Confessions of a Girl-Next-Door. Jackie Braun
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sand.”
“She did, but she was too polite to say so. Regardless, since I clean the place now, I make the rules.”
“Right.” Envisioning him with a mop in one hand and a feather duster in the other helped take some of the sting out of his words.
She did as Nate asked and padded inside behind him.
Hank already had made himself at home on the couch in front of the television. His stocking feet were propped up on the coffee table, a long-necked brown bottle was in one hand and the remote control was in the other. A baseball game was on. Holly didn’t know much about the American pastime, but she’d always enjoyed listening to the announcers explaining what was going on. Their voices were so soothing, spiking here and there as warranted by a key play. The sound made her nostalgic. As did the house, even though the furnishings now were more masculine and sparse than the fussy decor that had obviously been Mrs. Matthews’s taste.
Gone were the knickknacks and kitschy collections that had filled two curios cabinets. Gone was the mauve-and-blue color scheme, the lace curtains and flowered camelback sofa. Now the main living area sported top-of-the-line electronics, a brown leather sectional and some surprisingly high-quality pieces of artwork, all of them seascapes.
Nate must have noticed the direction of her gaze. “Rupert Lengard,” he said, supplying the name of the artist. “I wish I could say they’re originals, but they’re limited edition prints.”
“They’re stunning.” She pointed to one. “That looks like that little island we used to take the canoe out to.”
They’d pretended to be castaways and had even tried to erect a tree house à la the Swiss Family Robinson. But getting building supplies over in the canoe had proved too much of a hassle. They’d made do with a lean-to crafted from sticks and cedar boughs.
“Horn Island,” Nate said. “Lengard spent a couple summers on Heart and the surrounding islands. All of the prints I bought are local scenes.”
She admired the subject matter as much as the artist’s obvious skill. “I’ll have to see about getting some of them for home.”
“His stuff is not exactly on par with Poussin or Renoir.”
Apparently, Nate thought only work of old-world masters would suit her sensibilities. Holly decided to set him straight. “My tastes run a little more modern than that. Like you, I buy art, whether prints or originals, because I like it, not because of the value an insurance appraiser might put on it.”
Nate nodded curtly. It sounded like he might have said, “Touché.”
But he was already turning away and heading over to the couch.
“Anything else I can get you, Hank?” Nate asked dryly.
The other man either missed the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. “You got anything to munch on? Like nachos maybe?”
Holly hid her grin.
“You want nachos?”
Hank dragged his gaze from the television. His expression was hopeful. “Yeah.”
“They sell them down at the Fishing Hole Tavern. Bring back an order for me, too, while you’re at it,” Nate replied before using his shin to knock the other man’s feet off the table. To Holly, he said, “Follow me. I’ll show you to your room.”
He went back to grab her bags from their spot by the door and started for the stairs. At the top, he turned right and continued to the room at the end of the hall.
She stood uncertainly at the threshold after he entered. “But th-this is your room.”
And it was just as she recalled it, though she hadn’t spent much time in it as a girl. His parents wouldn’t have allowed that, especially once she and Nate were teenagers.
Even though they were both adults now, she felt awkward and oddly aware. She blamed it on the fact that he was shirtless and she was … tired. Really, really tired.
“Not anymore. I have the master these days. After my folks moved out I did a little renovation work and added an en suite bathroom, so the one in the hall is all yours.” His brows rose in humor. “Well, yours and Hank’s. You’ll have to share.”
He set down her bags and crossed to open the window a few inches. He repeated the process for the one on the opposite wall. The wind rushed inside, ruffling the edges of the curtains and bringing with it the mingled scents of cedar trees and wood smoke. She recalled that earthy scent from those summers long past. Nostalgia had her smiling. A lot of fireplaces would be in use tonight if the temperature outside continued to drop. Her gaze veered to Nate and her smile disappeared. Holly wasn’t feeling chilled. Quite the opposite. Even wearing wet clothes, all it took was an eyeful of the taut muscles that defined Nate’s shoulders, and she had to fight the urge to fan herself.
He turned around to find her studying him. God only knew what her expression revealed. He was one of the few people around whom she had ever been herself, which was ironic, she realized now, since he hadn’t known her actual identity.
She folded her hands at her waist, cleared her throat and said the first thing she could think of. “It’s windy outside.”
“The storm.”
“Yes. The storm.”
They eyed one another for a moment longer. “You can close the windows in a minute. Just give the place a chance to air out. It’s a little stuffy in here. This room doesn’t get much use.”
A little stuffy? She could hardly breathe. But that had nothing do with stagnant air. It had everything to do with the way he was looking at her. She saw speculation in his gaze and, she thought, guarded interest. It dawned on Holly then that she must look a fright. Her soggy clothes were molded to her body, her makeup was nonexistent, and her hair … She reached up to run a hand through it only to have her fingers tangle in the snarls.
She pulled her hand free and managed to say, “It’s fine.”
He didn’t appear convinced. In fact, he was shaking his head. “You know, the more I think of it, you belong in the master suite. You’d definitely be more comfortable in there.”
He reached for her bags. She put out a hand to stop him. “Don’t be silly. This is fine,” she said again.
“It’s not up to the standards you’re used to,” he said quietly.
“I’m not picky, Nathaniel.” She went with his full name, hoping to get a rise out of him.
His gaze connected with hers. “You’re a princess.”
Holly folded her arms over her chest and the ache she felt building there. “You say it like it’s some sort of disease.”
“I’ll apologize for that. But the fact remains, you’re used to better than … this.” He glanced around as if seeing the room for the first time. Clearly, he found it lacking. His gaze returned to her. “You’re used to better than anything I have to offer, for that matter.”
“Nate.”
Before she could protest further, he was at the door, his hand on the knob. This time, his gaze didn’t quite meet hers. “I’ll leave you to freshen up. We can discuss your accommodations later.”
The door closed. Holly stared at the scratched wood for a long time afterward. What had just happened? In the span of the past half hour, he’d gone from being smug and a little indignant to being uncomfortable and, unless she missed her guess, embarrassed. That wasn’t the Nathaniel Matthews she remembered. He’d been fearless, formidable and a touch arrogant at times.
He’d been determined to take on the world. He’d seen no limit to the possibilities life had to offer him. She’d admired his conviction that he could be anything, do anything, go anywhere and answer to no one but himself. For a while, Holly had even begun to think like he did. Then she’d returned to Morenci,