Denise snorted. “How is Mal holding up?”
Nicole thought of the wall he'd erected to block his feelings from her. “Stoically, as usual.”
“Does he look like he's going to bolt?”
“No. He seems determined to find Ty's killer, clear his name, and move on with the movie.”
“Well, that's good. Maybe in the four years you've been apart, he found his courage.”
“Or maybe this is something he thinks is worth fighting for.” Nicole pushed herself up to a standing position.
“Well, I don't know about that.” Denise sounded flustered. “It's not really an apples-to-apples comparison.”
“I know. Intellectually, I realize proving you didn't kill your best friend is not the same as saving your marriage. It's just that ...” Nicole hesitated. “My heart can't stop making the comparison. When I needed him to fight for us, he wasn't there.”
“Nicky, there are always at least three sides to every story. Your side, his side, and the truth,” Denise said. “You believe one thing. He believes something else. The truth is somewhere in the middle.”
Â
Two days later, Malcolm looked up from the proposals spread across his desk, surprised to see Rita standing in his doorway. Usually, he heard her purposeful march to his office. His gaze bounced down to the stack of envelopes and papers cradled in her arms, then lifted to study her eyes. “Is something wrong, Rita?”
“I've sorted the mail.”
His gaze returned to the items she carried. He glanced at his in-box, where she usually set his mail. Granted, the tray was full, but its condition shouldn't prevent her from depositing his mail. “All right,” he prompted.
She continued fidgeting in his doorway. “The
Silver Screen Preview
arrived today.”
Malcolm cocked his head questioningly. They received the publication every Wednesday. He glanced again at the envelopes and papers in her arms. Then he remembered his aborted interview with the
Silver Screen Preview
reporter, Nathan Rutherford.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I suppose there's an article about us in this issue?”
“Yes.”
He opened his eyes and extended a hand for the mail. “Is it more bad news?”
Rita laid the mail in his in-box, then handed him the publication. “I don't think you'll like the way Mr. Rutherford has invaded your privacy.”
Malcolm put the publication on his desk and looked down at the front cover. The headline of the second cover article read
I
NTER
D
IMENSIONS
AUTHOR STANDS BY HER MAN:
T
HE SECRET MARRIAGE OF COLLINS AND
C
ELESTIAL
P
RODUCTIONS OWNER,
B
RYANT
.”
Malcolm clenched his teeth. “Shit.”
“I didn't know you and Nicole were married,” Rita said.
“We're divorced.” Malcolm skimmed the article to find out how much of his personal life would be entertaining his industry associates during their morning coffee.
“I don't think Mr. Rutherford got to that part.” Rita's tone was dry.
“Shit.” Malcolm leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
“How angry are you?”
“Very.” Malcolm spoke without opening his eyes. He concentrated on the breathing exercise Tyrone had told him about. It still wasn't working.
“I thought you would be. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you.”
Malcolm opened his eyes and leaned forward. “Don't worry about it. I appreciate your trying to prepare me.”
He skimmed the article again, turning the page when the article continued inside the magazine.
“How did he find out about this? How did he even know to look for it?” Malcolm muttered.
He paused as he remembered Nathan's words: “
What is your relationship with Ms. Collins? Why is she staying with you when everyone else has left?”
Sow a seed and the plant will grow. Then Nathan Rutherford will write an article about it.
Rita leaned over the desk and looked down at the page. “Are you going to call Mr. Rutherford?”
“No.” Malcolm's tone was short. “I'm not going to give him a reaction.”
He closed the publication and tossed it into his growing in-box. He eyed the tray's contents. It would take another long day and perhaps this weekend to get through all that mail. He glanced at his in-box again. Definitely the weekend.
Rita nodded. “I thought you'd say that.” She straightened. “How do you want me to respond to any media calls?”
Malcolm groaned. Of course this article was going to generate a lot of interest. Something more for him to deal with. Or not. “We don't have any comments. We won't deny or confirm the story.”
Rita frowned. “Are you sure? Maybe if you tell them you and Nicole are no longer married, the media will go away.”
Malcolm twirled his pen between his index and middle fingers. His gaze remained on the magazine balanced on top of his in-box. “No. If you answer one question, you'll invite more. Don't give them anything. Just say, âNo comment.' Hopefully they'll go away.”
Rita nodded. “Okay.” She pivoted on her heel, then paused and turned back. “Nicole seems like a very nice lady.”
Malcolm looked up. Rita's eyes shone with curiosity. “She is very nice.”
“And you're a very nice man.”
“Thank you.” Malcolm set down his pen.
Rita leaned against the doorframe. “It's too bad the two of you couldn't work things out before. But, perhaps you've been given a second chance.”
Malcolm smiled, surprised Rita's thoughts mirrored his own. He knew she meant well, but he didn't want people speculating on his social lifeâor lack thereof. “Nicky and I are working together. This project isn't about our past,” he lied.
“Oh, well.” Rita sighed. “Is there anything else you need right now?”
“No, but thanks again for the heads-up on the article.”
“You're welcome.” Rita pushed away from the doorframe and charged down the hall.
Malcolm watched until she disappeared, then pulled the trade magazine from his in-box to finish reading the article. Just as Rita had noted, information on their divorce was conspicuously absent, making it seem as though they were still married. What would people think about Nicole living on the opposite coast for the past four years?
Nicole. She was going to be pretty ticked offâat least as much as he wasâto have their personal lives revealed so publicly without her approval. He checked his watch. He had a lot of work to get through. He would wait until he got home tonight to tell Nicole about the article. He glanced at the papers strewn across his desk. Late tonight. He'd better call to let her know when she could expect him home.
Malcolm felt his lips tip in a small smile. It had been yearsâfour, actuallyâsince he'd wanted to check in with someone about his schedule. Since there had been anyone who cared. He warned himself against becoming addicted to the high.
Â
He sat alone on the plywood bench, watching the waves crash against the shore and thinking about his
InterDimensions
family. It was early spring, and the beach was practically empty this Wednesday afternoon. With the roar of the waves dampening whatever sounds intruded, he felt isolated from the rest of the world. He loved the feeling. The only thing marring his enjoyment was the article in the
Silver Screen Preview.
He glanced at the cover of the magazine lying beside him on the bench. So Malcolm and Nicole were married. How strange. In all the interviews he'd read about her, she'd never mentioned a husband. She'd mentioned other family members, though. And she lived in New York.
Well, never mind that.
He shrugged the mystery aside. The point was, he'd figured out why Nicole had betrayed his family. Malcolm. The producer could be very convincing when he wanted something. He'd witnessed Malcolm's powers of persuasion. He could understand Nicole's defection. But she never should have allowed Malcolm to come between her and the family. Loyalty was vital, but in a moment of weakness, Nicole had forgotten that.
He'd felt pressured to take extreme action to remove the threat to his family. But he had been reluctant to hurt Nicole. After all, she had created the family. She had established their dynamics. She'd nurtured them and helped them grow. For those reasons, she deserved to be judged with more leniency than he otherwise would have afforded her. She was their mother, and mothers were to be placed on pedestals. That's why he'd released his rage and disillusionment on her apartment instead of on her. He'd wanted to make it clear she could no longer ignore him.
He watched the waves roar toward the beach and explode against the sand. Seagulls circled above, struggling against the same wind that beat against the ocean. Their screams bounced around him.
He glanced again at the
Silver Screen Preview.
Nicole had understood his message, and she had left L.A.
Or had she?
He stiffened as a horrible thought occurred to him. Suppose Malcolm had persuaded her to stay? Malcolm was committed to making the
InterDimensions
movie. Nicole was weak. How could he be sure she hadn't allowed Malcolm to turn her against the family again? How could he be sure she had gone back to New York?
He would have to follow Malcolm. Malcolm would know where Nicole was. He stood and picked up the
Silver Screen Preview,
rolling the magazine into a tube. Brisk strides carried him back to the street.
And if Nicole were still in L.A.?
If she were still in L.A., he would have to try harder to convince her to leave.
C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN
Nicole turned down the oven's temperature, setting the ground-turkey enchiladas on WARM. She gave the garden salad a final toss before putting it in the refrigerator. Malcolm would be home soon.
She walked to the threshold of the dining room, and her critical gaze surveyed the table one final time. Candles. Fresh flowers. Linen napkins. Formal place mats. It looked warm and inviting. Perhaps too inviting. Bordering on seductive.
Nicole gathered the place settings and transferred them onto the kitchen table. Her intent was to help Malcolm unwind, not to give him ideas or seduce him. She tripped over that thought. Of course she wasn't trying to seduce him. She was just cooking himâthemâa meal. Just because it was one of his favorite dishes didn't signify anything. She wanted to help him relax with a hot, healthy meal after a long, hard day.
When he'd called earlier, he had sounded tense, as though he were measuring his words with her. If she had been a suspicious wife, she would have suspected him of hiding something. But she wasn't any kind of wife, so she didn't have the right to be suspicious of him or hurt that he wasn't taking her into his confidence. Malcolm hadn't taken her into his confidence even when they had been married.
The sound of the garage door rising brought Nicole back to the present. She pulled the plates out of the cupboard and set them on the counter near the stove. She placed the salad and dressing on the kitchen table and was taking the enchiladas out of the oven when she heard Malcolm's footsteps approaching the room.
“What smells so good?” His voice sounded much more relaxed. She wanted to think the spicy aromas of her cooking put that smile in his voice.
“It's the enchiladas.” She turned and saw his boyish grin.
“You made enchiladas?” Pleased surprise lightened his tone. He studied the place settings, salad, and pitcher of lemonade on the kitchen table.
“Yes. Do you want to change before we eat?”
Malcolm returned his attention to her, their gazes locking for a moment. Then his regard dropped to her bright lilac jersey tucked into form-fitting black jeans. Nicole forced herself to remain still under his intense scrutiny.
“Everything looks and smells great, Nicky. Thank you.” His voice caressed her from across the room. “I think I'll take your suggestion and change first. I'll be right back.”
Â
In less than fifteen minutes, he'd changed and joined her for dinner.
“This is fantastic.” Malcolm forked up more of his enchilada.
“That's the second time you've said that.” Nicole chuckled, pleased but embarrassed by his compliments. “I'm beginning to think you either haven't eaten in days or you're trying to convince yourself the meal is edible.”
Malcolm laughed, topping off their glasses from the pitcher of lemonade. “Do you remember the first time you made enchiladas for me?”
Nicole's fork stilled on her plate. Of course she did. It was the first and last time she'd made them. “It was your birthday.”
Six years ago.
Nicole fought the instinct to shy away from memories of Malcolmâgood and bad. They all reminded her of their divorce and her inability to come to terms with that failure.
But now, sitting at the kitchen table enjoying dinner with her ex-husband, it was difficult to separate old memories from the ones they were creating tonight. Past and present were blending, allowing her to view both without bitterness or self-castigation. They'd made a lot of happy memories together, and Nicole had to admit she didn't like the person she'd become without them.
Her heart softened. “I didn't have enough money to take you to a restaurant, so I made a special dinner at home instead. Enchiladas were one of your favorite foods.”
“They still are,” Malcolm added, drinking the lemonade.
Nicole returned to her meal. “I got the recipe from a co-worker. They didn't turn out too badly, either.”
“They were fantastic.”
Nicole's smile spread. “Do you ever make them for yourself?”
Malcolm's smile dimmed. “No.”
Nicole fought not to fall into his gaze. “But you claim to be able to cook.”
Malcolm chuckled and returned his attention to his plate. “You've tasted my cooking. You know it's more than a claim.”
She felt a smile tickle her lips. “Anyone can open a can of spaghetti.”
“Hey! That wasn't from a can,” he said, feigning outrage.
Nicole gave him a cheeky look before changing the subject. “I've been wondering why you were so willing to let me act as co-producer on the
InterDimensions
project. Were you that anxious to sweeten the pot for me?”
“If I had wanted to sweeten the pot, I would have done what everyone else did and offered you more money. I wouldn't have jeopardized the project and my company's reputation by agreeing to work with someone whose talent I didn't believe in.”
Nicole swallowed her laughter. “You wouldn't risk your company's reputation for me?”
Malcolm's smile curled her toes. “No, sweetheart. I'm sorry, but I wouldn't.”
Nicole ducked her head, carrying on with the game. “That's not very romantic.”
Malcolm chuckled, low and deep. “I've never been accused of being romantic.”
She arched a brow, even as her heart softened with more memories. “That's not strictly true. You had your moments.”
“I remember those, too,” he murmured.
Nicole ended the teasing before she spontaneously combusted. “Thank you for saying you believe in my abilities.”
“I'm not just saying that. I mean it.”
His cocoa-colored eyes warmed to a simmer. For Nicole, the line between past and present blurred even more. She stepped back before they erased the line entirely.
“How about some dessert?” she blurted.
Malcolm continued to study her, and for a moment, Nicole was afraid he would ignore her attempt to redraw the line. Then he blinked, and curiosity replaced heat.
“You made dessert?”
Nicole smiled. “Not made, bought. It's ice cream.”
Malcolm patted his flat stomach. “That's tempting, but I'm stuffed. I think I'll pass.”
She shrugged. “I'm pretty full myself.”
Malcolm pushed away from the table, gathering dishes. “In that case, I'll clear the table.”
“I'll help.” Nicole stood, collecting items as well.
“No, I can manage this alone. You cooked dinner.”
She shook her head. “If the two of us work together, we'll get the cleaning done more quickly.”
The table was cleared and the dishes set to wash. There was nothing else keeping Nicole in the kitchenâexcept the hunger growing between her and her ex-husband. She continued to rub her dry hands with a hand towel while she considered her next move.
“Well, thank you for dinner,” Malcolm said. “It wasâ”
“Fantastic,” she finished for him with a smile.
“Yes.” Malcolm paused.
Nicole saw a question in his eyes. Then he blinked, and the question disappeared.
“You're welcome,” Nicole replied, searching his gaze.
“I brought some work home.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “I'm going to get through as much of it as I can and then turn in.”
Disappointment warred with relief. He'd offered her an out. However, she sensed a hesitation in him that made her think he would be willing to change his plans for the eveningâif she was interested. Was she?
Nicole reached over to put the hand towel back on its peg. The task gave her a moment to regroup. She turned back to Malcolm, tucking her hands into her jeans pockets. “I'm going to read before I go to sleep, so I'll say good night now.”
“Okay.” Malcolm hesitated again. “Good night.”
Nicole dragged her gaze from his. She walked around him and left the kitchen with a deliberate pace. Each step drew her farther away from Malcolm. But this time she wasn't certain it was the direction in which she wanted to go.
Â
Malcolm sat at the desk in his home office. Piled in front of him was information on casting companies he could contact to replace Eunice Gannon. He flipped through the paperwork, but his mind was down the hall in the guest bedroom with Nicole. Their shared dinner had sent Malcolm into a time warp, making him feel as though they were still married. But that wasn't the only reason he believed Nicole should be in his bed rather than in the guest room. He'd been having those thoughts on and off for the past four years. Unfortunately, it seemed those images were destined to remain in his dreamsâwith the exception of that one interlude he would treasure forever.
“Mal?”
Nicole's voice teased his fantasy, sounding just within his reach. When she called again, he looked up and caught her hovering in the doorway.
“I'm sorry to disturb you,” she said, clasping her hands. “You seem busy.”
Malcolm shook his head. This wasn't a fantasy. She was really there. He wondered what she wanted. He didn't dare hope the evening had affected her in the same way it had touched him. “No, I'm not busy. Is there something you need?”
Nicole shrugged, walking into the room. “I'm having trouble concentrating. I thought I'd see how you were doing. Are you having trouble concentrating?”
Malcolm swallowed at the smoky question in her ebony eyes. He swiveled his chair to face her as she came around his desk. “A little.”
Nicole's soft smile made Malcolm's pulse race. She came to a stop an arm's length from him. “Do you think we're having the same problem?” she whispered.
“I don't know,” Malcolm whispered back. “What's your problem?”
Nicole tilted her head, humor and desire swirling in her eyes. “This.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned in to draw her tongue across the seam of his lips.
Malcolm's lips answered her call immediately. They opened, and Nicole's tongue swept inside, stroking the roof of Malcolm's mouth and swirling a pattern on his tongue. Malcolm's stomach muscles quivered. His hands rose, traveling over her firm, smooth hips to clasp her taut waist. He pulled her onto his lap, and she flowed into him.
She smelled warm and womanly. A remembered scent that filled his dreams. He molded her closer; her soft weight on his lap filled his mind with wild possibilities and wicked options. Nicole moaned into his mouth, straining closer. She shifted until she straddled him, and Malcolm realized their minds entertained the same images. This Nicole moved like a woman ready to claim what she wanted. The experience sharpened the feelings he still had for her.
“Wait,” he growled. “Your pants.”
Nicole mumbled a response, then pulled away from him. As he watched, she stripped off her jeans, underpants, and socks in one movement. Grace and urgency. Malcolm stood to fumble out of his own clothes, then whisked her jersey over her head. He brought her close, wrapping her warm body into his. When he stepped back, her breasts bounced free as her black, lace bra floated to the ground.
Nicole chuckled breathlessly. “You haven't lost your touch.”
Malcolm smiled despite the painful throbbing between his legs.
Nicole pressed Malcolm back into his chair, grateful when he surrendered to her lead. She wanted to savor the foreplay. His touch had become even more confident, more assured than it had been years before.
A reflection of the man.
Confident in what he wanted and in what he could give in return.
But the hunger clawed in her, demanding to be fed. She straddled his lap, ducking her head to claim his lips. As she sucked his tongue deeper into her mouth, she lowered herself onto his hot, pulsing manhood. Inch by solid, demanding inch. She drove them both frantic with the contrast between her patience and their need.
Nicole tightened her grip on his shoulders, massaging the muscles there. She felt Malcolm tremble beneath her hands and pulse between her thighs. Nicole threw her head back and undulated her torso against him, crazed by the exquisite torture of her soft breasts grazing his furred chest. She felt him working her hips, increasing the friction of their movements. She moaned and pleaded, gasped and screamed. His body urged her on, encouraging her to take that final leap. She arched her back, and he claimed her nipples. Sucking, nipping, tugging at them.
And the hunger went wild.
She shattered against him, her body rocked and jerked, tossed by the powerful release. She felt Malcolm slam her hips against his lap one last time as he flowed into her, his thighs stiffening beneath her hips.