“So you went to law school.”

“Mmm…” Her eyes brightened as she studied him. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Sure.”

“Perry Mason.” Laughing at herself, she scooped up another slice. “I was fascinated by those old reruns. You know, how there would always be this murder, and Perry would take the case when his client looked doomed. Lieutenant Tragg would have all this evidence, and Perry would have Della and Paul Drake out looking for clues to prove his client’s innocence. Then they’d go to court. Lots of objections, and ‘Your Honor, as usual the counsel for the defense is turning this proceeding into a circus.’ It would look bad for Perry. He’d be up against that smug-faced DA.”

“Hamilton Berger,” Nick said, grinning.

“Right. Perry would play it real close to the vest, dropping little hints to Della, but never spilling the whole thing. You just knew he had all the answers, but he would string it out. Then, always at the eleventh hour, he’d get the real murderer up on the witness stand, and he’d just hammer the truth out of him, until the poor slob would crumble like a cookie and confess all.”

“Then he’d explain how he’d figured it all out in the epilogue,” Nick finished for her. “And you wanted to be Perry Mason.”

“You bet,” Rachel agreed over a bite of pizza. “By the time I realized it wasn’t that black-and-white, and it certainly wasn’t that tidy, I was hooked.”

“Ray Charles,” Nick said, half to himself.

“What?”

“It just made me think how listening to Ray Charles made me want to play the piano.”

Rachel rested her chin on her folded hands and tried to ease the door open a little farther. “Do you play?”

“Not really. I used to think it would be pretty cool. Sometimes I’d hang around this music store and fiddle around until they kicked me out.” The twinge of embarrassment made him brush the rest aside. “I got over it.”

But once she had a purpose, Rachel wasn’t easily shaken. “I always wished I’d learned. Tash got my mother a piano a few months ago—when we found out she’d always wanted to play. All those years we were growing up, she never mentioned it. All those years…” Her words trailed off, and then she shook herself back to the matter at hand. “My sister married a musician. Spencer Kimball.”

“Kimball?” Nick’s eyes widened before he could prevent it. “The composer?”

“You know his work?”

“Yeah.” He struggled to keep it cool. A guy couldn’t admit he listened to longhair music—unless it was heavy metal. “Some.”

Delighted with his reaction, Rachel continued, just as casually. “At one of our visits down to see Tash and her family, we caught Mama at the piano. She got all flustered and kept saying how she was too old to learn, and how foolish it was. But then Spence sat down with her to show her a few chords, and you could see, you could just see, how much she wanted to learn. So on Mother’s Day, we worked out this big, elaborate plan to get her out of the house for a few hours. Anyway, when she came back, the piano was in the living room. She cried.” Rachel blinked the mist out of her own eyes and sighed. “She takes lessons twice a week now, and she’s practicing for her first recital.”

“That’s cool,” Nick murmured, obscurely touched.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” She smiled at him. “I guess it proves it’s never too late to try.” When she offered a hand, she wanted him to take it as a gesture of friendship and support. “What do you say we walk off some of this pizza?”

“Yeah.” His fingers closed around hers, and Nicholas LeBeck was in heaven.

He was content to listen to her talk, to have her laugh shiver over him. Even the shadows of the girls who had weaved in and out of his life faded away. They were nothing compared to the woman who walked beside him, slim and soft and fragrant.

She listened when he talked. And she was interested in what he had to say. When she smiled up at him, those exotic eyes flashing with humor, his stomach tied itself into slippery knots.

He could have walked with her for hours.

“This is it.”

Nick pulled up short, standing in almost the exact spot his brother had a few nights before. As his gaze skimmed over the building at her back, he imagined what it would be like if she asked him in. They’d have coffee, and she’d slip off her shoes and curl those long legs up as they talked.

He’d be careful with her, even gentle. Once his nerves settled.

“I’m glad we could do this,” she was saying, already taking out her keys. “I hope if you’re feeling restless again, or just need to talk to someone, you’ll call me. When I file my report with Judge Beckett tomorrow, I think she’ll be pleased with the way things are working out.”

“Are you?” His eyes locked on hers as he lifted a hand to her hair. “Pleased with the way things are working out?”

“Sure.” A little alarm shrilled in Rachel’s head, but she dismissed it as absurd. “I think you’ve taken a step in the right direction.”

“Me too.”

The alarm continued to beep as she backed up. “We’ll have to do this again soon, but I’ve got to get in now. I have an early meeting.”

“Okay. I’ll call you.”

She blinked as his hands lipped around to cup her neck. “Ah, Nick…”

His mouth closed over hers, very warm, very firm. Her eyes stayed open, registering shock, as her hand flew up to press against his shoulder. His fingers tensed against her neck, and she had the impression of a very lean, very hard body before she managed to pull away.

“Nick,” she said again, groping.

“It’s okay.” He smiled, tucked her hair behind her ear in a gesture that reminded her vividly of his brother. “I’ll be in touch.”

He strolled away. No…good Lord, he was swaggering, Rachel thought as she stared after him. With her mind whirling, she let herself in. “Oh, boy,” she sighed as she paced the elevator.

What now? What now? How could she have been so stupid? Cursing herself, she stomped off the elevator and toward her apartment. This was great, just great. Here she’d been trying to make friends with Nick, and all the while he’d been thinking…