“Before I was married,” she said and the skin over his face muscles stretched taut.
“I try not to.”
“But . . . did I play tennis?” Her hood slipped off her head.
“You tore up the court.”
“Ride horses?”
“I don’t think so.” He shifted and she stepped closer, tilting her head up to look deep into his eyes.
Every muscle in her body tensed, but she forced herself to ask the question that had been plaguing her since her conversation with Joanna. “What kind of woman was I?”
“That’s a loaded question.”
“Tell me.”
His lips folded in on themselves. “You were a spoiled brat,” he said. “Your parents gave you anything you wanted.”
“And what was that?” she asked and thought she heard the scrape of a shoe on the brick path, but ignored it.
Nick’s eyes darkened seductively. “Everything.”
“Everything?”
“You had it all, Marla. Money, brains, beauty and it wasn’t enough. You wanted it all . . . the whole damned world.” One side of his mouth lifted in self-mockery. “And you damned near got it.”
“Did I . . .” She began, stumbled, then pushed on. “Did I want you?”
He snorted. “No.” His eyes narrowed and raw emotion played upon his strong features. His hands shot forward suddenly. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers like steel through the jacket. He drew her so close that she could feel his heat, smell the hint of aftershave upon his skin, saw the slight, disgusted flare of his nostrils. “But I wanted you,” he said through lips that barely moved. Contempt edged his words. “More than a man with any brains should want a woman, more than I’d wanted anything in my whole damned life. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you satisfied?”
“N—no,” she admitted, more confused than ever.
“Then things are just
as they should be, because, Marla, you never were.”
Footsteps crunched on the other side of the arbor. Nick dropped her arms as if she was suddenly too hot to handle.
Lars rounded the corner. Dressed in old jeans and a sweatshirt, he carried a shovel in one hand and a rake in the other. His face was hard, his eyes darting from Nick to Marla and she wondered how much he’d heard of the conversation, how long he’d been in the garden. Had he been watching them through the rising mist, hiding behind the walls of rhododendron and fir?
“They’re looking for you inside,” he said, motioning toward Marla with the handle of the rake.
“Who is?” she asked.
“Mr. Cahill,” Lars said as he approached. His expression was hard. Condemning. “Your husband.”
She couldn’t stop the flush that crawled up her neck.
“He brought the nurse he hired with him.” Lars’s voice was flat but there was disdain in the curve of his lip, silent accusations in his steely eyes. He nodded to them both, then walked past the swing set to a gardening shed.
“I guess I’d better meet my new keeper.”
“Is that what you think he is?”
“Don’t you?” She didn’t bother to hide her agitation. “Come on, Nick, does it look like I need a nurse?” She walked through the arbor and tossed her head. “You may as well come inside and watch the fireworks.”
“You think someone’s going to explode.”