Нора Робертс - Megan’s Mate

“I've got permission to do this now.” He kissed her thoroughly, while Delia did her best to snuggle between them.

“Permission,” Megan said when she could breathe again. “From whom?”

“From your men.” He strolled casually into the parlor, laid Delia on her play rug, where she squealed happily at her favorite stuffed bear. “Except your father, but he's not around.”

“My men? You mean Kevin and Sloan.” Realization dawned, and had her sinking onto the arm of a chair. “You spoke to Sloan about... this?”

“We were going to beat each other up about it, but it didn't come to that.” Very much at home, Nathaniel walked to the side table and poured himself a short whiskey from a decanter. “We straightened it out.”

“You did. You and my brother. I suppose it didn't occur to either of you that I might have some say in the matter.”

“It didn't come up. He was feeling surly about the fact that you'd spent the night with me.”

“It's none of his business,” Megan said tightly.

“Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. It's water under the bridge now. Nothing to get riled about.”

“I'm not riled. I'm irritated that you took it upon yourself to explain our relationship to my family without discussing it with me.” And she was unnerved, more than a little, by the worshipful look she'd seen in Kevin's eyes.

Women, Nathaniel thought, and tossed back his whiskey. “I was either going to explain it to Sloan or take a fist in the face.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“You weren't there, sugar.”

“Exactly.” She tossed back her head. “I don't like to be discussed. I've had my fill of that over the years.”

Very carefully, Nathaniel set his glass down. “Megan, if you're going to circle back around to Dumont, you're just going to get me mad.”

“I'm not doing that. I'm simply stating a fact.”

“And I stated a fact of my own. I told your brother I was in love with you, and that settled it.”

“You should have...” She trailed off, gasped for air that had suddenly gone too thin. “You told Sloan you were in love with me?”

“That's right. Now you're going to say I should have told you first.”

“I... I don't know what I'm going to say.” But she was glad, very glad, that she was already sitting down.

“The preferred response is 'I love you, too.'“ He waited, ignored the slow stroke of pain. “Can't get your tongue around that.”

“Nathaniel.” Be calm, she warned herself. Reasonable. Logical. “This is all moving so fast. A few weeks ago, I didn't even know you. I never expected what's happened between us. And I'm still baffled by it. I have very strong, very real feelings for you, otherwise I couldn't have stayed with you that first night.”

She was killing him, bloodlessly. “But?”

“Love isn't something I'll ever be frivolous about again. I don't want to hurt you, or be hurt, or risk a misstep that could hurt Kevin.”

“You really think time's the answer, don't you? That no matter what's going on inside you, if you just wait a reasonable period, study all the data, balance all the figures, the right answer comes up.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “If you're saying do I need time, then yes, I do.”

“Fine, take your time, but add this into your equation.” In two strides he was in front of her, dragging her up, crushing her mouth with his. “You feel just what I feel.”

She did—she was very much afraid she did. “That's not the answer.”

“It's the only answer.” His eyes burned into hers. “I wasn't looking for you, either, Megan. My own course was plotted out just fine. You changed everything for me. So you're going to have to adjust your nice neat columns and make room for me. Because I love you, and I'm going to have you. You and Kevin are going to belong to me.” He released her. “Think about it,” he said, and walked out.

Idiot. Nathaniel continued to curse himself as he spun his wheels pulling up in front of Shipshape. Obviously he'd found a new way to court a woman: Yell and offer ultimatums. Clearly the perfect way to win a heart.

He snatched Dog out of the back seat and received a sympathetic face bath. “Want to get drunk?” he asked the wriggling ball of fur. “Nope, you're right, bad choice.” He stepped inside the building, set the dog down and wondered where he might find an alternative.

Work, he decided, was a wiser option than a bottle.

He busied himself with an engine until he heard the familiar blat of a horn. That would be Holt, bringing in the last tour of the day.

His mood still sour, Nathaniel went out and down to the pier to help secure lines.

“The holiday's bringing in a lot of tourists,” Holt commented when the lines were secured. “Good runs today.”

“Yeah.” Nathaniel scowled at the throng of people still lingering on the docks. “I hate crowds.”

Holt's brow lifted. “You were the one who came up with the Fourth of July special to lure them in.”

“We need the money.” Nathaniel stomped back into the shop. “Doesn't mean I have to like it.”

“Who's ticked you off?”

“Nobody.” Nathaniel took out a cigar, lit it defiantly. “I'm not used to being landlocked, that's all.”

Holt very much doubted that was all, but, in the way of men, shrugged his acceptance and picked up a wrench. “This engine's coming along.”

“I can pick up and go anytime.” Nathaniel clamped the cigar between his teeth. “Nothing holding me. All I got to do is pack a bag, hop a freighter.”

Holt sighed, accepted his lot as a sounding board. “Megan, is it?” “I didn't ask for her to drop in my lap, did I?”

“Well...”

“I was here first.” Even when he heard how ridiculous that sounded, Nathaniel couldn't stop. “Woman's got a computer chip in her head. She's not even my type, with those neat little suits and that glossy briefcase. Who ever said I was going to settle down here, lock myself in for life? I've never stayed put anywhere longer than a month since I was eighteen.”

Holt pretended to work on the engine. “You started a business, took out a mortgage. And it seems to me you've been here better than six months now.”

“Doesn't mean anything.”

“Is Megan dropping hints about wedding bells?”

“No.” Nathaniel scowled around his cigar and snarled. “I am.”

Holt dropped his wrench. “Hold on a minute. Let me get this straight. You're thinking of getting married, and you're kicking around here muttering about hopping a freighter and not being tied down?”

“I didn't ask to be tied down, it just happened.” Nathaniel took a deliberate puff, then swore. “Damn it, Holt, I made a fool of myself.”

“Funny how we do that around women, isn't it? Did you have a fight with her?”

“I told her I loved her. She started the fight.” He paced the shop, nearly gave in to the urge to kick the tool bench. “What happened to the days when women wanted to get married, when that was their Holy Grail, when they set hooks for men to lure them in?”

“What century are we in?”

The fact that Nathaniel could laugh was a hopeful sign. “She thinks I'm moving too fast.”

“I'd tell you to slow down, but I've known you too long.”

Calmer, he took up a ratchet, considered it, then set it down again. “Suzanna took her lumps from Dumont. How'd you get past it?”

“I yelled at her a lot,” Holt said, reminiscing. “I've tried that.”

“Brought her flowers. She's got a real weakness for flowers.” Which made him think that perhaps he'd stop on the way home and pick some up.

“I've done that, too.” “Have you tried begging?”

Nathaniel winced. “I'd rather not.” His eyes narrowed curiously. “Did you?”

Holt took a sudden, intense interest in the engine. “We're talking about you. Hell, Nate, quote her some of that damn poetry you're so fond of. I don't know. I'm not good at this romance stuff.”

“You got Suzanna.”

“Yeah.” Holt's smile spread. “So get your own woman.” Nathaniel nodded, crushed out his cigar. “I intend to.”

The sun had set by the time Nathaniel returned home. He'd overhauled an engine and repaired a hull, and he still hadn't worked off his foul mood.

He remembered a quote—Horace, he thought— about anger being momentary insanity. If you didn't figure out a way to deal with momentary insanity, you ended up in a padded room. Not a cheerful image.

The only way to deal with it, as far as he could see, was to face it. And Megan. He was going to do both as soon as he'd cleaned up.

“And she'll have to deal with me, won't she?” he said to Dog as the pup scrambled out of the car behind him. “Do yourself a favor, Dog, and stay away from smart women who have more brains than sense.”

Dog wagged his tail in agreement or sympathy, then toddled away to water the hedges.

Nathaniel slammed the car door and started across the yard. “Fury?”

He stopped, squinted into the shadows of dusk, toward the side of the cottage. “Yeah?”

“Nathaniel Fury?”

He watched the man approach, a squat, muscled tank in faded denim. Creased face, strutting walk, a grease-smeared cap pulled low over the brow.

Nathaniel recognized the type. He'd seen the man, and the trouble he carried with him like a badge, in dives and on docks the world over. Instinctively he shifted his weight.

“That's right. Something I can do for you?”

“Nope.” The man smiled. “Something I can do for you, ”

Even as the first flash of warning lit in Nathaniel's brain, he was grabbed from behind, his arms viciously twisted and pinned. He saw the first blow coming, braced, and took a heavy fist low in the gut. The pain was incredible, making his vision double and waver before the second blow smashed into his jaw.