I’d sure like to know the answer to.”

  What the heck was he playing at? Her parents were eyeing them suspiciously. Her sister looked like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary. Gabe and Cade, her self-appointed protectors, sat tightly coiled, ready to pounce on Nick if he laid so much as a finger on her. Only Mr. Bauermann, trying to stab an especially elusive meatball with his fork, seemed completely oblivious to the sexual energy in the room.

  She had to give them some sort of response, if only to keep the boys from messing up Nick’s pretty face. “I wish. But you know what it’s like getting a show off the ground. No time for anything else. Certainly not a relationship.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Noelle countered. “Every production has its share of showmances. It’s inevitable. People thrown together in close quarters for hours on end.” She pinned her gaze on Nick from across the table. “Right, Nick?”

  “I guess,” he agreed with a shrug. “But that’s not my style. Usually.”

  “What about you, Noe? Are you still dating that... Erp!” Holly jerked with a squeal as Nick’s warm fingers slid up her thigh and under her skirt, his movements hidden by the long tablecloth. What on earth had possessed her to dress for dinner anyway?

  “You all right?” her brother asked. “Cade’s a firefighter. I’m pretty sure he knows the Heimlich maneuver.”

  “Sure do.”

  “Hiccups,” she said through gritted teeth, glancing sideways at Nick. The good-for-nothing jerk had the nerve to sit there smiling at her family with an innocent expression worthy of a choirboy, all the while creeping his fingers higher and higher until he was almost touching the hem of her undies. She said a silent prayer of thanks that she’d gone with one of the new thongs her sister had made her buy on their recent pre-Nick shopping spree instead of her traditional granny panties, then gave herself a mental slap across the face. What difference did her choice of underwear make? Nick Damone was not getting in her pants again. No way, no how.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered through clenched teeth, pressing her knees together and putting a hand over his, stopping its upward trajectory.

  He turned his choirboy charm on her. “Me? Not a thing. I’m the picture of virtue.”

  Only if virtue looks like sex on a stick. She pressed her legs tighter and tried her hardest to focus on what her sister was saying from across the table instead of the heat generated by Nick’s hand under it.

  “You know who I’d like to have a showmance with? Ryan Gosling.” Noelle sucked a strand of spaghetti into her mouth, eyeing Nick over her fork. “Can you introduce me to him?”

  “How about Jennifer Lawrence?” Gabe chimed in. “Do you know her?”

  “Basta.” Elena shushed them with a flick of her wrist. “What did I warn you? No pestering Niccolò about his famous friends. We’re going to have a nice, normal Sunday dinner.”

  Gabe snorted. “Since when have our Sunday dinners been nice and normal? Right, Holls?”

  “I...uh...”

  She was saved from getting dragged into that battle by a shrill, persistent beeping.

  “That’s me.” Cade stood, unclipping his pager from his belt and checking the screen. “Sorry. Got to call in. Can I use your phone? It’s more reliable than my cell out here.”

  “Of course. Why don’t you use the one in Dad’s office. It’ll be quieter there.” Holly waved off her mother, who had started to rise, and jumped up, pushing her chair back.

  “Uh, it’s okay,” Cade said, moving to the door. “I know where it is. Thanks.” His footsteps echoed down the hall.

  “So eager to get away from me?” The hand that had been on Holly’s leg reached for his wine glass. So why was her thigh still tingling?

  “It’s your own fault,” she hissed. “For not fol
lowing our agreement.”

  “What agreement?” He sipped his merlot.

  “You know,” she whispered, sneaking furtive glances at her family, thankfully otherwise engaged in capellini and conversation. “No... You know.”

  “Oh. Forgot. Sorry.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “You’re not gonna believe this.” Cade stormed back into the room, grabbing a couple of rolls from a basket on the table and stuffing them in his pockets.

  “Believe what?” Noelle asked, smacking Cade’s hand as he reached for another roll.

  “The fire marshal wants me to meet him at the Rep ASAP.”

  Holly’s stomach plummeted. The temperature in the room seemed to drop, too, and everyone—including Mr. Bauermann—stopped eating. Without the clatter of silverware the kitchen was eerily silent.

  “Oh, God,” she moaned. “Please don’t tell me it burned down, too.”

  “Not yet. And not ever, if we can help it.”

  Nick threw down his napkin and frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We just got word from the NYFD. The fire that destroyed the Deville was arson.”

  11

  ARSON. SHIT.

  “They’re sure?” Nick rubbed a hand across his jaw, the short, crisp hairs of his beard scratching his palm.

  Cade nodded. “Positive. There were traces of gasoline on the floor. And they dug out what was left of the starter.”

  “Starter?” Holly slumped back into her chair. One look at her ashen face made Nick want to wrap her in his arms, the watchful eyes of her family be damned.

  “The arsonist wedged a lit cigarette with a rubber band wrapped around the end into a matchbook,” Cade explained. “By the time the matches ignited and started the fire, he was probably miles away.”

  “Okay. So the fire was set. What does that have to do with the Rep?” This from logical, lawyerly Gabe. The guy had always been the voice of reason, even in high school. He was practically cross-examining Cade now. Thank God, because Nick’s brain was fuzzy and tired.

  “The NYFD said something about other suspicious accidents during preproduction.”

  “Oh, my God.” Holly gripped the edge of the table. “The food poisoning. And the power outage.”