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Ten minutes later, he was on the phone to the Waldorf and leaving the first of several messages for Miss Frederica Kimball.
It was late afternoon before Freddie returned to her suite, flushed with pleasure and laden with purchases. In her opinion, she’d spent the most satisfying of days, shopping, lunching with Rachel and Bess, then shopping some more. After dumping her bags in the parlor, she headed for the phone. At this time of day, she thought, she could catch some, if not all, of her family at home. The blinking message light caught her eye, but before she could lift the receiver, the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Damn it, Fred, where have you been all day?”
Her lips curved at the sound of Nick’s voice. “Hi there. Up and around, are you?”
“Real cute, Fred. I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day. I was about to call Alex and have him put out an APB.” He’d pictured her mugged, assaulted, kidnapped.
She balanced on one foot, toeing off her shoes. “Well, if you had, he’d have told you I spent part of the day having lunch with his wife. Is there a problem?”
“Problem? No, no, why would there be a problem?” Even through the phone, sarcasm dripped. “You wake me up at the crack of dawn—”
“After ten,” she corrected.
“And then you run off for hours,” he continued, ignoring her. “I seem to recall you yelling something about wanting me to call you.”
“Yes.” She braced herself, grateful he couldn’t see her, or the hope in her eyes. “Did you have a chance to look at the music I left for you?”
He opened his mouth, settled back again and played it cool. “I gave it a look.” He’d spent hours reading it, poring over it, playing it. “It’s not bad—especially the parts that are mine.”
Even though he couldn’t see her, her chin shot up. “It’s a lot better than not bad—especially the parts that I polished.” The gleam in her eyes was pure pride now. “How about the lyrics?”
They ranged from the poetic to the wickedly wry, and had impressed him more than he wanted to admit to either of them. “You’ve got a nice touch, Fred.”
“Oh, be still my heart.”
“They’re good, okay?” He released a long breath. “I don’t know what you want me to do about it, but—”
“Why don’t we talk about that? Are you free tonight?”
He contemplated the date he had lined up, thought of the music, and dismissed everything else. “There’s nothing I can’t get out of.”
Her brow lifted. Work, she wondered, or a woman? “Fine. I’ll buy you dinner. Come by the hotel about seven-thirty.”
“Look, why don’t we just—”
“We both have to eat, don’t we? Wear a suit, and we’ll make it an event. Seven-thirty.” With her bottom lip caught in her teeth, she hung up before he could argue.
Jittery, she lowered herself to perch on the arm of the chair. It was working, she assured herself, just as she’d planned. There was no reason to be nervous. Right, she thought, rolling her eyes, no reason at all.
She was about to begin the courtship and seduction of the man she’d loved nearly her entire life. And if it went wrong, she’d have a broken heart, suffer total humiliation and have all her hopes and dreams shattered.
No reason to panic.
To give herself a boost, she picked up the phone again and called West Virginia. The familiar voice that answered smoothed out all the rough edges and made her smile.
“Mama.”
At seven-thirty, Nick was pacing the lobby of the Waldorf. He was not happy to be there. He hated wearing a suit. He hated fancy restaurants and the pretentious service they fostered. If Freddie had given him half a chance, he would have insisted she come by the bar, where they could talk in peace.
It was true that since he’d found success on Broadway, he was occasionally called upon to socialize, even attend functions that required formal wear. But he didn’t have to like it. He still just wanted what he’d always wanted—to be able to write and play his music without hassles.
Nick outstared one of the uniformed bellmen, who obviously thought he was a suspicious character.
Damn right I am, Nick thought with some humor. Zack and Rachel and the rest of the Stanislaskis might have saved him from prison and the prospect of a lifetime on the shady side of the law, but there was still a core of the rebellious, lonely boy inside him.
His stepbrother, Zack, had bought him his first piano over a decade before, and Nick could still remember the total shock and wonder he’d felt that someone, anyone, had cared enough to understand and respond to his unspoken dreams. No, he’d never forgotten, and to his mind, he’d never fully paid back the debt he owed the brother who had stuck by him through the very worst of times.
And he’d changed, sure. He no longer looked for trouble. It was vital to him to do nothing to shame the family who had accepted him and welcomed him into their midst. But he was still Nick LeBeck, former petty thief, con artist and hustler, the kid who’d first met former public defender Rachel Stanislaski on the wrong side of prison bars.
Wearing a suit only put a thin layer between then and now.
He tugged on his tie, detesting it. He didn’t think back very often. There was no need. Something about Freddie was making him switch back and forth between past and present.
The first time he saw her, she’d been about thirteen, a little china doll. Cute, sweet, harmless. And he loved her. Of course he did. In a purely familial way. The fact that she’d grown into a woman didn’t change that. He was still six years older, her more experienced cousin.
But the woman who stepped out of the elevator didn’t look like anyone’s cousin.
What the hell had she done to herself? Nick jammed his hands in his pockets and scowled at her as she crossed the lobby in a short, snug little dress the color of just-ripened apricots. She’d clipped up her hair, and it showed entirely too much of slender neck and smooth shoulders. Glittery colored gems swung from her ears, and one tear-shaped sapphire nestled comfortably between the curve of her breasts.
The kind of female trick, Nick knew, that drew a man’s eyes to that tempting point and made his fingers itch.
Not that his did, he assured himself, and kept them safely in his pockets.
Her dimples flashed as she spotted him, and he concentrated on them, rather than on her legs as she walked to him.
“Hi. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” She rose on her toes to kiss him at the left corner of his mouth. “You look wonderful.”
“I don’t see why we had to get all dressed up to eat.”
“So I could wear the outfit I bought today.” She turned a saucy circle, laughing. “Like it?”
He was lucky his tongue wasn’t hanging out. “It’s fine. What there is of it. You’re going to get cold.”
To her credit, she didn’t snarl at the brotherly opinion of her appearance. “I don’t think so. The car’s waiting just outside.” She took his hand, linking fingers with him as they walked out of the lobby toward the sleek black limo at the curb.
“You got a limo? To go to dinner?”
“I felt like indulging myself.” With the ease of long practice, she flashed a smile at the driver before sliding smoothly into the car. “You’re my first date in New York.”
It was said casually, as if she expected to have many more dates, with many more men. Nick only grunted as he climbed in after her.
“I’ll never understand rich people.”
“You’re not exactly on poverty row these days, Nick,” she reminded him. “A Broadway hit going into its second year, a Tony nomination, another musical to be scored.”
He moved his shoulders, still uncomfortable with the idea of true monetary success. “I don’t hang around in limos.”
“So enjoy.” She settled back, feeling a great deal like Cinderella on her way to the ball. The big difference was, she was going there with her Prince Charming. “Big Sunday dinner at Grandma’s coming up,” she said.
“Yeah, I got the word on it.”
“I can’t wait to see them, and all the kids. I dropped by Uncle Mik’s gallery this morning. Have you seen the piece he did on Aunt Sydney and the children?”
“Yeah.” Nick’s eyes softened. He almost forgot he was wearing a suit and riding in a limo. “It’s beautiful. The baby’s terrific. She’s got this way of climbing up your leg and into your lap. Bess is having another one, you know.”
“So she told me at lunch. There’s no stopping those Ukrainians. Papa’s going to have to start buying those gumdrops he likes to pass out by the gross.”
“You don’t worry about teeth,” Nick said in Yuri’s thick accent. “All my grandbabies have teeth like iron.”
Freddie laughed, shifting so that her knee brushed his. “They have a wedding anniversary coming up.”
“Next month, right.”
“We were kicking around ideas for a party at lunch. We thought about hiring a hall, or a hotel ballroom, but we all thought it would be more fun, and more true to them, if we kept it simpler. Would you and Zack hold it in the bar?”
“Sure, that’s no problem. Hell of a lot more fun there than at some ritzy ballroom.” And he wouldn’t have to wear a damned suit. “Rio can handle the food.”
“You and I can handle the music.”
He shot her a cautious look. “Yeah, we could do that.”
“And we thought we could do a group present. Did you know Grandma’s always wanted to go to Paris?”
“Nadia, Paris?” He smiled at the thought. “No. How do you know?”
“It was something she said to Mama, not too long ago. She didn’t say too much—you know she wouldn’t. Just how she’d always wondered if it was as romantic as all the songs claimed. Oh, and a couple of other things. So we were thinking, if we could give them a trip, fly them over there for a couple of weeks, get them a suite at the Ritz or something.”
“It’s a great idea. Yuri and Nadia do Paris.” He was still grinning over it when the limo glided to the curb.
“Where have you always wanted to go?”
“Hmm?” Nick climbed out, automatically offering a hand to assist her. “Oh, I don’t know. The best place I’ve ever been is New Orleans. Incredible music. You can stand on any street corner and be blown away by it. The Caribbean’s not bad either. Remember when Zack and Rachel and I sailed down there? God, that was before any of the kids came along.”
“You sent me a postcard from Saint Martin,” she murmured. She still had it.
“It was the first time I’d been anywhere. Zack decided that as a crew member my best contribution was as ballast, so I ended up doing mostly kitchen duty. I bitched all the way and loved every minute of it.”
They stepped inside, out of the slight spring chill and into the warmth and muted light of the restaurant. “Kimball,” Freddie told the maître d’, and found herself well satisfied when they were led to a quiet corner booth.
Very close to perfect, she thought, with candles flickering in silver holders on the white linen tablecloth, the scent of good food, the gleam of fine crystal. Nick might not realize he was being courted, but she thought she was doing an excellent job of it.
“Should we have some wine?” she asked.
“Sure.” He took the leather-bound list. His years of working a bar had taught him something about choosing the right vintage. He skimmed the list and shook his head over the ridiculous price markups. Well, it was Fred’s party.
“The Sancerre, ’88,” he told the hovering sommelier. It was a profession, Nick had always thought, that made a guy look as though he had an ashtray hanging around his neck.
“Yes, sir. Excellent choice.”
“I figure it should be, since it’s marked up about three hundred percent.” While Freddie struggled with a laugh and the sommelier struggled with his dignity, Nick passed the list back and lighted a cigarette. “So, any luck on finding an apartment?”
“I didn’t do a lot about it today, but I think Sydney will come up with something.”
“Finding one in New York isn’t a snap, kid. And you can get conned. There are plenty of people out there just waiting for a chance to gobble up fresh meat. You ought to think about moving in with one of the family for the time being.”
She arched a brow. “Want a roommate?”
He gaped at her, blinked, then blew out smoke. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
“Actually, being roomies would be handy once we start working together—”
“Hold it. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”
“Am I?” With a slight smile, she sat back as the sommelier presented the wine label for Nick’s inspection.
“Fine,” he said with an impatient wave of his hand, but there was no getting rid of the man until the ritual of the wine was completed. Nick handed the cork to Freddie. Cork smelled like cork, and he’d be damned if he’d sniff it. To speed the business up, he took a quick sip of the sample that was poured into his glass. “Great, let’s have it.”
With strained dignity, the sommelier poured Freddie’s wine, then topped off Nick’s, before nestling the bottle into the waiting silver bucket.
“Now listen—” Nick began.
“It was an excellent choice,” Freddie mused as she savored the first sip. Dry, and nicely light. “You know, I trust your taste in certain areas, Nicholas, without reservation. This is one of them,” she said, lifting her glass. “And music’s another. You may be reluctant to admit that your little Freddie’s as good as you are, but your musical integrity won’t let you do otherwise.”
“Nobody’s saying you’re as good as I am, kid. But you’re not bad.” Giving in, just a little, he tapped his glass against hers. For a moment, he lost his train of thought. Something about the way the candlelight played in those smoky eyes. And the look in them, as if she had a secret she wasn’t quite ready to share with him. “Anyhow.” He cleared his throat, brought himself back. “I liked your stuff.”
“Oh, Mr. LeBeck.” She lowered her lashes, fluttered them. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You’ve always got plenty to say. The one number—‘It Was Ever You’? It may fit in with the score.”
“I thought it would.” She smiled at his narrowed eyes. “As the daughter of Spencer Kimball, I do have certain connections. I’ve read the book, Nick. It’s wonderful. The story manages to be beautifully old-fashioned and contemporary at the same time. It has a terrific central love story, wit, comedy. And with Maddy O’Hurley in the lead—”
“How do you know that?”
She smiled again, and couldn’t prevent it from leaning toward smug. “Connections. My father’s done quite a bit of work for her husband. Reed Valentine’s an old friend of the family.”
“Connections,” Nick muttered. “Why do you need me? You could go straight to Valentine. He’s backing the play.”
“I could.” Unconcerned with the tone of annoyance, Freddie pursed her lips and studied her wine. “But that’s not the way I want to do it.” She lifted her gaze, met his, held it. “I want you to want me, Nick. If you don’t, it wouldn’t work between us.” She waited a beat. Could he see that she wasn’t simply talking about music, but about her life, as well? Their life. “I’ll do everything I can to convince you that you do want me. Then, if you can look at me and tell me you don’t, I’ll live with it.”
Something was stirring deep in his gut. Something skittish and dangerous and unwanted. He had an urge, a shockingly strong one, to reach out and run his fingers down that smooth ivory-and-rose cheek. Instead, he took a careful breath and crushed out his cigarette.
“Okay, Fred, convince me.”
The hideous tightness around her heart loosened. “I will,” she said, “but let’s order dinner first.”
