Читать книгу The Stanislaskis ( Books 1-6) - Нора Робертс - Страница 15

It was very real. Painfully real. The feel of his mouth against hers left no doubt that she was alive and needy. The time, the place, meant nothing. Those could have been illusions. But he was not. Desire was not. She felt it spring crazily inside her at only a meeting of lips.

No, it wasn’t simple. She had known since she had first tasted him, since she had first allowed herself to touch him that whatever happened between them would never be simple. Yet that was what she had been so certain she’d wanted. Simplicity, a smooth road, an easy path.

Not with him. And not ever again.

Accepting, she twined her arms around him. Tonight there would be no past, no future. Only one moment taken in both hands, gripped hard and enjoyed.

Answer for answer, need for need, they clung together. The low light near the door cast their silhouettes onto the wall, one shadow. It shifted when they did, then stilled.

When he swept her into his arms, she murmured a protest. She had said she wouldn’t be taken and had meant it. Yet cradled there she didn’t feel weak. She felt loved. In gratitude and in acceptance she pressed her lips to his throat. As he carried her toward the bedroom, she allowed herself to yield.

Then there was only moonlight. It crept through the thin curtain, softly, quietly, as a lover might creep through the window to find his woman. Her lover said nothing as he set her on her feet by the bed. His silence told her everything.

He’d imagined her like this. It seemed impossible, yet he had. The image had been clear and vivid. He had seen her with her hair in wild tangles around her face, with her eyes dark and steady, her skin gleaming like the gold she wore. And in his imaginings, he’d seen much, much more.

Slowly he reached up to slip the scarf from her hair, to let it float soundlessly to the floor. She waited. With his eyes on hers he loosened another and another of the slashes of color—sapphire, emerald, amber—until they lay like jewels at her feet. She smiled. With his fingertips he drew the dress off her shoulders, then pressed his lips to the skin he’d bared.

A sigh and a shudder. Then she reached for him, struggling to breathe while she pulled his shirt over his head. His skin was taut and smooth under her palms. She could feel the quiver of muscle at the passage of her hands. As her eyes stayed on his, she could see the flash and fury of passion that darkened them.

He had to fight every instinct to prevent himself from tearing the dress from her, ripping aside the barriers and taking what she was offering. She wouldn’t stop him. He could see it in her eyes, part challenge, part acknowledgment and all desire.

But he had promised her something. Though she claimed she wanted no promises, he intended to keep it. She would have romance, as much as he was capable of giving her.

Fighting for patience, he undid the range of buttons down her back. Her lips were curved when she pressed them to his chest. Her hands were smooth when she slipped his pants over his hips. As the dress slid to the floor, he brought her close for a long, luxurious kiss.

She swayed. It seemed foolish to her, but she was dizzy. Colors seemed to dance in her head to some frantic symphony she couldn’t place. Her bracelets jingled when he lifted her hand to press a small circle of kisses upon her wrist. Material rustled, more notes to the song, when he slipped petticoat after colorful petticoat over her hips.

He hadn’t believed she could be so beautiful. But now, standing before him in only a thin red chemise and the glitter of gold, she was almost more than a man could bear. Her eyes were nearly closed, but her head was up—a habit of pride that suited her well. Moonlight swam around her.

Slowly she lifted her arms, crossing them in front of her to push the slender straps from her shoulders. The material trembled over her breasts, then clung for a fleeting instant before it slithered to the floor at their feet. Now there was only the glitter of gold against her skin. Exciting, erotic, exotic. She waited, then lifted her arms again—to him.

“I want you,” she said.

Flesh met flesh, drawing twin moans from each of them. Mouth met mouth, sending shock waves of pleasure and pain through both. Desire met desire, driving out reason.

Inevitable. It was the only thought that filtered through the chaos in her mind as her hands raced over him. No force this strong, no need this deep could be anything but inevitable. So she met that force, met that need, with all of her heart.

Patience was forgotten. She was a hunger in him already too long denied. He wanted all, everything she was, everything she had. Before he could demand, she was giving. When they tumbled onto the bed, his hands were already greedily searching to give and to take pleasure.

Could he have known it would be so huge, so consuming? Everything about her was vivid and honed sharp. Her taste an intoxicating mix of honey and whiskey, both heated. Her skin as lush as a rose petal drenched in evening dew. Her scent as dark as his own passion. Her need as sharp as a freshly whetted blade.

She arched against him, offering, challenging, crying out when he sought and found each secret. Pleasure arrowed into him as her small, agile body pressed against his. Strong, willful, she rolled over him to exploit and explore until his breath was a fire in his lungs and his body a mass of sensation. Half-mad, he tumbled with her over the bed and spread a tangle of sheets around them. When he lifted himself over her, he could see the wild curtain of her hair like a dark cloud, the deep, rich glow of her eyes as they clung to his. Her breathing was as hurried as his own, her body as willing.

Never before, he realized, and never again would he find anyone who matched him so perfectly. Whatever he needed, she needed, whatever he wanted, she wanted. Before he could ask, she was answering. For the first time in his life, he knew what it was to make love with mind and heart and soul as well as body.

She thought of no one and of nothing but him. When he touched her, it was as though she’d never been touched before. When he said her name, it was the first time she’d heard it. When his mouth sought hers, it was a first kiss, the one she’d been waiting for, wishing for all of her life.

Palm to palm their hands met, fingers gripping hard like one soul grasping another. They watched each other as he filled her. And there was a promise, felt by both. In a moment of panic she shook her head. Then he was moving in her, and she with him.

“Again,” was all he said as he pulled her against him.

“Spence.”

“Again.” His mouth covered hers, waking her out of a half dream and into fresh passion.

He wanted her just as much, now that he knew what they could make between them, but with a fire that held steady on slow burn. This time, though desire was still keen, the madness was less intense. He could appreciate the subtle curves, the soft angles, the lazy sighs he could draw out of her with only a touch. It was like making love to some primitive goddess, naked but for the gold draped over her skin. After so long a thirst he quenched himself slowly, leisurely after that first, greedy gulp.

How had she ever imagined she had known what it was to love a man, or to be loved by one? There were pleasures here that as a woman she knew she had never tasted before. This was what it was to be steeped, to be drowned, to be sated. She ran her hands over him, absorbing the erotic sensations of the flick of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth, the play of those clever fingertips. No, these were new pleasures, very new. And their taste was freedom.

As the moon soared high into the night, so did she.

“I thought I had imagined what it would be like to be with you.” Her head resting on his shoulder, Spence trailed his fingers up and down her arm. “I didn’t even come close.”

“I thought I would never be here with you.” She smiled into the dark. “I was very wrong.”

“Thank God. Natasha—”

With a quick shake of her head, she put a finger to his lips. “Don’t say too much. It’s easy to say too much in the moonlight.” And easy to believe it, she added silently.

Though impatient, he bit back the words he wanted to say. He had made a mistake once before by wanting too much, too quickly. He was determined not to make mistakes with Natasha. “Can I tell you that I’ll never look at gold chains in quite the same way again?”

With a little chuckle she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Yes, you can tell me that.”

He toyed with her bracelets. “Can I tell you I’m happy?”

“Yes.”

“Are you?”

She tilted her head to look at him. “Yes. Happier than I thought I could be. You make me feel…” She smiled, making a quick movement with her shoulders. “Like magic.”

“Tonight was magic.”

“I was afraid,” she murmured. “Of you, of this. Of myself,” she admitted. “It’s been a very long time for me.”

“It’s been a long time for me, too.” At her restless movement, he caught her chin in his hand. “I haven’t been with anyone since before my wife died.”

“Did you love her very much? I’m sorry,” she said quickly and closed her eyes tight. “I have no business asking that.”

“Yes, you do.” He kept his fingers firm. “I loved her once, or I loved the idea of her. That idea was gone long before she died.”

“Please. Tonight isn’t the time to talk about things that were.”

When she sat up, he went with her, cupping her forearms in his hands. “Maybe not. But there are things I need to tell you, things we will talk about.”

“Is what happened before so important?”

He heard the trace of desperation in her voice and wished he could find the reason. “I think it could be.”

“This is now.” She closed her hands over his. It was as close to a promise as she dared make. “Now I want to be your friend and your lover.”

“Then be both.”

She calmed herself with a deliberate effort.

“Perhaps I don’t want to talk about other women while I’m in bed with you.”

He could feel that she was braced and ready to argue. In a move that threw her off, he leaned closer to touch his lips to her brow. “We’ll let you use that one for now.”

“Thank you.” She brushed a hand through his hair. “I’d like to spend this night with you, all night.” With a half smile, she shook her head. “You can’t stay.”

“I know.” He caught her hand to bring it to his lips. “Freddie would have some very awkward questions for me if I wasn’t around for breakfast in the morning.”

“She’s a very lucky girl.”

“I don’t like leaving this way.”

She smiled and kissed him. “I understand, as long as the other woman is only six.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bending closer, he deepened the kiss.

“Yes.” On a sigh she wrapped her arms around him. “Once more,” she murmured, drawing him down to the bed. “Just once more.”

In her cramped office at the back of the shop, Natasha sat at her desk. She had come in early to catch up on the practical side of business. Her ledger was up-to-date, her invoices had been filled. With Christmas less than two months away, she had completed her orders. Early merchandise was already stacked wherever room could be found. It made her feel good to be surrounded by the wishes of children, and to know that on Christmas morning what was now stored in boxes would cause cries of delight and wonder.

But there were practicalities as well. She had only begun to think of displays, decorations and discounts. She would have to decide soon whether she wanted to hire part-time help for the seasonal rush.

Now, at midmorning, with Annie in charge of the shop, she had textbooks and notes spread out. Before business there were studies, and she took both very seriously.

There was to be a test on the baroque era, and she intended to show her teacher—her lover—that she could hold her own.

Perhaps it shouldn’t have been so important to prove she could learn and retain. But there had been times in her life, times she was certain Spence could never understand, when she had been made to feel inadequate, even stupid. The little girl with broken English, the thin teenager who’d thought more about dance than schoolbooks, the dancer who’d fought so hard to make her body bear the insults of training, the young woman who had listened to her heart, not her head.

She was none of those people any longer, and yet she was all of them. She needed Spence to respect her intelligence, to see her as an equal, not just as the woman he desired.

She was being foolish. On a sigh, Natasha leaned back in her chair to toy with the petals of the red rose that stood at her elbow. Even more than foolish, she was wrong. Spence was nothing like Anthony. Except for the vaguest of physical similarities, those two men were almost opposites. True, one was a brilliant dancer, the other a brilliant musician, but Anthony had been selfish, dishonest, and in the end cowardly.

She had never known a man more generous, a man kinder than Spence. He was compassionate and honest. Or was that her heart talking? To be sure. But the heart, she thought, didn’t come with a guarantee like a mechanical toy. Every day she was with him, she fell deeper and deeper in love. So much in love, she thought, that there were moments, terrifying moments, when she wanted to toss aside everything and tell him.

She had offered her heart to a man before, a heart pure and fragile. When it had been given back to her, it had been scarred.

No, there were no guarantees.

How could she dare risk that again? Even knowing that what was happening to her now was different, very different from what had happened to the young girl of seventeen, how could she possibly take the chance of leaving herself open again to that kind of pain and humiliation?

Things were better as they were, she assured herself. They were two adults, enjoying each other. And they were friends.

Taking the rose out of its vase, she stroked it along her cheek. It was a pity that she and her friend could only find a few scattered hours to be alone. There was a child to consider, then there were schedules and responsibilities. But in those hours when her friend became her lover, she knew the true meaning of bliss.

Bringing herself back, she slipped the flower into the vase and shifted her concentration to her studies. Within five minutes the phone rang.

“Good morning, Fun House.”

“Good morning, businessperson.”

“Mama!”

“So, you are busy or you have a moment to talk to your mother?”

Natasha cradled the phone in both hands, loving the sound of her mother’s voice. “Of course I have a moment. All the moments you like.”

“I wondered, since you have not called me in two weeks.”

“I’m sorry.” For two weeks a man had been the center of her life. But she could hardly tell that to her mother. “How are you and Papa and everyone?”

“Papa and me and everyone are good. Papa gets a raise.”

“Wonderful.”

“Mikhail doesn’t see the Italian girl anymore.” Nadia gave thanks in Ukrainian and made Natasha laugh. “Alex, he sees all the girls. Smart boy, my Alex. And Rachel has time for nothing but her studies. What of Natasha?”

“Natasha is fine. I’m eating well and getting plenty of sleep,” she added before Nadia could ask.

“Good. And your store?”

“We’re about to get ready for Christmas, and I expect a better year than last.”

“I want you to stop sending your money.”

“I want you to stop worrying about your children.”

Nadia’s sigh made Natasha smile. It was an old argument. “You are a very stubborn woman.”

“Like my mama.”

That was true enough, and Nadia clearly didn’t intend to concede. “We will talk about this when you come for Thanksgiving.”

Thanksgiving, Natasha thought. How could she have forgotten? Clamping the receiver between ear and shoulder, she flipped through her calendar. It was less than two weeks away. “I can’t argue with my mother on Thanksgiving.” Natasha made a note for herself to call the train station. “I’ll be up late Wednesday evening. I’ll bring the wine.”

“You bring yourself.”

“Myself and the wine.” Natasha scribbled another note to herself. It was a difficult time to take off, but she had never missed—and would never miss—a holiday at home. “I’ll be so glad to see all of you again.”

“Maybe you bring a friend.”

It was another old routine, but this time, for the first time, Natasha hesitated. No, she told herself with a shake of her head. Why would Spence want to spend 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 the last few days.” The emotion the song had wrenched from him came flooding back. Rising, he went to her to take her hands and pulled her to her feet. As their fingers met, she could feel the intensity he’d poured into his music. “It came back.” He pressed her hands to his lips. “At first it was terrifying. I could hear it in my head, the way I used to. It’s like being plugged into heaven, Natasha. I can’t explain it.”

“No. You don’t have to. I heard it.”

She understood, he thought. Somehow he’d been sure she would. “I thought it was just wishful thinking, or that when I sat down there…” He looked back at the piano. “That it would vanish. But it didn’t. It flowed. God, it’s like being given back your hands or your eyes.”

“It was always there.” She lifted her hands to his face. “It was just resting.”

“No, you brought it back. I told you once, my life had changed when I met you. I didn’t know how much. It’s for you, Natasha.”

“No, it’s for you. Very much for you.” Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed her mouth to his. “It’s just the beginning.”

“Yes.” He dragged his hands through her hair so that her face was tilted to his. “It is.” His grip only tightened when she would have pulled away. “If you heard that, if you understood that, you know what I mean. And you know what I feel.”

“Spence, it would be wrong for you to say anything now. Your emotions are all on the surface. What you feel about your music is easily confused with other things.”

“That’s nonsense. You don’t want to hear me tell you that I love you.”

“No.” Panic skidded up her spine. “No, I don’t. If you care for me at all, you won’t.”

“It’s a hell of a position you put me in.”

“I’m sorry. I want you to be happy. As long as things go on as they are—”

“And how long can things go on as they are?”

“I don’t know. I can’t give you back the words you want to give to me. Even feeling them, I can’t.” Her eyes lifted again to meet his. “I wish I could.”

“Am I still competing against someone else?”

“No.” Quickly she reached out to take his hands. “No. What I felt for—before,” she corrected, “was a fantasy. A girl’s make-believe. This is real. I’m just not strong enough to hold onto it.”

Or too strong to give in to it, he thought. And it was hurting her. Perhaps because he wanted her so badly, his impatience was adding pressure that would break them apart instead of bring them together.

“Then I won’t tell you that I love you.” He kissed her brow. “And that I need you in my life.” He kissed her lips, lightly. “Not yet.” His fingers curled tightly over hers. “But there’ll come a time, Natasha, when I will tell you. When you’ll listen. When you’ll answer me.”

“You make it sound like a threat.”

“No, it’s one of those promises you don’t want to hear.” He kissed her on both cheeks, casually enough to confuse her. “I have to get back.”

“Yes, so do I.” She picked up her gloves, only to run them restlessly through her hands. “Spence, it meant a very great deal that you wanted to share this with me. I know what it’s like to lose part of yourself. I’m very proud of you and for you. And I’m glad that you celebrated this with me.”

“Come back, have dinner with me. I haven’t begun to celebrate.”

She smiled again. “I’d like that.”

She didn’t often buy champagne, but it seemed appropriate. Even necessary. A bottle of wine was little enough to offer for what he had given her that morning. The music itself was a gift she would always treasure. With it, he’d given her time and a glimpse of hope.

Perhaps he did love her. If she believed it, she could allow herself time to let it strengthen. If she believed it, she would have to tell him everything. It was that, even more than her own fears that still held her back.

She needed time for that, as he did.

But tonight was for celebrating.

She knocked and tried a sober smile for Vera. “Good evening.”

“Miss.” With this noncommital greeting, Vera opened the door wider. She kept her thoughts on Natasha very much to herself. True, the woman made the señor happy and seemed very fond of Freddie. But after more than three years of having them to herself, Vera was very cautious of sharing. “Dr. Kimball is in the music room with Freddie.”

“Thank you. I brought some wine.”

“I will take it.”

With only a little sigh, Natasha watched Vera walk away. The more the housekeeper held firm, the more determined Natasha was to win her over.

She heard Freddie’s giggles as she approached the music room. And others, she realized. When she reached the door, she spotted Freddie and JoBeth clinging to each other and squealing. And why not? Natasha thought with a grin. Spence was wearing a ridiculous helmet and aiming a cardboard spool like a weapon.

“Stowaways aboard my ship are fed to the Beta Monster,” he warned them. “He has six-foot teeth and bad breath.”

“No!” Eyes wide, heart pounding with delight and dread, Freddie scrambled for cover. “Not the Beta Monster.”

“He likes little girls best.” With an evil laugh, he scooped the squealing JoBeth under one arm. “He swallows little boys whole, but he chews and chews and chews when I feed him girls.”

“That’s gross.” JoBeth covered her mouth with both hands.

“You bet.” So saying, Spence made a dive and came up with a squirming Freddie. “Say your prayers, you’re about to be the main course.” Then with a muffled “Oomph,” he tumbled onto the couch with both of them.

“We vanquished you!” Freddie announced, climbing over him. “The Wonder Sisters vanquished you.”

“This time, but next time it’s the Beta Monster.” As he blew the hair out of his eyes, he spotted Natasha in the doorway. “Hi.” She thought his smile was adorably sheepish. “I’m a space pirate.”

“Oh. Well, that explains it.” Before she could step into the room, both girls deserted the space pirate to launch themselves at her.

“We always beat him,” Freddie told her. “Always, always.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t want anyone I know to be eaten by the Beta Monster.”

“He just made it up,” JoBeth said wisely. “Dr. Kimball makes things up real good.”

“Yes, I know.”

“JoBeth’s going to stay for dinner, too. You’re going to be Daddy’s guest and she’s going to be mine. You get to have seconds first.”

“That’s very polite.” She bent to kiss Freddie’s cheeks, then JoBeth’s. “How is your mama?”

“She’s going to have a baby.” JoBeth screwed up her face and shrugged her shoulders.

“I heard.” Natasha smoothed JoBeth’s hair. “Are you taking care of her?”

“She doesn’t get sick in the mornings anymore, but Daddy says she’ll be fat soon.”

Miserably envious, Freddie shifted from one foot to the other. “Let’s go up to my room,” she told JoBeth. “We can play with the kittens.”

“You will wash your hands and faces,” Vera told them as she came in with the ice bucket and glasses. “Then you will come down to dinner, walking like ladies, not running like elephants.” She nodded to Spence. “Miss Stanislaski brought champagne.”

“Thank you, Vera.” Belatedly he remembered to remove his helmet.

“Dinner in fifteen minutes,” she stated, then went out.

“Now she knows I have designs on you,” Natasha muttered. “And is certain I’m after your great wealth.”

With a laugh, he pried the cork free. “That’s all right, I know you’re only after my body.” Wine frothed to the lip of the glasses, then receded.

“I like it very much. Your body.” With a smile she accepted the flute of champagne.

“Then maybe you’d like to enjoy it later.” He touched the rim of his glass to hers. “Freddie twisted my arm and got me to agree to a sleep-over at the Rileys’. So I don’t feel left out, maybe I can stay with you tonight. All night.”

Natasha took her first sip of wine, letting the taste explode on her tongue. “Yes,” she said, and smiled at him.