His Summer Bride. Joanna Neil

experience had taught him that.

      Nick sighed as he saw the sudden flare of panic in her expressive eyes when Jim inched even closer to her. She shouldn’t be out alone if she didn’t know how to deal with the Jims of the world. She had no right involving innocent bystanders in her problems.

      But right or not, he was unable to resist the growing fear he could see in her face. It wouldn’t take long, he told himself as he got off the bar stool. He’d slap down Jim, walk her to her car and that would be the end of it. He refused to even acknowledge the flash of loss he felt at the thought.

      “You heard the lady, Jim.” A dark, velvety voice flowed soothingly over Gina’s agitated nerves. She turned to find herself staring into Nick Balfour’s cool gray eyes. She felt as if she could drown in their incredible depths. She took a deep breath, trying to break their mesmerizing hold on her, and the faintly spicy fragrance of his cologne filled her nostrils.

      “Give it up, Jim.” Nick’s voice hardened perceptibly when Jim didn’t move.

      “Hey, no call to get all bent outta shape, Nick.” Jim held up his hands as if warding him off. “I didn’t realize I was poaching. But if you should decide you want a change, babycakes, give me a call. Everyone knows me.”

      Gina’s breath escaped on a relieved sigh as Jim returned to his own table.

      “I’m Nick Balfour. I’ll walk you to your car.”

      “Gina Tessereck, and thank you,” she muttered as she scrambled for something bright and witty to say. Something that would make him want to linger to get to know her better.

      “Do you come here often?” Gina mentally cringed as she heard the inane question emerge from her mouth.

      “No. Where are you parked?” he asked her as they emerged from the bar.

      “Across the street,” she said, trying not to let her chagrin at his clear disinterest show.

      His hand unexpectedly closed around her arm as she stepped off the curb, and he jerked her back as a car hurtled past them.

      Gina landed against his chest. She could feel the scratchy sensation of his wool sweater against her cheek, and the heat pouring from his large body momentarily suspended her rational thought.

      “You okay?” he asked when she didn’t move.

      No, she wasn’t okay, she thought frantically. She was fast losing her entire sense of perspective, and she didn’t have a clue as to what to do about it.

      “Did that fool Jim really upset you that much?” Nick asked, and Gina felt her stomach twist at his concerned tone.

      “No, I… I…” I always sound like the village idiot around sexy men, she thought in dismay.

      “Are you well enough to drive?”

      Gina took a deep breath and forced herself to step away from him.

      “I’m fine,” she blurted out, and then could have screamed in frustration when she realized that she’d just blown a great chance. If she’d claimed to have been too upset to drive, he might have offered to buy her a coffee while she calmed down.

      “Is that blue Ford yours?” He pointed to a car parked a little down from the restaurant.

      “No.” Gina shook her head. “I have a brown Camry. It’s parked…” She broke off as she realized that her car wasn’t where she’d left it.

      Frowning, she looked up and down the street. She was positive she’d parked in front of the restaurant. She turned and checked the other side of the street. There were no Toyotas of any make.

      “I don’t understand,” she said. “I left my car right there.”

      Nick watched as she pointed to the vacant spot behind the Ford, momentarily distracted by her slender fingers with their shortly cut, clear-varnished nails. He hated long, luridly colored nails.

      “I know I left it there,” she repeated as if the very strength of her words could make her car reappear.

      “Either you’re mistaken about where you left it or someone took it.” Nick stated the obvious.

      “Thank you, Sherlock Holmes!” she snapped, fear and frustration swamping her awe of him.

      “Everybody hates the messenger!” Nick gave a long-suffering sigh.

      “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,” she muttered. “But everything I own is in that car. It can’t have been stolen. I mean, this is rural Massachusetts, for heaven’s sake!”

      “You think big cities have a monopoly on crime?” he asked dryly when he really wanted to ask why she was traveling around the countryside with everything she owned. Didn’t she have a home? And a man who cared enough to keep her there?

      “I know crime is everywhere,” she said. “But knowing it’s out there doesn’t mean I expected it to find me. I was only gone long enough to eat dinner. And I locked it.” Her voice rose despairingly.

      Nick’s experienced ear caught the first sign of hysteria in her voice, and he hastily moved to head it off.

      “You’ll need to report it.” He gave her a simple task to handle.

      “To whom?” Gina looked vaguely around the deserted street as if she expected a policeman to materialize out of the pavement.

      “Amos Mygold is the sum total of our law enforcement. This time of night he’s probably at home.”

      Gina swayed slightly as she suddenly remembered that all her traveler’s checks were in the car’s glove compartment.

      Nick instinctively reached for her, steadying her against his chest.

      The feel of his hard body pressing against her from thigh to chest held her growing panic at bay. This close to him, she found it impossible to focus on anything as mundane as being stranded in a strange town, filled with even stranger inhabitants—if Jim was any sample—with very little money.

      “It isn’t that bad.” Nick’s deep voice flowed comfortingly over her.

      “That’s what you think,” she muttered into the thick wool of his sweater. “All my traveler’s checks were in the car.”

      “All of them?”

      “Yes.” Gina forced herself to step out of the comfort of his arms. She was a competent adult, she reminded herself. She could handle this. “I didn’t want to risk losing them if someone snatched my purse.”

      “Well, that part of your plan worked,” he said dryly, and Gina gave a muffled gurgle of laughter.

      Nick felt a flare of interest at the intriguing sound. She was such an odd combination. Her appearance suggested a poised, sophisticated woman, but her reactions seemed much more vulnerable. He found the combination fascinating.

      “You can get the traveler’s checks reissued,” he said. “All you need to do is call the company with the serial numbers…” He stopped at her pained expression.

      “You do have the serial numbers, don’t you?”

      “Of course I do. I even separated them from the checks the way the bank said to. It’s just that I put the numbers in my suitcase in case someone stole my purse.”

      “Where do you live that you’re always worried about your purse being stolen?” Nick asked.

      “At the moment in my car,” she said with a despairing look at the empty space where it had been parked.

      “Which means you are now homeless,” he said, regretting the words the minute he saw her face pale.

      “Quite.” Gina straightened her spine and tried to sound more purposeful than she felt. She’d wanted to stand on her own two feet, and this was her chance. So why wasn’t she feeling more elated at the opportunity?