Taming Natasha
Page 22

“No, it’s more than that. I—”
“All right. Why do you love me?”
“Because you’re beautiful,” he managed, losing his grip as he stared into her face again. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“And that’s enough?” Disengaging her hand from his, she linked her fingers to rest her chin on them. “What if I told you I was a thief—or that I liked to run down small, furry animals with my car? Maybe I’ve been married three times and have murdered all my husbands in their sleep.”
“Tash—”
She laughed, but resisted the temptation to pet his cheek. “I mean, you don’t know me enough to love me. If you did, what I looked like wouldn’t matter.”
“But—but I think about you all the time.”
“Because you’ve told yourself it would be nice to be in love with me.” He looked so forlorn that she took a chance and laid one hand upon his. “I’m very flattered.”
“Does this mean you won’t go out with me?”
“I’m out with you now.” She pushed her cup of coffee in front of him. “As friends,” she said before the light could dawn again in his eyes. “I’m too old to be anything but your friend.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Oh, yes.” Suddenly she felt a hundred. “Yes, I am.”
“You think I’m stupid,” he muttered. In place of confused excitement came a crushing wave of humiliation. He could feel his cheeks sting with it.
“No, I don’t.” Her voice softened, and she reached once more for his hands. “Terry, listen—”
Before she could stop him, he pushed back his chair. “I’ve got to go.”
Cursing herself, Natasha picked up his striped scarf. There was no use in following him now. He needed time, she decided. And she needed air.
The leaves were beginning to turn, and a few that had fallen early scraped along the sidewalk ahead of the wind. It was the kind of evening Natasha liked best, but now she barely noticed it. She’d left her coffee untouched to take a long, circular walk through town.
Heading home, she thought of a dozen ways she could have handled Terry’s infatuation better. Through her clumsiness she had wounded a sensitive, vulnerable boy. It could have been avoided, all of it, if she had been paying attention to what was happening in front of her face.
Instead she’d been blinded by her own unwelcome feelings for someone else.
She knew too well what it was to believe yourself in love, desperately, hopelessly in love. And she knew how it hurt to discover that the one you loved didn’t return those feelings. Cruel or kind, the rejection of love left the heart bruised.
Uttering a sigh, she ran a hand over the scarf in her pocket. Had she ever been so trusting and defenseless? Yes, she answered herself. That and much, much more.
It was about damn time, Spence thought as he watched her start up the walk. Obviously her mind was a million miles away. On her date, he decided and tried not to grind his teeth. Well, he was going to see to it that she had a lot more to think about in very short order.
“Didn’t he walk you home?”
Natasha stopped dead with an involuntary gasp. In the beam of her porch light she saw Spence sitting on her stoop. That was all she needed, she thought while she dragged a hand through her hair. With Terry she’d felt as though she’d kicked a puppy. Now she was going to have to face down a large, hungry wolf.
“What are you doing here?”
“Freezing.”
She nearly laughed. His breath was puffing out in white steam. With the wind chill, she imagined that the effective temperature was hovering around twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit. After a moment, Natasha decided she must be a very poor sport to be amused at the thought of Spence sitting on cold concrete for the past hour.
He rose as she continued down the walk. How could she have forgotten how tall he was? “Didn’t you invite your friend back for a drink?”
“No.” She reached out and twisted the knob. Like most of the doors in town, it was unlocked. “If I had, you’d be very embarrassed.”
“That’s not the word for it.”
“I’m suppose I’m lucky I didn’t find you waiting up for me inside.”
“You would have,” he muttered, “if it had occurred to me to try the door.”
“Good night.”
“Wait a damn minute.” He slapped his palm on the door before she could close it in his face. “I didn’t sit out here in the cold for my health. I want to talk to you.”
There was something satisfying in the brief, fruitless push-push they played with the door. “It’s late.”
“And getting later by the second. If you close the door, I’m just going to beat on it until all your neighbors poke their heads out their windows.”
“Five minutes,” she said graciously, because she had planned to grant him that in any case. “I’ll give you a brandy, then you’ll go.”
“You’re all heart, Natasha.”
“No.” She laid her coat over the back of the couch. “I’m not.”
She disappeared into the kitchen without another word. When she returned with two snifters of brandy, he was standing in the center of the room, running Terry’s scarf through his fingers.
“What kind of game are you playing?”
She set down his brandy, then sipped calmly at her own. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“What are you doing, going out on dates with some college kid who’s still wet behind the ears?”
Both her back and her voice stiffened. “It’s none of your business whom I go out with.”
“It is now,” Spence replied, realizing it now mattered to him.
“No, it’s not. And Terry’s a very nice young man.”
“Young’s the operative word.” Spence tossed the scarf aside. “He’s certainly too young for you.”
“Is that so?” It was one thing for her to say it, and quite another to have Spence throw it at her like an accusation. “I believe that’s for me to decide.”
“Hit a nerve that time,” Spence muttered to himself. There had been a time—hadn’t there?—when he had been considered fairly smooth with women. “Maybe I should have said you’re too old for him.”