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  “And you love me.”

  “Uh, huh.” Oh God, how was she supposed to think with him nuzzling her neck? Somehow, his hands had moved to her butt, and she’d wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “And if you say yes right now, we can get to the makeup sex.”

  “Nick. Even Joey offered me a ring.”

  “Sweetheart, would you work with me here? You know, I’ve never done this before.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sit down.”

  “Why?”

  “Would you please, for once in our relationship, just do as I ask?”

  “Are you going to start expecting me to do what you tell me to? Because, if you are—”

  “Lee, please, you’re killing me here.”

  “Fine.” She sat.

  “Good.” Nick got down on one knee and pulled a little blue box out of his pocket.

  Rosalie wondered if she was seeing things. She didn’t know about every girl, but every Italian, Brooklyn girl, by the time she had her first Barbie doll stuffed into a wedding dress, dreamed of three things when it came to marriage. First, that she wouldn’t look fat in white. Second, that she’d get married in St. Patrick’s Cathedral. And third, that her engagement ring would come from Tiffany & Company.

  Rosalie knew at least one of her childhood dreams had come true. And luckily, it was the only one she hadn’t given up hope on or outgrown. There was no way she could pull off wearing white without looking like the Pillsbury Doughboy, and she’d given up on the whole St. Patrick’s Cathedral bit when she learned the true story of Cinderella and Prince Charming. But Tiffany’s still had the power to make her heart sing, and she’d recognize a Tiffany’s box at a hundred yards.

  Nick cleared his throat. “Lee, I promise to love, honor, and cherish you for the rest of my life. I promise never to screw around with anyone but you and always bring you chocolate. Will you marry me? You know you want to.”

  “Oh, Nick, you got me a ring.”

  “Why are you so surprised? I know I’ve never done this before, and I didn’t say everything I should have, but even I know that when you ask the woman you love to marry you, you have to give her a ring.” He laughed and kissed her, and then he held out the box. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  Okay, Rosalie admitted to herself that she was a total sap, but she couldn’t help it. She cried. She’d never cried happy tears before. She was smiling and crying at the same time. He wanted to marry her. He’d bought her a ring and everything.

  Nick opened the box, and she couldn’t breathe. It had to be the most amazing, most beautiful ring she’d ever seen. It looked like a square diamond, but it wasn’t an emerald cut, because it was rounded, too. A platinum band embedded with diamonds surrounded the center stone. The shank held graduated diamonds. Oh, and there was even a matching wedding band.

  He slipped the ring on her finger and then he kissed her hand. “Do you like the ring? Because if you don’t—”

  Rosalie wrapped her arms around him and held him tight, breathing in the scent of him and feeling whole for the first time in a month. He was a part of her. Sure, Nick drove her crazy sometimes—he was her other annoying, sexy, pushy, gorgeous, loving, giving, and funny half. “I love the ring, and I love you. I’m so happy—scared to death, but happy.”

  “Sweetheart, I was scared when I thought I’d lost you. When I heard someone wanted to hurt you, I was terrified. . .” his hold on her tightened so that she could barely breathe “ . . . and when I walked in on those two guys threatening you, there are no words to describe how I felt.”

  Okay, things were getting way too depressing here, not to mention painful—if he squeezed her any harder, she’d break a rib.

  “I don’t understand what caused your one-eighty about marriage. You were always so against it. What happened?”

  “Does it matter? I want to get married now. Right now. Today. That’s all that counts.”

  “No, it’s not. You can’t pull that “don’t-ask, don’t-tell” crap with me any more. It’s time you declassified your life—to me, anyway. When I ask questions, I want answers, even if the answers make you uncomfortable.”

  “Okay. I never wanted to marry because I thought the Romeo men were a curse to women. It runs in the family—my father, his father, and his father before him. They met a woman, married her, knocked her up, and took off, never to be heard from again. I thought it was hereditary. I wanted to put an end to the Romeo line once and for all.”

  “That’s ridiculous. What are you, stunad? The only reason your father and his father and his father before him did what they did is because they were assholes. You’re not.”

  “No, apparently, I’m just stupid. Thanks, I think. You know, I could say the same thing about your reason for not wanting to get married.”

  “Sure you could, but you won’t, because you don’t want to fight with me.”

  “Good point. Get your shoes on. We’re going out.”

  “Hey, what happened to the make-up sex? I was really looking forward to make-up sex.”

  “Oh, really? Well, I’m not in the mood. Come on. I want to take you home.”

  “Nick, what are you talking about? We are home. Can’t we,” she kissed his neck, sliding her chest against his to reach his mouth, “you know, stay home?”

  He gave her one of those smiles that made her insides melt.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  She was getting breathless thinking about how much she’d like that. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Fine, we can stay home as long as you want—right after you see a doctor. I called Mike. I need to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m not sick.”

  “I’m not going to be satisfied that you’re healthy until I hear it from a doctor. Either you get your shoes and a jacket on, or I’ll pick you up and carry you out.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.”

  Slipping on her Crocs, she grabbed her jacket, which hung on the vacuum, picked up her purse, and walked out the front door. “Why didn’t you have Mike meet us here?”

  “I didn’t want him to interrupt anything.”

  “Well, thanks to you, there was nothing to interrupt.”

  “Oh, pardon me. I didn’t consider a marriage proposal nothing.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  “Sweetheart, I know exactly what you meant. And I love that you can’t wait to jump my bones. But there are some things more important than sex. Not many, but your health is one of the few. Just think, the sooner you get a clean bill of health, the sooner you can ravage me.”

  “Okay, let’s go. But I better follow you over in my car.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause your head is so big, I don’t think there’s room in there for both me and your ego.”

  “There will be plenty of room. I’ll put the top down. It’s a beautiful day.”

  Chapter 20

  WHEN NICK SAID HE WAS GOING TO TAKE ROSALIE TO HIS home, she figured it would be nice, but she never expected a freaking mansion. It was huge and stately, and everything a person could want in an upscale boutique hotel, but it wasn’t exactly homey.

  She fell in love with the original stained glass, the intricate woodwork, and the paneling—old-world mahogany, not Home Depot.

  The decorating, however, gave her pause. It was so totally un-Nick. It looked fine for a guy who lived on a diet of ballet, champagne, caviar, and classical music, but not for Nick, who lived on beer, pizza, hockey, and rock with a little Sinatra thrown in for good measure. Not that Nick couldn’t do the ballet, champagne and caviar, and orchestra thing on occasion, but he wouldn’t be comfortable living in it, and neither would she. No wonder he’d moved in with her. Rosalie cringed at the thought of what Dave’s tail alone would do to this place.

  Nick stood beside her in the entry. “You hate it.”

  She must not have hidden her feelings well. Damn, why did he have to be so
perceptive? “I don’t hate it, but I’m having trouble seeing you here.” She spun around, taking in the chandelier, the chichi knickknacks in the living room, the ornate Victorian dining room, the hunting club study/library. “The person who decorated it must not have known you at all. Are you comfortable living here? I’d be afraid to sit down.”

  “Lee, the only place I’ve ever felt comfortable was with you. Don’t you see? You’re my home, my love, my family. You’re what I’ve been searching for my whole life. I sleep here when I’m not with you, and I use it as my mailing address, but I don’t live here. I never have.”

  Nick wiped tears she didn’t realize she’d been crying off her cheeks and kissed her. She snuggled closer in his arms. “So, where did you live before you moved here?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “Here. In the basement apartment. My mother used to manage this brownstone when it was a tenement. Park Slope has changed a lot in the last ten years. Growing up, I used to dream of buying the place and restoring it.”

  “And you always get what you want. I know.”

  The doorbell sounded. It was like being in a bell tower on Sunday, only louder and longer. “What? A simple ding-dong isn’t good enough? Rich people even have ostentatious doorbells?”

  “I didn’t pick it out. The decorator did.”

  “I don’t think I’d like this decorator of yours.”

  Nick choked and didn’t grin. But he looked like he wanted to. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

  He answered the door. It was Dr. Mike. Rosalie groaned.

  Mike walked right past Nick without acknowledging his existence. “Rosalie, how’s my favorite patient?”

  Nick cleared his throat. “You’re not even going to say hello?”

  Mike got in Nick’s face. “You deserve to be shot. I was in bed . . . in bed with a woman, and we were just getting to the good stuff when you had me paged. You said it was an emergency.”

  “It is.”

  Mike looked at Rosalie. “Do you feel as if you’re dying, Rosalie?”

  “No.”

  Mike turned back to Nick. “See, there’s no emergency.”

  Nick seemed to grow in stature. He puffed up and looked scary. “Lee’s sick. In my book, that’s an emergency.”

  Mike looked Rosalie over. “You have lost a lot of weight. Have you been dieting?”

  She shook her head. She really didn’t want to talk about her stomach in front of Nick. Mike must have gotten the hint.

  Mike took her arm and steered her toward the main staircase. “Since I’m here, I might as well take a look at you. Come on. Let’s go up to one of the bedrooms. He’s got a million of them.”

  Nick sputtered. “Bedroom? Why do you need to go to a bedroom? You’re not taking Lee into a bedroom.”

  She turned around on the steps and glared at him. “What is your problem? You’re the one who dragged Mike all the way over here. Where do you want him to examine me? In the kitchen?”

  “Why not? All he’s going to do is look down your throat, right, Mike?”

  “Nick, I’m a doctor. Rosalie’s a patient. Grow up.”

  Nick followed them up the stairs. When they got to a guest room, Mike led her inside and shut the door on Nick.

  “I’ll be right out here.” She heard Nick yell through the heavy door.

  Mike sat on a comfortable chair and nodded toward the other. “I think we should make him stand out there for a good long time. It’ll serve him right for dragging me out here under false pretenses.”

  “I’m sorry about that. I told him I wasn’t sick.”

  “I understand why he’s concerned. You don’t look well, Rosalie. What’s the problem?”

  “My stomach has been bothering me. I think it’s stress.”

  “Bothering you how, exactly?”

  “You know. My stomach hurts; I’m nauseous a lot; I don’t have much of an appetite.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “A little over a month.”

  “Is it getting better? Worse?”

  “You’re not going to talk to Nick about this, are you?”

  “No, but if that’s an engagement ring on your hand, you probably should. Could you be pregnant?”

  “Not unless it’s the second Immaculate Conception.”

  Mike looked questioningly at that. “Contraceptives aren’t one hundred percent reliable.”

  “I know, but abstinence is. I haven’t seen Nick in a month, and I had my period after we stopped seeing each other.”

  “You stopped seeing each other a month ago, and now you’re engaged?”

  “It’s a long story. What else do you need to know?”

  “I’m going to take your blood pressure, listen to your heart and lungs.”

  “Fine.” He did his thing and didn’t say much, so she figured everything must be normal. He took her temperature with one of those ear things. Again, he said nothing. He looked in her ears, down her throat, up her nose. “Are we done yet? I told you I was fine.”

  “Lie down on the bed and show me where it hurts.”

  Rosalie kicked off her shoes and lay on the bed. She pointed just below the breastbone. “Here.”

  “Unzip your pants for me, and pull your shirt up to right under your bra.”

  She did, and he did the usual poking and prodding thing on her stomach, and even listened to it with the stethoscope, a very cold stethoscope.

  “Well, your uterus isn’t enlarged, so it doesn’t look as if you’re pregnant.”

  “I told you that. Geez, Mike. You charge for this?”

  Rosalie zipped up her pants and pulled her shirt back down. He offered her a hand up.

  “Have you been vomiting?”

  “A little.”

  “Is there blood in the vomit?”

  “No.” Okay, now she was beginning to worry.

  “What have you been eating?”

  “Not much.”

  “Do you drink a lot of coffee?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much?”

  “Three or four Venti, triple shot lattés a day.”

  “No more coffee. I want you to see a gastroenterologist friend of mine. I’ll call and set something up right away.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, my dear, it sounds to me like you have an ulcer. Do you take painkillers? Ibuprofen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not any more. Acetaminophen, if you must. I’ll give you a prescription for something that will help decrease the acid level in your stomach, and I’ll call and get you an appointment for Monday. You’ll have to take a few tests. No canceling.”

  “Is this serious?”

  “It can be. Ulcers are caused by bacteria, but stress, poor diet, and irregular and skipped meals are contributing factors.”

  “What am I going to tell Nick? He’s going to freak.”

  Mike patted her on the back. “Well, if I were you, I’d start out by telling him I cured your pneumonia.”

  “Yeah, great.”

  “Why don’t you go calm the bear while I pick up my things? I don’t know who pissed him off and gave him that black eye, but I don’t want one of those.”

  “He’s harmless, and he’s happy . . . well, except for the whole Premier Motors fiasco. Mr. Lassiter called me last night and told me they’d made a deal. Nick’s always wanted Premier, but he never wanted to get it this way.”

  “Yeah, Nick’s a good guy. He’d never hurt Mr. Lassiter if he could avoid it. But it sounds to me like he had no choice. Congratulations on your engagement. I wish you two all the best. I suppose I’ll have to start finding my own dates now. Damn, that takes time.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I have, on occasion, comforted Nick’s old girlfriends after he dumped them. Unfortunately, none were of your caliber.”

  “Is that a compliment I heard?”

  “Yes, it’s a definite compliment. Nick’s a lucky man.�
��

  “Thanks, but I’m pretty lucky, too.”

  Nick knocked on the door. “What’s going on in there? Lee? Sweetheart—”

  She opened the door to a frantic Nick.

  “What’s taking so long?” He wrapped his arms around her and looked over her head at Mike. “Is she okay?”

  Mike closed his little black bag and walked past them down the hall. “Your fiancée will tell you everything you need to know.”

  Rosalie smiled. “Thanks, Mike.”

  He jogged down the steps. It looked like he was in a hurry to get back to whomever he’d been dragged away from. “You’re welcome. Consider it an engagement present,” he called back. They heard the front door slam behind him.

  Nick looked at her expectantly. “So?”

  “Mike thinks I might have a little ulcer.”

  “A little ulcer? A little ulcer! Madònne, what’s wrong with that head of yours?”

  “Nick, it’s okay. Mike gave me a prescription to calm my stomach, and I’ll go to the doctor he recommended on Monday. I promise. So don’t break my chops, because he says stress is a contributing factor, and you’re stressing me out.”

  “I’m sorry. I really thought you were pregnant.” He actually looked disappointed.

  “I told you I wasn’t.”

  “Yeah, but what do you know? You thought you had a cold, and you had pneumonia.”

  “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

  “Nope, I’ll remind you of that for the rest of your life.”

  “Nick? Can we go home?”

  “Sure, sweetheart, anything you want.”

  Oh, God, he used his deep, sexy, “do me baby” voice, and she almost climaxed right then and there. She made Pavlov’s dogs seem unresponsive.

  “You know,” he pinned her against the wall. “I have a Jacuzzi.”

  “You do, huh?” He had a hell of a lot more than a Jacuzzi, but she wouldn’t mind getting all that in a tub of hot bubbly water.

  “It’s great for relaxing—a great stress reliever.” His fingers slipped under her shirt and over the skin of her stomach. Her breath rushed out with a whoosh. Her stomach muscles clenched—hell, so did all her muscles down there.