"It was hard on Mom. But she held us together." His voice held nothing but admiration and respect for his mother. Her life had been hard, but she'd never crumbled.
After Beth absorbed the information, she asked, "Is Shannon older or younger than you?"
"Older, but only by two years. It's always seemed as if we're the same age. When Dad left for good, she took it harder than I did."
"How old were you?"
Nash was pleased Beth was interested enough to continue asking questions. "Sixteen." As he studied her face, he didn't see pity in her eyes, just empathy.
"Where's your mother now?"
Sadness crawled across Nash's heart. "She died a year after I graduated from college."
Beth looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry."
He leaned forward, resting his arm on the edge of the table. "It's okay. It's been a long time. The doctors
said she had a stroke, but Shan and I think she died of a broken heart."
"You've known a lot of loss."
When Christy died, he thought he'd never get over it, but memories brought strength as well as sorrow. "A lot of good times too. I don't think about the bad ones." He took the risk of being honest with her. "I don't usually talk about this."
She reached out and touched his hand. "I'm glad you did. I had the impression you were...larger than life. Too successful to have problems like the rest of us."
He turned his hand palm up and clasped her fingers. "I'm not so different from you."
"Pops always taught me people were more alike than different. I guess I forgot."
"Where is his tavern?"
"Virginia," she said quickly, pulling her hand back. She picked up her glass of water garnished with a slice of lemon and took a sip. A moment later she nodded to the side of the room. "Here comes our dinner."
Nash knew the serious conversation was over for now, but he felt he'd made at least a modicum of progress. He was also certain she wasn't simply nervous. She was hiding something. What?
As they ate, Beth felt as if she were being surrounded by a sensual net she couldn't escape. Nash had a powerful appeal that was bowling her over. He was strong yet gentle, sexy yet caring. An inviting combination. She was beginning to convince herself a friendship between them might be possible.
He was a good conversationalist and time flew. Since he didn't ask any more background questions, she relaxed and let the conversation flow from tastes in music and art, to some of his projects and a few of hers. The food was superb, the candlelight romantic. When her knee grazed his, her stomach flipped. They sat talking long after they'd finished a third cup of coffee.
At a lull Nash leaned back in his chair and asked, "Would you like to dance?"
A warning alarm buzzed in Beth's mind. She pretended she didn't hear it. "Sure."
His hand rested protectively in the small of her back as he guided her to the wooden dance floor. That she could handle, but she knew she had a problem when he took her in his arms. His hold was light and easy.
She didn't feel light and easy or as if she wanted him to be merely a friend. Avoiding his eyes, she looked over his shoulder. The dance floor became more crowded and Nash gently tightened his hold and maneuvered them away from a collision. Beth was overtaken by the awareness that she liked being in Nash's arms, liked his warmth against hers, liked everything about him. But she wasn't ready for a relationship. She wasn't ready to let personal feelings interfere with her work. The timing was all wrong.
Nash didn't seem to think so. "You dance well," he murmured at her temple.
"You're easy to follow." She made the mistake of looking at him.
He brought their hands from the ballroom position into his chest. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
Her hand was enclosed by his fingers and his suit coat. The competing textures confused her nervous system as her eyes focused on his lips. Firm, well-shaped, masculine lips--
"Beth?"
Apparently she'd missed his question. "I'm sorry. What?"
She felt his slow smile in her bones. "Are you glad you came?"
"Yes." She heard her breathlessness and knew he heard it, too.
His hand went to the back of her neck and her world tilted. With slight pressure he nudged her head onto his shoulder and rubbed his chin against her cheek. She felt his heart accelerate and was sure hers matched its pace. A tautness invaded Nash's body. She could tell by the slight stiffening of his arms and upper body. Instead of pressing into her, he held himself away. She had a good idea why and his restraint excited her. She closed her eyes and imagined lying naked in his arms.
Another couple bumped them and Beth's thighs pushed against Nash's. His arousal scorched her and she held her breath, afraid to move.
Nash shifted slightly to separate them but didn't loosen his hold. When the song ended, Beth opened her eyes, feeling as if she'd been buried in an avalanche. It took her a moment to realize they were standing still.
As she raised her head, Nash said, "The band's taking a break. Would you like to wait or go back to your room?"
How was she going to extricate herself from this one? If they continued dancing, she feared where it would lead. If she said she wanted to go back, would he misconstrue that as an invitation? One crossroad at a time.
"I'd like to go back."
When they returned to the table, Beth insisted on paying her share of the check. Unlike some other men she'd dated, Nash didn't argue.
As they walked back to her room, Beth gazed at the stars. It was a night for sharing, for spending time with someone you loved. Now where had that thought come from? She shivered. Although her shawl protected her, she missed the warmth of Nash's arms. He hadn't touched her since they stopped dancing.
At the door to her room, he stared at her for a long moment but kept his arms at his sides. "I had a nice evening."
"Me too."
Stepping closer, he lifted her chin with his knuckle. Excitement bubbled inside her as she held her breath, sure he was going to kiss her.
He gave her a tender smile. "Would you like to go for a jog?"
CHAPTER FOUR
"Now?" Beth asked in a bewildered tone.
"Now."
Not kissing Beth Terrell had taken more willpower than Nash had had to exercise in quite a while. Afraid he'd scare her away, he'd backed off. But he didn't want to say good night. A jog might help the sexual tension in his body yet keep him in her company. He hoped his bum knee could handle a little more punishment without giving him trouble.
Tennis this afternoon had really done him in, but he'd wanted to spend time with her.
Seeing that she looked disappointed and confused by his question, he added, "I have trouble sleeping in strange beds. A jog before I turn in tires me out enough so I close my eyes and forget where I am."
He watched her swallow hard. Was she imagining them together in said bed?
"I'd, uh, have to change."
He grinned. She was adorable when she was flustered. "I hope so. Will ten minutes do it? I'll meet you at the office. The path around the parking lot's well lit. We can use that."
***
Beth slammed shut the dresser drawer. Holding up her pale blue jogging pants in front of her, she wished she'd sent them to a dump and bought a new pair. They were limp from hundreds of washings. The sweatshirt wasn't much better. She sighed as she unzipped her dress. Nash was about to see another side of her. The side that liked to be comfortable and didn't give a hoot about fashion.
She sighed again. Nash. Did she want him to kiss her or not? She had a feeling a kiss could have led them straight to a strange bed. Yet she was aching to find out if the chemistry between them was as potent as it seemed.
He was waiting for her in front of the office in the same white shorts he'd worn for tennis. The red T-shirt was fresh. She loved the way it hinted at the muscles underneath and pulled slightly across his shoulders. As the breeze swept by, she couldn't tell if the earthy musk scent belonged to the summer nig
ht or him.
He reached out and ran his fingertips over one comb in her hair. "You might lose these." There was a sexy catch in his voice.
Instinct urged her to rub her head against his hand, but she resisted. "I forgot to take them out. Now I don't have anywhere to put them."
He didn't move away. "Where's your key?"
Thinking about exactly where it was turned her cheeks crimson. "Uh...it's in my bra."
His eyes were twinkling and the corner of his mouth curved up, but he suppressed the smile. In a brisk businesslike manner, he unfastened one pearl barrette at a time. "I have a pocket."
With interest she watched his hands go to his waistband. Sucking in his breath, he found the small pocket, inserted the barrettes, and buttoned it. It disappeared under his shirt and she could picture it flat against his stomach, right above dark brown hair and...
She quickly bent down and went into her stretching routine. What kind of power did this man have over her that she couldn't look at him without being overcome by sexual desire? This had never happened with other men. Certainly never with John, even though they'd been emotionally close. And it had nothing to do with John being twenty years older. There'd been friendship between them, caring, confidentiality...so she'd thought. That's why his selfishness and betrayal had hurt so badly.
Nash stretched too and it was difficult keeping her eyes away from his long legs, the biceps, his angular face. When he looked at her and asked if she was ready, she realized what a good idea this had been. She couldn't wait to run off the disruptive feelings he initiated.
The mountain air was devoid of truck fumes, clatter, humidity. It whistled in her ears, cleansed her lungs, warned her she was breathing the same air as Nash and he was merely a foot away. He matched his speed to hers and she wondered what he could really do if he let himself go.
"Is the pace all right?" he asked.
"Fine. How often do you jog?"
"Three or four times a week. You?"
"The same. Where do you go?"
"The track at the high school."
She should have guessed he'd pick someplace routine, nondistracting.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "I suppose you prefer the streets and scenery?"
She laughed. "Bingo."
They'd run a half mile when they rounded a corner of the parking lot. Nash faltered as they curved, and his hands hit the macadam. Pain marked his face when he fell on his backside and stretched out his left leg in front of him.
It took a moment for Beth to realize what had happened. The prolific oaths that came out of his mouth told her this wasn't minor. She caught her breath and knelt down beside him. "What happened?"
He swore again. "I pushed it. I should've known after that game of tennis the knee would give out--" He winced, leaned back on his hands and pressed his eyes shut. "Give me a minute."
"Has this happened before?"
His eyes flew open and he nodded.
"Is it locked?"
Another nod.
She took hold of his leg below the knee and with her thumb and forefinger pressed on either side, ignoring the heat from the skin and the teasing texture of the soft brown hair. He didn't react to the pressure, so she knew she wasn't causing more distress. Abruptly, he contracted the muscles and jerked the joint.
"That's it," he said with relief as something seemed to slip into place and his face relaxed.
She sank back on her heels. "Does this happen often?"
The lines across his forehead and around his mouth eased. "No, thank God. I can usually tell when it's strained and ready to go. I knew I was pushing it."
"Why did you?"
He didn't answer immediately. His chest rose and fell a few times before he said, "Because jogging seemed more prudent than kissing you."
Her pulse sped up and she took a deep breath. She was startled by his scent. His aura of masculinity surrounded her. "Can you move it? You don't want it to stiffen up."
The desire in his eyes made her blush as he let her off the hook. "How do you know so much about knees?"
"Mom's a nurse."
He bent his leg stiffly and pushed himself to a sitting position. "A few hours of ice and it'll be good as new."
She rose up on her knees and planted her hands on her hips. "It'll be sore tomorrow and you know it."
"You won't let me pull a macho act and suffer in silence?"
"I never could understand what Mom saw in John Wayne."
"Sharing thoughts and feelings is more difficult for men than women." Before she could debate the issue, he added, "That's not chauvinistic. I know from experience." He climbed to his feet, favoring the injured knee. He brushed his hands together, wiping off the dirt and small pieces of gravel.
Beth scrambled up and before she thought better of it, grasped his hand and turned it over to examine his palm. She gently rubbed her thumb along an abrasion under his forefinger. "This could get nasty if you don't get the grime out. Do you have peroxide?"
He was gazing at her strangely as if he were in pain, but not the same kind of pain he had experienced when he fell. "I have a first aid kit in the car." His voice was low and husky.
She realized she didn't want to let go of his hand and traced her thumb along his lifeline.
"Beth--"
The green glints in his gaze had nothing to do with the overhead lights. Desire strong enough to make her body steam rushed through her. Was this attraction to Nash real? Was her liking for him misplaced? Could she trust him without getting hurt? The questions seemed inconsequential at the moment as his eyes touched her like searing hands pulling her closer. He inspired feelings and sensations she never knew existed.
His arms came around her and when he bent his head, she raised hers to meet him. There was no shyness, no simple friendship, no rivalry. As their lips touched, everything between them changed. Nash's passion was hot on her lips. She'd never felt that kind of heat before, mingled with need, so much need. She wanted to give him everything he needed.
After a tentative search, his tongue pushed forward seeking her response. Hers returned his thrusts with the same vehemence until she was caught in a cyclone of spiraling sensations. The kiss was everything perfect--sunrise at the beach, a Monet painting, children's laughter. It was as exciting as lightning, as frightening as thunder, as wonderful as Christmas. So many conflicting feelings-- need, curiosity, her desire to experience more. She framed his jaw with her hands and caressed his cheeks.
He groaned and his hands answered her ministrations with eager exploration up and down her back. Each pass became slower, more tactile, more provocative. Her body was yielding to him and she sensed his longing to touch her more intimately. His hands slipped under her top and kneaded her damp skin. She pushed into him and knew the strength of his arousal. With the same abandon that was driving her, he rubbed against her to pleasure them both.
Tearing his lips from hers, he moaned, "God, Beth. You're so soft, so giving."
The word registered. Giving. Yes, she was giving. Too giving. What was she doing? Giving had gotten her into trouble before. Giving passion was much more dangerous and complicated than giving compassion. She froze and went still.
His arms dropped and she heard the long, slow wail of a train whistle in the distance. She shivered from air suddenly gone cold.
Nash put at least six inches between them. The muscle in his jaw tensed as his eyes grew opaque. "I'm sorry if you didn't want that. I read the signals wrong."
She couldn't let him take full responsibility. "You read them correctly. But after we started...."
"You had second thoughts."
His low voice in the dark night sent a chill up her spine. "Something like that." Why did she feel as though she'd hurt him? It was only a kiss for heaven's sake! He looked paler. Was it from restraining his passion? Not pushing her farther than she wanted to go?
"Thank you for stopping."
He looked perplexed. "It's what you wanted."
"Yes, I know. But some men consider their needs first."
"When a woman says no, she means no."
Beth searched his face for underlying feelings. "I didn't say it."
"Not out loud, but you said it. I'd like to know why."
She sorted through her reactions quickly, concealing the most important reason. "First of all, because we're bidding on the same project. I'm not even sure you believe I'm not after Osgood."
"And second?"
"I don't want to get involved."
"That's not an explanation." The look in his eyes was heart-stopping.
She protected herself. "I don't owe you an explanation."
His stance became defensive, his shoulders rigid, his arms stiff at his sides. "No, I guess you don't." He turned away from her and looked at the hotel. "We'd better start back. It'll take longer than it did to get here."
Nash felt stilted and wooden as he avoided temptation and kept his eyes in front of him. Normal male urges were no surprise, but the intensity of this one in response to Beth's kiss was. She walked quietly beside him as awkwardness settled around them like a fog. Her rejection had hurt. Just like Monica's had. After Christy died, his wife couldn't touch him, couldn't let him touch her. Lack of physical intimacy had led to lack of communication and eventually separate lives.
Hazarding a glance at Beth, Nash still felt an ache inside. She was so touchable, with a figure that matched her friendliness. It wasn't stick-stiff or model-thin, but huggable and womanly. Her breasts were small but full, her stomach flat but soft, her hips pleasantly rounded. And her mouth? More than friendly. Sensual, taking, giving, making him long to bury himself in her.
He wasn't comfortable with the desires and emotions she aroused. Was he out of practice? No. He'd dated on and off over the past few years. But nothing had been more important than Shannon and her family, and work, and his exercise regimen. Beth shook him up and put other concerns in the background. Her reticence added to her allure. It wasn't coy or fake. It made him look at himself critically and ask himself what he wanted.
He wasn't sure yet so he didn't know whether to push harder to discover what was behind her rejection. Contrary to what she said, she might have designs on Osgood and some sense of morality wouldn't let her get involved with Nash. Lord, he hoped that wasn't true. If it was...
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