Loving You (13 page)

“Your fifteen minutes are up,” she said, meeting his gaze and silently daring him to argue. “It's time for you to go.”

“Tasha…” Jonas scooted away from the bed and took a step or two toward Nick. “He just got here.”

She stared at the boy for a long minute and Nick knew the instant she noticed Jonas's teary eyes. Her face went cold and hard, and when she shifted her gaze to look at him again, Nick had a strange urge to cross himself. Jesus. Mother bears had
nothing
on this woman.

“Leave,” she said tightly.

“I'm going.” He'd had his fifteen minutes, and absolutely
nothing had been solved. Everything was still up in the air, the kid was still convinced he was his father, and Nick had deliberately dropped his opportunity to say, “No, I'm not.”

Tasha stood aside in the doorway to make room for Nick to pass her into the hall. She flattened herself on the doorjamb and
still
he managed to brush against her. Instinctively she sucked in a breath and unthinkingly drew in the scent of his aftershave. Something cool, expensive, and all male. Oh boy. She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. When Jonas started after Nick, she stopped him. “No. You stay up here. Do your homework.”

“I want to walk with him.”

“And I want to talk to him.” Actually, Tasha wanted to strangle him, but she didn't think she should tell Jonas that. By the look on his face, the little boy had already had enough emotional wrenching for one afternoon.

“It's okay, sport,” Nick said from behind her. “I'll come by again in a few days.”

Jonas's whole face lit up when Nick Candellano called him
sport
. And Tasha wanted to scream. Already he was having an influence on Jonas. Already he was making inroads into
her
family. Her fingers curled tightly around the doorknob and squeezed until her knuckles went white.

“Don't forget,” Jonas called out, even as Tasha pulled his door closed, “my game is Saturday. At the park!” The door shut firmly, but Jonas's voice carried through the wood. “Three o'clock!”

Blowing out a short frustrated breath that ruffled the wisp of bangs on her forehead, Tasha started down the long hall toward the stairs. She didn't breathe again
until she was well in front of Nick. She couldn't risk getting another whiff of that aftershave. Nick fell into step behind her. She felt his steady gaze on her back as surely as she would have his touch, and her blood heated, thickening in her veins even as fear tugged at the pit of her stomach.

She fought the feelings—
all
of them.

Tasha didn't want to be attracted to him. There was no good there. And worse, she didn't want to be afraid. Oh, she wasn't scared of
him
. Just what his presence might mean. This house, this life she'd built for herself—fear wasn't a part of it. It wasn't a part of her world anymore. And she couldn't go back.

His heavy footsteps echoed into the stillness and she even resented that. It was as if somehow he was imprinting himself on her house as well as the boy she loved like her own.

At the foot of the stairs, she took a left and kept walking. Headed for the door, she concentrated on it as if her life depended on it. Once past that oak barrier, she'd have him outside, and if she had anything at all to do with it, Nick would
remain
outside this house. Every step she took, though, she felt his gaze on her.

Tiny needles of awareness trickled along her spine and Tasha tried to shake them off. This was no time to let her long-comatose hormones out for a test drive. No matter what her physical reaction to him was, this man was her enemy. He represented a huge threat to everything she loved. If he really was Jonas's father, then he could take the boy from her in an instant. And even if he wasn't a blood relation at all, his very presence, his involvement with them, could bring down the authorities on their heads, and Jonas would be taken away by Social Services.

Either way, Jonas would be gone.

She opened the door and stepped onto the porch. Instantly the cold air slapped at her and she took a deep breath, hoping the chill of it would be enough to quiet the burning inside her. It didn't help, so she kept moving.

Tasha paused only long enough to make sure he was still following her, then she headed down the short set of steps to the flower-lined walkway.

In the gray cloud-washed afternoon sunlight, the flowers Mimi had loved so much looked bedraggled, hopeless. As if they'd picked up on Tasha's turmoil and were drooping in solidarity. The truth, though, was far less comforting. She'd let the flower beds go. She'd been too busy doing hair and saving money and raising Jonas and trying to avoid the terrifying Ms. Walker of Social Services.

The lawn that needed mowing and the flowers at half-mast were just the tip of the iceberg, too. The old house needed painting, storm shutters needed to be put up before winter got too much older, and her car needed a tune-up.

Head suddenly throbbing, Tasha rubbed her eyes with her fingertips and told herself that at least she'd managed to bury her hormones beneath other worries. She kept walking, down the curving sidewalk toward the gravel drive where Mr. Wonderful's Corvette waited, looking like a perfect rose in a bouquet of weeds.

“So, are you going to stop walking anytime soon?” Nick's voice prodded at her, pushing her dangerously close to the tattered edge of her control.

Her tennis shoes hit the drive and she turned around quickly, gravel scraping beneath her feet. Looking up
into his dark brown eyes, Tasha demanded, “What did you say to him?”

Nick planted his feet wide apart, crossed his arms over his chest, and cocked his head to one side. “That's none of your business.”

“Wrong, hotshot.” She stepped in closer. “Anything that has to do with Jonas
is
my business.”

“Yeah?” he countered. “If he's so damn important to you, and you hate having me around so much, why didn't you stop him from suing me?”

A rush of air escaped her. “I didn't know about it.”

He smiled, and in the gloomy sunlight, that smile sparked something in his eyes that Tasha tried to ignore. Unfortunately, her body noticed and her blood hummed.

“So he surprised you, too,” he said, his voice softer now, friendlier. As if they were on the same side in this. And a part of her almost wished they were. She was so tired of standing alone. But she knew darn well that being alone was the only sure way to be safe.

A cold breeze ruffled his dark brown hair as he leaned up against the Corvette, one hand at the top of the windshield frame. He looked like a magazine ad. Then he inclined his head toward her and gave her that half-smile again. It didn't seem to matter that it was a practiced move. Her body responded as though he'd meant it for her alone.

This was
not
a man to be dealing with when her resistance levels were low.

“Yeah,” she admitted, pushing her hair out of her eyes as the wind shifted direction. It swirled around them briefly, then disappeared, leaving only a chill that stealthily crept through her. “You could say he surprised me, too.”

Nick nodded, breathed deeply, blew air out in a rush, then looked deep into her eyes. “He says his mother told him I was his father.”

One simple sentence and she felt the gravel drive shift beneath her feet, almost as if it were quicksand. A knot lodged in her throat, but Tasha swallowed it down and forced herself to ask, “Are you?”

He pushed away from the car and shoved one hand through his hair in either frustration or irritation. She couldn't decide which.

“No. I don't know. Maybe. Probably not.”

Hope that this would all be over quickly died inside her. “Well, as long as you're sure…” She choked out a harsh laugh that scraped her throat and shook her soul.

“Hey, it was more than eleven years ago.”

She shook her head in disbelief and stared up at him. “God, you actually think that's an excuse, don't you?”

He scrubbed one hand across his jaw. “That's a lot of years.”

“As hard as this may be for you to believe,
most
people remember who they've slept with.”

“Fine.” He shoved both hands in his pockets, then jerked them back out again, as if he wasn't sure exactly what to do. “I'm a pig.”

“You said that, I didn't.”

Shaking his head, he let his arms drop to his sides. “You want to tell me why you hate my guts when you don't even know me?”

“I don't have to know you. I know your type.” Tasha told herself that this was a good thing. Better she keep in mind now that Nick Candellano was a player. He looked at women and never saw their faces. Just blonde, brunette, or redhead. No one was special.
No one held a place in his mind or heart. And if she was dumb enough to give into her hormonal urges, she'd be nothing more than a passing blip on his radar screen.

He snorted a laugh, but he didn't sound amused. “My type? This I've got to hear.”

“No problem.” She took a step closer to him, and the gravel beneath her feet screamed into the midday quiet. Tipping her head way back to stare up into his eyes, she wished for just a second or two that she was taller, just so the glaring would be easier. “You think women are here just to throw rose petals in front of you when you walk by.”

“What?”

“You're rich and good-looking, so you think the world is yours. Women aren't
people
to you, they're conquests. You don't care about any of them,” she continued. “It's quantity you're interested in, not quality.”

“Really?” His voice went tight and a muscle in his jaw twitched. Otherwise, he didn't move. “And you get all of this from knowing me for two whole days?”

Tasha smirked at him. “I got that in the first five minutes.”

He shifted position then, as if uncomfortable. Gravel crunched, the wind blew, and steam seemed to be coming from his ears. Apparently, she'd struck a nerve.

“I don't owe you or anybody an explanation for how I lived my life. Then
or
now.”

“Is that right?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and Tasha told herself to ignore just how big he was. To pay no attention to the broadness of his chest. After all, legions of women had been there before her and none of them remained.

“Yeah, that's right.”

“I think there's a little boy who might argue with you.”

His shoulders slumped and a defeated glint shone briefly in his eyes. “Look, whatever you think of me, it doesn't really matter. All that matters now is settling this.”

“
That
I'll agree with.”

He laughed shortly again. “A peace treaty?”

“A truce.”

“I'll take it,” he said, and held out his right hand.

Tasha stared at it for a long moment. Calling a truce with him might not be the best way to go, but at the moment it was all she could think of. Maybe if she worked
with
him, she could get rid of him that much faster. Steeling herself, she slipped her hand into his. His fingers curled around hers and a heat she'd never felt before blossomed and spread through her like a wildfire decimating the foothills.

His eyebrows lifted, and she knew he felt it, too. She tried to pull her hand free, but he tightened his grip on her. A buzz of something dark and dangerous and
way
too tempting raced through her bloodstream. Her heartbeat quickened; her mouth went dry and still; he held on to her. Flames licked at her center, and when his thumb stroked over the back of her hand, Tasha knew she couldn't take any more. She yanked hard, freeing herself from his grasp. Her skin tingled and she rubbed her palm against her jeans as if she could wipe away even the memory of his touch. God knew it would be safer if she could.

“Okay then,” she said, and cursed silently when she heard the tremor in her own voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “A truce.”

He rubbed his fingertips together as if he could still feel her hand in his. “Now that we're on the same side, sort of, what exactly do we do next?”

“That depends,” she said, grateful for something else to think about. “What did you tell Jonas?”

He scowled, looked past her at the bare-limbed trees lining the front yard, then reluctantly shifted his gaze back to hers. “Not much.”

“But what?”

“I told him that maybe I remembered his mother.”

“Oh God.”

Clearly disgusted, Nick frowned, rubbed his mouth with one hand, and muttered, “He looked at me all teary-eyed and I couldn't—”

“What?” she prodded. “Tell him the truth?”

“Yeah.”

“So you lied.”

“Sometimes a lie is kinder.”

“Only liars think so.”

“Man,” he said, huffing out a breath. “You're a hard woman, Tasha Flynn.”

Unexpectedly a sheen of tears clouded her vision and she was horrified. She blinked them back quickly and prayed he hadn't noticed. She wasn't hard. Sometimes she thought life would be easier if only she were. Then at least, the chances of having her heart steamrollered would have been tiny.

“I just don't like lies,” she said with a sniff. “Lies only create more problems. The truth is simple. It's easy to remember and you don't stumble trying to keep the details straight.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.” Not really, but she would be. As soon as he left. So that wasn't really a lie, was it?

“Look, I'm sorry. I handled things with Jonas badly. I admit that. But what do you want me to say?”

She looked up at him and didn't see his charming smile this time. This time she saw a man who held the power to shatter her family, to break Jonas's heart. “I want you to say you're going away.”

“Wish I could,” he admitted with a wry smile, “but I can't.”