Loving You (18 page)

Leaving the women to fight over the baked goods like starving hounds on a banquet, Tasha led the way into her office. Once inside, she waited for Nick to follow her, then closed the door behind him. Leaning back against it, she looked up at him.

“What is it?”

“Well, that's friendly.”

“You want friendly?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. “Step back out into the shop. Those baked goods just bought you a whole bunch of friends.”

Some guard dogs they were, she thought. Waltz a good-looking man past them and they drooled. Dangle a little chocolate in front of them and they all caved in. Even Molly.

Nick pushed one hand through his hair, turned away from her, then just as quickly spun back around to face her. “I was thinking. If it's okay with you, I thought I'd pick Jonas up from school today.”

She stiffened. “Why?”

“Because we need to talk, him and me.” Shaking his head, Nick threw his hands high, then let them slap against his sides.

“Father-to-son?” she asked.

He winced. “Something like that.”

“No,” she said flatly, staring at the man who had the power to end her family. Since waking up from that dream the night before, she'd been doing a lot of thinking. And the only thing she knew for sure was that she had to protect Jonas. She was all he had. She would
protect him from the state's foster care system, where children were lost under layers of red tape and piles of papers—and she would protect him from this man. The man who might be the father Jonas wanted so badly. “It's not ‘something like that,' Nick. It either is or isn't. You are his father or you're not. You remember his mother or you don't.”

“I don't, okay?” The words were torn from him and she could see he didn't like the sound of them any more than she did. He wasn't saying he didn't know her. Only that he didn't remember her. There was a difference. She wanted him to say that there was no chance he was the boy's father. But it looked as though neither of them was going to get what they wanted—at least not today.

He looked like he wanted—needed—to pace. But there was nowhere to go. No place to move to. Between the small desk and the one chair, the room was pretty much used up. So rather than move, he took a long, deep breath, then blew it out in one frustrated rush. “Look. This isn't easy for me. I don't know anything about being a father. Never wanted to learn. The
idea
of becoming a father never occurred to me.”

“That's what this is about, isn't it?” she asked, coming away from the door to face him. Fury licked at her soul, chewed at her heart. Leaning toward him, she tilted her head back to make sure she was glaring right into his dark brown eyes. “It's not easy. That's what's bugging you. The great Nick Candellano is used to easy. Well, welcome to the real world, pal.”

“Easy?” He laughed shortly. “Listen, red. I've been working my ass off my whole life. Running, lifting weights, training. Working through heat that'd suck the air out of your lungs and through cold so deep the
water in the sidelines jug had ice skimmed across the top of it.”

He leaned in at her until they were nose-to-nose. Neither one of them was willing to give an inch.

Tasha opened her mouth, but he cut her off before she could laugh in his arrogant face.

“I've worked through broken bones and muscles so sore they were screaming.” He loomed over her, matching her, glare for glare. “And then in
one
miserable second, it was all over. One fucking tackle that went the wrong way and my knee was blown. I'm done. Finished. At thirty-fucking-three, I'm through. Everything I worked for my whole damn life is gone forever. So don't talk to me about easy, lady.”

“You delusional…” Tasha surrendered to the temper inside and let it boil to the surface. Planting both hands on his chest, she shoved him as hard as she could and had the satisfaction of pushing him until the backs of his thighs pressed against her desk.

“That's your idea of a rough life?” she countered hotly. “Playing a game? Hearing the applause? Cashing a single paycheck that's probably more than most people will earn in a lifetime?” She snorted a choked-off laugh that scraped her throat and brought tears to her eyes. “Well, poor you. Poor Nick Candellano. Getting your picture taken all the time must have been hell on you. What a nightmare.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice and he actually winced, but she kept going, on a roll now and unable, and unwilling, to stop. “Your knee got wrecked. Poor you. You can't play in a game anymore. My heart bleeds.”

“I don't need this crap from you,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Why not?” she asked. “Hitting a nerve, am I? A
little too close to home? So you were injured. Your knee got hurt. How about having the local thug beat the crap out of you because he wants the few bucks you made cleaning out some old lady's garage? How about not being able to afford to go to the hospital? How about
that
, Mr. Ballplayer?”

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.

C
HAPTER
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 Mimi?” 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.