Is that fair? I think we should talk about this." I keep calling but you won't call me back. Actually it's been a month, a week and two days, but who's counting? All right, I'm counting. "Aw, come on, Tess," Nick called through the door. "Right." She slammed the door in his face and shot home both dead bolts.
She rolled her eyes at him, all her suspicions confirmed. Tess looked down at her sagging, bleach-splotched sweatshirt and faded blue sweatpants, the hems shrunk to midcalf on her long legs. She stared at him warily, fighting down the ridiculous jolt of relief and happiness and lust that welled up in her just because he was back. When Tess Newhart threw open her apartment door, Nick Jamieson was standing there-tall, dark, successful and suspiciously happy to see her, his pleasantly blunt face a nice human contrast to his perfectly tailored suit.
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