The Stanislaskis: Taming Natasha. Нора Робертс

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Thanksgiving in Brooklyn?

      “Natasha?” Nadia’s well-honed instincts had obviously picked up her daughter’s mental debate. “You have friend?”

      “Of course. I have a lot of friends.”

      “Don’t be smart with your mama. Who is he?”

      “He’s no one.” Then she rolled her eyes as Nadia began tossing out questions. “All right, all right. He’s a professor at the college, a widower,” she added. “With a little girl. I was just thinking they might like company for the holiday, that’s all.”

      “Ah.”

      “Don’t give me that significant ah, Mama. He’s a friend, and I’m very fond of the little girl.”

      “How long you know him?”

      “They just moved here late this summer. I’m taking one of his courses, and the little girl comes in the shop sometimes.” It was all true, she thought. Not all the truth, but all true. She hoped her tone was careless. “If I get around to it, I might ask him if he’d like to come up.”

      “The little girl, she can sleep with you and Rachel.”

      “Yes, if—”

      “The professor, he can take Alex’s room. Alex can sleep on the couch.”

      “He may already have plans.”

      “You ask.”

      “All right. If it comes up.”

      “You ask,” Nadia repeated. “Now go back to work.”

      “Yes, Mama. I love you.”

      Now she’d done it, Natasha thought as she hung up. She could almost see her mother standing beside the rickety telephone table and rubbing her hands together.

      What would he think of her family, and they of him? Would he enjoy a big, rowdy meal? She thought of the first dinner they had shared, the elegant table, the quiet, discreet service. He probably has plans anyway, Natasha decided. It just wasn’t something she was going to worry about.

      Twenty minutes later the phone ran again. It was probably her mother, Natasha thought, calling with a dozen questions about this “friend.” Braced, Natasha picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Fun House.”

      “Natasha.”

      “Spence?” Automatically she checked her watch. “Why aren’t you at the university? Are you sick?”

      “No. No. I came home between classes. I’ve got about an hour. I need you to come.”

      “To your house?” There was an urgency in his voice, but it had nothing to do with disaster and everything to do with excitement. “Why? What is it?”

      “Just come, will you? It’s nothing I can explain. I have to show you. Please.”

      “Yes, all right. Are you sure you’re not sick?”

      “No.” She heard his laugh and relaxed. “No, I’m not sick. I’ve never felt better. Hurry up, will you?”

      “Ten minutes.” Natasha snatched up her coat. He’d sounded different. Happy? No, elated, ecstatic. What did a man have to be ecstatic about in the middle of the morning? Perhaps he was sick. Pulling on her gloves, she dashed into the shop.

      “Annie, I have to—” She stopped, blinked, then stared at the image of Annie being kissed, soundly, by Terry Maynard. “I…excuse me.”

      “Oh, Tash, Terry just… Well, he…” Annie blew the hair out of her eyes and grinned foolishly. “Are you going out?”

      “Yes, I have to see someone.” She bit her lip to keep from grinning back. “I won’t be more than an hour. Can you manage?”

      “Sure.” Annie smoothed down her hair, while Terry stood beside her, turning various shades of red. “It has been a quiet morning. Take your time.”

      Perhaps the world had decided to go crazy today, Natasha thought as she rushed down the street. First her mother calling, already preparing to kick Alex out of his bed for a stranger. Spence demanding she come to his house and see…something in the middle of the day. And now Annie and Terry, kissing each other beside the cash register. Well, she could only deal with one at a time. It looked as though Spence was first on the list.

      She took his steps two at time, convinced he was suffering from some sort of fever. When he pulled open the door before she reached it, she was certain of it. His eyes were bright, his color up. His sweater was rumpled and his tie unknotted.

      “Spence, are you—?”

      Before she could get the words out, he was snatching her up, crushing his mouth to hers as he swung her around and around. “I thought you’d never get here.”

      “I came as quickly as I could.” Instinctively she put a hand to his cheek. Then the look in his eyes had her narrowing her own. No, it wasn’t a fever, she decided. At least it wasn’t the kind that required medical attention. “If you had me run all the way over here for that, I’m going to hit you very hard.”

      “For—no,” he answered on a laugh. “Though it’s a wonderful idea. A really wonderful idea.” He kissed her again until she thoroughly agreed with him. “I feel like I could make love with you for hours, days, weeks.”

      “They might miss you in class,” she murmured. Steadying herself, she stepped back. “You sounded excited. Did you win the lottery?”

      “Better. Come here.” Remembering the door, he slammed it shut, then pulled her into the music room. “Don’t say anything. Just sit.”

      She obliged, but when he went to the piano, she started to stand again. “Spence, I’d enjoy a concert, but—”

      “Don’t talk,” he said impatiently. “Just listen.”

      And he began to play.

      It took only moments for her to realize it was nothing she’d heard before. Nothing that had been written before. A tremor ran through her body. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

      Passion. Each note swelled with it, soared with it, wept with it. She could only stare, seeing the intensity in his eyes and the fluid grace of his fingers on the keys. The beauty of it ripped at her, digging deep into heart and into soul. How could it be that her feelings, her most intimate feelings could be put to music?

      As the tempo built, her pulse beat thickly. She couldn’t have spoken, could hardly breathe. Then the music flowed into something sad and strong. And alive. She closed her eyes as it crashed over her, unaware that tears had begun to spill onto her cheeks.

      When it ended, she sat very still.

      “I don’t have to ask you what you think,” Spence murmured. “I can see it.”

      She only shook her head. She didn’t have the words to tell him. There were no words. “When?”

      “Over СКАЧАТЬ