Free Addicted to Nick by Bronwyn Jameson Page A

strolled into the room. Watching him move, so loose limbed and full of masculine grace, had the usual effect. Her pulse thudded, the air in her lungs turned hot and thick, and the soft denim of her much-washed jeans felt harsh against her skin, her buttoned cuffs too tight for her wrists.
    â€œThis is for you,” he said without preliminary. “I think you should read it before we talk.”
    Read what? She blinked, noticed the guarded expression on his face before she noticed the envelope in his hand. The warm flush under her skin prickled with a strong sense of déjà vu.
    Another letter from the grave.
    She needed to run her tongue twice around her dry mouth before she could speak. “Where did this come from?”
    â€œIt was in the papers George gave me. I only went through them this afternoon.”
    â€œWhat do you mean…in the papers? Was it hidden? Didn’t anyone know it was there?”
    â€œI don’t know. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth.” When she didn’t take the envelope, he dropped it in her lap. “I’ll leave you to read it in peace. Then we’ll talk.”
    He left abruptly, leaving T.C. staring at the envelope until Joe’s big boldly printed T.C. blurred into her father’s spidery version. She sat up straight and shook her head.
    â€œWhat is wrong with you? Why don’t you just open it?”
    There was no reason not to. This time there would be no bitter recriminations, no reminders of what a disappointment she had been as a daughter…or because she’d been a daughter. No terse words informing her that the family home, the stables and all the horses, had been left to an uncle she barely knew.
    She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, as if that mightcontain the hurt, stop it spreading from the deep-seated knot in her heart, and with a deep, shuddery breath she ripped into the envelope. Her trembling hands smoothed out the single sheet of vellum. Only then was she capable of opening her eyes.
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    Nick figured she needed privacy, and he wanted to try to reach George one last time. Not that talking to him would do any good—he would simply deny any knowledge of the letter. He had been obstructive from the get-go, but that was no surprise.
    That was George.
    Still, he jabbed out part of the number he’d dialed enough times in the past hours to know by heart, but then he pictured Tamara staring at the envelope, her face as pale as if Joe himself had appeared before her. With a harsh curse, he jammed down the receiver and went looking for her.
    He found her sitting on the verandah steps, framed by the pale light cast through a foyer window. The dog clutched in her arms inspected Nick with solemn eyes, but Tamara didn’t look up, and he knew she’d been crying.
    Hell!
    She sat hunched forward, body language screaming keep away, but whispering hold me. With a sense of fatalism riding him hard, he sat down next to her, close enough to feel her stiffen defensively.
    â€œMy shoulder’s here if you need something to cry on,” he offered.
    â€œI’m not crying.” She swiped the back of one hand across her eyes.
    â€œIt’s okay. I don’t mind a wet shoulder.”
    â€œIt’s not okay. Crying is weak and foolish and female.”
    Nick snorted. “Anyone who’s tried to sneak into your stables in the middle of the night knows you’re not weak. Definitely female, but never weak.”
    â€œYou forgot foolish.”
    Nick smiled at her churlishness. “Yeah, well, some might consider what you did foolish. Others would call it brave.”
    When her tense posture relaxed fractionally, he felt a disproportionate degree of satisfaction. “You want to talk about what Joe had to say?”
    â€œWhat did he tell you?” she asked carefully.
    Nick shook his head, not understanding.
    â€œIn your letter… He did leave you a letter?”
    â€œNo.”
    She turned