the executiveproducer of yet another nationally syndicated talk show. “They want you to go on with me next week and help pitch the book.”
The idea was born in a rebellious area of Vanessa’s mind. She cast a sidelong look at Nick before saying expansively to Parker and Harold, “Come in, come in. This sounds like an interesting proposition.”
Nick muttered another swearword, joining them even though Vanessa had made a point of not inviting him.
“Did you want something, Mr. DeAngelo?” she asked coolly when the four of them were standing in her half-furnished living room.
Nick gave her a look that would have made a vampire cower, planted himself in front of the fireplace and folded his arms across his chest. He was clearly staying for the duration, and that pleased Vanessa, even though she felt a conflicting desire to march over there and kick him in the shins.
Over a drink, solicitously served by a doting hostess, Harold explained his concept of a show including both Parker and Vanessa. He was sure the viewing audience would enjoy hearing her reactions to the things her ex-husband had written about her.
“Of course,” he finished, casting a nervous glance toward Nick, “we’ll want to discuss your—er—reconciliation with Mr. Lawrence, too.”
Vanessa beamed, perching behind Parker on the back of one of the two easy chairs he’d left her and ruffling his hair. “It’s a romantic story,” she said, well aware that Nick was seething even though she didn’t dare look at him.
Parker was obviously baffled, but his tremendous ego served him well in his hour of need. He swelled up like a peacock and then shrugged in that aw-shucks-folks way that had made him such a hit with the fans. “I guess we were just swept away by passion,” he said.
At last Vanessa risked a glance in Nick’s direction. It was obvious from his grin that he was on to her game, even if Parker and Harold weren’t.
Vanessa was still looking at Nick when she responded to Parker’s remark. “It was incredible,” she said.
7
“I t’s Friday night,” Nick said stubbornly, standing in Vanessa’s kitchen with his arms folded. “We had a date, remember?”
Vanessa sighed. It was dark outside, even though it was still early, and there was a wintry chill in the air. She took her old sweater from the peg inside the pantry door and put it on. “We can’t just go on as though nothing happened, Nick,” she reasoned, wishing they could do exactly that.
“Because you still don’t trust me,” he ventured to guess.
She gently bit her lower lip for a moment. “I want to, but you’re so much like Parker….”
His eyes darkened. “I didn’t come over here to be insulted,” he informed her. “Furthermore, damn it, I’m nothing like that bastard!”
Vanessa took a can of vegetable-beef soup from the cupboard. Since the argument withNick, she’d been virtually living on the stuff. “You are,” she insisted. When he started to speak, she held up a hand, palm outward, to silence him. “Besides the pro-athletics aspect, there’s your reputation. Do you deny that you’re known far and wide as a rounder and a ladies’ man?”
Nick jerked the soup can out of her hand, stuck it up against the can opener and pushed down on the handle so that an angry whir filled the kitchen. “Who the hell told you that?” he demanded. “Parker?”
Vanessa shook her head, reclaiming the soup, dumping it into a saucepan and adding water. “I’m not sure where I heard it. I just know, that’s all.” She studied him pensively as she put the mixture on the stove to heat. “You know, I think it’s very interesting that Jenna didn’t trust you when she was the one who was fooling around. Was yours an open marriage, Nick?”
He rolled his eyes, looking more annoyed by the moment. “Not on my end, it wasn’t. As for Jenna, her own guilty conscience made her suspect me.”
“Want some soup?” Vanessa asked, getting two bowls down
The idea was born in a rebellious area of Vanessa’s mind. She cast a sidelong look at Nick before saying expansively to Parker and Harold, “Come in, come in. This sounds like an interesting proposition.”
Nick muttered another swearword, joining them even though Vanessa had made a point of not inviting him.
“Did you want something, Mr. DeAngelo?” she asked coolly when the four of them were standing in her half-furnished living room.
Nick gave her a look that would have made a vampire cower, planted himself in front of the fireplace and folded his arms across his chest. He was clearly staying for the duration, and that pleased Vanessa, even though she felt a conflicting desire to march over there and kick him in the shins.
Over a drink, solicitously served by a doting hostess, Harold explained his concept of a show including both Parker and Vanessa. He was sure the viewing audience would enjoy hearing her reactions to the things her ex-husband had written about her.
“Of course,” he finished, casting a nervous glance toward Nick, “we’ll want to discuss your—er—reconciliation with Mr. Lawrence, too.”
Vanessa beamed, perching behind Parker on the back of one of the two easy chairs he’d left her and ruffling his hair. “It’s a romantic story,” she said, well aware that Nick was seething even though she didn’t dare look at him.
Parker was obviously baffled, but his tremendous ego served him well in his hour of need. He swelled up like a peacock and then shrugged in that aw-shucks-folks way that had made him such a hit with the fans. “I guess we were just swept away by passion,” he said.
At last Vanessa risked a glance in Nick’s direction. It was obvious from his grin that he was on to her game, even if Parker and Harold weren’t.
Vanessa was still looking at Nick when she responded to Parker’s remark. “It was incredible,” she said.
7
“I t’s Friday night,” Nick said stubbornly, standing in Vanessa’s kitchen with his arms folded. “We had a date, remember?”
Vanessa sighed. It was dark outside, even though it was still early, and there was a wintry chill in the air. She took her old sweater from the peg inside the pantry door and put it on. “We can’t just go on as though nothing happened, Nick,” she reasoned, wishing they could do exactly that.
“Because you still don’t trust me,” he ventured to guess.
She gently bit her lower lip for a moment. “I want to, but you’re so much like Parker….”
His eyes darkened. “I didn’t come over here to be insulted,” he informed her. “Furthermore, damn it, I’m nothing like that bastard!”
Vanessa took a can of vegetable-beef soup from the cupboard. Since the argument withNick, she’d been virtually living on the stuff. “You are,” she insisted. When he started to speak, she held up a hand, palm outward, to silence him. “Besides the pro-athletics aspect, there’s your reputation. Do you deny that you’re known far and wide as a rounder and a ladies’ man?”
Nick jerked the soup can out of her hand, stuck it up against the can opener and pushed down on the handle so that an angry whir filled the kitchen. “Who the hell told you that?” he demanded. “Parker?”
Vanessa shook her head, reclaiming the soup, dumping it into a saucepan and adding water. “I’m not sure where I heard it. I just know, that’s all.” She studied him pensively as she put the mixture on the stove to heat. “You know, I think it’s very interesting that Jenna didn’t trust you when she was the one who was fooling around. Was yours an open marriage, Nick?”
He rolled his eyes, looking more annoyed by the moment. “Not on my end, it wasn’t. As for Jenna, her own guilty conscience made her suspect me.”
“Want some soup?” Vanessa asked, getting two bowls down
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