He softened toward her. What was it about this woman that could take the hardness inside him and tear it down?
“Try,” he said, his voice gentle, the edge gone. What else could he say? “All I ask is that you try.”
Her expression slowly eased. Anger and accusation disappeared as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was still on guard, but not on attack. “I will. I promise.”
That was something, he guessed. They’d both compromised. Now he needed some space before softness turned into something else…maybe comfort, more likely sex, exactly what he was avoiding. Sex with Nicole was as big a distraction as a man could conceive.
A quick glance at the clock told him it was only eight in the morning. “Let’s make this supply run fast. If we step it up, we can make those phone calls, eat and sleep, all by sunset.”
“And then?” she asked, and laughed, realizing she was already questioning him again. “Sorry. I can’t help myself.”
“I know you can’t,” he said, a smile tempting his lips, but he was too damn tired to see it through. But not too tired to admire Nicole’s smile. Disheveled and without makeup, she still glowed. “But I don’t have an answer for you. Not yet.”
“Not until we know when the trial is.” It wasn’t a question.
“Exactly,” he agreed. “For now, let’s take care of ourselves and get some food.” Before I forget myself and feed my hunger with you.
***
NICOLE STOOD IN the tiny store watching as Constantine threw chips, candy and all kinds of junk into a small basket. “I thought we needed supplies?”
“This is the critical stuff,” he said with complete seriousness in his tone, grabbing a bag of Doritos. He appeared to be a man on a mission—to achieve a heart attack. “We should pick out some clothes.”
She blinked at that. “From here?”
“Right,” he said, pointing toward several racks of souvenir-type clothing. Holiday garb at best. “Grab some T-shirts and shorts for us both. A couple of pairs. And shoes. No sandals. I’m a size twelve.”
She reluctantly headed to the clothing racks, wishing for something more substantial, but thankful for anything at this point. A bath and clean clothes of any type sounded like heaven.
Beside the racks, several tables held shirts and shorts. Nicole began inspecting the contents, selecting a few items. Two extra-large shirts for Constantine, two mediums for her, two pairs of print shorts for her. She picked dark blue parachute shorts for Constantine. His options were limited. It was either the dark blue kind or orange floral ones, which she couldn’t imagine him wearing.
But then he deserved the bright neon flowers for taking those personal jabs at her. Smiling, she put the blue shorts back and grabbed two pairs of the orange.
She was reaching for a pair of tennis shoes, when a voice beside her asked, “Souvenir shopping?”
Nicole looked up to find herself staring into the interested eyes of a gorgeous, beach-blond god of a guy, not more than twenty-two. He towered over her at a good six foot plus and offered a charming smile. He was dressed in shorts and a tank top that showed off his picture-perfect body. Most women would be drooling—but not Nicole. She’d found a rather consuming interest in a certain tall, dark renegade, sporting a bad attitude and a hot temper.
Still, a friendly face was welcome about now. Nicole returned his smile and answered his question. “Something like that.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He reached for a T-shirt. “Gotta take gifts back to the family.” He studied her for a long, thoughtful, flirtatious minute…which was insane considering she looked like absolute hell. “I’m Rick.”
“Nice to meet you, Rick.” His comment about family had her thinking of her sister. She so needed to hear her voice.
“My mom is the hardest,” he commented. “I never know what to take her.”
She thought of her own mother—another bad subject. Nicole barely knew her anymore. Leaving the family business had ruffled a lot of feathers. Nicole hadn’t even done family Christmas the year before, using work as an excuse. Her attention returned to Rick. “What’s so hard about buying for your mother?”
“For one thing,” he commented, hand waving over the table, “she doesn’t wear T-shirts.”
“No T-shirts?” Nicole teased, mustering a half smile. “Well, that only leaves you one option.”
His brow lifted. “Which is?”
“A coffee cup, of course. Everyone knows they get a T-shirt or coffee mug from a vacationer.”
They laughed together. “You won’t convince my sister of that. She thinks shoes are the perfect gift, no matter what the occasion. If it can’t be worn on the feet, it isn’t worth having.”
“Smart girl,” Nicole said, offering her approval. “A personal favorite of mine as well.”
“Of course.” His expression said that was a given, a moment before he changed the subject. “How long you here for?”