She opened the small bag of clear, iridescent discs to make sure she had enough to be scales. She thought she might need another bag, which would mean another search. She would use the black glitter for the eyes and to tip the wings and the tail. She’d seen a box of small gold-colored paper clips in a drawer. Maybe if she used those with the discs she could add dimension to the scales and have enough material for the body. She also had some glass beads she wanted to incorporate and—
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She turned and saw Ronan walk into the studio. Her heartbeat instantly accelerated and her palms got sweaty. What on earth? Was she coming down with something?
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Good. I’m getting there.”
“May I?”
She nodded and he approached to study her work-in-progress.
The finished piece would be large—maybe two feet by four feet. The canvas lay flat on the largest of the work spaces. She’d applied two coats of flat white paint to seal the material before drawing the outline of her dragon in pencil.
“I’m going to do a night scene,” she said. “I haven’t found the right material for the sky. I’m thinking I want something with texture like beads or maybe pebbles. The white showing through will be the stars.”
She picked up a few of the torn pieces of paper she’d piled on the desk. “I’m not sure about these. Maybe bits of fabric would be better.”
“They’d handle light differently,” he said. “Do you want me to make you some black glass beads for the sky?”
“No! Are you insane? Ronan, no. You can’t. You have a multimillion-dollar commission you need to be working on. I can buy glass beads.”
“If you don’t have a strong opinion,” he said, his voice teasing.
“Make me glass beads,” she grumbled. “As if.”
He pulled up a chair and sat next to her. “Does the inspiration always come from what you have around, or do you find your vision determines what you’re going to use?”
“Both. I thought of dragons the second I drove up the mountain, so that’s where the idea came from. Then I used what I could find in here.” She grinned. “It’s a pretty sweet setup. I have great light in my home studio, but it’s just a boring bedroom. This is so much better.” She glanced toward the window. “I would love to see what it’s like up here when the sun has been shining for days. You have southern exposure. It makes me wish I was a better painter.” She wrinkled her nose. “But we all know that’s not going to happen.”
“You like working in paper.”
“I do. It’s fun. Not just the origami, but other things. I’ve done a few paper mobiles for baby gifts. That’s been interesting. Sometimes Pallas asks me to help with a wedding.”
“Nick’s Pallas?” He sounded surprised.
She nodded. “You do remember that she owns a destination wedding business, right? Couples come from all over to be married at Weddings Out of the Box.”
“I’ve heard rumors, yes.”
“Most of the weddings are variations on a theme, but every now and then one of them is totally custom. If there’s something I can do to help, I will. It’s fun for me and a nice bonus for the income stream. One of the Valentine’s Day weddings was all things hearts. Not original considering, but still. I made origami hearts that held the place cards for the reception, and a lot of bigger folded hearts for decorations. Last year for an under-the-sea wedding, I made little turtles and starfish that were scattered on the tables.” A lot of work, but she’d enjoyed the challenge.
“Nick helps Pallas with a lot of her decorations,” Ronan said. “He enjoys the work.”
“You made the glowy orbs for the alien wedding.” She remembered how cool they’d looked with all the other decorations. “It’s nice to be a part of things. Maybe I should learn to do caricatures.”
“For weddings?”
“At the reception. As a memento. I’d have to be really fast, though, which probably takes a lot of practice.”
“You’re not going to settle on just one thing, are you?”
“Maybe if I could sell it for a lot of money,” she said with a laugh. “I love being an artist, but I do enjoy paying my bills. For the right price, I could be bought.”
Her record sale had been for nearly two thousand dollars, but that had been for an entire collection, and for a fundraiser. She hadn’t seen a cent. She’d yet to sell a single piece for more than three hundred dollars, and she had to split her sad little payment with the gallery. Oh, to be in the four-figure range.
She glanced at Ronan. His pieces sold for several hundred thousand dollars. What must that be like, to never have to worry about money? She and her mom had always pinched pennies, but her mom had made it fun—like a game. Their frugal habits had served her well as an adult.
Having a baby would be a financial responsibility, she thought as she remembered her baby daddy app. She would need savings and more regular income and better medical insurance.
Ronan frowned. “What are you thinking? You’re looking fierce about something.”
“Just that I might not be ready to have a baby by myself.”
“Rethinking the app?”
“I’m still going to play with it, but I’m not ready for a donor at this exact moment.” But if she started seriously planning, then maybe in the next year or so.
She knew she wanted a family—connection. She talked about having bad luck with men because it was an easy almost-truth. The real story was harder and more painful. First she’d lost her mother, her only family. Later, when Quentin had dumped her, she’d not only lost the man she’d loved, she’d lost the promise of belonging. Until he’d told her otherwise, she’d believed that his family cared about her and wanted her to be one of them. But she’d been wrong and once again she’d been left alone. A baby would mean being part of something again.
She would have to think on it and decide what was the most important to her. Was she willing to work full-time and put her art on the back burner for the chance to belong? Because that would mean she could get pregnant much sooner. Life, it seemed, was always about choices.
“Come on,” she said, standing and walking to the door. “I defrosted some cooked chicken and a loaf of bread overnight. I thought we could have chicken salad sandwiches for dinner.” She paused by the door and wiggled her eyebrows at him. “I’ll even cook.”
“Impressive.”
“I know, right? Oh, and maybe we could eat in the family room instead of the dining room.”
He paused in midstride and stared at her. “Why?” he asked, his voice more than a little suspicious.
“I thought we could watch a movie.”
“Uh-huh. Which one?”
“Which one do you think?”
“Not Frozen. I mean that, Natalie. We are not watching a kids’ movie over dinner.”
She walked onto the landing and started down the stairs. “It’s so strange. I know you’re talking but all I hear is a buzzing sound.”
* * *
NATALIE WAITED UNTIL the credits finished rolling before turning to Ronan. “Admit it. You have to. You know I’m right. You loved every single minute of it.”
Ronan leaned back in the big sofa and shook his head. “I’m not admitting anything.” Then he glanced at her. One corner of his mouth turned up in the sexiest way possible. “It was okay.”
She threw a pillow at him. “You are so lying. It was wonderful. You laughed, you got scared, you were totally engaged.”
“I wasn’t scared.”
“The ice monster scared you. I could tell.” She stood and stretched. “Olaf and Sven are the best. And Elsa and Anna. I wish I’d had a sister with magical powers. Or maybe just a regular sister. Didn’t you love the animation? The Disney team is so talented. And the way they seamlessly blended in the songs
. Wouldn’t it be fun to do that?” She drew in a breath, then stopped herself. Singing was not her thing. Or at least not in front of other people. She was actually pretty decent in the shower.
Ronan rose and faced her. “You’re a little like a pinball, heading in forty-seven directions at once.”
“Am not.” She considered his statement. “Okay, maybe a little. It’s just everything is so interesting. We should make cookies. We’ll want them later. You’ve got the premade ones you only have to bake. You know, for our midnight snack.” She leaned close and put her hand on his chest. “Later, when ‘Let It Go’ is stuck in your head, you’ll remember tonight.”
She expected him to laugh, or groan or do something other than put his hands on her waist and pull her close right before he settled his mouth on hers.
His move was so unexpected she almost didn’t react. Or rather she almost did react by pulling back and asking him what on earth he was thinking. Only she managed to stop herself in time, which was a really good thing because Ronan’s kiss—even a casual, practically chaste kiss—was a not-to-be-missed experience.
His mouth was warm against hers. Purposeful without being too demanding. He kissed with intent and intensity, all the while not moving or taking or doing anything but holding his lips right there, on hers, until her whole body began to burn, and she knew, she just knew, nothing would ever be the same again.
He drew back. His gaze was determined, his expression unreadable. She had no idea what he was thinking, but if she had to guess, she would say he was making a decision. To do more? To stop? To—
“I’m sorry.”
“Noooo.” She drew back and put her hands on her hips. “Do not apologize. That ruins everything.”
“You’re my guest.”
“So?”
“I want you to feel safe while you’re here. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Because she was his guest? “Do you really think that I’ll be afraid you’ll break down my bedroom door to have your way with me?” She asked the question half-seriously and just a little bit hopeful about the answer.
“I wouldn’t do that, but yes. You’re stuck here in the house. I don’t want you feeling unsafe.”
There it was—the unexpected nice-guy moment. When it followed an amazing kiss, it was twice as deadly. “Does it occur to you that having that concern means you don’t have to have that concern?”
When he only looked confused, she added, “Ronan, I’m not worried you’re going to do anything untoward.” She made air quotes around the last word. “I trust you and the kiss was very nice, so you can’t take it back. That would hurt my feelings.”
“All right. I won’t take it back. I’m glad you liked it.”
She smiled. “You liked it, too.”
“I did. Now let’s go make cookies. It will defuse the tension.”
“Ooh, you think we have tension!”
He growled low in his throat. “Don’t start with me.”
“I have to start with you. There’s no one else here.”
He sighed. “Fine. Tell me about the baby app. You’re really considering that.”
She burst out laughing as she headed for the refrigerator. “Wow, you really are desperate to distract me. You’d rather talk about my baby app than the kiss? I’m going to remember how easy you are to rattle. Brace yourself. The next time you get on my nerves, I am so taking you down.”
“I never get on your nerves.”
“You have no idea.” She found the cookies and tossed the package onto the counter, then collected a couple of cookie sheets.
“How could I annoy you?”
He sounded genuinely confused, which was seriously cute, she thought as she washed her hands before ripping open the log-shaped package.
“You have it all and you don’t appreciate it.” She cut the dough into slices, then divided each slice into quarters. “You have a great career. Your work is literally sought after all around the world. You have family—brothers who care about you. Mathias followed you here. Do you get that? He totally uprooted his life, left everything he knew, so he could still be your twin. I have the feeling you don’t appreciate that enough.”
She thought about what he was dealing with—his family, his inability to work—and wished she had words of wisdom, but she’d been blessed with a sunny disposition rather than the ability to help people with their problems.
She glanced at him. He was watching her, but she had no idea what he was thinking.
“And Nick,” she added, figuring she was on a roll and should just keep talking. “He moved here, too. To be with you and Mathias. That’s a big deal. I know you think Ceallach isn’t a good father—and from what I’ve heard, he isn’t—but still, that’s some powerful DNA.”
“There’s a price for that DNA.”
“Your mom is a nice counterbalance.”
She spoke without thinking, then could have slapped herself. Ronan didn’t know who his mother was and he didn’t accept the woman who had raised him as that person.
She finished with the cookies and walked to the sink to wash her hands. Silence built in the kitchen until it threatened to suck all the air out of the room. She dried her hands, crossed to him and stared into his green eyes.
“You know what I meant,” she said softly.
“Elaine isn’t my mother.”
Elaine had raised him—she’d loved him, worried about him, done her best for him, so yeah, she was his mother, but Natalie wasn’t going to die on that particular hill.
“You are such a pain in my ass,” she murmured. “Honestly, if I thought it would do any good, I would so slap you upside the head.”
Things could have gone a thousand different ways. She half expected him to stalk out of the kitchen, never to be heard from again. Or he could have gotten really mad and yelled at her. Or he could have been sarcastic and maybe hurt her feelings. Instead that very wily, very appealing corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if he were trying not to smile.
“You’re not as bad as people think,” she whispered, allowing herself to get lost in his eyes.
“You’re about ten times worse.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You mean that in the nicest way possible.”
“Yes, I do.”
The tension returned, but it was a lot more interesting than it had been before. She couldn’t help thinking about the brief, chaste kiss they’d shared. Imagine what he could do if he put his mind to it. Or his body.
Without having anything close to a plan, she stepped close, put her hands on his chest and said, “While sex is never the answer, it can sometimes be a nice distraction.”
Emotions skittered through his eyes. She didn’t bother trying to figure out what they were. Instead she waited for him to pull her close and—
“Natalie, no.” He took a step back. “You’re my guest. We had this conversation. I’m sorry, but we can’t.”
Before she could figure out if he meant what she thought he meant, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her and the cookies alone.
She stared after him, not able to believe he’d rejected her. Didn’t he know that she’d never done anything like that before in her life? Just blatantly asked for sex? He was supposed to say yes, otherwise she never would have asked.
Humiliation burned hot, staining her cheeks and making her run for the relative safety of her room. Once there she tried to slow her breathing, but she couldn’t. Rejection more than stung—it made her feel small and less than. It made her want to disappear. Only she couldn’t. Ronan had tried to warn her and she hadn’t listened. She was well and truly trapped with nowhere to go.
CHAPTER SIX
RONAN DIDN’T KNOW what to do. He wanted to give Natalie space and distance himself from her, so he couldn’t take her up on her amazing invitation. He retreated
to his studio, locking the door behind him. The turn of the dead bolt was much more for him than for her. It was a tangible reminder that she was under his charge and therefore to be protected.
He knew better than to try to work. Sexual frustration and molten glass were not a good mix. Instead he paced for nearly an hour before settling down enough to plan out the next few steps in completing his massive installation. It was nearly eight o’clock when he finally allowed himself to go back into the house. The second he stepped inside, he knew she was gone. Knew it from the stillness in the air.
Panic and worry braided together to hang him, but before he could come up with a plan to go find her, he saw a note on the island, next to a batch of baked cookies.
The road crew called. Things went faster than they expected, so they cleared the way tonight. I caught a ride back to town with them. Thanks again for giving me a place to stay in the storm. N.
He carefully set the paper back on the island, knowing if he held it he would crush it. She was gone. Back to her place, back to where she belonged. His life was restored to what it had become. He should be thrilled. Delighted. Relieved. Only all he could think was how much he wanted her back, even as he knew that was never going to happen.
* * *
AFTER SHOWERING AND changing into fresh clothes, Natalie paced through her apartment. She rented the second floor of a converted house. The kitchen and bath had been updated, but what had drawn her to the rental were the big windows in the south-facing master bedroom.
The light was perfect. Nothing like it would have been in Ronan’s turret, but still, plenty for her. She’d taken the smaller second bedroom to sleep in and used the master as her at-home art studio.
She fixed herself a sad little frozen dinner and made herbal tea, all the while thinking longingly of German hot chocolate and marshmallows and charming conversation and the man who had delighted her at every turn...right up until he’d resisted her advances.
“No means no,” she whispered, stirring the slightly gummy spaghetti and trying to find humor in her battered heart.
Not battered, she told herself. Embarrassed. There was a difference. Ronan had done what he thought was right to protect her and she needed to respect that. Her hurt feelings were her problem.
Why Not Tonight Page 7
