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Waiting For Nick: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down
Nora Roberts


THE INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR‘The most successful novelist on Planet Earth’ Washington PostNick didn’t know what had hit him. Sweet, adorable Freddie, whom he’d always loved like a kid sister, was suddenly all woman.And his feelings for her were anything but brotherly!Nora Roberts is a publishing phenomenon; this New York Times bestselling author of over 200 novels has more than 450 million of her books in print worldwide.Praise for Nora Roberts‘A storyteller of immeasurable diversity and talent’ Publisher’s Weekly‘You can’t bottle wish fulfilment, but Nora Roberts certainly knows how to put it on the page.’ New York Times‘Everything Nora Roberts writes turns to gold.’ Romantic Times.‘Roberts’ bestselling novels are… thoughtfully plotted, well-written stories featuring fascinating characters.’ USA Today










Waiting for Nick


The Stanislaskis

Book Five




Nora Roberts







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




The Stanislaskis: an unforgettable family saga by #1 New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts


Frederica Kimball had been waiting all her life…waiting to grow up…waiting forever for the day when Nicholas LeBeck would fall as desperately in love with her as she had always been with him. Nick didn’t know what had hit him. Sweet, adorable Freddie, whom he’d always loved like a kid sister, was suddenly all woman. And his feelings for her were anything but brotherly!


For the family




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue




Chapter One


She was a woman with a mission. Her move from West Virginia to New York had a series of purposes, outlined carefully in her mind. She would find the perfect place to live, become a success in her chosen field, and get her man.

Preferably, but not necessarily, in that order.

Frederica Kimball was, she liked to think, a flexible woman.

As she walked down the sidewalk on the East Side in the early-spring twilight, she thought of home. The house in Shepherdstown, West Virginia, with her parents and siblings, was, to Freddie’s mind, the perfect place to live. Rambling, noisy, full of music and voices.

She doubted that she could have left it if she hadn’t known she would always be welcomed back with open arms.

It was true that she had been to New York many times, and had ties there, as well, but she already missed the familiar—her own room, tucked into the second story of the old stone house, the love and companionship of her siblings, her father’s music, her mother’s laugh.

But she wasn’t a child any longer. She was twenty-four, and long past the age to begin to make her own.

In any case, she reminded herself, she was very much at home in Manhattan. After all, she’d spent the first few years of her life there. And much of her life in the years after had included visits—but all with family, she acknowledged.

Well, this time, she thought, straightening her shoulders, she was on her own. And she had a job to do. The first order of business would be to convince a certain Nicholas LeBeck that he needed a partner.

The success and reputation he’d accumulated as a composer over the past few years would only increase with her beside him as his lyricist. Already, just by closing her eyes and projecting, she could envision the LeBeck-Kimball name in lights on the Great White Way. She had only to let her imagination bloom to have the music they would write flow like a river through her head.

Now all she had to do, she thought with a wry smile, was convince Nick to see and hear the same thing.

She could, if necessary, use family loyalty to persuade him. They were, in a roundabout way, semicousins.

Kissing cousins, she thought now, while her eyes lighted with a smile. That was her final and most vital mission. Before she was done, Nick would fall as desperately in love with her as she was, had always been, with him.

She’d waited ten years for him, and that, to Freddie’s mind, was quite long enough.

It’s past time, Nick, she decided, tugging on the hem of her royal blue blazer, to face your fate.

Still, nerves warred with confidence as she stood outside the door of Lower the Boom. The popular neighborhood bar belonged to Zack Muldoon, Nick’s brother. Stepbrother, technically, but Freddie’s family had always been more into affection than terminology. The fact that Zack had married Freddie’s stepmother’s sister made the Stanislaski-Muldoon-Kimball-LeBeck families one convoluted clan.

Freddie’s longtime dream had been to forge another loop in that family chain, linking her and Nick.

She took a deep breath, tugged on her blazer again, ran her hands over the reddish-gold mop of curls she could never quite tame and wished once, hopelessly, that she had just a dash of the Stanislaskis’ exotic good looks. Then she reached for the door.

She’d make do with what she had, and make damned sure it was enough.

The air in Lower the Boom carried the yeasty scent of beer, overlaid with the rich, spicy scent of marinara. Freddie decided that Rio, Zack’s longtime cook, must have a pasta special going. On the juke, Dion was warning his fellow man about the fickle heart of Runaround Sue.

Everything was there, everything in place, the cozy paneled walls, the seafaring motif of brass bells and nautical gear, the long, scarred bar and the gleaming glassware. But no Nick. Still, she smiled as she walked to the bar and slid onto a padded stool.

“Buy me a drink, sailor?”

Distracted, Zack glanced up from drawing a draft. His easy smile widened instantly into a grin. “Freddie—hey! I didn’t think you were coming in until the end of the week.”

“I like surprises.”

“I like this kind.” Expertly Zack slid the mug of beer down the bar so that it braked between the waiting hands of his patron. Then he leaned over, caught Freddie’s face in both of his big hands and gave her a loud, smacking kiss. “Pretty as ever.”

“You, too.”

And he was, she thought. In the ten years since she’d met him, he’d only improved, like good whiskey, with age. The dark hair was still thick and curling, and the deep blue eyes were magnetic. And his face, she thought with a sigh. Tanned, tough, with laugh lines only enhancing its character and charm.

More than once in her life, Freddie had wondered how it was that she was surrounded by physically stunning people. “How’s Rachel?”

“Her Honor is terrific.”

Freddie’s lips curved at the use of the title, and the affection behind it. Zack’s wife—her aunt—was now a criminal court judge. “We’re all so proud of her. Did you see the trick gavel Mama sent her? The one that makes this crashing-glass sound when you bop something with it?”

“Seen it?” His grin was quick and crooked. “She bops me with it regularly. It’s something, having a judge in the family.” His eyes twinkled. “And she looks fabulous in those black robes.”

“I bet. How about the kids?”

“The terrible trio? They’re great. Want a soda?”

Amused, Freddie tilted her head. “What, are you going to card me, Zack? I’m twenty-four, remember?”

Rubbing his chin, he studied her. The small build and china-doll skin would probably always be deceiving. If he hadn’t known her age, as well as the age of his own children, he would have asked for ID.

“I just can’t take it in. Little Freddie, all grown up.”

“Since I am—” she crossed her legs and settled in “—why don’t you pour me a white wine?”

“Coming up.” Long experience had him reaching behind him for the proper glass without looking. “How’re your folks, the kids?”

“Everybody’s good, and everyone sends their love.” She took the glass Zack handed her and lifted it in a toast. “To family.”

Zack tapped a squat bottle of mineral water against her glass. “So what are your plans, honey?”

“Oh, I’ve got a few of them.” She smiled into her wine before she sipped. And wondered what he would think if she mentioned that the biggest plan of her life was to woo his younger brother. “The first is to find an apartment.”

“You know you can stay with us as long as you want.”

“I know. Or with Grandma and Papa, or Mikhail and Sydney, or Alex and Bess.” She smiled again. It was a comfort to know she was surrounded by people who loved her. But… “I really want a place of my own.” She propped her elbow on the bar. “It’s time, I think, for a little adventure.” When he started to speak, she grinned and shook her head at him. “You’re not going to lecture, are you, Uncle Zack? Not you, the boy who went to sea.”

She had him there, he thought. He’d been a great deal younger than twenty-four when he shipped out for the first time. “Okay, no lecture. But I’m keeping my eye on you.”

“I’m counting on it.” Freddie sat back and rocked a little on the stool, then asked—casually, she hoped—“So, what’s Nick up to? I thought I might run into him here.”

“He’s around. In the kitchen, I think, shoveling in some of Rio’s pasta special.”

She sniffed the air for effect. “Smells great. I think I’ll just wander on back and say hi.”

“Go ahead. And tell Nick we’re waiting for him to play for his supper.”

“I’ll do that.”

She carried her wine with her and firmly resisted the urge to fuss with her hair or tug on her jacket again. Her attitude toward her looks was one of resignation. “Cute” was the best she’d ever been able to do with her combination of small build and slight stature. Long ago she’d given up on the fantasy that she would blossom into anything that could be termed lush or glamorous.

Added to a petite figure was madly curling hair that was caught somewhere between gold and red, a dusting of freckles over a pert nose, wide gray eyes, and dimples. In her teenage years, she’d pined for sleek and sophisticated. Or wild and wanton. Curvy and cunning. Freddie liked to think that, with maturity, she’d accepted herself as she was.

But there were still moments when she mourned being a life-size Kewpie doll in a family of Renaissance sculptures.

Then again, she reminded herself, if she wanted Nick to take her seriously as a woman, she had to take herself seriously first.

With that in mind, she pushed open the kitchen door. And her heart jolted straight into her throat.

There was nothing she could do about it. It had been the same every time she saw him, from the first time she’d seen him to the last. Everything she’d ever wanted, everything she’d ever dreamed of, was sitting at the kitchen table, hunkered over a plate of fettuccine marinara.

Nicholas LeBeck, the bad boy her aunt Rachel had defended with passion and conviction in the courts. The troubled youth who had been guided away from the violence of street gangs and back alleys by love and care and the discipline of family.

He was a man now, but he still carried some of the rebellion and wildness of his youth. In his eyes, she thought, her pulse humming. Those wonderful stormy green eyes. He still wore his hair long, pulled back into a stubby ponytail of dark, bronzed blond. He had a poet’s mouth, a boxer’s chin, and the hands of an artist.

She’d spent many nights fantasizing about those long-fingered, wide-palmed hands. Once she got beyond the face, with its fascinating hint of cheekbones and its slightly crooked nose—broken years ago by her own sharp line drive, which he’d tried unsuccessfully to field—she could, with pleasure, move on.

He was built like a runner, long, rangy, and wore old gray jeans, white at the knees. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbow and missing a button.

As he ate, he carried on a running commentary with the huge black cook, while Rio shook the grease out of a basket of French fries.

“I didn’t say there was too much garlic. I said I like a lot of garlic.” Nick forked in another bite as if to back up his statement. “Getting pretty damned temperamental in your old age, pal,” Nick added, his voice slightly muffled by the generous amount of pasta he’d just swallowed.

Rio’s mild, good-natured oath carried the music of the islands. “Don’t tell me about old, skinny boy—I can still beat hell out of you.”

“I’m shaking.” Grinning, Nick broke off a hunk of garlic bread just as Freddie let the door swing shut behind her. His eyes lighted with pleasure as he dropped the bread again and pushed back from the table. “Hey, Rio, look who’s here. How’s it going, Fred?”

He crossed over to give her a casual, brotherly hug. Then his brows drew together as the body that pressed firmly against his reminded him, uncomfortably, that little Fred was a woman.

“Ah…” He backed off, still smiling, but his hands dipped cautiously into his pockets. “I thought you were coming in later in the week.”

“I changed my mind.” Her confidence lifted a full notch at his reaction. “Hi, Rio.” Freddie set her wineglass aside so that she could properly return the bear hug she was enveloped in.

“Little doll. Sit down and eat.”

“I think I will. I thought about your cooking, Rio, all the way up on the train.” She sat, smiled and held out a hand to Nick. “Come sit down, your food’s getting cold.”

“Yeah.” He took her hand, gave it a quick squeeze, then let it go as he settled beside her. “So, how is everybody? Brandon still kicking butt on the baseball diamond?”

“Batting .420, leading the high school league in home runs and RBIs.” She let out a long sigh as Rio set a large plate in front of her. “Katie’s last ballet recital was really lovely. Mama cried, of course, but then she tears up when Brand hits a four-bagger. You know, her toy store was just featured in the Washington Post. And Dad’s just finishing a new composition.” She twirled pasta onto her fork. “So, how are things with you?”

“They’re fine.”

“Working on anything?”

“I’ve got another Broadway thing coming up.” He shrugged. It was still hard for him to let people know when something mattered.

“You should have won the Tony for Last Stop.”

“Being nominated was cool.”

She shook her head. It wasn’t enough for him—or for her. “It was a fabulous score, Nick. Is a fabulous score,” she corrected, since the musical was still playing to full houses. “We’re all so proud of you.”

“Well. It’s a living.”

“Don’t make his head bigger than it is,” Rio warned from his stove.

“Hey, I caught you humming ‘This Once,’” Nick noted with a grin.

Rio moved his massive shoulders in dismissal. “So, maybe one or two of the tunes weren’t bad. Eat.”

“Are you working with anyone yet?” Freddie asked. “On the new score?”

“No. It’s just in the preliminary stages. I’ve hardly gotten started myself.”

That was exactly what she’d wanted to hear. “I read somewhere that Michael Lorrey was committed to another project. You’ll need a new lyricist.”

“Yeah.” Nick frowned as he scooped up more pasta. “It’s too bad. I liked working with him. There are too many people out there who don’t hear the music, just their own words.”

“That would be a problem,” Freddie agreed, clearing a path for herself. “You need someone with a solid music background, who hears words in the melody.”

“Exactly.” He picked up his beer and started to drink.

“What you need, Nick, is me,” Freddie said firmly.

Nick swallowed hastily, set his beer down and looked at Freddie as though she had suddenly stopped speaking English. “Huh?”

“I’ve been studying music all my life.” It was a struggle, but she kept the eagerness out of her voice and spoke matter-of-factly. “One of my first memories is of sitting on my father’s lap, with his hands over mine on the piano keys. But, to his disappointment, composing isn’t my first love. Words are. I could write your words, Nick, better than anyone else.” Her eyes, gray and calm and smiling, met his. “Because I not only understand your music, I understand you. So what do you think?”

He shifted in his chair, blew out a breath. “I don’t know what to think, Fred. This is kind of out of left field.”

“I don’t know why. You know I’ve written lyrics for some of Dad’s compositions. And a few others besides.” She broke off a piece of bread, chewed it thoughtfully. “It seems to me to be a very logical, comfortable solution all around. I’m looking for work, you’re looking for a lyricist.”

“Yeah.” But it made him nervous, the idea of working with her. To be honest, he’d have had to admit that in the past few years, she’d begun to make him nervous.

“So you’ll think about it.” She smiled again, knowing, as the member of a large family, the strategic value of an apparent retreat. “And if you start to like the idea, you can run it by the producers.”

“I could do that,” Nick said slowly. “Sure, I could do that.”

“Great. I’ll be coming around here off and on, or you can reach me at the Waldorf.”

“The Waldorf? Why are you staying at a hotel?”

“Just temporarily, until I find an apartment. You don’t know of anything in the area, do you? I like this neighborhood.”

“No, I—I didn’t realize you were making this permanent.” His brows knit again. “I mean, a really permanent move.”

“Well, I am. And no, before you start, I’m not going to stay with the family. I’m going to find out what it’s like to live alone. You’re still upstairs, right? In Zack’s old place?”

“That’s right.”

“So, if you hear about anything in the neighborhood, you’ll let me know.”

It surprised him that even for a moment he would worry about what her moving to New York would change in his life. Of course, it wouldn’t change anything at all.

“I picture you more Park Avenue.”

“I lived on Park Avenue once,” she said, finishing up the last of her fettuccine. “I’m looking for something else.” And, she thought, wouldn’t it be handy if she found a place close to his? She pushed her hair out of her face and tipped back in her chair. “Rio, that was sensational. If I find a place close by, I’ll be in here for dinner every night.”

“Maybe we’ll kick Nick out and you can move upstairs.” He winked at her. “I’d rather look at you than his ugly face.”

“Well, in the meantime—” she rose and kissed Rio’s scarred cheek “—Zack wants you to come out when you’re done Nick, and play.”

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

“I’ll tell him. Maybe I’ll hang around for a little while and listen. Bye, Rio.”

“Bye, doll,” Rio whistled a tune as he moved back to his stove. “Little Freddie’s all grown up. Pretty as a picture.”

“Yeah, she’s okay.” Nick resented the fact that whatever spicy scent she’d been wearing was tugging on his senses like a baited hook. “Still wide-eyed, though. She doesn’t have a clue what she’s going to face in this town, in this business.”

“So, you’ll look out for her.” Rio thwacked a wooden spoon against his huge palm. “Or I look out for you.”

“Big talk.” Nick snagged his bottle of beer and sauntered out.



One of Freddie’s favorite things about New York was that she could walk two blocks in any given direction and see something new. A dress in a boutique, a face in the crowd, a hustler looking for marks. She was, she knew, naive in some ways—in the ways a woman might be when she had been raised with love and care in a small town. She could never claim to have Nick’s street smarts, but she felt she had a good solid dose of common sense. She used it to plan her first full day in the city.

Nibbling on her breakfast croissant, she studied the view of the city from her hotel window. There was a great deal she wanted to accomplish. A visit to her uncle Mikhail at his art gallery would down two birds. She could catch up with him and see if his wife, Sydney, might know of any available apartments through her real estate connections.

And it wouldn’t hurt to drop a bug in his ear—and the ears of other family members—that she was hoping to work with Nick on his latest score.

Not really fair, Fred, she told herself, and poured a second cup of coffee. But love didn’t always take fair into account. And she would never have applied even this type of benign pressure if she wasn’t confident in her own talents. As far as her skill with music and lyrics was concerned, Freddie was more than sure of herself. It was only when it came to her ability to attract Nick that she faltered.

But surely, once they were working so closely together, he would stop seeing her as his little cousin from West Virginia. She’d never be able to compete head-on with the sultry, striking women he drew to him. So, Freddie thought, nodding to herself, she’d be sneaky, and wind her way into his heart through their shared love of music.

It was all for his own good, after all. She was the best thing in the world for him. All she had to do was make him realize it.

Since there was no time like the present, she pushed away from the table and hurried into the bedroom to dress.



An hour later, Freddie climbed out of a cab in front of a SoHo gallery. It was a fifty-fifty shot as to whether she’d find her uncle in. He was just as likely to be at his and Sydney’s Connecticut home, sculpting or playing with their children. It was every bit as likely he might be helping his father with some carpentry job, anywhere in the city.

With a shrug, Freddie pulled open the beveled-glass door. If she missed Mikhail here, she’d scoot over to Sydney’s office, or try the courthouse for Rachel. Failing that, she could look up Bess at the television studio, or Alexi at his precinct. She could, she thought with a smile, all but trip over family, any direction she took.

The first thing she noticed inside the small, sunny gallery was Mikhail’s work. Though the piece was new to her, she recognized his touch, and the subject, immediately. He’d carved his wife in polished mahogany. Madonna-like, Sydney held a baby in her arms. Their youngest, Freddie knew, Laurel. At Sydney’s feet, three children of various ages and sizes sat. Walking closer, Freddie recognized her cousins, Griff, Moira and Adam. Unable to resist, she trailed a finger over the baby’s cheek.

One day, she thought, she would hold her own child just that way. Hers and Nick’s.

“I don’t wait for faxes!” Mikhail shouted as he entered the gallery from a back room. “You wait for faxes! I have work!”

“But, Mik,” came a plaintive voice from inside the room. “Washington said—”

“Do I care what Washington says? I don’t think so. Tell them they can have three pieces, no more.”

“But—”

“No more,” he repeated, and closed the door behind him. He muttered to himself in Ukrainian as he crossed the gallery. Words, Freddie noted with a lifted brow, that she wasn’t supposed to understand.

“Very artistic language, Uncle Mik.”

He broke off in the middle of a very creative oath. “Freddie.” With a hoot of laughter, he hoisted her off the ground as if she weighed no more than a favored rag doll. “Still just a peanut,” he said, kissing her on the way down. “How’s my pretty girl?”

“Excited to be here, and to see you.”

He was, like his swearing, wild and exotic, with the golden eyes and raven hair of the Stanislaskis. Freddie had often thought that if she could paint, she would paint each member of her Ukrainian family in bold strokes and colors.

“I was just admiring your work,” she told him. “It’s incredibly beautiful.”

“It’s easy to create something beautiful when you have something beautiful to work with.” He glanced toward the sculpture with love in his eyes. For the wood, Freddie reflected, but more, much more for the family he’d carved in it. “So, you’ve come to the big city to make your splash.”

“I have indeed.” With a flutter of lashes, Freddie hooked an arm through his and began to stroll, stopping here and there to admire a piece of art. “I’m hoping to work with Nick on the score he’s beginning.”

“Oh?” Mikhail quirked a brow. A man with so many women in his life understood their ways well, and appreciated them. “To write the words for his music?”

“Exactly. We’d make a good team, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but it’s not what I think, is it?” He smiled when her lips moved into a pout. “Our Nick, he can be stubborn, yes? And very hard of head. I can knock him in that head, if you like.”

Her lips curved again before she laughed. “I hope it won’t come to that, but I’ll keep the offer in reserve.” Her eyes changed, sharpened, and he could see clearly that she wasn’t so much the child any longer. “I’m good, Uncle Mik. Music’s in my blood, the way art’s in yours.”

“And when you see what you want…”

“I find a way to have it.” Easily accepting her own arrogance, she shrugged her shoulders. That, too, was in the blood. “I want to work with Nick. I want to help him. And I’m going to.”

“And from me you want…?”

“Family support for a chance to prove myself, if it becomes necessary, though I have an idea I can convince him without it.” She tossed her hair back, in a gesture, Mikhail thought, very like his sister’s. “What I do want, and need, is some advice about an apartment. I was hoping Aunt Sydney might have some ideas about a place near Lower the Boom.”

“Maybe she does, but there’s plenty of room with us. The children, you know how they would love to have you with them, and Sydney—” He caught her expression and sighed. “I promised your mama I would try. Natasha, she worries.”

“She doesn’t need to. She and Dad did a pretty good job of raising the self-reliant type. Just a small place, Uncle Mik,” she continued quickly. “If you’d just ask Aunt Sydney to give me a call at the Waldorf. Maybe she and I can have lunch one day soon, if she’s got time.”

“She always has time for you. We all do.”

“I know. And I intend to make a nuisance of myself. I want a place soon. Before,” she added with a gleam in her eyes, “Grandma starts conspiring to have me move in with them in Brooklyn. I’ve got to go.” She gave him a quick parting kiss. “I have another couple of stops to make.” She darted for the door, paused. “Oh, and when you talk to Mama, tell her you tried.”

With a wave, she was out on the street, and hailing another cab.

Now that her next seed was planted, Freddie had the cab take her to Lower the Boom, and wait as she went to the rear entrance to ring the security bell. Moments later, Nick’s very sleepy and irritated voice barked through the intercom.

“Still in bed?” she said cheerfully. “You’re getting too old for the wild life, Nicholas.”

“Freddie? What the hell time is it?”

“Ten, but who’s counting? Just buzz me in, will you? I’ve got something I want you to have. I’ll just leave it on the table downstairs.”

He swore, and she heard the sound of something crashing to the floor. “I’ll come down.”

“No, don’t bother.” She didn’t think her system could handle facing him when he was half-awake and warm from bed. “I don’t have time to visit, anyway. Just buzz me in, and call me later after you’ve gone over what I’m leaving for you.”

“What is it?” he demanded as the buzzer sounded.

Instead of answering, Freddie hurried inside, dropped her music portfolio on Rio’s table and raced out again. “Sorry to wake you, Nick,” she called into the intercom. “If you’re free tonight, we’ll have dinner. See you.”

“Wait a damn—”

But she was already dashing toward the front of the building and her waiting cab. She sat back, let out a long breath and closed her eyes. If he didn’t want her—her talents, she corrected—after he went through what she’d left for him, she was back to ground zero.

Think positive, she ordered herself. Straightening, she folded her arms. “Take me to Saks,” she told the driver.

When a woman had a potential date with the man she intended to marry, the very least she deserved was a new dress.




Chapter Two


By the time Nick found and dragged on a pair of jeans and stumbled downstairs, Freddie was long gone. He had nothing to curse but the air as he rapped his bare toe against the thick leg of the kitchen table. Hopping, he scowled at the slim leather portfolio she’d left behind.

What the hell was the kid up to? he wondered. Waking him up at dawn, leaving mystery packages in the kitchen. Still grumbling, he snatched up the portfolio and headed back up to his apartment. He needed coffee.

To get into his own kitchen, he expertly stepped over and maneuvered around discarded newspapers, clothing, abandoned sheets of music. He tossed Freddie’s portfolio on the cluttered counter and coaxed his brain to remember the basic functions of his coffeemaker.

He wasn’t a morning person.

Once the pot was making a hopeful hiss, he opened the refrigerator and eyed the contents blearily. Breakfast was not on the menu at Lower the Boom and was the only meal he couldn’t con out of Rio, so his choices were limited. The minute he sniffed the remains of a carton of milk and gagged, he knew cold cereal was out. He opted for a candy bar instead.

Fortified with two sources of caffeine, he sat down, lighted a cigarette, then unzipped the portfolio.

He was set to resent whatever it was that Freddie had considered important enough to wake him up for. Even small-town rich kids should know that bars didn’t close until late. And since he’d taken over the late shift from his brother, Nick rarely found his bed before three.

With a huge yawn, he dumped the contents of the portfolio out. Neatly printed sheet music spilled onto the table.

Figures, he thought. The kid had the idea stuck in her head that they were going to work together. And he knew Freddie well enough to understand that when she had something lodged in her brain, it took a major crowbar to pry it loose.

Sure, she had talent, he mused. He would hardly expect the daughter of Spencer Kimball to be tone-deaf. But he didn’t much care for partnerships in the first place. True, he’d worked well enough with Lorrey on Last Stop. But Lorrey wasn’t a relative. And he didn’t smell like candy-coated sin.

Block that thought, LeBeck, he warned himself, and dragged back his disordered hair before he picked up the first sheet that came to hand. The least he could do for his little cousin was give her work a look.

And when he did, his brows drew together. The music was his own. Something he’d half finished, fiddled with on one of the family visits to West Virginia. He could remember now sitting at the piano in the music room of the big stone house, Freddie on the bench beside him. Last summer? he wondered. The summer before? Not so long ago he couldn’t recall that she’d been grown up, and that he’d had a little trouble whenever she leaned into him, or shot him one of those looks with those incredibly big gray eyes.

Nick shook his head, rubbed his face and concentrated on the music again. She’d polished it up, he noted, and frowned a bit over the idea of someone fooling with his work. And she’d added lyrics, romantic love-story words that suited the mood of the music.

“It Was Ever You,” she’d titled it. As the tune began to play in his head, he gathered up all the sheets and left his half-finished breakfast for the piano in the living room.

Ten minutes later, he was on the phone to the Waldorf and leaving the first of several messages for Miss Frederica Kimball.



It was late afternoon before Freddie returned to her suite, flushed with pleasure and laden with purchases. In her opinion, she’d spent the most satisfying of days, shopping, lunching with Rachel and Bess, then shopping some more. After dumping her bags in the parlor, she headed for the phone. At this time of day, she thought, she could catch some, if not all, of her family at home. The blinking message light caught her eye, but before she could lift the receiver, the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Damn it, Fred, where have you been all day?”

Her lips curved at the sound of Nick’s voice. “Hi there. Up and around, are you?”

“Real cute, Fred. I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day. I was about to call Alex and have him put out an APB.” He’d pictured her mugged, assaulted, kidnapped.

She balanced on one foot, toeing off her shoes. “Well, if you had, he’d have told you I spent part of the day having lunch with his wife. Is there a problem?”

“Problem? No, no, why would there be a problem?” Even through the phone, sarcasm dripped. “You wake me up at the crack of dawn—”

“After ten,” she corrected.

“And then you run off for hours,” he continued, ignoring her. “I seem to recall you yelling something about wanting me to call you.”

“Yes.” She braced herself, grateful he couldn’t see her, or the hope in her eyes. “Did you have a chance to look at the music I left for you?”

He opened his mouth, settled back again and played it cool. “I gave it a look.” He’d spent hours reading it, poring over it, playing it. “It’s not bad—especially the parts that are mine.”

Even though he couldn’t see her, her chin shot up. “It’s a lot better than not bad—especially the parts that I polished.” The gleam in her eyes was pure pride now. “How about the lyrics?”

They ranged from the poetic to the wickedly wry, and had impressed him more than he wanted to admit to either of them. “You’ve got a nice touch, Fred.”

“Oh, be still my heart.”

“They’re good, okay?” He released a long breath. “I don’t know what you want me to do about it, but—”

“Why don’t we talk about that? Are you free tonight?”

He contemplated the date he had lined up, thought of the music, and dismissed everything else. “There’s nothing I can’t get out of.”

Her brow lifted. Work, she wondered, or a woman? “Fine. I’ll buy you dinner. Come by the hotel about seven-thirty.”

“Look, why don’t we just—”

“We both have to eat, don’t we? Wear a suit, and we’ll make it an event. Seven-thirty.” With her bottom lip caught in her teeth, she hung up before he could argue.

Jittery, she lowered herself to perch on the arm of the chair. It was working, she assured herself, just as she’d planned. There was no reason to be nervous. Right, she thought, rolling her eyes, no reason at all.

She was about to begin the courtship and seduction of the man she’d loved nearly her entire life. And if it went wrong, she’d have a broken heart, suffer total humiliation and have all her hopes and dreams shattered.

No reason to panic.

To give herself a boost, she picked up the phone again and called West Virginia. The familiar voice that answered smoothed out all the rough edges and made her smile.

“Mama.”



At seven-thirty, Nick was pacing the lobby of the Waldorf. He was not happy to be there. He hated wearing a suit. He hated fancy restaurants and the pretentious service they fostered. If Freddie had given him half a chance, he would have insisted she come by the bar, where they could talk in peace.

It was true that since he’d found success on Broadway, he was occasionally called upon to socialize, even attend functions that required formal wear. But he didn’t have to like it. He still just wanted what he’d always wanted—to be able to write and play his music without hassles.

Nick outstared one of the uniformed bellmen, who obviously thought he was a suspicious character.

Damn right I am, Nick thought with some humor. Zack and Rachel and the rest of the Stanislaskis might have saved him from prison and the prospect of a lifetime on the shady side of the law, but there was still a core of the rebellious, lonely boy inside him.

His stepbrother, Zack, had bought him his first piano over a decade before, and Nick could still remember the total shock and wonder he’d felt that someone, anyone, had cared enough to understand and respond to his unspoken dreams. No, he’d never forgotten, and to his mind, he’d never fully paid back the debt he owed the brother who had stuck by him through the very worst of times.

And he’d changed, sure. He no longer looked for trouble. It was vital to him to do nothing to shame the family who had accepted him and welcomed him into their midst. But he was still Nick LeBeck, former petty thief, con artist and hustler, the kid who’d first met former public defender Rachel Stanislaski on the wrong side of prison bars.

Wearing a suit only put a thin layer between then and now.

He tugged on his tie, detesting it. He didn’t think back very often. There was no need. Something about Freddie was making him switch back and forth between past and present.

The first time he saw her, she’d been about thirteen, a little china doll. Cute, sweet, harmless. And he loved her. Of course he did. In a purely familial way. The fact that she’d grown into a woman didn’t change that. He was still six years older, her more experienced cousin.

But the woman who stepped out of the elevator didn’t look like anyone’s cousin.

What the hell had she done to herself? Nick jammed his hands in his pockets and scowled at her as she crossed the lobby in a short, snug little dress the color of just-ripened apricots. She’d clipped up her hair, and it showed entirely too much of slender neck and smooth shoulders. Glittery colored gems swung from her ears, and one tear-shaped sapphire nestled comfortably between the curve of her breasts.

The kind of female trick, Nick knew, that drew a man’s eyes to that tempting point and made his fingers itch.

Not that his did, he assured himself, and kept them safely in his pockets.

Her dimples flashed as she spotted him, and he concentrated on them, rather than on her legs as she walked to him.

“Hi. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” She rose on her toes to kiss him at the left corner of his mouth. “You look wonderful.”

“I don’t see why we had to get all dressed up to eat.”

“So I could wear the outfit I bought today.” She turned a saucy circle, laughing. “Like it?”

He was lucky his tongue wasn’t hanging out. “It’s fine. What there is of it. You’re going to get cold.”

To her credit, she didn’t snarl at the brotherly opinion of her appearance. “I don’t think so. The car’s waiting just outside.” She took his hand, linking fingers with him as they walked out of the lobby toward the sleek black limo at the curb.

“You got a limo? To go to dinner?”

“I felt like indulging myself.” With the ease of long practice, she flashed a smile at the driver before sliding smoothly into the car. “You’re my first date in New York.”

It was said casually, as if she expected to have many more dates, with many more men. Nick only grunted as he climbed in after her.

“I’ll never understand rich people.”

“You’re not exactly on poverty row these days, Nick,” she reminded him. “A Broadway hit going into its second year, a Tony nomination, another musical to be scored.”

He moved his shoulders, still uncomfortable with the idea of true monetary success. “I don’t hang around in limos.”

“So enjoy.” She settled back, feeling a great deal like Cinderella on her way to the ball. The big difference was, she was going there with her Prince Charming. “Big Sunday dinner at Grandma’s coming up,” she said.

“Yeah, I got the word on it.”

“I can’t wait to see them, and all the kids. I dropped by Uncle Mik’s gallery this morning. Have you seen the piece he did on Aunt Sydney and the children?”

“Yeah.” Nick’s eyes softened. He almost forgot he was wearing a suit and riding in a limo. “It’s beautiful. The baby’s terrific. She’s got this way of climbing up your leg and into your lap. Bess is having another one, you know.”

“So she told me at lunch. There’s no stopping those Ukrainians. Papa’s going to have to start buying those gumdrops he likes to pass out by the gross.”

“You don’t worry about teeth,” Nick said in Yuri’s thick accent. “All my grandbabies have teeth like iron.”

Freddie laughed, shifting so that her knee brushed his. “They have a wedding anniversary coming up.”

“Next month, right.”

“We were kicking around ideas for a party at lunch. We thought about hiring a hall, or a hotel ballroom, but we all thought it would be more fun, and more true to them, if we kept it simpler. Would you and Zack hold it in the bar?”

“Sure, that’s no problem. Hell of a lot more fun there than at some ritzy ballroom.” And he wouldn’t have to wear a damned suit. “Rio can handle the food.”

“You and I can handle the music.”

He shot her a cautious look. “Yeah, we could do that.”

“And we thought we could do a group present. Did you know Grandma’s always wanted to go to Paris?”

“Nadia, Paris?” He smiled at the thought. “No. How do you know?”

“It was something she said to Mama, not too long ago. She didn’t say too much—you know she wouldn’t. Just how she’d always wondered if it was as romantic as all the songs claimed. Oh, and a couple of other things. So we were thinking, if we could give them a trip, fly them over there for a couple of weeks, get them a suite at the Ritz or something.”

“It’s a great idea. Yuri and Nadia do Paris.” He was still grinning over it when the limo glided to the curb.

“Where have you always wanted to go?”

“Hmm?” Nick climbed out, automatically offering a hand to assist her. “Oh, I don’t know. The best place I’ve ever been is New Orleans. Incredible music. You can stand on any street corner and be blown away by it. The Caribbean’s not bad either. Remember when Zack and Rachel and I sailed down there? God, that was before any of the kids came along.”

“You sent me a postcard from Saint Martin,” she murmured. She still had it.

“It was the first time I’d been anywhere. Zack decided that as a crew member my best contribution was as ballast, so I ended up doing mostly kitchen duty. I bitched all the way and loved every minute of it.”

They stepped inside, out of the slight spring chill and into the warmth and muted light of the restaurant. “Kimball,” Freddie told the maître d’, and found herself well satisfied when they were led to a quiet corner booth.

Very close to perfect, she thought, with candles flickering in silver holders on the white linen tablecloth, the scent of good food, the gleam of fine crystal. Nick might not realize he was being courted, but she thought she was doing an excellent job of it.

“Should we have some wine?” she asked.

“Sure.” He took the leather-bound list. His years of working a bar had taught him something about choosing the right vintage. He skimmed the list and shook his head over the ridiculous price markups. Well, it was Fred’s party.

“The Sancerre, ’88,” he told the hovering sommelier. It was a profession, Nick had always thought, that made a guy look as though he had an ashtray hanging around his neck.

“Yes, sir. Excellent choice.”

“I figure it should be, since it’s marked up about three hundred percent.” While Freddie struggled with a laugh and the sommelier struggled with his dignity, Nick passed the list back and lighted a cigarette. “So, any luck on finding an apartment?”

“I didn’t do a lot about it today, but I think Sydney will come up with something.”

“Finding one in New York isn’t a snap, kid. And you can get conned. There are plenty of people out there just waiting for a chance to gobble up fresh meat. You ought to think about moving in with one of the family for the time being.”

She arched a brow. “Want a roommate?”

He gaped at her, blinked, then blew out smoke. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Actually, being roomies would be handy once we start working together—”

“Hold it. You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“Am I?” With a slight smile, she sat back as the sommelier presented the wine label for Nick’s inspection.

“Fine,” he said with an impatient wave of his hand, but there was no getting rid of the man until the ritual of the wine was completed. Nick handed the cork to Freddie. Cork smelled like cork, and he’d be damned if he’d sniff it. To speed the business up, he took a quick sip of the sample that was poured into his glass. “Great, let’s have it.”

With strained dignity, the sommelier poured Freddie’s wine, then topped off Nick’s, before nestling the bottle into the waiting silver bucket.

“Now listen—” Nick began.

“It was an excellent choice,” Freddie mused as she savored the first sip. Dry, and nicely light. “You know, I trust your taste in certain areas, Nicholas, without reservation. This is one of them,” she said, lifting her glass. “And music’s another. You may be reluctant to admit that your little Freddie’s as good as you are, but your musical integrity won’t let you do otherwise.”

“Nobody’s saying you’re as good as I am, kid. But you’re not bad.” Giving in, just a little, he tapped his glass against hers. For a moment, he lost his train of thought. Something about the way the candlelight played in those smoky eyes. And the look in them, as if she had a secret she wasn’t quite ready to share with him. “Anyhow.” He cleared his throat, brought himself back. “I liked your stuff.”

“Oh, Mr. LeBeck.” She lowered her lashes, fluttered them. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You’ve always got plenty to say. The one number—‘It Was Ever You’? It may fit in with the score.”

“I thought it would.” She smiled at his narrowed eyes. “As the daughter of Spencer Kimball, I do have certain connections. I’ve read the book, Nick. It’s wonderful. The story manages to be beautifully old-fashioned and contemporary at the same time. It has a terrific central love story, wit, comedy. And with Maddy O’Hurley in the lead—”

“How do you know that?”

She smiled again, and couldn’t prevent it from leaning toward smug. “Connections. My father’s done quite a bit of work for her husband. Reed Valentine’s an old friend of the family.”

“Connections,” Nick muttered. “Why do you need me? You could go straight to Valentine. He’s backing the play.”

“I could.” Unconcerned with the tone of annoyance, Freddie pursed her lips and studied her wine. “But that’s not the way I want to do it.” She lifted her gaze, met his, held it. “I want you to want me, Nick. If you don’t, it wouldn’t work between us.” She waited a beat. Could he see that she wasn’t simply talking about music, but about her life, as well? Their life. “I’ll do everything I can to convince you that you do want me. Then, if you can look at me and tell me you don’t, I’ll live with it.”

Something was stirring deep in his gut. Something skittish and dangerous and unwanted. He had an urge, a shockingly strong one, to reach out and run his fingers down that smooth ivory-and-rose cheek. Instead, he took a careful breath and crushed out his cigarette.

“Okay, Fred, convince me.”

The hideous tightness around her heart loosened. “I will,” she said, “but let’s order dinner first.”

She chose her meal almost at random. Her mind was too busy formulating what she should say, and how she should say it, to worry about something as insignificant as food. She sipped her wine, watching Nick as he completed his part of the order. When he finished and looked back over at her, she was smiling.

“What?”

“I was just thinking.” Reaching over, she laid a hand over his. “About the first time I saw you. You walked into that wonderful chaos at Grandma’s and looked as if you’d been hit by a brick.”

He smiled back at her, on easy ground again. “I’d never seen anything like it. I never believed people lived that way—all that yelling and laughing, kids running around, food everywhere.”

“And Katie marched right up to you and demanded you pick her up.”

“Your little sister’s always had her eye on me.”

“So have I.”

He started to laugh, then discovered it wasn’t all that funny. “Come on.”

“Really. One look at you, and my in-the-middle-of-puberty-hell heart started beating against my ribs. Your hair was a little longer than it is now, a little lighter. You were wearing an earring.”

With a half laugh, he rubbed his earlobe. “Haven’t done that in a while.”

“I thought you were beautiful, exotic, just like the rest of them.”

Initial embarrassment at her description turned to puzzlement. “The rest of who?”

“The family. God, those wonderful Ukrainian Gypsy looks, my father’s aristocratic handsomeness, Sydney’s impeccable glamor, Zack, the tough weather-beaten hunk.”

He’d like that one, Nick thought with a grin.

“Then you, somewhere between rock star and James Dean.” She sighed, exaggerating the sound. “I was a goner. Every girl’s entitled to a memorable first crush. And you were certainly mine.”

“Well.” He wasn’t sure how to react. “I guess I’m flattered.”

“You should be. I gave up Bobby MacAroy and Harrison Ford for you.”

“Harrison Ford? Pretty impressive.” He relaxed as their appetizers were served. “But who the hell’s Bobby MacAroy?”

“Only the cutest boy in my eighth-grade class. Of course, he was unaware that I planned for us to get married and have five kids.” She lifted her shoulder, let it fall.

“His loss.”

“You bet. Anyway, that day I just sort of looked at you, and worked on working up the courage to actually speak. Little freckled Fred,” she mused. “Among all those exotic birds.”

“You were like porcelain,” he murmured. “A little blond doll with enormous eyes. I remember saying something about how you didn’t look like your little brother and sister, and you explained that Natasha was technically your stepmother. I felt sorry for you.” He looked up again, losing himself for a moment in those depthless eyes. “Because I felt sorry for me—the out-of-step stepbrother. And you sat there, so serious, and told me step was just a word. It hit me,” he told her. “It really hit for the first time. And it made a difference.”

Her eyes had gone moist and soft. “I never knew that. You seemed so easy with Zack.”

“I tried to hate him for a long time. Never quite pulled it off, though I worked pretty hard at making life miserable for both of us. And then, I was hung up on Rachel.”

“Hung up? But…” Diplomatically Freddie trailed off and took an avid interest in her food.

He was easy with the memory now, had been for years. “Yeah, I was barely nineteen. And because I figured she was a class act with a great figure and incredible legs, I didn’t see how she could resist me. You’re blushing, Fred.

“Hey, every boy’s entitled to one memorable crush.” He grinned at her. “I was pretty ticked when I figured out Rachel and Zack had a thing going, made an idiot out of myself. Then I got over it, because they had something special. And because it finally occurred to me that I loved her, but I wasn’t in love with her. That’s how crushes end, right?”

She eyed him levelly. “Sometimes. And in a roundabout way, what we’ve been talking about right here proves my point about why we should work together.”

He waited while their appetizers were cleared and the second course was served. Interested, he picked up the wineglass that had just been topped off again. “How?”

To add emphasis to her pitch, Freddie leaned forward. And her perfume drifted over him so that his mouth watered. “We’re connected, Nick. On a lot of levels. We have a history, and some similarities in that history that go back to before we met.”

“You’re losing me.”

She gave an impatient shake of her head. “We don’t have to get into that. I know you, Nicholas. Better than you may think. I know what your music means to you. Salvation.”

His eyes clouded, and he lost interest in his meal. “That’s pretty strong.”

“It’s absolutely accurate,” she corrected. “Success is a byproduct. It’s the music that matters. You’d write it for nothing, you’d play it for nothing. It’s what kept you from sinking without a trace, every bit as much as the family did. You need it, and you need me to write the words for it. Because I hear the words, Nick, when I hear your music. I hear what you want it to say, because I understand you. And because I love you.”

He studied her, trying to separate emotion and practicality. But she was right. He’d never been able to separate the two with his music. The emotion came first, and she’d tapped into that with the words she’d already written, and with the words she’d just spoken.

“You make a strong case for yourself, Fred.”

“For us. We’ll make a hell of a team, Nick. So much stronger and better than either of us could be separately.”

The music he’d played that morning wound through his head, her lyrics humming with it. It was ever you, in my heart, in my mind. No one before and no one after. For only one face have I always pined. You are the tears and the laughter.

A lonely song, he thought, and an achingly hopeful one. She was right, he decided—it was exactly what he’d intended.

“Let’s play it like this, Freddie. We’ll take some time, see how it goes. If we can come up with two other solid songs for the libretto, we’ll take it to the producers.”

Under the table, she tapped her nervous fingers on her knee. “And if they approve the material?”

“If they approve the material, you’ve got yourself a partner.” He lifted his glass. “Deal?”

“Oh, yes.” She tapped her glass against his, sounding a celebratory note. “It’s a deal.”



It was far more than the wine that had her feeling giddy when Nick walked her up to her hotel room after dinner. Laughing, she whirled, pressing her back against the door and beaming at him. “We’re going to be fabulous together. I know it.”

He tucked stray curls behind her ear, barely noticing that his fingertip skimmed the lobe, lingered. “We’ll see how it flies. Tomorrow, my place, my piano. Bring food.”

“All right. I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

“You come before noon, I’ll have to kill you. Where’s your key, kid?”

“Right here.” She waved it under his nose before sliding it into the slot. “Want to come in?”

“I’ve got to finish off the late shift and close the bar. So…” His words, and his thoughts, trailed off as she turned back and slipped her arms around him. The quick flash of heat stunned him. “Get some sleep,” he began, and lowered his head to give her a chaste peck on the cheek.

She wasn’t that giddy—or perhaps she was just giddy enough. She shifted, tilting her face so that their lips met. Only for two heartbeats, two long, unsteady heartbeats.

She savored it, the taste of him, the firm, smooth texture of his mouth, and the quick, instinctive tightening of his hands on her shoulders.

Then she drew away, a bright, determined smile on her lips that gave no clue as to her own rocky pulse. “Good night, Nicholas.”

He didn’t move, not a single muscle, even after she shut the door in his face. It was the sound of his own breath whooshing out that broke the spell. He turned, walked slowly toward the elevators.

His cousin, he reminded himself. She was his cousin, not some sexy little number he could enjoy temporarily. He lifted a hand to push the button for the lobby, noticed it wasn’t quite steady, and cursed under his breath.

Cousins, he thought again. Who had a family history and a potential working relationship. No way he was going to forget that. No way in hell.




Chapter Three


“Hi, Rio.” Freddie balanced bag, purse and briefcase as she entered through the kitchen of Lower the Boom.

“Hey, little doll.” Busy with lunch preparations, Rio had both hands occupied himself. “What’s doing?”

“Nick and I are working together today,” she told him as she headed for the stairs.

“Be lucky if you don’t have to pull him out of bed by his hair.”

She only chuckled and kept going. “He said noon. It’s noon.” On the dot, she added to herself, maneuvering up the narrow, curved staircase. She gave the door at the top a sharp rap, waited. Tapped her foot. Shifted her bags. Okay, Nicholas, she thought, up and at ’em. After fighting the door open, she gave a warning shout.

In the silence that followed, she heard the faint sound of water running. In the shower, she decided, and, satisfied, carried her bundles into the kitchen.

She’d taken him seriously when he told her to bring food. Out of the bag she took deli cartons of potato salad, pasta salad, pickles and waxed-paper-wrapped sandwiches. After setting them out, she went on a search for cold drinks.

It didn’t take long for her to realize they had a choice between beer and flat seltzer. And that Nick’s kitchen was crying out for a large dose of industrial-strength cleaner.

When he came in a few minutes later, the sleeves of her sweater were pushed up and she was up to her elbows in steaming, soapy water.

“What’s going on?”

“This place is a disgrace,” she said without turning around. “You should be ashamed of yourself, living like this. I wrapped the medical experiments that were in the fridge in that plastic bag. I’d take them out and bury them if I were you.”

He grunted and headed for the coffeepot.

“When’s the last time you took a mop to this floor?”

“I think it was September 1990.” He yawned and, trying to adjust his eyes to morning, measured out coffee. “Did you bring food?”

“On the table.”

With a frown he studied the salads, the sandwiches. “Where’s breakfast?”

“It’s lunchtime,” she said between her teeth.

“Time’s relative, Fred.” Experimentally, he bit into a pickle.

With a clatter, Freddie set the last of the dishes she’d found crusted in the sink aside to drain. “The least you could do is go in and pick up some of the mess in the living room. I don’t know how you expect to work in this place.”

The tart taste of the pickle improved his spirits, so he took another bite. “I pick it up the third Sunday of every month, whether it needs it or not.”

She turned, fisted her hands on her hips. “Well, pick it up now. I’m not working in this pit, clothes everywhere, trash, dust an inch thick.”

Leaning back on the table, he grinned at her. Her hair was pulled back, in an attempt to tame it that failed beautifully. Her eyes were stormy, her mouth was set. She looked, he thought, like an insulted fairy.

“God, you’re cute, Fred.”

Now those stormy eyes narrowed. “You know I hate that.”

“Yeah.” His grin only widened.

With dignity, she ripped off a paper towel from a roll on the counter to dry her hands. “What are you staring at?”

“You. I’m waiting for you to pout. You’re even cuter when you pout.”

She would not, she promised herself, be amused. “You’re really pushing it, Nick.”

“It stopped you from ordering me around, the way you do with Brandon.”

“I do not order my brother around.”

Nick scooted around her to get one of the coffee mugs she’d just washed. “Sure you do. Face it, kid, you’re bossy.”

“I certainly am not.”

“Bossy, spoiled, and cute as a little button.”

To prove her own control, she took one long, deep breath. “I’m going to hit you in a minute.”

“That’s a good one,” Nick acknowledged as he poured coffee. “Sticking your chin up. It’s almost as good as a pout.”

For lack of something better, she tossed the balled paper towel so that it bounced off his head. “I came here to work, not to be insulted. If this is the best you can do, I’ll just go.”

He was chuckling as she started to storm by him. For the first time since she’d come to New York, he felt their relationship was back on the level where it belonged. Big-brotherly cousin to pip-squeak. He was chuckling still as he grabbed her arm and whirled her around.

“Ah, come on, Fred, don’t go away mad.”

“I’m not mad,” she said, even as her elbow jabbed into his stomach.

His breath whooshed out on a laugh. “You can do better than that. You’ve got to put your body behind it, if you want results.”

Challenged, she attempted to, and the quick tussle threw them both off balance. He was laughing as they fought for balance, as she ended up with her back against the refrigerator, his hands at her hips, hers gripping his forearms.

Then he stopped laughing, when he realized he was pressed against her. And she was so soft and small. Her eyes fired up at him. And they were so wide and deep. Her mouth, pouting now, drew his gaze down. And it was so deliciously full.

She felt the change slowly, a melting of her body, a thrumming in her blood. This was what she had been waiting for, yearning for—the man-to-woman embrace, the awareness that was like light bursting in the head. Following instinct, she slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders.

He would have kissed her, he realized as he jerked back. And it would have had nothing to do with family affection. In another instant, he would have kissed her the way a hungry man kisses a willing woman—and broken more than a decade of trust.

“Nick.” She said it quietly, with the plea just a whisper in the word.

He’d scared her, he thought, berating himself, and lifted his hands, palms out. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you like that.” More comfortable with distance, he backed up until he could reach the mug he’d set on the table.

“It’s all right.” She managed a smile as the warmth that had shuddered into her system drained out again. “I’m used to it. But I still want you to pick up that mess.”

His lips curved in response. It was going to be all right after all. “My place, my mess, my piano. You’ll have to get used to it.”

She debated a moment, then nodded. “Fine. And when I get my place, and my piano, we’ll work there.”

“Maybe.” He got a fork and began to eat potato salad out of the carton. “Why don’t you get some coffee, and we’ll talk about what I’m after with the score?”

“What we’re after,” she corrected. She plucked a mug out of the drain. “Partner.”



They sat in the kitchen for an hour, discussing, dissecting and debating the theme and heart of the score for First, Last and Always. The musical was to span ten years, taking the leads from a youthful infatuation into a hasty marriage and hastier divorce and ultimately to a mature, fulfilled relationship.

Happy ever after, Freddie called it.

The perpetual rocky road, was Nick’s opinion.

They both agreed that the two viewpoints would add zest to the work, and punch to the music.

“She loves him,” Freddie said as they settled at the piano. “The first time she sees him.”

“She’s in love with love.” Nick set up the tape recorder. “They both are. They’re young and stupid. That’s one of the things that makes the characters appealing, funny and real.”

“Hmmm.”

“Listen.” He took his place on the piano bench beside her, hip to hip with her. “It opens with the crowd scene. Lots of movement, lights, speed. Everybody’s in a hurry.”

He flipped through his staff sheets and, with what Freddie decided was some sort of inner radar, unerringly chose the one he wanted.

“So I want to hit the audience with the confusion and rush.” He adjusted the synthesizer keyboard on the stand beside him. “And that energy of youth in the opening number.”

“When they run into each other, literally.”

“Right. Here.”

He started to play, a jarring opening note that would wake the senses. Freddie closed her eyes and let the music flood over her.

Quick, full, sometimes clashing notes. Oh, yes, she could see what he wanted. Impatience. Self-absorption. Hurry up, get out of my way. In part of her mind, she could see the stage, packed with dancers, convoluted choreography, the noise from traffic. Horns blaring.

“Needs more brass here,” Nick muttered. He’d all but forgotten Freddie’s presence as he stopped to make notes and fiddle with the synthesizer.

“‘Don’t Stop Now.’”

“I just want to punch up the brass.”

She only shook her head at him and placed her own hands on the piano keys. With her eyes narrowed on the notes he’d scribbled on the staff paper, she began, voice melding with music.

“‘Don’t stop now. I’ve got places to go, people to see. Don’t know how I’m supposed to put up with anybody but me.’”

Her voice was pure. Funny, he’d almost forgotten that. Low, smooth, easily confident. Surprisingly sexy.

“You’re quick,” he murmured.

“I’m good.” She continued to play while words and movement ran through her head. “It should be a chorus number, lots of voices, point and counterpoint, with an overlying duet between the principals. He’s going one way, she the other. The words should overlap and blend, overlap and blend.”

“Yeah.” He picked up the fill on the synthesizer, playing with her. “That’s the idea.”

She slanted him a look, a smug smile. “I know.”



It took them more than three hours and two pots of coffee to hammer out the basics of the opening. Not wanting to jar her system with any more of the caffeine Nick seemed to thrive on, Freddie insisted he go down to the bar and find her some club soda. Alone, she made a few minute changes to both words and music on the staff sheet. Even as she began to try them out, the phone interrupted her.

Humming the emerging song in her head, she rose to answer.

“Hello?”

“Why, hi. Is Nick around?”

The slow, sultry, southern female voice had Freddie lifting a brow. “He’ll be back in just a second. He had to run down to the bar.”

“Oh, well, I’ll just hang on then, if it’s all right with you. I’m Lorelie.”

I bet you are, Freddie thought grimly. “Hello, Lorelie, I’m Fred.”

“Not Nick’s little cousin Fred?”

“That’s me,” she said between her teeth. “Little cousin Fred.”

“Well, I’m just thrilled to talk to you, honey.” Warmed, honeyed molasses all but seeped through the phone line. “Nick told me he was visiting with you last night. I didn’t mind postponing our date, seeing as it was family.”

Damn it, she’d known it was a woman. “That’s very understanding of you, Lorelie.”

“Oh, now, a young girl like you, alone in New York, needs the men in her family to look out for her. I’ve been here myself five years, and I’m still not used to all the people. And everybody just moves so fast.”

“Some aren’t as fast as others,” Freddie muttered. “Where are you from, Lorelie?” she asked, politely, she hoped.

“Atlanta, honey. Born and bred. But up here with these Yankees is where the modeling and television work is.”

“You’re a model?” Didn’t it just figure?

“That’s right, but I’ve been doing a lot more television commercials these days. It just wipes you out, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m sure it does.”

“That’s how I met Nick. I just dropped into the bar one afternoon, after the longest shoot. I asked him to fix me a long cool something. And he said I looked like a long cool something to him.” Lorelie’s laugh was a silver tinkle that set Freddie’s teeth on edge. “Isn’t Nick the sweetest thing?”

Freddie glanced up as the sweetest thing came back in with an armload of soda bottles. “Oh, he certainly is. We’re always saying that about him.”

“Well, I think it’s just fine that Nick would tend to his little cousin on her first trip alone to the big city. You’re a southern girl, too, aren’t you, honey?”

“Well, south of the Mason-Dixon line, at least, Lorelie. We’re practically sisters. Here’s our sweet Nick now.”

Face dangerously bland, Freddie held out the receiver. “Your magnolia blossom’s on the phone.”

He set the bottles down in the most convenient place, on the floor, then took the phone. “Lorelie?” With one wary eye on Freddie, he listened. “Yeah, she is. No, it’s West Virginia. Yeah, close enough. Ah, listen…” He turned his back, lowering his voice as Freddie began to noodle softly at the piano. “I’m working right now. No, no, tonight’s fine. Come by the bar about seven.” He cleared his throat, wondering why he felt so uncomfortable. “I’m looking forward to that, too. Oh, really?” He glanced cautiously over his shoulder at Freddie. “That sounds…interesting. See you tonight.”

After he hung up, he bent down to retrieve one of the bottles. As he unscrewed the top and took it to Freddie, he wondered why it should feel like a pathetic peace offering. “It’s cold.”

“Thanks.”

And so, he noted, was her voice. Ice-cold.

She took the bottle, tipped it back for a long sip. “Should I apologize for taking you away from Lorelie last night?”

“No. We’re not— She’s just— No.”

“It’s so flattering that you told her all about your little lost cousin from West Virginia.” Freddie set the bottle down and let her fingers flow over the keys. Better there than curled around Nick’s throat. “I can’t believe she bought such a pathetic cliché.”

“I just told her the truth.” He stood, scowling and feeling very put-upon.

“That I needed to be looked after?”

“I didn’t say that, exactly. Look, what’s the big deal? You wanted to have dinner, and I rearranged my plans.”

“Next time, just tell me you have a date, Nick. I won’t have any trouble making plans of my own.” Incensed, she pushed away from the piano and began stuffing her papers into her briefcase. “And I am not your little cousin, and I don’t need to be looked after or tended to. Anybody but a total jerk could see that I’m a grown woman, well able to take care of herself.”

“I never said you weren’t—”

“You say it every time you look at me.” She kicked a pile of clothes away as she stormed across the room for her purse. “It so happens that there are a few men around who would be more than happy to have dinner with me without considering it a duty.”

“Hold on.”

“I will not hold on.” She whirled back, curls flying around her face. “You’d better take a good look, Nicholas LeBeck. I am not little Freddie anymore, and I won’t be treated like some family pet who needs a pat on the head.”

Baffled, he dragged his hands through his hair. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing!” She shouted it, frustrated beyond control. “Nothing, you idiot. Go cuddle up with your southern comfort.”

When she slammed the door, Nick leaned down to open a club soda for himself. He could only shake his head. To think, he mused, she’d been such a sweet-tempered kid.



Freddie worked off a great deal of her anger with a long walk. When she felt she was calm enough to speak without spewing broken glass, she stopped at a phone booth and checked in with Sydney. The conversation did quite a bit to lift her spirits.

Afterward, armed with an address, she rushed off to view a vacant one-bedroom apartment three blocks from Nick’s.

It was perfect. While Freddie wandered from room to room, she envisioned the furnishings she’d place here, the rugs she’d place there. Her own home, she thought, with room enough for a piano under the window, space enough for a pullout sofa so that her brother or sister could come and stay for visits.

And best of all, close enough that she could keep an eye on Nick.

How do you like that, Nicholas? she wondered as she grinned at her view of Manhattan. I’m going to be looking out for you. I love you so much, you stupid jerk.

Sighing, she turned away from the window and walked into the kitchen. It was small and needed some paint to perk it up, but she would see to that. She’d enjoy choosing the right cookware, the pots and pans and kitchen implements. She loved to cook, and even as a child had loved the big kitchen in her home in West Virginia, the wonderfully crowded kitchen at her grandmother’s in Brooklyn.

She’d cook for Nick here, she thought, running a finger over the smooth butcher-block countertop, if he played his cards right. No. She smiled at herself, and at her own impatience. It was she who had to play the cards, and play them right.

She’d been too hard on him, even if he had been a jerk. She’d spent more than half her life in love with him, but he spent that same amount of time thinking of her as a little cousin—if not by blood, then by circumstance. It was going to take more than one romantic dinner and one afternoon as colleagues to change that.

And change it she would. Hands on hips, she began another tour of the apartment. Just as she would build a life here, one that reflected her own taste and grew from the solid, loving background she’d been blessed with. And before she was done, the world she created would be filled with music and color and love.

And, by God, with Nick.



It was nearly seven when Nick came down to the bar. Zack lifted a brow as he mixed a stinger. “Hot date?”

“Lorelie.”

“Oh, yeah.” Now Zack wiggled his brows. “Tall, willowy brunette with rose petals in her voice.”

“That’s the one.” Nick moved behind the bar to help fill orders. “We’re just going to catch some dinner. Then we’ll come back here so I can relieve you.”

“I can cover for you.”

“No, it’s no problem. She likes hanging out here. After I close up, we’ll figure out something else to do.”

“I bet you will. Table six needs two drafts and a bourbon and branch.”

“Got it.”

“Hey, did you hear about Freddie’s apartment.”

Nick’s hand paused on the lever. “What apartment?”

“Found one just a couple blocks from here. She’s already signed the papers.” Zack filled an empty bowl with beer nuts. “You just missed her. She came in to celebrate.”

“Did anybody look over the place for her? Mik?”

“She didn’t say. Kid’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“Yeah. I guess. She should have gotten Rachel to look over the lease, though.”

Chuckling, Zack laid a hand on Nick’s shoulder as he was finishing preparing the order. “Hey, the little birds have to leave the nest sometime.”

With a shrug, Nick placed the drinks on the end of the bar for the waitress. “So, she went on back to the hotel?”

“Nope. Went out with Ben.”

“Ben.” Nick’s fingers froze on the cloth he’d picked up to wipe the bar. “What do you mean, she went out with Ben?” Now Nick twisted the cloth into a semblance of a noose. His eyes went bright and hard as a dagger. “You introduced Fred to Stipley?”

“Sure.” With a nod to a waitress, Zack began to fill another order. “He asked me who the pretty blonde was, so I introduced them. They hit it off, too.”

“Hit it off,” Nick repeated. “And you just let her walk out of here with a stranger.”

“Come on, Nick, Ben’s no stranger. We’ve known him for years.”

“Yeah,” Nick said grimly, imagining slipping the cloth noose around Zack’s neck. “He hangs around bars.”

Surprised and amused, Zack glanced over. “So do we.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it.” Nick rattled bottles and resisted the urge to pour a stiff shot of whiskey for himself. “You can’t just hook her up with some guy and let her waltz off with him.”

“I didn’t hook them up. I introduced them, they talked for a while and decided to catch a movie.”

“Yeah, right.” Movie, my ass, he thought. What man in his right mind would want to waste time at the movies with a woman with big, liquid gray eyes and a mouth like heaven? Oh, God, he thought, his stomach clenching as he imagined Fred at Ben Stipley’s mercy. “Ben just wanted a little company at this week’s box-office hit. Damn it, Zack, are you crazy?”

“Okay, I’ll give it to you straight. I sold her to him for five hundred and season tickets to the Yankees. He should have her to the opium den by this time.”

Nick managed to get his vivid imagination under control, but didn’t have the same luck with his temper. “That’s real funny, bro. Let’s see how funny you are if he hits on her.”

After setting the drinks aside, Zack turned to study his brother. Fury, he noted, which he’d seen plenty of times before on Nick’s face. Since it seemed so incredibly out of place under the circumstances, he kept his tone mild.




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