Page 24 of Megan's Mate
He’d proved his point, Nathaniel thought as he tore his mouth from hers to press it against the thundering pulse in her throat. Proved his point, and wrapped himself up in nasty knots of need.
Needs that would have to wait, because she was far from ready. And because it mattered—she mattered—more than he’d expected.
“Now tell me you’re not interested,” he muttered against her lips, furious that he was unable to take what was so obviously his. “Tell me you didn’t want me to touch you.”
“I can’t.” Her voice broke in despair. She wanted him to touch her, to take her, to throw her on the ground and make wild love to her. And to take the decision, and the responsibility, out of her hands. That made her ashamed. That made her a coward. “But wanting’s not enough.” Shaken, she pushed away, lurched to her feet. “It’s never going to be enough for me. I’ve wanted before.” She stood trembling in the moonlight, her hair blowing free, her eyes fierce and afraid.
Nathaniel cursed himself then her for good measure. “I’m not Dumont. And you’re not a seventeen-year-old girl.”
“I know who I am. I don’t know who you are.”
“You’re hedging, Megan. We recognized each other from the first instant.”
She stepped back, because she knew he was right. Because it terrified her. “You’re talking about chemistry.”
“Maybe I’m talking about fate.” He said it softly, as he rose. He’d frightened her, and he despised himself for it. Unnerving a woman was one thing, bullying another. “You need time to think about that. So do I. I’ll walk you back.”
She put out a hand to stop him. “I can find my own way.” She whirled and raced up the moonlit path.
Nathaniel swore under his breath. He sat again and took out a fresh cigar, lit it. There wasn’t any use heading home yet. He already knew he wouldn’t sleep.
Late the following afternoon, Megan roused herself from her ledgers when a knock sounded on her office door.
“Come in.”
“Sorry to interrupt.” Coco poked her head in the door—a head, Megan noted with surprise, that was now topped with sleek ebony hair—she apparently was a woman who changed her hair color as often as she changed moods. “You didn’t break for lunch,” Coco said as she stepped through the door with a large and laden silver tray.
“You didn’t have to bother.” Megan glanced at her watch and was stunned to see it was after three. “You’ve got enough to do without waiting on me.”
“Just part of the service.” After setting the tray on a table, Coco began to arrange a place setting. “We can’t have you skipping meals.” She glanced over at the computer screen, the open ledgers, the calculator and the neatly stacked files. “My goodness, such a lot of numbers. Numbers have always unsettled me. They’re so... unyielding.”
“You don’t have to let them push you around,” Megan said with a laugh. “Once you know that one and one always equals two, you can do anything.”
Coco studied the screen doubtfully. “If you say so, dear.”
“I’ve just finished up the first quarter on Shipshape. It was... a challenge.”
“It’s wonderful that you think so.” Coco turned her back on the numbers before they could give her a headache. “But none of us want you overdoing things. Now, here’s some iced tea and a nice club sandwich.”
It did look tempting, particularly since she’d had no appetite for breakfast. A residual effect, she knew, of her encounter with Nathaniel.
“Thank you, Coco. I’m sorry I took you away from your work.”
“Oh.” Coco waved a dismissive hand as Megan rose to pick up her plate. “Don’t give it a thought. To be frank, dear, I simply had to get out—away from that man.”
“The Dutchman?” Megan smiled over her first bite of sandwich. “I met him this morning, when I was coming down. I made a wrong turn and ended up in the hotel wing.”
Restless, Coco began to fiddle with the thick gold links around her throat. “I hope he didn’t say anything to offend you. He’s a bit... rough.”
“No.” Megan poured two glasses of tea, offered one to Coco. “He sort of glowered and told me I needed some meat on my bones. I thought he was going to start stuffing me with the Greek omelet he was fixing, but one of the busboys dropped a plate. I escaped while he was swearing at the poor kid.”
“His language.” Coco seated herself, smoothed down her silk trouser leg. “Deplorable. And he’s always contradicting me on recipes.” She shut her eyes, shuddered. “I’ve always considered myself a patient woman—and, if I can be immodest for a moment, a clever one. I had to be both to raise four lively girls.” Sighing, she tossed up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “But as far as that man’s concerned, I’m at my wits’ end.”
“I suppose you could let him go,” Megan said tentatively.
“Impossible. The man’s like a father to Nathaniel, and the children, for reasons that escape me, are terribly fond of him.” She opened her eyes again and smiled bravely. “I can cope, dear, and I must admit the man has a way with certain rudimentary dishes.” She patted her new hairdo. “And I find little ways to distract myself.”
But Megan’s attention was stuck back at Coco’s first statement. “I suppose Mr. Van Horne has known Nathaniel for some time.”
