Loving You

by Maureen Child

  A dark flush painted his cheekbones. But he wouldn’t back down. “You don’t know me.”

  “I know enough,” she said. “All your weight lifting and your workouts? Did you have a place to sleep? Food? Family?”

  He frowned at her, his jaw working as if he wanted to speak, but forced himself to be quiet. To let her have her say and get it over with.

  “Do you know what it’s like to sleep in an alley?” Tasha asked, even though a small corner of her mind was shrieking at her to shut up. She didn’t want his pity. Didn’t need him to know that the misery of life with her parents had driven her, at fifteen, to the streets. She didn’t discuss that with anyone. She didn’t even like to remember a time when she was more used to being slapped than spoken to. She never thought about the pain of not being loved by her own parents. The nightmares had stopped long ago and the life she’d built was the only one that interested her.

  She’d run away at fifteen, lived on the streets until she was seventeen—and then, thank God, Mimi had entered her life. And now, at twenty-seven, Tasha knew what love was. Knew that people like Nick Candellano had lived a wildly different childhood than she had.

  She didn’t want to talk about any of this. But her emotions were in charge now and she couldn’t choke the words off. “Have you ever cashed in aluminum cans to buy a hamburger?” She shook her head, sending her hair into a wild tangle around her face. Scooping it back and out of her eyes, she locked gazes with him and kept right on, as if a cork had popped, releasing a torrent of words she’d never thought to say to anyone. “Of course you haven’t. When you were sixteen, what did you worry about, football star? Making the team? Who to ask to the prom?” She jabbed her index finger against his chest as if she could drill right through bone to reach his heart. “Well, I worried about the guy sleeping in the box next to me. I learned how to sleep with one eye open. I learned to eat when I could, ’cause there might not be anything tomorrow. I learned that you don’t trust anyone and that nothing comes easy.” She took a long, deep breath. “So don’t tell me your sad tales, rich man. They don’t mean jack to me.”

  Nick just looked at her.

  What the hell could he say?

  Her cheeks were flushed with fury, her eyes sparkling like ice chips in the sun. Her breath was ragged and she looked like she wanted to kick him.

  Hell, maybe he should let her.

  If the purpose of that tirade was to make him feel like a prick, then she was batting a thousand. “Tasha…”

  “Swear to God,” she said, backing up until the closed door was at her back again. “If you say you’re sorry…”

  The room was practically vibrating with an energy that pulsed around him like a live thing. He wasn’t sure what to do. What to say. For the first time in his life, Nick Candellano was speechless. He’d been whining about his bad breaks to a woman who’d had more than her share and still managed to come out whole. Together.

  He shook his head warily, sadly. “Are you kidding? Sorry for you? No. Hard to feel sorry for a woman who’s been turning my dreams into X-rated films lately.”

  She sucked in a quick breath.

  “Can I be sorry for the kid you were?” he asked. “Damn right I can.”

  “I’m not that kid anymore,” she whispered, and even her voice sounded hollow, as if she’d emptied herself and now there was nothing left. “I left her behind a long time ago.”

  “Maybe,” he said, and took a step closer to her. He moved slowly, carefully, as he would if trying to approach a feral kitten. Prepared for her to run, hoping she wouldn’t. His heart ached for what she’d been through, even while another, larger part of him admired the hell out of her. Not many people could come through what she had and remain in one piece. “But I think,” he said, his voice soft, gentle, “a part of that girl is still here. In you.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said, shaking her head until a single stray tear snaked along her cheek.

  “I don’t think so.”

  She reached up and impatiently brushed that tear away with the back of her hand. Then she straightened up, lifted her chin, and met his gaze squarely. “Look, I’m sorry I dumped on you. But I’d appreciate it if you’d just forget it.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t do that,” he said, lifting one hand to cup her cheek. “I’m too damned impressed.” His thumb stroked across the damp spot on her soft skin.

  She laughed shortly, shakily. “Yeah, I’m impressive.”

  “Red,” he said, and bent his head until he was no more than a breath away from her face … her mouth, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

  “I’m not trying to do anything to you,” she whispered.

  “And that’s the hell of it,” he said, staring into those green eyes as if hoping to find something he hadn’t known he’d lost. “You don’t even have to try.”

  Then, because he couldn’t help himself, because he never would have forgiven himself if he hadn’t … he kissed her. A soft, tender brush of his lips across hers. And the sizzling heat of that one brief touch of her flesh shot through him. In a moment, it was over and he pulled his head back to stare at her as if he’d never seen her before. Jesus. What was happening to him?

  He straightened, shoving his hands deep into his pockets so that he wouldn’t grab her and drag her down to the floor with him. She was one tough woman. Forged of steel, but with a soft inner core that called to something deep inside him. He’d never met a woman like Tasha Flynn before.

  She tugged at his heart even while she heated his blood and he wanted her so badly he ached with it.

  Ah, Jesus. He was in serious trouble. “I’m gonna go now,” he said quickly, before he said or did something really stupid.

  She moved to one side and Nick pulled his hands from his pockets, grabbing the doorknob. He paused, looked at her again, and slowly, cautiously, lifted his left hand to her cheek.

  Her eyes closed briefly at the contact.

  “You really are something else, Tasha Flynn.”

  Her eyes opened. “And you’re damn annoying, Nick Candellano.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked. “So I’ve been told.” He let his hand fall to his side but rubbed his fingers together as if he could still feel her skin. “Oh, yeah. About Jonas…”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. “You can pick him up. Three o’clock. Edison Elementary.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She nodded. “Don’t be late. And have him home by six for dinner.”

  “I know this is gonna sound strange … but you can trust me,” he said, and stepped through the door, closing it after him.

  Tasha leaned forward, resting her forehead against the door. Her heart was pounding and the sting of tears burned at the backs of her eyes. Jesus.

  She ran her tongue across her lower lip. She could still taste him. How could a brush of two mouths be so … soul-shaking … so unnerving?

  Things had just gotten a lot more complicated.

  CHAPTER 11

  Tasha slumped onto the chair, and now that it was way too late, she slapped one hand across her big mouth. Horses? Barn door? Good God.

  Oh, this was so bad in so many ways.

  She jumped up from the chair and paced frantically. Of course, in the tiny office, that consisted of three quick steps, a turn, and three quick steps. Oh, Mimi, she thought, the shit just doesn’t get any deeper than this.

  The office door swung open and Molly stuck her head inside. “Hey, Mr. Cute Butt just left. He wasn’t looking too happy and—”

  Tasha looked at her friend and grimaced.

  “Uh-oh,” Molly said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “Okay, compared to you, he looked like he was headed to a party. What’s going on?”

  Tasha inhaled sharply, deeply, and hoped the extra air would calm the swarms of butterflies in her stomach. It didn’t. “Oh God. I told him.”

  “Told him what?”

  “Too much.”

  “About Mi
mi?” Molly’s voice squeaked.

  “No, about me.” Tasha scraped her hair back from her face with both hands and then let it all fall again to form a dark red curtain on either side of her face. She only wished she could hide behind it. But that wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t take back everything she’d said to Nick. It wouldn’t wipe away the expression on his face when he looked at her. It wouldn’t turn back time to help her dig herself out of this mess. So instead of hiding, she blurted, “I actually told him about me living on the streets.”

  “Ohhhh.…” Molly’s eyes went wide.

  “Yeah. Then I told him he was a wimp, whining about his injury and his football career ending when I slept in alleys.” Tasha nodded violently. She really had said all of it. Oh God. She still could hardly believe it. Stuff she’d buried. Stuff she tried to never think about anymore.

  “How’d he take it?”

  “Stunned would be a good word.” Shaking her head, Tasha swallowed hard, to keep the sudden roll of nausea where it belonged.

  “Maybe it’ll be okay.” Molly shrugged helplessly. “I mean, why would he care, right?”

  “Sure. Why would he care? The fact that he’s rich and settled and famous and could take Jonas away from me in a heartbeat if he wanted to, that should be enough.” She eased down to sit on the corner of the desk. “Why should he be interested in the new ammunition I just handed him?”

  Molly hissed in a breath. “Right.”

  “But there’s more.”

  “More?” Molly slumped back against the door. “Jesus. What else is left?”

  “I kissed him.”

  “You—” Molly came away from the door like she was on a spring.

  “Well, technically, he kissed me,” Tasha corrected before Molly could get her question out. “But there was definitely kissing.”

  “Lips kissing?”

  “No,” Tasha said, sarcasm dripping from her voice, “hand kissing. Yes, lips. And maybe, just a hint of tongue.”

  “Whoa.” Molly’s eyebrows shot up. “Was he as good as I think he is, just by looking at him?”

  “Better.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.” Tasha rubbed one hand across her mouth, but all she succeeded in doing was reminding herself of that kiss. The soft, gentle brush of his mouth on hers. The snaking ribbons of electricity that sizzled through her.

  “Well, this might work out okay then.”

  “What?” Tasha’s gaze snapped to Molly and she could have sworn she actually saw the wheels in her friend’s mind whirling.

  “Hey, if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.”

  “Join ’em how?”

  “This could be worse, you know. At least he’s really cute and a good kisser, judging by the glassy shine in your eyes.”

  “Which has to do with what?”

  “Everything.” Molly leaned back against the door again, folded her arms over her chest, and gave Tasha a sly smile. “He likes you, you like him, you get married, and you both get Jonas.”

  Tasha shook her head, then stared at her friend for a long minute. She couldn’t even argue with a statement as dumb as that one. Tasha Flynn was so not Nick Candellano’s type. She didn’t have a family. Didn’t come from a good home. Hell, she’d lived on the streets as a kid. That’s not exactly the kind of woman Nick was going to take home to Mother. Nope. Molly, bless her heart, was just a romantic—with a blind eye. “You know, Molly, sometimes I worry about you.”

  * * *

  Evelyn Walker sat at her computer and stared blankly at the screen. The clutter of noise surrounding her—raised voices, the clatter of fingers on keyboards, and the weeping of a solitary child—never touched her.

  She was used to it.

  Thirty years working in child welfare had made her immune to the sound of tears as well as to the various and sundry excuses people came up with to sidestep her inquiries.

  People like Tasha Flynn.

  Sitting poker-straight, Evelyn reached for the wafer-thin bone china cup at her elbow. Lifting the rose-bedecked cup to her lips, she took a dainty sip of her still warm Earl Grey tea. Tasha Flynn was hiding something.

  Evelyn knew it.

  She felt it.

  She could smell a lie from a hundred yards off.

  Setting her cup gently back down on its matching saucer, she stared at the file, lying open across her desk. Jonas Baker. One of dozens of children she was responsible for, the boy stared back at her, unsmiling in the official photo. Evelyn tapped her fingertips against the paper-littered blotter as she considered his case.

  Eleven years old and in the care of a woman so flighty she’d been on “vacation” for six months. Evelyn’s mouth puckered as if she’d bitten into something especially sour. Mimi Castle was undignified, unconventional, and annoying in the extreme. However, the woman had been a foster mother for so many years, she was thought of as a saint in the Santa Cruz area.

  Which left Evelyn in the minority when she filed complaints about the woman’s frequent displays of unorthodox behavior. For heaven’s sake, what woman of seventy actually held a car wash in her front yard to benefit a stranded sea lion? And as for her “hippie” tendencies … Evelyn unconsciously straightened in her chair and tugged at her pale blue suit jacket. A woman as old as Mimi had no business wearing braids and moccasins.

  But as flighty as the older woman was, Evelyn was forced to admit that Mimi Castle had never been incommunicado this long before. Something was wrong. Unfortunately, since Jonas was being well cared for and fed, that put him light-years ahead of the other children she was sworn to protect. So Mimi Castle would stay on Evelyn’s back burner a while longer.

  But sooner or later—when she could find a little extra time in one of her too-short days—Evelyn would discover whatever it was Tasha Flynn was so determined to hide.

  * * *

  The drive to the small television station outside San Jose was long, familiar, and didn’t require a hell of a lot of attention. The truth was, Nick could have driven it in his sleep. So that left his brain plenty of time to wander.

  Usually, if left to its own devices, his mind shot directly to his playing days. Recalling the glory moments, play-by-play. He could remember all of the truly great ones with amazing clarity, as if those small pieces in time had been carved deep into his brain.

  Without even trying, he could recapture the heady sensation of a victory run. The thrill of crossing the goal line just a breath ahead of some three-hundred-pounder intent on destroying him. In his thoughts, Nick heard the roar of the crowd and the shrill shriek of the ref’s whistle. He remembered exactly how it felt to be standing on the sidelines with his teammates. How their breath puffed into clouds of fog in front of their face masks during the winter games. How spring and summer practice sessions could sweat the life out of a man.

  And how good it had been to be a part of something … special.

  But today he couldn’t get Tasha’s words out of his mind. He saw her as she must have been. Young, alone. Scared. What had she been running from? What had been so bad that she’d chosen outright danger rather than staying put? Did she have a family somewhere? Someone who might be looking for her? Worrying about her? Or had they been happy to see her go?

  Jesus, what kind of family was that? He couldn’t even get his mind around that one. To a Candellano, there was nothing more important than family. His mother would have walked into fire for any one of her kids. They’d all known it. His brothers, his sister, and he had all grown up secure in the knowledge that no matter what, they were safe. Loved.

  Had Tasha ever had that?

  Sunlight speared through the bank of dark clouds overhead and sliced right through the windshield and into his eyes. Nick reached for his sunglasses, tugged them on, and squinted anyway. Hell, he felt like his head was going to explode, and at the moment that sounded like a vacation.

  He couldn’t forget the look in her eyes when she’d faced him down. Couldn’t forget the taste of her when
she’d—so briefly—kissed him back. Couldn’t forget too damn much about her. She was slipping into his life. Into his … heart?

  Her face filled his mind and it seemed as though he could even taste her scent. No exclusive, expensive perfume for Tasha. She smelled of flowery shampoos and soap and … he chuckled and shook his head. Hair spray. Yet somehow those scents combined to become something alluring. Something that was pure Tasha. Something that drove him to distraction the moment he came close enough to catch a hint of her scent.

  That woman touched places in him he hadn’t been sure existed. Scowling, he reached up to adjust his sunglasses, then scrubbed his hand across his mouth. Damn it, he could still taste her. That one sweet, soft, too-damn-brief kiss had ignited the embers that had been smoking inside him for days. Heat pooled in his belly and reached out with hungry talons to drag across his nerve endings. He wanted her. Wanted her so badly, his whole body ached with it.

  And the wanting was something he wasn’t used to. Oh, he’d wanted women before. But that had been simple desire. A quick flash of need that was just as quickly eased. But this wanting went deeper.

  Ever since he’d first laid eyes on her, he hadn’t so much as thought about another woman, and that was just not like him. He blew out an exasperated breath, changed lanes, and honked the horn at the idiot merging onto the freeway in front of him, traveling at little more than a crawl. Maybe that was it, he thought, just a little desperately. He’d been so involved with Tasha and Jonas, he’d forgotten about having a life. Getting out. Seeing people. Women. Maybe he just needed to get laid.

  As much as he’d like to believe that, he couldn’t.

  It wasn’t just sex he wanted.

  It was sex with Tasha.

  “Okay, enough already,” he snapped through gritted teeth. Reaching out, he flipped on the radio, and, instantly a clash of guitars and a slam of drums blasted from the speakers. Good. Just what he needed to get rid of the soft, sexual thoughts invading his brain.