Нора Робертс – The Stanislaskis: Taming Natasha (страница 10)

It was perfect. The light, the shadows, the pale pastels of the room all combined to make the perfect backdrop. The alignment of their heads, their bodies, was too natural and eloquent ever to be posed. The girl was in pink and white, the laces of one sneaker untied. He had taken off his jacket and tie, then rolled up the sleeves of the pale dress shirt to the elbows like a workman.

There was the fragile shine of the child’s hair, the deeper glow of his. The child leaned back against her father, her head resting just under his collarbone; the faintest smile of pleasure lighted her face. Over it all was the simple nursery rhyme music she was playing.

He had his hands on the knees of her jeans, his long, beautiful fingers tapping the time in tandem with the tick of the antique metronome. She could see it all, the love, the patience, the pride.

“No, please,” Natasha whispered, holding out a hand to Vera. “Don’t disturb them.”

“You play now, Daddy.” Freddie tilted her head toward his. Her hair wisped around her face where it had escaped from its clips. “Play something pretty.”

“Für Elise.” Natasha recognized it instantly, that soft, romantic, somehow lonely music. It went straight to her heart as she watched his fingers stroke, caress, seduce the keys.

What was he thinking? She could see that his thoughts had turned inward—to the music, to himself. There was an effortlessness in the way his fingers flowed over the keys, and yet she knew that kind of beauty was never achieved without the greatest effort.

The song swelled, note after note, unbearably sad, impossibly beautiful, like the vase of waxy calla lilies that rested on the glossy surface of the piano.

Too much emotion, Natasha thought. Too much pain, though the sun was still shining through the gauzy curtains and the child on his lap continued to smile. The urge to go to him, to put a comforting hand onto his shoulder, to hold them both against her heart, was so strong that she had to curl her fingers into her palms.

Then the music drifted away, the last note lingering like a sigh.

“I like that one,” Freddie told him. “Did you make it up?”

“No.” He looked at his fingers, spreading them, flexing them, then letting them rest on hers. “Beethoven did.” Then he was smiling again, pressing his lips to the soft curve of his daughter’s neck. “Had enough for today, funny face?”

“Can I play outside until dinner?”

“Well… What’ll you give me?”

It was an old game and a favorite one. Giggling, she swiveled on his lap and gave him a hard, smacking kiss. Still squealing from the bear hug, she spotted Natasha. “Hi!”

“Miss Stanislaski would like to see you, Dr. Kimball.” At his nod, Vera walked back to the kitchen.

“Hello.” Natasha managed to smile, even when Spence lifted his daughter and turned. She wasn’t over the music yet. It was still pouring through her like tears. “I hope I haven’t come at a bad time.”

“No.” After a last squeeze, he set Freddie down, and she immediately bounded to Natasha.

“We’re all finished with my lesson. Did you come to play?”

“No, not this time.” Unable to resist, Natasha bent to stroke Freddie’s cheek. “Actually I came to talk to your father.” But she was a coward, Natasha thought in disgust. Rather than look at him, she continued to address Freddie. “How do you like school? You have Mrs. Patterson, don’t you?”

“She’s nice. She didn’t even yell when Mikey Towers’s icky bug collection got loose in the classroom. And I can read all of Go, Dog, Go.”

Natasha crouched so that they were eye to eye. “Do you like my hat?”

Freddie laughed, recognizing the line from the Dr. Seuss classic. “I like the dog party part the best.”

“So do I.” Automatically she tied Freddie’s loose laces. “Will you come to the store and visit me soon?”

“Okay.” Delighted with herself, Freddie raced for the door. “Bye Miss Stanof—Stanif—”

“Tash.” She sent Freddie a wink. “All the kids call me Tash.”

“Tash.” Freddie grinned at the sound of the name, then streaked away.

She listened to Freddie’s sneakers squeak down the hall, then took a long breath. “I’m sorry to disturb you at home, but I felt it would be more…” What was the word? Appropriate, comfortable? “It would be better.”

“All right.” His eyes were very cool, not like those of the man who had played such sad and passionate music. “Would you like to sit down?”

“No.” She said it too quickly, then reminded herself that it was better if they were both stiffly polite. “It won’t take long. I only want to apologize.”

“Oh? For something specific?”

Fire blazed in her eyes. He enjoyed seeing it, particularly since he’d spent most of the night cursing her. “When I make a mistake, I make a point of admitting it. But since you behaved so—” Oh, why did she always lose her English when she was angry?

“Unconscionably?” he suggested.

Her brow shot up into her fall of hair. “So you admit it.”

“I thought you were the one who was here to admit something.” Enjoying himself, he sat on the arm of a wing chair in pale blue damask. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

She was tempted, very tempted, to turn on her heel and stalk out. Pride was equally as strong as temper. She would do what she had come to do, then forget it.

“What I said about you—about you and your daughter was unfair and untrue. Even when I was…mistaken about other things, I knew it was untrue. And I’m very sorry I said it.”

“I can see that.” Out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement. He turned his head in time to see Freddie make her sprinter’s rush for the swings. “We’ll forget it.”

Natasha followed his gaze and softened. “She really is a beautiful child. I hope you let her come into the shop from time to time.”

The tone of her voice had him studying Natasha more carefully. Was it longing, sorrow? “I doubt I could keep her away. You’re very fond of children.”

Natasha brought her emotions under control with a quick jerk. “Yes, of course. In my business it’s a requirement. I won’t keep you, Dr. Kimball.”

He rose to accept the hand she had formally held out. “Spence,” he corrected, gently tightening his fingers on hers. “What else was it you were mistaken about?”

So it wasn’t going to be easy. Then again, Natasha thought she deserved a dose of humiliation. “I thought you were married, and was very angry and insulted when you asked me out.”

“You’re taking my word now that I’m not married.”

“No. I looked it up in the library in Who’s Who.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, then threw back his head and laughed. “God, what a trusting soul. Find anything else that interested you?”

“Only things that would fill your ego. You still have my hand.”

“I know. Tell me, Natasha, did you dislike me on general principles, or only because you thought I was a married man and had no business flirting with you?”

“Flirting?” She nearly choked on the word. “There was nothing so innocent in the way you looked at me. As if…”

“As if—?” he prompted.

As if we were already lovers, she thought, and felt her skin heat. “I didn’t like it,” she said shortly.

“Because you thought I was married?”

“Yes. No,” she said, correcting herself when she realized where that could lead. “I just didn’t like it.” He brought her hand to his lips. “Don’t,” she managed.

“How would you like me to look at you?”

“It isn’t necessary for you to look at all.”

“But it is.” He could feel it again, that high-strung passion, just waiting to burst free from whatever cell she had locked it in. “You’ll be sitting right in front of me tomorrow night in class.”

“I’m going to transfer.”

“No, you won’t.” He brushed a finger over the small gold hoop in her ear. “You enjoyed it too much. I could see the wheels turning in that fabulous head of yours. And if you did,” he continued before she could sputter out a response, “I’d just make a nuisance of myself in your shop.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the first woman I’ve wanted in longer than I can remember.”

Excitement rippled up her spine like chain lightning. Before she could prevent it, the memory of that stormy kiss curved back to weaken her. Yes, that had been a man who had wanted. And had, no matter how she had resisted, made her want, too.

But that had only been one kiss, fueled by lust despite the moonlight and soft air. She knew heartbreakingly well where such desires could lead.

“That’s nonsense.”

“Simple honesty,” he murmured, fascinated by the emotions that came and went in her dark eyes. “I thought it best, since we’d gotten off to such a shaky beginning. Since you’ve determined for yourself that I’m not married, knowing I’m attracted to you shouldn’t insult you.”

“I’m not insulted,” she said carefully. “I’m just not interested.”