Lissa- Sugar and Spice (The Wilde Sisters 3)

Nick held out his hand. Ace took it in a firm grip.

“I know that, and I appreciate it more than you can imagine. And it’s Nick, remember? Just Nick.”

Ace grinned. “I’ll remember that, boss.”

“It’s going to be rough,” Nick said quietly, once he and Lissa were alone.

She put her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I know.”

“There are times I think some reporters would eat their young if they could guarantee themselves a big headline.”

“Wow,” she said, with far more lightness than she felt, “there’s an image for the ages.”

Nick turned her toward him and took her hands. “Stay inside. With luck, maybe nobody figured out who you are.”

“I’m not worried about me! I don’t want you to have to face this alone.”

“And I don’t want you dragged into this. Stay inside. Don’t even go to the window. I’ll deal with them.” He hesitated. “I’m going to call Hank. Unless someone’s found that landing strip, he should be able to touch down and get you out of here, fast. I’ll tell Ace to use his own truck, and to take the back road that goes through the woods.”

Lissa’s heart thudded. “You’re sending me away?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? I don’t want you pulled into this.”

“Nicholas—”

“You call me that every once in a while. Nicholas. Is there a reason?”

“Why do you sometimes call me Melissa?”

“That’s a great question. I don’t know. Maybe because nobody else does. Maybe it’s your name just for me.”

She smiled back at him. Then she moved closer, her head tilted back, her eyes on his. “You don’t have to protect me, you know. It isn’t as if I’ve never dealt with the press. Well, not directly, but my father is a general.”

“A general?”

“Yes. Four stars. I’m only telling you that so you understand that I didn’t exactly grow up like a small-town kid. Sometimes, all of us stood for interviews.”

“All of you. Three brothers.”

“And two sisters.”

He gave a laugh that wasn’t a laugh at all. “What a moment for us to be learning about each other.”

“You’re right. But—but there’s time…”

As if in response, a horn blared outside and then another and another until they were enclosed by a wall of sound that seemed to last forever before it finally died.

The waiting crowd was growing impatient.

“Once,” Lissa whispered, “when I was little, my father was on assignment in England. He flew us over and we spent the weekend at an estate in Northamptonshire. The big event was a fox hunt. I remember the sound of the horns, the way they drove the fox into running.”

Nick took her in his arms.

“I know all about running, sweetheart. I ran away from home when I was eighteen, hitchhiked to New York, shared a room in Brooklyn so awful that not even the mice or roaches would come near it, and worked odd jobs while I figured out who I was and what I wanted to do. I ran from the reality of what had happened in Afghanistan.” His eyes locked with hers. “But I’m not going to run anymore, thanks to you.”

“Not me, Nicholas. You did this all by yourself.”