Won't You Be My Husband?

“I’m not a day over twenty-one,” she retorted with a laugh. “I am old enough to take a message, however. What do you want me to put in this one?”

Nick grinned a little bigger. “Just remind Dr. West that she has a date with me tonight at seven-thirty.”

“Did you say…a date?” Lisa sounded as if the concept were a new one.

“A date. You do know what one of those is, don’t you?”

“I certainly do,” she replied, somewhat hesitantly adding, “Though I’m not at all sure Dr. West does.”

Her casual comment stayed on Nick’s mind all day. Lauren didn’t date? Unbelievable! Was she too busy? Too tired? Too picky?

Couldn’t be picky, Nick thought with a dry laugh as he drove his sleek silver Mercedes-Benz to Lauren’s Dallas neighborhood that night. He glanced at his gold wristwatch, purchased with money from his first Avery, Sanders and Wright, Inc. paycheck some four years ago. Remembering how he’d passed over a style he liked better so he could purchase the most expensive one in the jewelry store, he noted the time, 7:15, and shook his head. Thank goodness money had finally lost its hold on him. It had taken a couple of years—the scars of poverty ran deep—but now he could honestly say he knew what was important.

Lauren, for example. Seeing her at the stadium was a gift from the gods that Nick did not deserve, but accepted. And though certain he would one day rue their meeting—like when her class act saw through the sham of his nouveau respectability—at the moment he was grateful for the diversion.

A glance at the card Lauren had given Nick reminded him for what address he now searched: 14 Blue Moon Lane. He spotted the street just ahead and, shortly after, her house, a modest two-story brick with a neatly manicured lawn. Turning into the drive, situated mid-point in a curve he considered dangerous, Nick braked his car and killed the engine, then got out and walked to Lauren’s front door.

He raised his hand to ring the bell, but hesitated, suddenly nervous. What the hell? he wondered, trying to analyze this unexpected reluctance to see Lauren again.

Was it concern he would do something stupid tonight that kept his hand hovering inches from the bell? Or was it worry he would put his foot in his mouth? Both, Nick instantly realized…plus raw fear that he hadn’t imagined the spark of interest he saw in her eye. That he would respond to it and reveal just how incredibly, sexually attracted he was to her, too.

Damn, but she was a beauty. Tall, generously curved, graceful. He broke out into a cold sweat just remembering how she’d looked Sunday in tight jeans, leather knee boots and that sweater…dear heaven, that sweater.

Nick swallowed hard. The door suddenly swung open.

“Are you going to stand there all night or ring the bell?” Lauren demanded, hands on hips.

“I-it’s broken,” Nick lied, for lack of a better excuse for loitering like an idiot on her front porch.

“It is not,” Lauren retorted, reaching out to thumb the button. At once chimes sounded inside the house. “So what’s the real problem?”

“I’m, uh, early.” He glanced at his watch, noting with relief that he was, indeed, early—one minute and thirty seconds.

“That’s okay. I’m ready.” Laughing, clearly not fooled by Nick’s fibs, though she couldn’t possibly know the reason for them, Lauren stepped back and ushered him into the house. “So what do you think?” she demanded, throwing out her arms as if to encompass her whole house in a hug.

“I think you look like a million dollars,” Nick replied, even though he knew she wanted his opinion of the house, not her person. His hungry gaze devoured Lauren, savoring every inch of her from auburn curls to open-toed high heels. His heart turned a back flip. His knees threatened to give way.

“Not me, doofus,” she said. “My house. Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible,” he murmured, without dragging his gaze away from her glittery black dress. Cut in a style from the past, its padded shoulders, diamond cutout neck, and knee-length skirt accentuated her shapely figure and drove his pulse to triple digits.

“I rented it three months ago with the option to buy and have been working like crazy decorating ever since. Only the bedroom is finished. I know we need to be going, but would you like to come up and look at it?”

She wanted him in her bedroom? Dazed by his good fortune, Nick followed her up the stairs. He noted that Lauren had to grasp a handful of skirt, thereby widening the slit in back, so she could manage the steps.

“I have the most gorgeous bedroom suite in the world.”

And the best legs, Nick silently added, relishing the tantalizing lengths of limb Lauren unwittingly revealed. Though tempted to hang back a step or two, he resisted. It wouldn’t do for her to catch him trying to get a glimpse of her panties. As it was, he’d have to keep his jacket buttoned all night to hide his unfortunate physical reaction to the seams of her sexy black stockings.

Lauren took a right at the top of the carpeted stair, leading Nick into a bedroom that looked as if it had come straight from “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.”

“My God,” he murmured, momentarily distracted from Lauren, herself. Slowly he turned, taking in every detail of the cream-colored furniture, the diaphanous cream-colored curtains, the plush cream-colored carpet. The only color in the room besides cream, cream, cream was a splash of burnished gold here and there, the red roses he’d sent her on Monday and, at the moment, Lauren, herself, dressed as she was in take-no-prisoners black.

“You don’t like it.”

“It’s…incredible. I feel as if I’ve stepped into a fairy tale. All that’s missing is the virgin princess, stretched out on that four-poster bed, waiting to be kissed awake by the handsome prince.”

“Princess, heck! This is my room. Therefore, I’m the one who gets the kiss.”

“Then all I can say is ‘Look out, Sleeping Beauty,’ because if you’re wearing that dress when the prince shows up, you won’t be a virgin for long.”

“Oh, I took care of that little problem years ago,” Lauren told him with an airy wave of her hand. She walked over to the cheval mirror and smoothed her dress down over her hips. “So you like the outfit?”

“It’s really beautiful.”

“Why, thank you.”

“You’re welcome…” To my sex—to my heart—to my life. Hearing the echo of his unspoken offer, Nick tensed. It would be easy to get in over his head, here. So easy.

“What’s wrong?” asked Lauren, who now stood close enough to feel the reaction.

“I was just wondering where you’re going to clip your pager,” Nick quickly lied. While he didn’t mind her knowing he found her desirable tonight, he had no intentions of admitting he’d actually, even for a millisecond, thought of her in conjunction with his tomorrows. That was an insanity he could neither explain nor understand, unless seeing her again had somehow resurrected long-buried dreams of the good life. Too bad that Nicolas Gatewood, more than anyone, knew the good life wasn’t for everyone. “Assuming you’re taking it with you.”

“Of course I’m taking it with me. And I’m putting it in your shirt pocket.” Lauren scooped up her purse, took out the pager and tucked it in his shirt pocket. Then she smoothed his shirt and tie. “Goodness, but you’re all tensed up,” she murmured, the next instant stepping behind Nick and gently kneading his shoulders. “Take off your jacket.”

“What for?”

“Your muscles are in knots.” Even through the fabric of his black jacket and snow-white shirt, her probing fingers seared his flesh. “They need attention.”

I’ll show you a muscle that needs attention! Nick’s libido screamed, further rattling- his shaky nerves. “Though I appreciate the offer, we really don’t have time, for a back rub, Lauren. We have to be at Phillip Avery’s in—” he glanced at his watch, noting that his hands…hell, his whole body…trembled at her touch “—twenty minutes, and it’s going to take every one of them to get there.”

“Then I’ll give you a rain check,” Lauren murmured, tugging playfully on his earlobe.

Nick jumped as if she’d goosed him.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Lauren demanded. Serious now, and obviously concerned, she raised his left arm and ducked under it to stand eyes-to-Adam’s-apple with him.

“I guess I am a little nervous about this dinner party. I’m not sure of the reason for it. And then there’s this phony engagement business. Speaking of which—” Nick dug into his jacket pocket and retrieved the tiny blue velvet box he’d tucked there earlier “—put this on.”

Wide-eyed with curiosity, Lauren opened the box. While she examined the diamond solitaire inside, Nick examined her and saw the stuff of which a bad boy’s dreams were made: auburn hair, big blue eyes, kissable lips. Man, oh man.

She was out of his league and always had been. Yet here they stood—face-to-face and, of all things, faking an engagement.

“Where’d you get this?” Lauren held the ring up under his nose.

“My fiancée.”

“You’ve been engaged?”

“That’s right.”

“What happened?”

“Every time she set the wedding date, I found an excuse to change it.”

“Tsk. Tsk. And how many times did this happen?”

“Four.”

“No wonder she gave the ring back to you.”

“Actually, she threw it back to me, and I never blamed her.”

To Nick’s relief, Lauren slipped the ring on her finger instead of asking any more questions about that painful period in his past. “It’s a little loose, but I promise I won’t lose it.”

“Lose it. Lose it!” Ready to escape Lauren’s pristine bedroom, Nick walked out the door and down the hall to the stairs. Lauren turned off the light and joined him. Together they descended into the foyer, where she retrieved her coat from a closet. Moments after, they left the house.

The clock on the dash said 8:10 when Nick braked to a halt in Phillip Avery’s circle drive and assisted Lauren from the car. They hurried up the steps to the house, Lauren exclaiming over everything from the massive oak trees to the antique mailbox. It warmed Nick’s heart to hear her comments. Although a noted obstetrician in one of the city’s most influential clinics—at least according to the secretary who’d ordered the roses for him—Lauren was still just Sissy West from a small Texas town on the Gulf of Mexico.

Incredible, that, and disconcertingly appealing.

“Do I need to ring the bell?” Lauren asked, no doubt referring to his earlier reluctance to ring hers.

“Feel free.”

Lauren reached up, then slowly lowered her hand. “Do you really think they’ll believe we’re in love, Nick? I mean, we didn’t practice or anything—”

“Trust me, Lauren,” Nick couldn’t resist teasing. “If I’d had the slightest idea you wanted to practice loving me, I’d have been over every night this week.”

Chapter Two

“Why, Nick Gatewood, shame on you!” Laughing over her case of nerves, Lauren punched the doorbell. She heard its ring, muted by the heavy front door. Then the ornate wooden barrier was flung open wide.

“Hello, Nicky,” crooned an. emerald-eyed brunette Lauren guessed to be in her early twenties. She included Lauren in her smile almost as an afterthought. “Please come in.”

Grateful when Nick took her hand and led the way, Lauren stepped into the massive foyer of a house that could have been Tara, just as its mistress could have been Scarlett.

Unfortunately the conservatively attired man Lauren saw hurrying down the hall toward them couldn’t have been Rhett. No, he more resembled Scarlett’s father, a fact that explained Sabrina’s attraction to Nick—who could claim more than a few Rhett-ly qualities.

Nick cleared his throat, transporting Lauren back to Texas from civil-war Georgia. “I’d like to introduce my fiancée, Lauren West, an obstetrician who works at a clinic here in town. Lauren, this is Phillip Avery, one of the cofounders of Avery, Sanders and Wright, and his wife, Sabrina.”

“Fiancée? Well, I’ll be damned,” responded Phillip, with a delighted grin. He reached for Lauren’s hand and pumped it vigorously up and down. “When did all this happen?”

“Just what I was about to ask,” interjected Sabrina, her smile long since vanished, her skin tone as green as her eyes.

“It happened Sunday before last, actually,” Nick replied, laying his left arm casually over Lauren’s shoulders and pulling her closer to his side. Lauren slipped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

“We’ve known each other since we were teenagers,” she said. “So naturally we were both surprised when our friendship blossomed into love.”

Sabrina made a choking sound, which turned into a cough.

“Are you all right, darling?” Phillip asked, reaching out to pat her on the back.

“Fine,” she snapped, shaking off his solicitous touch. Her venomous gaze nailed Lauren to the wall, or would have if Nick hadn’t stepped in the line of fire. Lauren didn’t know if he did it on purpose, but appreciated the gesture.

“We aren’t ready to announce the engagement to everyone yet,” Nick then said. “But we did want you two to know.”

“We’re honored to be some of the chosen few,” Phillip told him, clearly oblivious to his wife’s reaction. “And I think this wonderful news deserves a toast. Follow me.” That said, the portly architect led the way into the den. An elaborate wet bar covered one wall, a massive fireplace, another. The third and fourth were made up of floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books that Lauren bet the lady of the house had never dusted, much less read.

Phillip handed everyone a wineglass, into which he poured a measure of sparkling pink champagne, talking all the while. “I have to admit that lately I’ve been worried about Nick, who is the most gifted architect I’ve ever known, by the way.”

Nick flushed crimson in response to the praise and avoided Lauren’s gaze.

“He seemed restless,” Phillip continued. “A bit down. In fact, I actually wondered if he was going to come back after his vacation in a couple of weeks. I guess I can quit worrying about that now.”

“Yes, you can,” Lauren murmured with a questioning glance at Nick. His expression told her nothing.

Moments later, drinks in hand, the four of them toasted an engagement as fake as Sabrina Avery’s beauty mark. They next exchanged enough small talk to satisfy Phillip’s curiosity about Lauren. Their young hostess then excused herself to the kitchen to check on the meal, sweetly inviting Lauren to come along.

“If I’m not back in ten minutes, call 911,” Lauren whispered to Nick, under the guise of kissing his cheek. His eyes danced in response, and she saw a smile tugging the corners of his lips.

So he was enjoying this, huh? Well, no wonder. She was the one about to face the firing squad.

Lauren found the kitchen as impressive as the rest of the house and was surprised to discover that Sabrina seemed to know her way around the room.

“Something smells wonderful,” Lauren murmured, trying, for the sake of Nick’s career, to be friendly with this woman-child.

“It’s an old family recipe. My parents own a restaurant in New York. They feature European cuisine. I was practically raised in the kitchen.” She lifted the lid of a large, stainless steel pot and stirred the contents with a wooden spoon, releasing more aromatic steam. “Do you cook?”

“Not much,” Lauren admitted without thought.

“Poor Nicky,” murmured Sabrina. “He loves my cooking, you know.” She replaced the lid on the cook pot and turned to face Lauren. “You’ve known him how long, did you say?”

“At least twenty-five years.” Which is a couple of years longer than you’ve been alive, sweetheart.

“When is the wedding?”

“We’re not sure yet, since we both have such busy schedules.”

“May I give you a word of advice?”

A word of advice? From a preschooler? Though Lauren knew Sabrina’s action resulted from her immaturity and jealousy, she barely managed to contain her sarcasm when she replied, “I’m all ears.”

“My husband may not be particularly intuitive, but he is right about one thing. Nicky only pretends he is satisfied with his life.” Sabrina tossed her long dark hair, then lifted her chin, her gaze arrogant and disdainful. “He’s a rebel—a reckless, restless rebel—who will one day run away from everything, including you.”

Lauren abruptly lost her battle with her own good manners. “Your point?”

“Enjoy him while you have him.”

“Oh, but I do,” Lauren replied, by now sick of the woman’s melodrama and oddly disturbed by it. “In fact, that’s why we were late tonight…because we were enjoying each other so much.” Lauren spun on her heel and exited the kitchen, but not before she saw Sabrina’s jaw drop.

When Lauren burst into the den a second later, her eyes met Nick’s across the room. He leapt to his feet, a sure sign her anger must be showing. Phillip, clearly confused by Nick’s abrupt action, stood, too.

“Your headache must be worse,” Nick said to Lauren, taking her arm.

“Much,” Lauren told him through gritted teeth. “If I could just get some fresh air.”

“Why don’t you take her out in the garden?” Phillip suggested, clearly concerned. “You know the way, I believe. I’ll call you when everything is ready.”

“Thanks,” Nick murmured, grasping Lauren by the wrist and nearly dragging her down the hall and out double glass doors into the garden. The October breeze was a welcome relief, instantly cooling Lauren’s flaming temper. Cherishing the night sounds and garden smells, she let Nick lead her through the softly illuminated area to a covered bench swing.

“Speak to me,” he said the moment they were settled.

“That woman is such a witch!” Lauren exploded. “Granted, she’s a baby one, but what potential!” She gave him an edited account of her recent conversation with Sabrina, leaving out the woman’s prediction that Nick would soon break from the confines of propriety.

He groaned in response to her confession. “You actually told her we were late because we were making love?”

“As good as.”

“Damn, Lauren.”

“I know…I know. It was a terribly childish thing to do.” She shook her head in disbelief that she’d let Sabrina get to her that way. “I don’t know what came over me. I hope you’re not upset.”

To Lauren’s astonishment, the night rang with Nick’s laughter. “Awed by your creativity, maybe, but not upset. Did you really think I would be?”

“I wasn’t sure. I mean, she is the boss’s wife.”

“Yeah, poor guy,” Nick murmured, instantly sobering.

“And I did tell her one heck of a whopper.”

“The lie wasn’t that big.”

“Are you kidding? We haven’t even kissed.”

“We can remedy that easily enough.” Nick surprised Lauren by turning slightly so he could pull her up tight against him. He then brushed his lips over hers in the lightest of touches, just enough to leave her begging for more.

“You call that a kiss?” Lauren heard herself blurt out. It had been too, too long since a man had held her this close. She couldn’t resist prolonging the contact even though no good would come of it.

With a grunt of satisfaction that must have meant no, Nick pressed his mouth to hers again and proceeded to demonstrate exactly what he called a kiss.

Firmly, yet gently, his lips seduced. He teased, he tasted, he tantalized…without words urging Lauren to open her mouth and let him deepen the kiss. She did, then took control—slipping her tongue between his teeth, exploring, savoring.

The thunder of Lauren’s heartbeat drowned the night sounds. Nick’s musky cologne obscured the garden smells. She heard a soft moan—his or hers?—and sighed with regret when he dragged his mouth from hers.

“Woman, you are lethal,” Nick whispered, trailing his lips across her cheek so he could nibble the supersensitive spot just under her earlobe. Lauren shivered in response to the caress.

“Me?” She tipped her head, making it easier for him to nuzzle her neck. “You’re the one who’s lethal, and if I’d had the faintest idea you could kiss like that, I’d have fought Diana for you.”

Nick snorted and raised his head. “Get real. You were only thirteen.”

“Just the right age to learn about the birds and the bees,” Lauren replied. To her surprise, Nick held her away from him.

“Who did teach you about the birds and the bees?”

“Bobby Winfree when I was eighteen.”

“That empty-headed jock?”

Lauren shrugged. “He may have been an intellectual lightweight, but his kisses sure made my heart go pitterpat.”

“And what about my kisses?” Nick asked. “Do they do anything to your heart?”

“What is this, true confessions?”

“I was just curious.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ll tell you what your kisses do to my heart after you tell me what mine do to yours.”

“It’s interesting you should mention that, because my heart is acting really weird right now.”

“What do you mean ‘really weird’?” At once all business, Dr. West pressed her palm to Nick’s chest. She tensed, then remembered and bubbled with laughter. “That’s not your heart, Nick. That’s my pager. It vibrates when I’m getting a call.”

With a grin that admitted he knew that already, Nick placed his hand over hers and pinned it against his shirt pocket. “I’m not letting you answer that, until I have your promise we can finish our cardiac comparison later.”

“Trust me when I tell you the mood won’t be the same,” Lauren murmured with disgust. How many times had that stupid pager interrupted a tender moment during the last few years of med school, residency and practice? Hundreds? No, more like thousands…at least it felt that way sometimes.

“Nick? Lauren?” It was Phillip, standing at the French doors. “Sabrina tells me that dinner is ready.”

“We were just coming in. Lauren’s been paged.” Nick got to his feet and tugged Lauren to hers. “Only a couple of hours more and this night will be over,” he whispered.

And when it ends, so will our engagement, Lauren silently answered, not a bit surprised to find herself despondent at the thought. Nick wasn’t the only one who’d felt restless of late. So had she, if the oft-verbalized concern of her co-workers was anything to go by.

But running into Nick at the stadium had changed all that. Suddenly energized and loving it, she could not bear to think what would happen once he exited her life again.

Lauren took care of the page with one quick phone call, and the four of them soon made their way to the dining room where waited a table set with delicate china and crystal. Wishing for pepperoni pizza and a cold beer, Nick assisted Lauren into her chair, then sat across the table from her.

Halfway through Sabrina Avery’s exotic meal, Nick discovered just how much his and Lauren’s garden escapade was going to cost him in peace of mind and body. He found himself eating automatically, one ear tuned to the conversation of his host, all his other senses focused on Lauren, smiling demurely at him from time to time.

He heard her easy laugh, felt when she crossed her long legs and accidentally nudged him, smelled her cologne. As for taste, even the highly spiced entree did not obliterate his memory of the flavor that was so distinctly Lauren. His whole body felt charged up and ready—some parts more than others—and he squirmed in his chair like a little kid anxiously awaiting the dessert.

Thus distracted, he had little to say the rest of the evening, but if Phillip noticed, he did not comment. As for Sabrina, she said maybe three words all during dinner and after. Finally at ten-thirty Nick and Lauren murmured their thank-yous and goodbyes and escaped to the car.

“Am I to understand that the whole reason for this dinner tonight was so Phillip Avery could hint he would sponsor you, should one of the partners at Avery, Sanders and Wright decide to retire?” Lauren asked, once they were safely away. She had already taken off a shoe and was rubbing her foot as if it were hurting, a task for which Nick wished he could volunteer.