Into the Fire - Leslie Kelly [51]
Not emotion. Not commitment. Not soul mates or split aparts or happily ever afters with couples who liked each other as much as they loved each other. He wouldn't understand her needs, certainly wouldn't appreciate her feelings. In the end she'd look like a romantic fool, and he'd feel guilty, miserable and embarrassed. Too many times she'd seen her father's reaction to girlfriends who'd wanted more than he was able to give for her to want to see it coming from Nate.
Finally, Nate muttered a curse. Shaking his head, he turned to leave the room. "I gotta check the sauce."
After he'd left, Lacey ran a weary hand over her brow. Should she have said something? Told him the truth? That she wanted him so much he filled her dreams at night? That she liked him? Admired the fond way he talked about his sister, thought he was a hell of a writer and appreciated his kindness when she'd been spilling her guts earlier? Did he need to know she'd adored the way they'd made love on the trampoline, applauded the way he'd manipulated her father and almost loved him for not taking what she'd silently offered in her kitchen the other morning?
No. He didn't need to know any of those things. He wouldn't want to know any of these things. So he was annoyed now. Better that than if she'd admitted the truth and had to watch him backpedal to get away from the sappy girl who really believed the mushy stuff she wrote about in her columns.
"But I do," she murmured. "I do." She spoke forcefully, pushing Nate's swivel chair out of her way in frustration. The chair hit the corner of the desk, knocking against a small microcassette tape recorder that had been sitting on it. The recorder fell to the floor, but not before the play button struck the arm of the chair and was depressed.
A moment later she heard Nate's voice filling the room. Nate's voice … talking about her.
* * *
Chapter 8
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N ate didn't just chop the celery for the salad, he damn near puréed it. Then he went to work on the green pepper. Hacking the vegetables kept him from going in the office and telling Lacey Clark exactly what he thought
"Nothing but sex," he muttered in disgust.
A comment like that might have been dead-on a few years ago, when he'd been younger, played the field more. Now, it was way off base. What was going on between him and Lacey involved a lot more than just sex.
Why he was so angry, he really couldn't say. It wasn't like they'd dated for months. He was fully aware they'd only met a week ago. So why did he feel so certain they were meant to be together? More important, why did she not feel that way?
Their conversation had revealed a lot of things about the woman—like why she fought so hard against that irrepressible spark in her personality. She'd assumed the responsibility for the well-being of her mother's marriage at the age of twelve. As if that weren't enough, she'd taken on a parental role with her real father.
They all needed different things from her. And she tried to please them all. Which meant never pleasing herself.
"You need to please yourself, Lacey," he said as he dropped the knife on the cutting board and leaned against the counter.
"I know I do."
Surprised at the sound of her voice, Nate turned suddenly and saw her standing in the arched opening between the kitchen and living room.
Then Nate's heart stopped. Hell, the entire world might have stopped for all he knew. He was completely unable to breathe as he saw her there, backlit by the sun pouring in from the living room windows.
The light made her glow.
She made him burn.
She wore the purple teddy that had been hanging in his hall closet for months. The lingerie looked like it had been created for her. It fit perfectly, from the tiny spaghetti straps resting on her shoulders to the bit of silk and lace barely covering her breasts. It curved in at the waist and cut high on her hips,