Garden Of Fantasy Page 7

  Beth's brows disappeared under her brown bangs. "I'd like to hear that."

  Nash looked at his nephews. "No women allowed. We guys have to have our secrets."

  "It's okay," Roger claimed to Nash's surprise. "We can trust her. Anybody who can shoot a marble that far on the first try has to be okay."

  A warm glow burned in Nash's heart.

  Shannon smiled. "Wayne and I will set up Trivial Pursuit and start another pot of coffee."

  While the boys changed into their pajamas, Beth stopped Nash in the hallway. "If my presence will bother you, I can stay in the living room."

  Her presence bothered him but not the way she meant. Her hand on his arm started his libido smoking, but he knew she wouldn't mock his efforts at storytelling or make him feel self conscious. "You can come in. Once I get started, I'll forget you're listening. I get caught up in the story as much as the boys." He canvassed her yellow knit top and short culottes. "But I must admit, the closer you are to me, the more easily you'll distract me."

  "Nash..." she warned.

  She was close enough to touch, close enough to kiss. But he knew better than to try it here. He leaned down and put the lightest of kisses on the tip of her nose. When he raised his head, her eyes said that despite her warning, she wanted more. What was keeping her from giving in to her own needs as well as his?

  From inside the room, Roger yelled, "We're ready!"

  Nash opened their door. Davie slept in the single bed on the left side of the room. The two older boys shared bunk beds. Nash parked himself at the foot of Davie's bed. "Are you sure you want to hear about the music laser?"

  Three "yesses" met him in chorus.

  Nash glanced at Beth. She was leaning against the doorjamb. He turned back to the boys and began. "The planet was Ratioga in the twenty-third century. Anyone could travel anywhere they wanted by merely thinking about where they wanted to go."

  Beth listened to Nash weave the story, making it colorful, relevant to a child's real and fantasy worlds. She became as entranced as the boys and decided Nash Winchester couldn't possibly have done the deeds Tom Rosenthal had accused him of doing. He was a talented architect and a good man who loved his sister and her family. That was obvious.

  When Nash finished the adventure, she wondered where the time had gone. They both said good night to the boys and Nash closed the door.

  She smiled at him. "You missed your calling. You should have been a storyteller."

  He chuckled and shook his head. "My repertoire's limited. That's their favorite one, so it gets better and better. I can't spontaneously think them up."

  "What did you do the first time they asked?"

  He looked sheepish. "I stumbled around and made up something about a dog and a cat. As soon as I had the chance, I sat down and outlined a couple of stories I thought they'd like." Nash appeared to be far away, as if he was remembering.

  "Maybe you should think about getting them published."

  His expression was pensive. "I never thought about that. Maybe when I'm old and gray and have nothing else to do."

  He was so vital, she couldn't imagine him old. Now gray...

  "Do I have whipped cream on my nose?"

  She felt herself blush. "I was imagining you with gray hair."

  His eyes gleamed mischievously. "What's the verdict?"

  Before she could stop herself, she reached up to first one temple and then the other. "Some silver here, and there--" Her fingers stuck in the healthy texture of his hair, the sensuousness of its feel.

  Nash took her hand and pressed it against his cheek. "Do you know what happens when you touch me?"

  "I...uh..." Suddenly breathing was very difficult.

  "Beth." Her name was a soft plea. He moved her hand to his lips and tenderly kissed the center.

  Goose bumps prickled Beth all over. She took a step closer, a symbolic step. She was still afraid and still unsure. But learning to know Nash better, kissing him, suddenly seemed to be the most sensible thing in the world to do.

  He must have thought so too because he bent his head. But when a burst of giggles erupted from inside the bedroom and they saw a pair of eyes peeking through the slightly open door, Nash grimaced, backed away, and said in a raised tone, "Good night, fellas."

  His voice lowered and was meant only for Beth's ears. "I hate to say it, but this will have to wait. It seems I have a couple of rain checks to collect."

  Embarrassed her invitation had been so obvious, she started down the hall.

  His hand on her shoulder stopped her. "I hope you won't change your mind." After a probing look, he took her hand and walked with her to the living room.

  Shannon motioned to the card table where she and Wayne were seated on opposite sides of the yellow, red and blue game board. "Who's in a betting mood?"

  "Gambling's illegal," Wayne remarked.

  "And you're too good." Nash released Beth's hand with a squeeze and a look that said he'd rather not. "The kind of details you remember, you could help the authors write the cards."

  "Look who's talking," his sister muttered as she gave each player a small plastic pie.

  "Singles or partners?" Wayne asked.

  "Partners," Nash decided. "That will give us an equal chance.

  Wayne wiggled his brows. "Men against women?"

  "Sounds good," Beth agreed, wondering how long the game would last and what would happen with Nash when it was over. A thrill of excitement made her look away from him and down at the board.

  Shannon rolled the die and moved her marker to the appropriate block.

  Beth soon learned everyone's specialties. Hers was Art and Literature. Wayne handled Sports and Leisure. Nash was an authority on History and Geography. Shannon excelled in Science. With much good natured humor and arguing, the four of them moved their markers around the board.

  Davie interrupted the game by coming into the room with a battered and worn stuffed Mickey Mouse. He sidled up next to Nash and grinned at Beth.

  "What are you doing up, young man?" Wayne asked in a stern tone.

  The little boy wiped his eyes trying to erase the vestiges of sleep. "I heard you guys laughing and talking and I got thirsty."

  "The logic of a five-year-old," Shannon explained. "There's water you can reach in the bathroom."

  "But I want cold water."

  Shannon shook her head and went to the kitchen. When she brought back a small glass, Davie downed its contents, keeping his eyes on his mother. After he set the glass on the table, he asked hesitantly, "Can Beth tuck me in?"

  Shannon gave him a mother's knowing look. "If she wants to. But this is the last time anyone tucks you in tonight."

  The little boy had charmed Beth until all she wanted to do was pull him on her lap and cuddle him. "Sure, I'll tuck you in. And I know you'll fall right to sleep."

  Davie slipped his hand into Beth's and led her to his room. When she came back and took her seat, she asked, "How do you ever say no to him? Those big brown eyes--"

  "He's a miniature con artist," Shannon joked. "And I'm really going to miss him when Jason and Roger go to school and I go back to work."

  Wayne leaned toward Nash conspiratorially. "I wish you could convince her guilt isn't healthy. Davie will love daycare and time to play with other kids. Do all women worry this much?"

  Beth defended Shannon. "I can't imagine bearing a child and not worrying. I guess it's difficult not to be over-protective."

  Shannon shot Nash a long glance. "It's very hard."

  When her brother didn't acknowledge her look or respond, Beth wondered why. Wayne cut in, "Let's get this game moving. I'm ready for another piece of dessert."

  Despite Beth's well-read background and Shannon's penchant for detail, they lost to the men. To Beth's surprise, there were no remarks about male superiority. Wayne and Nash gave each other high fives and went to the kitchen for cake.

  Shannon sipped her coffee, watching Beth over the rim. "He likes you a lot."

&nbs
p; "Davie?"

  "No. Nash."

  What could she say? "I see."

  "No, you don't." Shannon hesitated for a moment but then charged ahead. "I suppose I'm being a meddling sister, but you're the first woman Nash has brought here since his divorce. That means something even if he doesn't know it."

  A curious pleasure invaded Beth. "We haven't known each other long."

  Shannon crossed her legs to get more comfortable. "I'm not sure that matters. There's a way a man watches a woman when he's interested."

  But what was Nash interested in? A one night stand? A fling? The project? She didn't think he was capable of blackmail, but they wanted the same contract. "Men watch lots of women."

  Shannon's cup clicked as she set it on the saucer. "Would it help if I told you Nash is just as vulnerable as you are and as easily hurt?"

  Shannon was hinting at pain in Nash's past. From his marriage? Beth didn't have the opportunity to answer or ask questions of her own because Nash and Wayne reentered the room.

  ****

  When Nash parked his car along the curb in front of Beth's apartment, she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a yawn. "I don't believe we stayed so late. It was midnight before I knew it. You play Trivial Pursuit like a pro." She glanced at his profile, the high cheekbones, the determined angle of his jaw. Would he kiss her in the car or wait until they reached her door?

  He unfastened his seat belt and stretched, his elbow grazing her ear. "I'm a knowledgeable guy."

  "How often do you play?" she asked suspiciously as her seat belt withdrew into its holder.

  "Okay, I confess. About once a month. Want a rematch after you read the encyclopedia?"

  She playfully punched his arm. "I'm not complaining. You and Wayne won fair and square. Didn't you? Or did you study the cards ahead of time?"

  "I'm hurt you could think such a thing."

  She couldn't see his face clearly in the darkness but she could hear the laughter in his voice. "Just checking."

  He shifted to face her more directly. "I pride myself on honesty, Beth. I expect it from others and I give it as often as I can."

  Everything she knew about Nash told her he was sincere. But what about things she didn't know? Facts he might hide even from his family. Why couldn't she get Rosenthal's accusations out of her head? "I'd like to believe that."

  His hand clasped her knee. "Believe it."

  A shiver scooted up Beth's thigh and ended somewhere in her stomach. Whenever he touched her, she felt like a hand grenade whose pin had been pulled. To break the silence that had fallen, she said, "I like Shannon and Wayne."

  "They're great. And life's never boring with my nephews around."

  She felt electrically charged by his fingers on her skin. "I'll say. I can't believe so much energy is concentrated in three boys."

  "Shannon has patience to spare. I don't know where she gets it."

  For the first time in her life, Beth realized she wanted to have children. Eventually. "Maybe it comes with motherhood," she suggested.

  Nash removed his hand and paused before he said, "That's a nice idea."

  They'd lost their connection. He sounded remote, as if he'd moved miles away. She wanted to bring him back. "Shannon and Wayne treat their kids as if they're people--not kids whose opinions don't count."

  "Yep. And when I keep them, I know they need time and opportunity to let off steam."

  She could feel his attention back with her. "You have as much fun rough-housing as they do."

  "I guess I do. It makes up for..."

  She didn't think he was going to finish. But after a short pause, he did.

  "...For the times like that I missed as a kid."

  She sensed pain in him, maybe the pain that Shannon had hinted was there. "They're fortunate to have you as an uncle."

  Nash slid his fingers along her cheek. "Thank you. That's nice to hear."

  His touch was searing, seductive, intoxicating. She couldn't move; she couldn't speak.

  When he spoke, his voice was sandy. "Let's see how your living room smells."

  They ambled up the walk slowly, as if neither of them wanted the evening to end. Nash didn't hold her hand or touch her in any way. It was maddening.

  He waited as she unlocked the door. She could feel his eyes on her, searching eyes that attempted to gauge her mood and feelings. What should she do? Simply say "Yes, I want you to kiss me?" Cool it, girl. You're good at playing it by ear. See what happens.

  Nash flipped on a double-globed foyer light that rested on a marble-topped Victorian table in the corner. Beth moved past him and lifted the covering from the sofa. The odor of paint wasn't as powerful as in the afternoon, but it was still strongly evident. When the sheet tangled in her arms, Nash took one end to help her. They folded it in silence, their eyes locking over the crease.

  When they finished, Beth reached for the covering on a chair while Nash took the one from the swing. Casually, he asked, "Do you have an air conditioner in your bedroom?"

  "No. These old houses have such thick walls, I usually don't need one."

  His strong arms and large hands divided the sheet in half and then formed a neat square. "I'm not thinking about the heat. Which room do you sleep in?"

  "The first door on the left."

  Nash didn't wait for her to ask why he wanted to know. He went into the room. She tried to see it through his eyes. Pink and white eyelet everywhere. He'd think it was a little girl's room, not a sophisticated woman's. She bit her lip in consternation. She had to be stylish and adult all day. At night, she liked to sink into frills and pretty decorations--from the collection of porcelain dolls on her white enamel chest of drawers to the set of lacy fans arranged with pink and white silk flowers on her wall.

  When Nash returned, his expression was neutral. "You can't sleep in there. Not tonight."

  "Why not?"

  "It smells as bad as this room does."

  "But it's better now."

  He was unrelenting as he sat on the arm of the sofa. "Not good enough. If you had a headache this afternoon, you'll have worse tomorrow morning. There's no air. The humidity's holding the paint. Now, if there was a door on your bedroom--"

  "No doors, just arches. Damn!" She thought for a while. "It's one a.m. Too late to call anyone to ask if they'd put up an uninvited guest. I guess I'll have to put up my tent in the backyard and sleep there."

  "You could come to my house. I have two extra bedrooms."

  He had to be kidding! "I can't do that."

  His eyes were smoky green and compelling. "Why not?"

  She panicked, not being able to think of one good reason. Finally, she managed, "Because we hardly know each other."

  He stretched his long arm across the back of the sofa. "I know all I need to. I'm sure you won't gather my valuables and run off with them in the dead of night."

  He was joking; her heart was thudding dangerously. Sleeping under the same roof as Nash. It was madness to consider it. Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you offering?"

  He cocked his head as if the answer was obvious. "Because you can't stay here. The backyard's too dangerous if you're alone, and spending money for a motel room is a waste."

  "You don't have an ulterior motive?" she demanded, hoping he didn't, hoping he did, and trying to curb an impulse she might regret.

  "Speak plainly, Beth. Are you asking if I'll drag you into my bedroom and have my way with you?"

  He was angry, as if her lack of trust had cut him. "I know you wouldn't do that." She innately knew he respected her and wouldn't force her to do anything against her will. But if that first kiss was any indication of the sexual feeling between them....

  "Could be you're afraid of yourself more than me," he suggested, an edge still lining his voice.

  She wanted to deny it, but sometimes her impulsiveness led her into dangerous territory.

  Impatiently, he ran his hand through his hair. "This isn't a major life decision. There are doors on my bedroom
s and they lock--from the inside."

  He was right. For heaven's sake, she was an adult, in control of her own life. She was making a mountain out of a mole hill. He was offering hospitality. Why shouldn't she accept?

  She smiled. "Since I don't have an air mattress and a bed sounds much more inviting than a sleeping bag, you've got a guest for the night. If you let me make you breakfast in the morning."

  He looked pleased but annoyed too. "You and your deals. You don't have to repay people for their kindness."

  Since her problems with John and the gossip that ensued, she was careful with what she accepted. "Pops always says debts are like dead wood. They'll sink you."

  "Does your dad have a list of these sayings? They're better than Ben Franklin's."

  He was poking fun, but in a nice way. "They're scattered throughout my diary. Maybe that's why I remember most of them."

  He stood and slowly walked toward her. "Now that's something I'd like to read."

  She knew he was serious. The disturbing gleam in his eyes told her he wanted to know everything about her. Fear squeezed her chest. Would he be so hospitable if he knew everything? How much faith did he have in people he cared about? It scared her even more that she wanted to become one of those people.

  "A diary's more sacred than the inside of a woman's closet."

  Her flip reply didn't put him off. "I'm interested in your past, Beth. I'd like to know you better." He stopped a few inches away from her and waited.

  Nash had given her glimpses of all areas of his life except his marriage. He'd mentioned when he was divorced, not why. But in contrast, she'd told him very little. "My life's not unusual. I wouldn't want to bore you."

  The air between them fairly hummed. His tone was even. "Let me be the judge of that."

  To break the sudden tension and change the subject, she checked her watch. "If we want to get any sleep tonight, it's too late to start now. It'll only take me a few minutes to pop a few things in a bag."

  His brows creased in frustration, but he said patiently, "Take your time. Neither of us has to get up for work tomorrow."

  After Beth went into her bedroom, Nash sighed. He was elated that the evening had gone so well and she was coming to his house for the night. But she was still sidestepping him, being so damn evasive. What could be so terrible that she wouldn't mention where she was born, where she'd worked after college, why she omitted names and places from her life before she moved to Lancaster? If he didn't trust his common sense, he'd think she'd testified against a Mafia boss and had been placed in the witness protection program.