by West, Cara
"Which is why I finally made my escape."
He studied her briefly. "Is that a subtle way of saying you'd rather be alone?"
"No. I'm glad you're here. Your company's undemanding."
"You sure know how to bolster the male ego."
His voice had an edge she'd seldom heard before. It threw her for a moment.
"You want to take a walk?" she asked to hide her confusion.
He gave a slight bow. "Why do you think I'm here?"
They began to stroll along the shoreline, sidestepping the lapping waves. The only sounds that intruded were the rumbles of occasional motorboats and the distant squeals of children.
A good five minutes passed before Megan spoke. "This place has changed in the past three years. We used to have the only house on the cove."
"The whole area is experiencing a real-estate boom."
"And you're not happy about it."
"It's hard to enjoy being invaded."
She shook her head. "Some things never change. Austinites are always complaining about having to share their comer of Eden.''
"If this keeps up, Austin won't be an Eden."
"Maybe not. But it's the perfect place for a new art dealer. I couldn't have timed my debut better."
She'd worked her plans into the conversation deliberately. Now she could get his reaction to them. "So," she prompted, "what do you think of my ideas?"
His expression grew bland. "I'm reserving judgment."
"On the grounds that I may not have the slightest notion of what I'm doing?"
"On the grounds I'm not sure how I feel about it."
His answer baffled her. In fact, the whole conversation had an unfamiliar feel to it. Maybe his company wasn't as relaxing as she'd thought.
Before she could react he changed the subject slightly. "You realize no one had an inkling of what was coming."
"I realize I surprised the hell out of you."
"So you did."
"You told me that first night at the hospital that adjusting to the new me was an adventure." She paused. "You didn't tell me I'd find coming home an adventure, as well."
He stopped to gaze at her. "Have you?"
"Yes. For one, I'm learning all sorts of things about my family, their foibles included. It's like I'm looking at everyone through a sharper lens. And, Nate..."
"What?"
"One night at the hospital, my mother wept in my arms. I'd always gone to her for comfort. Suddenly I was the one who had to be the strong one."
"Were you surprised you could do it?"
"At first a little. My mother depends on Dad so much, and since he's been so fragile, she's needed me to lean on. You know, I could never go back to Italy with Dad this sick."
"So, you've proved to yourself you're all grown-up and responsible."
She glanced at him teasingly. "When you say that, you should pat my head like an uncle."
"Megan, I think we should clear something up once and for all. I am neither your uncle nor your brother." His voice was clear, emphatic and more than a little biting.
She stared at him, her mouth agape.
"Close your mouth, Megan," he instructed. "And remember that for all its foibles, your family is special."
If he didn't wish to be considered avuncular, Megan thought indignantly, he shouldn't revert to his lecturing mode. Still, she had no desire to further annoy him, so she groped for a conversational diversion. "When I was a kid I thought Mom and Dad were perfect."
"That's one of the many differences between you and me. I was aware of my parents' shortcomings at an early age."
She heard the hint of old bitterness. "I guess divorce doesn't leave room for illusions."
He shrugged. "I've accepted Dad for what he is. This fourth marriage seems to be working."
"Your mother's realty company has been very successful, I've heard. I plan to use her when I look for a gallery location."
"I'm sure she'll find exactly what you need. She might not approve of Austin's explosive growth, but she never allows sentiment to cloud her business decisions."
Megan waited for him to continue, but the subject of his parents appeared to be closed.
Instead, he knelt and examined the ground.
To the uninitiated observer, his intent might have been mysterious. But Megan understood his mission. He was scouting for stones to toss along the skin of the water. It was an old recreation of his, one he shared with Sam. They always competed for the largest number of hops, making a game of the idle activity.
Today, Nate's initial throws were merely average and spoke of either a lack of practice or concentration. Megan, assuming her new role as diplomat, blamed the results on substandard rocks and cheered him when he made one skip six times before sinking.
Nate's motions revealed how naturally graceful he was. How his lean sculpted body was obedient to his slightest directive. He did everything with an economy of motion, even something as offhand as skipping stones along a shore.
He stopped and turned to her abruptly, shaking her from her reverie. "Megan—?"
"What?"
"I want to ask you something."
"Well, you're the only one who hasn't." She gathered her wits. "What is it you want to know?"
"I know you were seeing someone named Tony in Italy. What happened? Did an unhappy love affair make you decide to come home for good?"
"I'm not nursing a broken heart, if that's what you're asking."
"That's what I'm asking," he agreed bluntly.
She shook her head. "It's over. I'd known for some time Tony and I didn't have a future." Taking a moment, she glanced at Nate's profile. "Actually you're one of the reasons I'm home for good."
That stopped him in his tracks. "What do you mean by that?"
She put her hands on her hips and stood, feet apart, directly in front of him. "You really never knew, did you?"
"Knew what?"
She didn't answer for a second. She couldn't decide how much to say. Maybe she was in the mood to rile him a little or at least take a poke at his habitual sangfroid. "You're the major reason I left Texas in the first place."
He folded his arms. "You want to explain yourself?"
"Oh, Nate, haven't you guessed? Mom's always known. And Jenny saw it immediately."
"Saw what?"
"That I had the most terrible crush on you."
"A crush?" He seemed lost. "You mean, like hero worship?"
She shook her head. "If only if d been that simple. I adored you without reservation. You spoiled me for every boy I ever dated."
He still seemed to be struggling with what she was saying. But her last words provoked a comment. "I notice it didn't stop you from dating a fair number."
"None you approved of," she returned. "I saw to that."
"Did you?" For the first time she saw a glint in his eye.
"Of course. It was a way of gaining your attention. Even though it wasn't the kind of attention I wanted, it was better than being ignored altogether."
He stared down at her in the deepening shadows. "I never ignored you."
"That's because I didn't give you the chance." She said the last as lightly as she could. The intensity in his eyes had begun to wrap itself around her.
"And all the time," he murmured, "I had no idea."
"You didn't want to know. It would have scared you to death."
"Oh?"
For some reason the single syllable irritated her. "It didn't suit your image. It wasn't part of how you fit into the family."
"But still—"
"Look. It's over and done with. At the ripe old age of twenty-three I decided I was tired of hopeless passion. It sounds silly, I know. But at the time..."
"At the time, it must have been difficult."
She bristled at the note of sympathy. "Oh, no. Don't feel sorry for me. I'm a better person for it. Every woman needs a Nate Kittridge to educate her to the hard realities of life. As I recall, you've served that purpose on
several occasions."
His expression hardened. "You make me sound like the plague."
Reclaiming her equanimity, she took his arm and squeezed it. "Don't get sulky. That wasn't what I meant. And I was spoiled rotten."
"I do seem to remember that," he drawled.
"And you were the only thing I wanted I couldn't have. Finally I decided I wasn't going to recover unless I moved out of range of your charm."
"Texas wasn't big enough for the both of us, you mean?"
"Something like that."
"So you went to Europe. You were only going for a year, I thought. Why did you stay longer? Was the cure more difficult than you expected?"
She heard the irony in his voice, and it didn't surprise her. "In some ways," she said honestly, "getting over you was easy. It was the accident that really did the trick."
He flinched, and his face grew harsher than she'd ever seen it. "You mean you had to almost die to get me out of your system."
She realized belatedly that she'd truly hurt him. That his armor of irony shielded regret.
"No. Please, forgive me. That's not what I meant at all. Nate..." She reached out to touch him.
He stiffened.
She dropped her hand immediately. But she wasn't deflected from her mission.
"Nate, please," she said. "Let me explain."
He relented with a terse nod.
"A near-death experience changes a person. It taught me to live in the present, to seize the moment. And just as important, to let go of the past. I started appreciating what I had, rather than yearning for what I didn't have. For a while after it happened, I even got a little reckless."
He caught her meaning immediately. "You mean with men?" he asked tautly.
She shook her head. "Only one man, and he turned out to be harmless."
"Go on," Nate said, when she hesitated.
"His name was Marcel. He was an art student like me. I met him in the Louvre, ogling nudes by Delacroix and Cabanel. We spent the next six weeks holed up in his garret, making passionate love and arguing about Yankee cultural imperialism." She shrugged good-naturedly. "When we parted, there were no regrets."
"And then you met Tony?"
Megan wondered why Nate was probing her love life. She turned away, but he caught her shoulders and swung her back around.
Her look must have revealed more than she realized because his next question was pointed. "So there was someone else before Tony?"
She'd always believed it was the height of bad manners to discuss old flames with current companions, even if that companion was practically a member of the family. Since Nate persisted in ferreting out her affairs, however, she absolved herself of any remorse. "Yes. Luke. A very nice man, as a matter of fact.''
"Was he now." Nate's tone was annoyed. "And how did you meet him?"
"He came into Celia's gallery a few months after she hired me. He lived in England. I only saw him when he came to the continent on business."
"Was it serious between you?"
"Yes."
"Were you in love with him?"
"No. Although I often wished I was." Because Luke had been deeply in love with her. Because he was the man of a lifetime for some lucky woman. "Luke was a gentleman and a connoisseur of life. He collected art as a hobby." He'd also taught her the art of making love.
But it would be a cold day in hell before Nate pried that out of her.
"Why didn't you love him?" he asked brusquely.
"I worried at the time that it might still be because of you."
"But later you decided otherwise."
Nate sounded goaded by her revelations. Even though he was the one who'd wrung them out of her.
"Yes," she said, sending him a level look. "Because afterward, I met Tony and fell head over heels in love with him—at least temporarily. Which told me I'd finally gotten you out of my system."
"I begin to see your reasoning.''
"It's perfectly logical. The year and a half Tony and I were together, I hardly thought of you at all. But I couldn't be absolutely sure I was cured until..."
"Until you saw me again."
"Exactly. The night you came to get me, I'd had the old nightmare."
"About what?"
"About the ferry accident. I seem to have it when I'm under stress or trying to reach a difficult decision. Then I saw you, and I was able to gauge my reaction."
"And?"
"And—" she gestured extravagantly "—I didn't have a reaction at all."
"Not even the faintest flutter?" he asked too mildly to be believed.
"Well," she said placatingly, "perhaps a twinge or two." She smoothed his shirtfront. "You're still one of the most handsome men I know."
This time, he didn't stiffen at her touch. Instead, he stared down at her hand, making her feel strangely awkward.
After a moment she dropped her hand to her side.
"So," he continued as if the byplay hadn't happened, "you say your feelings for me are strictly platonic."
"Yes," she answered emphatically, and tried to tone her next words down. "And I can't tell you how relieved I am. I'm free for the first time in a long time. Free from entanglements. Heart-whole and ready to take my future in my hands." Also ready to end this discussion.
"I see."
"Actually I've decided to swear off men for a while." She waved her hand breezily. "I simply don't have time for them—not with Dad and everything. Not that I don't like having them around."
She stopped and glanced at him, feeling suddenly sad. Somehow they'd lost their recent camaraderie.
"Nate, you don't know what these past few weeks have meant to me. Your kindness and support. I'm not sure I could have made it without you."
Instead of accepting her overture of peace, he stared down at her broodingly.
"Nate—? What's wrong?"
He didn't respond.
She tried to read his expression. But the sun cast long shadows, shading his face into an unfamiliar map of plains and hollows, changing him into an unknown quantity. He'd been changing, she suddenly realized, from the moment they'd begun their walk. Or perhaps she was just viewing him through that sharper lens.
This man wasn't the golden idol of her youth—bold, cocky and close to perfection. He wasn't the man she'd dreamed about endlessly.
This man's self-confidence was seasoned. And his face showed every one of his thirty-nine years.
This wasn't the companion who'd stood beside her these past few weeks. That Nate had had an infinite supply of kindness and patience.
This man looked impatient with her and with life. He wasn't calm but contained, as though his emotions were under pressure. This man focused on her with an intensity that felt like a physical shock.
"What's wrong?" she asked again. "Are you still angry about what I said?"
"You really don't know, do you, Megan?*'
"Know what?" She laughed shakily. "Nate, you're making me crazy."
"I'm glad to have an effect on you at all," he said.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because for the past month, you've tied me in knots."
"Knots? I don't know how—"
"You know as well as I do." He sounded goaded beyond his level of containment. For the first time his eyes blazed into sensuality.
Her skin heated with his look. "No. D-don't be silly." She backed away from the flame.
He caught her by the shoulders. "I assure you I've never been more serious. I took one look at you in Italy, in your robe and nightshirt, with your hair tousled around your face, looking fragile and lovely." He took a ragged breath. "I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. I didn't want to feel that way. I've fought it for weeks now. But I can't go back, any more than you can. We'll have to deal with our current feelings."
"I have no current feelings," she protested, "and neither do you."
"You may not want to believe me..."
She shook her head. "It's ridiculous."
&nbs
p; "What? That I should see you as a desirable woman? I've asked myself daily how I could have been so blind before."
"It's the newness. The changes. You know how you are when you first meet a woman."
He grew still. "No, I don't know. Tell me."
"You... assess the situation. You consider the possibilities. It's almost like a challenge."
His hands fell away from her. "You see me as a tomcat."
Not wanting to meet his eyes, she stared past his shoulder. "You forget, I spent fifteen years crying over each of your conquests."
His mouth twisted wryly. "Those fifteen years are going to haunt me one way or another. Well, I can't deny I've considered the possibilities with you."
Butterflies fluttered through her stomach. She felt dizzy, off-balance, as reality shifted beneath her. It was all she could do not to grab at his shirt for support.
"Do you really think you're just another challenge to me?" he asked.
"I think... you're confused about what you feel."
He gave a short laugh. "There's no way I can confuse what I'm feeling, Megan. If you haven't gotten the picture yet, I can be more explicit." He gripped her shoulders again.
"No—" she strained away from him "—I understand what you mean."
Without increasing his grip, he prevented her efforts to escape. "So—" he watched her closely "— what are we going to do about it?"
"Nothing. In case you didn't hear me, I don't share your problem."
"That's why you threw those men in my face."
"I didn't! You insisted on hearing about them. Why," she asked plaintively, "couldn't you have left well enough alone? You said you've been fighting your attraction for me. Well, go on fighting it and leave me alone."
"It's too late, Megan. Keeping it inside was eating me alive. I realize you need space. We'll take it slow." His mouth tightened. "I just don't plan to put up with another Tony, Luke or Marcel."
"And I won't stand for your high-handed tactics. Don't think you can crowd me or sneak up on me."
"Would I do a thing like that?"
"In a minute!" she snapped. It felt good to be angry, instead of weak at the knees. "But I'm not like all those women who fall into your arms. Remember—" she finally managed to free herself "—I've been inoculated."