Page 62 of Megan's Mate
“You really think time’s the answer, don’t you? That no matter what’s going on inside you, if you just wait a reasonable period, study all the data, balance all the figures, the right answer comes up.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “If you’re saying do I need time, then yes, I do.”
“Fine, take your time, but add this into your equation.” In two strides he was in front of her, dragging her up, crushing her mouth with his. “You feel just what I feel.”
She did—she was very much afraid she did. “That’s not the answer.”
“It’s the only answer.” His eyes burned into hers. “I wasn’t looking for you, either, Megan. My own course was plotted out just fine. You changed everything for me. So you’re going to have to adjust your nice neat columns and make room for me. Because I love you, and I’m going to have you. You and Kevin are going to belong to me.” He released her. “Think about it,” he said, and walked out.
Idiot. Nathaniel continued to curse himself as he spun his wheels pulling up in front of Shipshape. Obviously he’d found a new way to court a woman: Yell and offer ultimatums. Clearly the perfect way to win a heart.
He snatched Dog out of the back seat and received a sympathetic face bath. “Want to get drunk?” he asked the wriggling ball of fur. “Nope, you’re right, bad choice.” He stepped inside the building, set the dog down and wondered where he might find an alternative.
Work, he decided, was a wiser option than a bottle.
He busied himself with an engine until he heard the familiar blat of a horn. That would be Holt, bringing in the last tour of the day.
His mood still sour, Nathaniel went out and down to the pier to help secure lines.
“The holiday’s bringing in a lot of tourists,” Holt commented when the lines were secured. “Good runs today.”
“Yeah.” Nathaniel scowled at the throng of people still lingering on the docks. “I hate crowds.”
Holt’s brow lifted. “You were the one who came up with the Fourth of July special to lure them in.”
“We need the money.” Nathaniel stomped back into the shop. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Who’s ticked you off?”
“Nobody.” Nathaniel took out a cigar, lit it defiantly. “I’m not used to being landlocked, that’s all.”
Holt very much doubted that was all but, in the way of men, shrugged his acceptance and picked up a wrench. “This engine’s coming along.”
“I can pick up and go anytime.” Nathaniel clamped the cigar between his teeth. “Nothing holding me. All I got to do is pack a bag, hop a freighter.”
Holt sighed, accepted his lot as a sounding board. “Megan, is it?”
“I didn’t ask for her to drop in my lap, did I?”
“Well...”
“I was here first.” Even when he heard how ridiculous that sounded, Nathaniel couldn’t stop. “Woman’s got a computer chip in her head. She’s not even my type, with those neat little suits and that glossy briefcase. Who ever said I was going to settle down here, lock myself in for life? I’ve never stayed put anywhere longer than a month since I was eighteen.”
Holt pretended to work on the engine. “You started a business, took out a mortgage. And it seems to me you’ve been here better than six months now.”
“Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Is Megan dropping hints about wedding bells?”
“No.” Nathaniel scowled around his cigar and snarled. “I am.”
Holt dropped his wrench. “Hold on a minute. Let me get this straight. You’re thinking of getting married, and you’re kicking around here muttering about hopping a freighter and not being tied down?”
“I didn’t ask to be tied down; it just happened.” Nathaniel took a deliberate puff then swore. “Damn it, Holt, I made a fool of myself.”
“Funny how we do that around women, isn’t it? Did you have a fight with her?”
“I told her I loved her. She started the fight.” He paced the shop, nearly gave in to the urge to kick the tool bench. “What happened to the days when women wanted to get married, when that was their Holy Grail, when they set hooks for men to lure them in?”
