The Stanislaskis: Taming Natasha. Нора Робертс
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on each other’s laps and ignoring their drinks.
She’d always liked this room with its dim lighting and old black-and-white posters of James Dean and Marilyn Monroe. It smelled of cigarettes and jug wine. There was a big portable stereo on a shelf above the bar that played an old Chuck Berry number loudly enough to make up for the lack of patrons. Natasha felt the bass vibrate through her chair as she sat down.
“Just coffee, Joe,” she called to the man behind the bar before she leaned her elbows on the table. “So,” she said to Terry, “how’s everything going?”
“Okay.” He couldn’t believe it. He was here, sitting with her. On a date. She’d called it a date herself.
It would take a little prodding. Patient, she shrugged out of her coat. The overheated room had her pushing the sleeves of her sweater past her elbows. “It must be different for you here. Did you ever tell me where you were going to college before?”
“I graduated from Michigan State.” Because his lenses were fogged again, Natasha seemed to be shrouded by a thin, mysterious mist. “When I, ah, heard that Dr. Kimball would be teaching here, I decided to take a couple years of graduate study.”
“You came here because of Spence—Dr. Kimball?”
“I didn’t want to miss the opportunity. I went to New York last year to hear him lecture.” Terry lifted a hand and nearly knocked over a bowl of sugar. “He’s incredible.”
“I suppose,” she murmured as their coffee was served.
“Where you been hiding?” the bartender asked, giving her shoulder a casual squeeze. “I haven’t seen you in here all month.”
“Business is good. How’s Darla?”
“History.” Joe gave her a quick, friendly wink. “I’m all yours, Tash.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” With a laugh, she turned back to Terry. “Is something wrong?” she asked when she saw him dragging at his collar.
“Yes. No. That is… Is he your boyfriend?”
“My…” To keep herself from laughing in Terry’s face, she took a sip of coffee. “You mean Joe? No.” She cleared her throat and sipped again. “No, he’s not. We’re just…” She searched for a word. “Pals.”
“Oh.” Relief and in security warred. “I just thought, since he…Well.”
“He was only joking.” Wanting to put Terry at ease again, she squeezed his hand. “What about you? Do you have a girl back in Michigan?”
“No. There’s nobody. Nobody at all.” He turned his hand over, gripping hers.
Oh, my God. As realization hit, Natasha felt her mouth drop open. Only a fool would have missed it, she thought as she stared into Terry’s adoring, myopic eyes. A fool, she added, who was so tied up with her own problems that she missed what was happening under her nose. She was going to have to be careful, Natasha decided. Very careful.
“Terry,” she began. “You’re very sweet—”
That was all it took to make his hand shake. Coffee spilled down his shirt. Moving quickly, Natasha shifted chairs so that she was beside him. Snatching paper napkins from the dispenser, she began to blot the stain.
“It’s a good thing they never serve it hot in this place. If you soak this in cold water right away, you should be all right.”
Overcome, Terry grabbed both of her hands. Her head was bent close, and the scent of her hair was making him dizzy. “I love you,” he blurted, and took aim with his mouth; his glasses slid down his nose.
Natasha felt his lips hit her cheekbone, cold and trembly. Because her heart went out to him, she decided that being careful wasn’t the right approach. Firmness was called for, quickly.
“No, you don’t.” Her voice was brisk, she pulled back far enough to dab at the spill on the table.
“I don’t?” Her response threw him off. It was nothing like any of the fantasies he’d woven. There was the one where he’d saved her from a runaway truck. And another where he’d played the song he was writing for her and she had collapsed in a passionate, weeping puddle into his arms. His imagination hadn’t stretched far enough to see her wiping up coffee and calmly telling him he wasn’t in love at all.
“Yes, I do.” He snatched at her hand again.
“That’s ridiculous,” she said, and smiled to take the sting out of the words. “You like me, and I like you, too.”
“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