Can't Forget Him

by West, Cara

  "I see." His smile was wolfish. "You're certain you're immune."

  "Yes." Her chin came up in defiance. "And just because you've got a hankering for something out of reach, don't expect me to feel sorry for you."

  "Not even a twinge of pity?"

  "No. None."

  "Megan—"

  "No, I said. You're talking to the wrong female." She began to walk away, proud of herself for not breaking into a run.

  "Megan."

  There was a command in his tone that wouldn't allow her to continue. Still, when she turned, she attempted indifference.

  "Why don't we run an experiment," he suggested.

  "What kind of experiment?"

  "It won't take long." He moved close and recaptured her shoulders, his look filled with purpose.

  Too late, she recognized his intent. Yet she couldn't retreat. It would only prove he had the power to affect her.

  Without the twitch of a muscle, she stared him in the eye.

  He took note of her bravery with a dangerous smile. His fingers drifted down her arms, almost as if he wasn't conscious of his actions.

  Despite all her efforts, she shivered in the silken air.

  For the first time, his look held satisfaction. Satisfaction, and a flare of primitive desire.

  Was that her sigh she heard? How could it be? She found it hard even to breathe.

  Closing her eyes, she felt swamped with sensation.

  His hand moved up to skim over her lips before cupping her cheek. His fingers slid into her hair and urged her forward.

  Stumbling, she pressed her palms to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat stutter. Her own pulse began to hammer.

  His lips brushed hers.

  She let out a small moan.

  For a brief moment his mouth moved over hers. Heat sought heat. Her insides started melting.

  When he released her, a chill went down her spine.

  "Don't ever deny the attraction between us." His voice was husky, his tone adamant.

  Megan did the only thing she could do under the circumstances. She gathered her tattered dignity about her and retreated to safety.

  "You've proved your point," she said as she stalked off. "But if I were you I wouldn't be smug about it." She hurled one last taunt his way. "I might just be more than you can handle, Nate Kittridge."

  She expected amused laughter to follow her up the hill. Instead, there was only silence behind her. She peeked one last time at him and wished she hadn't, because his classic features hadn't even a semblance of a smile.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "I COULDN'T WAIT to show you this. It's just come on the market." Sandra Blumenthal pulled into a weed-infested driveway and turned off the ignition to her Volvo.

  Megan leaned out the window to get a better view of the property. She realized immediately why Nate's mother had phoned her and insisted she see the place that very afternoon.

  To begin with, it was located just west of downtown where many turn-of-the-century houses had been transformed into businesses. The Victorian gingerbread on one side had been renovated to house lawyers' offices. On the other, a store selling quaint handmade toys had taken residence in a Texas traditional. A rival art gallery preened itself in a neocolonial on a corner lot down the street.

  "Miss Gladys Turner, the owner, was ninety-two when she died," Sandra explained. "She was born in this house. Her father built it. It's barely been touched in more than fifty years.''

  "But, oh, the possibilities," Megan murmured.

  "That's what I thought," Sandra said.

  Megan got out of the car, her heart beating faster. She had a feeling this was love at first sight.

  For one thing, the Turner home evoked Southwestern images with its whitewashed stucco, walled-in front patio and red-tiled roof.

  "The hacienda motif was rarely seen in Austin until the 1950s," Sandra said, walking around the car to Megan.

  "I wonder how the neighbors felt when it was being built."

  "They probably disapproved of the Spanish architecture almost as much as they did Gladys's mother. She was Hispanic, you know, and very exotic. Austin's straitlaced German families ostracized them for years. That is, until Old Man Turner made his second or third million."

  "So I wasn't wrong about this place," Megan said.

  Sandra looked at her questioningly.

  "I used to pass by it on the way to the library. I always thought it had a romantic story to tell."

  "Actually I would say more tragic than romantic. Old Man Turner was a skinflint who never enjoyed his money, although he loved Conchita, his wife, as much as he loved anyone. My mama claimed that Turner drove off his daughter's suitors, claiming they were fortune hunters. That's why she never married."

  "How sad," Megan said, caught up in the story.

  "When Gladys died, a cousin in Ohio inherited the estate. They've already sold the contents at auction. Half the 'old money' in Austin came to pick over the remains." Sandra gave a shudder. "I've never liked estate sales. Keepsakes and mementoes of people's lives reduced to a monetary value."

  "Like orphaned photographs at a flea market— with no one left to care who the smiling people are." Megan turned to Sandra. "I didn't realize you knew so much Austin history."

  "What I know is more gossip than history. Remember, I'm a fourth-generation Austinite. What my mama didn't tell me, I've learned handling local real estate."

  "I guess that does bring you into people's private lives. You probably find out more about them than is comfortable sometimes."

  "A successful realtor practices discretion." Sandra's voice had an odd quality to it.

  By now, however, Megan wasn't surprised. In the three weeks they'd been working together on finding a property, Nate's mother had acted quite differently from the cool contained woman Megan remembered.

  She'd certainly been efficient, organized and helpful, but that was to be expected. She'd also, unexpectedly, been warm and open. And sometimes, like today, positively gregarious.

  But there was more. She was, as always, impeccably stylish with a glossy finish that lent her an air of opaqueness. Megan remembered the time she'd seen Sandra at Sam's wedding. She recalled the polite mask Sandra had worn. But that mask had cracks in it now. Cracks that exposed a certain vulnerability.

  The old Sandra Blumenthal could not have been described as vulnerable, Megan knew. She couldn't help wondering how and why this new woman had emerged, and if Nate, too, had noticed the changes.

  The thought of Nate sent Megan's thoughts and feelings scurrying. Their current relationship was immensely unsettling, never far from Megan's consciousness and guaranteed to distract her from her current purpose.

  She shook her head, trying to dislodge his image from her mind. Concentrating on the structure before her, she tried to recapture the excitement she'd felt a moment ago.

  Sandra had gone ahead to unlock the thick oaken door. It opened into the spacious front hallway. Inside, the walls were plastered and dingy with age, with pale rectangular shadows whispering of old discarded paintings. But the ceilings were beamed with the same dark oak as the door, the floor was patterned in earthen Spanish tile, and a wrought-iron stairway curved up to the second story.

  The massive fireplace in the living area served as the home's centerpiece, although it didn't look as if a fire had burned there in years. The study also boasted a small square fireplace, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

  The kitchen almost certainly had its original fixtures. The appliances were ancient, but a breakfast nook looked out over the neglected backyard and rickety garage.

  All the windows in the house were deep set with the original panes of glass, through which sunlight filtered unevenly. The house was at least ten degrees cooler than the mild October day.

  Megan wandered through the rooms absorbing the atmosphere. The house was clean, but it had an air of disuse. She felt a hint of melancholy, but also a curious kind of welcome.

 
She chuckled ruefully, and Sandra glanced at her with a raised brow reminiscent of Nate.

  "I think I've been in too many haunted Italian villas," Megan said. "I can almost believe that Conchita and Gladys are still around."

  "Maybe if it's haunted we can discourage other bidders"

  Alarm raced through Megan. "Other people will want to buy it, won't they? This is valuable property."

  "We'll talk about that after you've seen the upper stories."

  "You mean there's more than two levels?"

  ''Oh, yes. The best is yet to come."

  The second floor was Spartan and contained bedrooms, a bathroom and a parlor. It was when they climbed the narrow stairs to the third story that Megan found herself speechless with delight. The entire space had been divided into a completely private walled-in patio and a master suite.

  Unlike the lawns below, this garden had been carefully tended until quite recently. The sitting area and bedroom were freshly painted. The spacious bathroom was patterned in a sunburst of glazed tiling. It had an oversize claw-footed tub and separate shower. Old Man Turner, it seemed, despite his frugal ways, hadn't been adverse to creature comforts.

  The windows in the suite were double, a window seat graced one of them, and sunlight spilled in to ricochet off the polished plank flooring. Unlike the ones in the living room and study, the fireplace in this suite was blackened from many blazes.

  ''Gladys must have spent all her time here," Megan finally said.

  "Yes. She had a woman in to clean and buy groceries. I'm not sure she ventured downstairs most days except to eat."

  Megan looked around once more and shook her head. "This is a lovely room. Still, she must have been lonely."

  "Not as much as you might think. She had a few close friends she entertained. They would check out library books for her and do necessary errands."

  Sandra went to a window that looked out over the street. Her back was to Megan as she speculated thoughtfully, ''I think Gladys decided one day that there was nothing left for her in the world beyond her reach, and that her private kingdom had everything she needed."

  "You sound as though you sympathize with her," Megan said with some surprise.

  Sandra turned to her and smiled faintly. "Maybe not sympathize so much as understand. Sometimes I think I've been running too long too far too fast. I haven't even made time for Nate. Besides, I'd like to find out what tranquillity feels like. There's more to life than—" She bit off her words and looked acutely embarrassed, obviously not accustomed to revealing her private thoughts to clients, however long she'd known them.

  "You ready for the bad news?" she asked, getting back to business. "If you want this place, you're going to have to bid on it soon. And the asking price is more than you'd quoted as your upper limit." She named a figure that would almost demolish Megan's trust fund, the one her father had set up from his textbook sales.

  "That much?" Megan said weakly.

  Sandra held out her hands in a helpless gesture. "It's prime commercial real estate. The good news is that the cousin wants to sell fast. I think he'll bite if he feels a bid is reasonable."

  "I can just pay the asking price with a little left over." Megan calculated the figures in her head. "After all, the house is structurally sound. Anything it needs is purely cosmetic. This'll be my living quarters, and the first two floors are perfect for the kind of gallery I envision."

  As she spoke, Megan had been pacing the room. Now she turned to Sandra, her face set with purpose. "I want this property if I have to borrow money to buy it."

  "Betty thought that was what you'd say."

  "Betty?"

  "A woman who's staying with me. She fell in love with the house."

  "Is she going to bid on it?" Megan asked, panicking.

  "Oh, no," Sandra said. "She's not looking for a place to buy. She's separated from her husband—" As earlier, Sandra bit off her words and seemed momentarily at a loss.

  Megan filled in the gap Sandra had left in their conversation. "So what's our next move?"

  "We go back to my office and draw up an official offer. That is, if you do want to put in a bid today."

  "I do. Oh, Sandra, I have my heart set on this house. I know I shouldn't count on it, but..."

  "But sometimes we can't help it."

  "You recognize that, don't you? From years of experience."

  "I know when a person and a place fit together. I've developed a sixth sense."

  "Okay," Megan said. "Let's do it."

  On the way back to the real-estate office, Megan was preoccupied, planning how much she herself could repair and refurbish, and how much would need a contractor. In her mind, the house was already hers, and she refused to consider any other eventuality.

  She'd keep the kitchen for her private use and make the dining room part of the public gallery. After all, how many formal dinner parties would she be giving? She'd be too tired to party after the work she'd put in. And too broke.

  Too broke for even a cozy dinner à deux after an evening at the theater. With Nate? her treacherous thoughts whispered. Treacherous thoughts that never left her in peace for very long.

  He was still the family friend. Still generous with his time and effort. Always around, either at Sam and Jenny's or at her parents'.

  Megan had been touched when she'd watched him unobtrusively cater to Andrew's needs while they'd viewed a Dallas football game one Sunday afternoon. She'd been grateful when he'd soothed her mother's jitters, using his charm as a diversionary tactic. She'd been captivated by the way he'd made Caroline giggle as he expertly spooned carrots and plums into her rosebud mouth.

  Megan often wondered if any of her family realized how much a part of their everyday existence Nate had become. Certainly no one detected the tension building between the two of them. The family would never link them romantically, so no one seemed to notice the considering looks they exchanged.

  Only she was aware of his every move. The situation was more nerve-racking than her adolescent crush on him. Before, he'd been oblivious to her harmless fascination. Now he watched her as closely as she watched him. In fact, he seemed to be perusing her as if she were a particularly absorbing puzzle.

  The one thing he hadn't done was approach her in his usual fashion. Perhaps, if he had, she might have rebuffed him. The kiss by the lake had not been repeated. Megan found, to her irritation, that her mind lingered all too often on that one beguiling caress.

  "Megan?"

  "I'm sorry," Megan said. "What did you ask me?"

  "How is your father?"

  Megan didn't answer for a moment. It was hard for her to say, "He hasn't progressed as fast as we'd hoped."

  "It can take months to recover from a heart attack."

  "That's what the doctors say. They're worried, though, by his mental outlook. He... he hasn't snapped back emotionally the way we all expected, and of course that affects his physical condition."

  "Your mother must be sick with worry."

  "She is. I'm worried about her too." Molly's mood swings were very distressing. She and Andrew seemed to be feeding off each other's fears.

  "I know how much Andrew means to Molly," Sandra said. "When Warren and I lived next door, I always envied the love they found in each other."

  Megan barely managed to hide her surprise at Sandra's astonishing admission. In a single sentence she'd provided the reason for the distance she'd cultivated. She'd also spoken her ex-husband's name without a shred of sarcasm.

  "Nate's been such a help to us through all this," Megan said, thinking this was an appropriate time to share his thoughtfulness with Sandra.

  "That's only natural after all your family has meant to him." Sandra smiled sadly. "I've known for a long time how much I owe your father and mother. I certainly had no idea of how to be a mother. And I'm afraid I was always too busy to learn."

  "It's never too late," Megan blurted. "I mean, to get to know someone. To find out more about them."

 
; "You're right," Sandra said. "Nate and I hardly know each other."

  Megan backpedaled hurriedly. "That's not exactly what I meant."

  "But it's true," Sandra said. "I doubt very seriously that he's interested in a relationship with me at this point in his life. And I don't blame him."

  "Well, I think he'd like to be closer to you. We've talked. He's said things... things that make me feel—"

  "I know he's disappointed with Warren and me, if not actually bitter. He's never hidden it."

  Megan took a deep breath. "He'd like to move beyond bitterness."

  "Has he told you so?" Sandra asked sharply.

  "Not in so many words. But I've sensed—"

  "It sounds as if you and Nate have grown close since your return.''

  There was no way Megan could hide a betraying blush at the comment.

  They'd reached Blumenthal's Realty and pulled up in the parking lot, and Sandra was able to give Megan her full attention.

  "Well, well," she said after surveying the younger woman. "Has he finally woken up? I'd wondered if he would."

  There was nothing Megan could say to counter Sandra's suspicions.

  "Let's go bid on a house," Sandra said, mercifully changing the subject.

  "Sounds like a wonderful idea to me."

  The two women shared an understanding look and climbed out of the car.

  MEGAN HAD BEEN in Sandra's office only once before, when they'd taken an initial look at available properties. As they walked through the reception area now, Sandra waved at one of her agents, who was busy on the phone, and took messages from Lynn, her secretary.

  "Let's go into my office," Sandra said to Megan. "We have to decide how much to bid."

  "I don't want to chance losing it."

  "I know, I know. But let's not offer more than the property's worth—to begin with. I have the appraisals on my desk. Lynn, work up an offer on the Turner house with Megan Victoria Grant as the buyer. I'll give you the figures before you print it out."