Sunset Point: A Shelter Bay Novel (22 page)

“I just met the captain,” Tess announced upon entering the spacious room.

Nate looked up and treated her to that smile she knew very few women would have the strength to resist. He, too, had changed into well-worn, faded button-fly jeans torn below the knee, and tonight’s fisherman’s sweater was black.

“I figured he’d show up sooner or later,” he said easily as he put a glass of white wine in her hand. The bottle, she noted, boasted a Lombardi label. One of the more expensive estate ones that Gabriel had first experimented putting a screw cap on. “So did you two hit it off?”

Tess took a sip of the golden Chardonnay. “I think I insulted him.”

Nate’s laugh was rich and warm and deep. “I’d love to have seen that. What did he do? Hit the roof? Or march off through the wall?”

Tess knew that if anyone had told her two weeks ago that not only would she talk with the ghost of a long-departed relative, but she’d be calmly describing the conversation later with someone who also had met the spirit, she would have told them that they were insane. Perhaps, she considered yet again, she and Nate were the crazy ones. But Tess didn’t think so.

“Neither. He just disappeared into thin air. It was as if Scotty had beamed him up.”

Nate nodded sagely. “He does that sometimes. Actually, the captain’s quite the ham. He goes in for the theatrical, although, in my opinion, he has an unfortunate tendency to overact.”

The words had no sooner left Nate’s lips than the copper pans hanging from ceiling racks over the island suddenly began to shake violently. An unearthly chill that Tess now knew preceded the captain’s appearance permeated the air.

“See what I mean?” Nate said, shooting Tess a grin. “Nice of you to drop in,” he said easily. “But I can handle things from here, Captain.”

The pans instantly ceased their clatter, and the chill departed as quickly as it had arrived. Tess shook her head in bemusement. Nate, on the other hand, acted as if nothing unusual had occurred.

“That would drive me crazy,” she admitted, running her fingernail around the rim of the glass. “Always wondering whether or not he was lurking around, spying on me.”

“That’s not his style. The captain’s quite discreet. And when he does show up, he always announces his presence—which you’ve already discovered—with a certain in-comparable flair. So for the time being, we’ve got the place to ourselves,” Nate assured her. “Why don’t you sit down and relax.” He gestured toward a barstool. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Tess sipped her wine, watching in reluctant awe as Nate minced a shallot with sure, rapid strokes. Had she even attempted such a feat, she knew she would have lost at least one finger.

“I never would have pictured you in the kitchen,” she said as he began whipping the minced shallot into a bowl with butter. The bedroom was more likely. Oh, yes, Tess could definitely picture Nate Breslin in the bedroom.

Nate’s eyes danced with a devilish gleam as he proved that they were on exactly the same wavelength. “As terrific as I am in the kitchen, you should see me perform in some of the other rooms of the house.”

The implication was there, just waiting for her to pick up on it. Tess decided to pass. “I’ve had enough surprises for one day,” she murmured.

He reached into the vast stainless-steel refrigerator and retrieved a bunch of what she recognized as fresh thyme. She’d never actually bought any herself, but she’d seen it in the supermarket on the shelf above the bagged lettuce that usually went brown in her fridge before she got around to pouring bottled dressing on it.

“And here I thought you were an adventurous woman.”

If coming here didn’t prove her adventuresome spirit, Tess didn’t know what would. Her actions could, of course, also be described as foolhardy. Then there was her little run-in with the captain. Still vaguely unsettled by the idea of the captain’s ghostly presence, Tess fell silent as she observed Nate’s culinary skills.

He dropped some linguini into a pot of water he’d already set to boil, then minced the thyme and stirred it into the butter and shallot mixture. Tess couldn’t help but admire his easy, deft, and practiced movements.

“I hope you like salmon,” he said as he turned on the stovetop grill, then put asparagus in another tall pot to be steamed.

“I love it,” she said distractedly. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” he asked, turning down the heat under the asparagus with one hand while stirring the pasta with the other.

“Keep track of everything like that. Whenever I try to cook, I always feel as if I’m that guy in the circus, trying to keep ten plates spinning at a time.”

Nate chuckled. “Practice, I guess. I never really thought about it. Don’t you like to cook?” he inquired, eyeing her curiously as he oiled the salmon, sprinkled it with coarse salt with lemon zest, spread the butter on it, and put it on the grill.

“If a meal doesn’t boil in a bag or warm up in a microwave, it’s out of my league.”

Her father was a dedicated meat-and-potatoes man. Growing up in a home without a mother’s influence, Tess had learned to prepare three basic meals. If a man expected anything other than hamburgers, steak, or meatloaf from her, he was bound to be disappointed.

“I enjoy puttering around in the kitchen after a day’s writing,” Nate said cheerfully as he checked the pasta, zested some lemon to go with the parsley he’d already chopped, took down two plates, and refilled her wineglass, all with an economy of movement that left her momentarily spellbound.

Who knew a man cooking could be so hot?

“Though it’s a lot more fun cooking for two. I figure being willing to do all the cooking makes me good husband material.”

“If you’re into marriage.” Although she wasn’t in the market for a husband, Tess admittedly found the idea of coming home to food like this every night more than a little appealing.

“I thought most women were.”

“I’m not most women.”

“I’ve already figured that out for myself.” He took the asparagus out of the pot and dropped the spears into a dish of ice water. “But that was admittedly a sweeping generalization for which I apologize.”

“Accepted.”

A now familiar comfortable silence settled over them as she sipped her wine and enjoyed watching Nate work.

“Speaking of everyday household tasks,” he said, “how are you at doing laundry?”

Tess shrugged. “What’s to do? You throw the clothes in the washer, dump in some detergent, and push the button. The entire setup takes one, maybe two minutes. Anyone can do laundry, Nate.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” he muttered. “You’re not the one with a drawerful of Day-Glo pink underwear.”

The idea of Nate Breslin’s hard, powerful body clad in a pair of bright pink briefs struck Tess as outrageously funny. Her gale of laughter had Nate glaring at her with mock censure.

“It isn’t that funny.” He took the pasta off the stove and drained it in a steel colander in the farmhouse sink, then put it back in the pan along with a dash of olive oil, the lemon zest, and parsley. “In fact, it did irreparable damage to my social life. I was terrified to undress in front of a woman for fear she’d react the same way you are right now. Do you have any idea what that would do to my delicate male ego?”

Tess didn’t believe she had ever met a man with such indestructible self-esteem. She also didn’t want to think about all the women he might have undressed with in the past.

“I doubt anyone could dent your ego with a Sherman tank,” she said. “I also can’t imagine any woman laughing at your body.”

Nate stopped in the act of transferring the salmon to two plates he’d taken out of a warming oven. Then flashed that hot smile she was finding more and more difficult to resist. “Why, thank you, darlin’.”

After he finished plating the pasta and drizzled a balsamic dressing he’d whisked up himself on the asparagus, he was on his way to the table, a plate in each hand, when he stopped in front of her and bent his head to give her a quick, intense kiss. “If we end up getting married, I sure wouldn’t complain if you volunteered to do the laundry.” He continued to the dining room, Tess following.

Married? Surely he had to be joking. Although she believed couples should be each other’s best friends, marriage was a long way from the friendship she’d agreed upon upstairs.

“I’ve been married. It didn’t work out.” Yet another Lombardi woman love fail.

“How long did it last?” He put the square white plates on the table he’d apparently set while she’d been upstairs sleeping.

“Eighteen months. But it seemed a lot longer.”

“What happened?”

“I finally divorced him over a difference of opinion.”

“That’s all? A difference of opinion?” Nate was surprised. He would have expected Tess to be one of those women who would work every bit as hard at a relationship as she did at her court cases.

“Mark saw no reason why he should stop dating once we were married,” she explained dryly. “Strangely enough, I disagreed.”

Tess’s former husband was not only a jerk but certifiably insane. What man would be inclined to wander with Tess Lombardi waiting for him at home?

“That must have been rough on you,” he said quietly.

Tess didn’t answer immediately. Even now, nearly two years later, she still wondered how she could have made such a grave error as to marry Mark Hunter.

“Actually, it was a rather strange time,” she admitted as he pulled out her chair. “Although Mark didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word monogamous, he also was oddly jealous when it came to me. He tried to talk me into giving up my work, seeing my friends.”

She shook her head as she remembered those agonizing days. “He wanted to keep me at home, like one of his possessions. Like his high school football trophies. His softball glove. Or his guns.”

That last item got Nate’s instant attention. “Guns?”

Tess shrugged. “Mark’s a cop.”

So, not only was she the daughter of one of Portland’s finest, she’d also dated his old buddy Donovan Quinn, and been married to yet another cop. He wondered if she was one of those women who was only attracted to uniforms.

“I hope that he’s gotten over his jealous streak. While I’m enjoying doing my part for the Portland judicial system by keeping you under wraps until the hearing, I’d rather not provide target practice for a love-crazed cop ex-husband.”

“Love had nothing to do with Mark’s feelings. And you don’t have to worry, Nate. Although he was a little upset in the beginning, he’s accepted the idea of our divorce. In fact, I haven’t seen or heard from him in over a year.”

Nate gave her that slow, winning smile that was only dangerous because of the way it stirred her blood. “Now that’s the best news I’ve had all day.”

The dinner was delicious, as she’d known it would be. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if there was anything that the man didn’t do well. Afterward, when Nate suggested a brandy in the living room, Tess knew she was playing with fire, but not ready to go up to bed alone, she agreed. The storm showed every intention of continuing all night. She could hear the sharp staccato of rain on the roof. Thunder rumbled in the fog surrounding the house.

When he sat down beside her on the sofa, a bolt of lightning forked vividly outside the window. Tess drew in a quick breath. It wasn’t that she was afraid of storms; she just hated the way the electricity seemed to have gotten into her blood tonight, making her edgy.

“Is the storm making you nervous?” Nate asked sympathetically.

As he leaned toward her, their legs touched, and Tess could feel the warmth of his body through the faded denim of his jeans. “Of course not.”

He placed his glass on the table in front of them before cupping her suddenly stiff shoulders with his palms. Heat kindled in her slowly. Insistently. “Then why are you trembling?”

Tess didn’t think it prudent to admit that Nate’s gentle touch was far more disturbing than the fiercest storm. “I’m cold,” she lied softly. The heat was spreading outward from her stomach, making her body go lax, her fingertips tingle.

He glided his fingers over her collarbone. “Want me to put another log on the fire?”

At his tantalizing touch, Tess’s vision blurred. She shook her head to clear it. “That’s not necessary.”

She took a deep swallow of the smooth amber brandy and realized she’d just made a big mistake. The alcohol was only adding fuel to a fire that was already in danger of raging out of control. She steadfastly kept her eyes on the hearth, unwilling to risk seeing the warmth she knew was in Nate’s green eyes.

“Remember when I told you, when I showed up with that étouffée, that I was interested in you?”

“I vaguely remember that,” she hedged.

Lowering his head, Nate brushed his lips against the back of her neck. “Well, do you have any idea how much I admire you?”

“I don’t need pretty words or flattery, Nate.”

As she turned her head toward him, Tess found his somber face just inches from hers. “It’s not flattery. It’s the truth.” He plucked her glass from her fingers and placed it beside his on the low table in front of them. Then he took her face in his hands. “I admire the way you hold a jury in the palm of your hand. The gutsy way you’ve refused to knuckle under to that creep who’s been threatening you. How you handled the captain without blinking an eye.”

His thumb brushed her lower lip, leaving sparks. “And since family’s always been the most important thing in my life, I especially admire your relationship with your father and the way you defend all those Lombardi women who’ve come before you… You’re a remarkable woman, Tess Lombardi.”

Tess was infused with a warmth that had absolutely nothing to do with the flickering flames in the fireplace. Nate’s gleaming eyes and provocative touch were burning her skin.

“If you’re telling me all this to seduce me, it’s working.”

Tess knew that the storm was still raging outside, but at this moment, there was only a thick, heavy silence hovering between them.

The rising passion in her eyes tore at his control; his body ached with an escalating need that only she could satisfy, but still Nate struggled to remain patient. Slowly, deliberately, giving her ample time to move out of range, he lowered his head until their lips were close, not quite touching.