Taming Natasha (12 page)

“Never mind,” he interrupted. “I get the idea.”

She laughed, adjusting her earring. “In any case, I had a wonderful time and have always wished I'd thought of it first. The children tonight would be very disappointed if we didn't have some monsters waiting for them. After they've been spooked, which they desperately want to be, you turn on the lights, so they see it's all pretend.”

“Too bad we're out of grapes.”

“It's all right. When Freddie's older, I'll show you how to make a bloodied severed hand out of a rubber glove.”

“I can't wait.”

“What about food?”

“Vera's been a Trojan.” With his mask on top of his head, Spence stood back to study the whole room. It felt good, really good to look at the results, and to know that he and Natasha had produced them together. “She's made everything from deviled eggs to witch's brew punch. You know what would have been great? A fog machine.”

“That's the spirit.” His grin made her laugh and long to kiss him. “Next year.”

He liked the sound of that, he realized. Next year, and the year after. A little dazed at the speed with which his thoughts were racing, he only studied her.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” He smiled. “Everything's just fine.”

“I have the prizes here.” Wanting to rest her legs, Natasha sat on the arm of a chair beside a lounging ghoul. “For the games and costumes.”

“You didn't have to do that.”

“I told you I wanted to. This is my favorite.” She pulled out a skull, then flicking a switch, set it on the floor where it skimmed along, disemboded, its empty eyes blinking.

“Your favorite.” Tongue in cheek, Spence picked it up where it vibrated in his hand.

“Yes. Very gruesome.” She tilted her head. “Say ‘Alas, poor Yorick!'”

He only laughed and switched it off. Then he pulled down his mask. “‘O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt.'” She was chuckling when he came over and lifted her to her feet. “Give us a kiss.”

“No,” she decided after a moment. “You're ugly.”

“Okay.” Obligingly he pushed the mask up again. “How about it?”

“Much worse.” Solemnly she slid the mask down again.

“Very funny.”

“No, but it seemed necessary.” Linking her arm with his, she studied the room. “I think you'll have a hit.”

“We'll have a hit,” he corrected. “You know Freddie's crazy about you.”

“Yes.” Natasha gave him an easy smile. “It's mutual.”

They heard the front door slam and a shout. “Speaking of Freddie.”

 

Children arrived first in trickles, then in a flood. When the clock struck six, the room was full of ballerinas and pirates, monsters and
superheroes. The haunted house brought gasps and shrieks and shudders. No one was brave enough to make the tour alone, though many made it twice, then a third time. Occasionally a stalwart soul was courageous enough to poke a finger into the mummy or touch the vampire's cape.

When the lights were switched on there were moans of disappointment and a few relieved sighs. Freddie, a life-size Raggedy Ann, tore open her belated birthday presents with abandon.

“You're a very good father,” Natasha murmured.

“Thanks.” He linked his fingers with hers, no longer questioning why it should be so right for them to stand together and watch over his daughter's party. “Why?”

“Because you haven't once retreated for aspirin, and you hardly winced when Mikey spilled punch on your rug.”

“That's because I have to save my strength for when Vera sees it.” Spence dodged, in time to avoid collision with a fairy princess being chased by a goblin. There were squeals from every corner of the room, punctuated by the crashing and moaning of the novelty record on the stereo. “As for the aspirin… How long can they keep this up?”

“Oh, a lot longer than we can.”

“You're such a comfort.”

“We'll have them play games now. You'll be surprised how quickly two hours can pass.”

She was right. By the time the numbered noses had all been stuck in the vicinity of the pumpkin head, when musical chairs was only a fond memory, after the costume parade and judging, when the last apple bobbed alone and the final clothespin had clunked into a mason jar, parents began to trail in to gather up their reluctant Frankensteins and ghoulies. But the fun wasn't over.

In groups and clutches, trick-or-treaters canvassed the neighborhood for candy bars and caramel apples. The wind-rushed night and crackling leaves were things they would remember long after the last chocolate drop had been consumed.

It was nearly ten before Spence managed to tuck an exhausted and thrilled Freddie into bed. “It was the best birthday I ever had,” she told him. “I'm glad I got the chicken pox.”

Spence rubbed a finger over a smeared orange freckle the cold cream had missed. “I don't know if I'd go that far, but I'm glad you had fun.”

“Can I have—?”

“No.” He kissed her nose. “If you eat one more piece of candy you'll blow up.”

She giggled, and because she was too tired to try any strategy, snuggled into her pillow. Memories were already swirling in her head. “Next year I want to be a gypsy like Tash. Okay?”

“Sure. Go to sleep now. I'm going to take Natasha home, but Vera's here.”

“Are you going to marry Tash soon, so she can stay with us?”

Spence opened his mouth, then closed it again as Freddie yawned hugely. “Where do you get these ideas?” he muttered.

“How long does it take to get a baby sister?” she asked as she drifted off.

Spence rubbed a hand over his face, grateful that she had fallen asleep and saved him from answering.

Downstairs he found Natasha cleaning up the worst of the mess. She flicked back her hair as he came in. “When it looks as bad as this, you know you've had a successful party.” Something in his expression had her narrowing her eyes. “Is something wrong?”

“No. No, it's Freddie.”

“She has a tummy ache,” Natasha said, instantly sympathetic.

“Not yet.” He shrugged it off with a half laugh. “She always manages to surprise me. Don't,” he said and took the trash bag from her. “You've done enough.”

“I don't mind.”

“I know.”

Before he could take her hand, she linked her own. “I should be going. Tomorrow's Saturday—our busiest day.”

He wondered what it would be like if they could simply walk upstairs together, into his bedroom. Into his bed. “I'll take you home.”

“That's all right. You don't have to.”

“I'd like to.” The tension was back. Their eyes met, and he understood that she felt it as well. “Are you tired?”

“No.” It was time for some truths, she knew. He had done what she'd asked and been only Freddie's father during the party. Now the party was over. But not the night.

“Would you like to walk?”

The corners of her lips turned up, then she put her hand into his. “Yes. I would.”

It was colder now, with a bite in the air warning of winter. Above, the moon was full and chillingly white. Clouds danced over it, sending shadows shifting. Over the rustle of leaves they heard the echoing shouts and laughter of lingering trick-or-treaters. Inevitably the big oak on the corner had been wrapped in bathroom tissue by teenagers.

“I love this time,” Natasha murmured. “Especially at night when there's a little wind. You can smell smoke from the chimneys.”

On the main street, older children and college students still stalked in fright masks and painted faces. A poor imitation of a wolf howl bounced along the storefronts, followed by a feminine squeal and
laughter. A car full of ghouls paused long enough for them to lean out the windows and screech.

Spence watched the car turn a corner, its passengers still howling. “I can't remember being anywhere that Halloween was taken so seriously.”

“Wait until you see what happens at Christmas.”

Natasha's own pumpkin was glowing on her stoop beside a bowl half-filled with candy bars. There was a sign on her door. Take Only One. Or Else.

Spence shook his head at it. “That really does it?”

Natasha merely glanced at the sign. “They know me.”

Leaning over, Spence plucked one. “Can I have a brandy to go with it?”

She hesitated. If she let him come in, it was inevitable that they would pick up where the earlier kiss had left off. It had been two months, she thought, two months of wondering, of stalling, of pretending. They both knew it had to stop sooner or later.

“Of course.” She opened the door and let him in.

Wound tight, she went into the kitchen to pour drinks. It was yes or it was no, she told herself. She had known the answer long before this night, even prepared for it. But what would it be like with him? What would she be like? And how, when she had shared herself with him in that most private way, would she be able to pretend she didn't need more?

Couldn't need more, Natasha reminded herself. Whatever her feelings for him, and they were deeper, much deeper than she dared admit, life had to continue as it was. No promises, no vows. No broken hearts.

He turned when she came back into the room, but didn't speak. His own thoughts were mixed and confused. What did he want? Her, certainly. But how much, how little could he accept? He'd been sure
he'd never feel this way again. More than sure that he would never want to. Yet it seemed so easy to feel, every time he looked at her.

“Thanks.” He took the brandy, watching her as he sipped. “You know, the first time I lectured, I stood at the podium and my mind went completely blank. For one terrible moment I couldn't think of anything I'd planned to say. I'm having exactly the same problem now.”

“You don't have to say anything.”

“It's not as easy as I thought it would be.” He took her hand, surprised to find it cold and unsteady. Instinctively he lifted it to press his lips to the palm. It helped, knowing she was as nervous as he. “I don't want to frighten you.”

“This frightens me.” She could feel sensation spear her. “Sometimes people say I think too much. Maybe it's true. If it is, it's because I feel too much. There was a time….” She took her hand from his, wanting to be strong on her own. “There was a time,” she repeated, “when I let what I felt decide for me. There are some mistakes that you pay for until you die.”

“This isn't a mistake.” He set down the brandy to take her face between his hands.

Her fingers curled around his wrists. “I don't want it to be. There can't be any promises, Spence, because I'd rather not have them than have them broken. I don't need or want pretty words. They're too easily said.” Her grip tightened. “I want to be your lover, but I need respect, not poetry.”

“Are you finished?”

“I need for you to understand,” she insisted.

“I'm beginning to. You must have loved him a great deal.”

She dropped her hands, but steadied herself before she answered. “Yes.”

It hurt, surprising him. He could hardly be threatened by someone from her past. He had a past, as well. But he
was
threatened, and he
was
hurt. “I don't care who he was, and I don't give a damn what happened.” That was a lie, he realized, and one he'd have to deal with sooner or later. “But I don't want you thinking of him when you're with me.”

“I don't, not the way you mean.”

“Not in any way.”

She raised a brow. “You can't control my thoughts or anything else about me.”

“You're wrong.” Fueled by impotent jealousy, he pulled her into his arms. The kiss was angry, demanding, possessive. And tempting. Tempting her so close to submission that she struggled away.

“I won't be taken.” Her voice was only more defiant because she was afraid she was wrong.

“Your rules, Natasha?”

“Yes. If they're fair.”

“To whom?”

“Both of us.” She pressed her fingers against her temples for a moment. “We shouldn't be angry,” she said more quietly. “I'm sorry.” She offered a shrug and a quick smile. “I'm afraid. It's been a long time since I've been with anyone—since I've wanted to be.”

He picked up his brandy, staring into it as it swirled. “You make it hard for me to stay mad.”

“I'd like to think we were friends. I've never been friends with a lover.”

And he'd never been in love with a friend. It was a huge and frightening admission, and one he was certain he couldn't make out loud. Perhaps, if he stopped being clumsy, he could show her.

“We are friends.” He held out a hand, then curled his fingers around hers. “Friends trust each other, Natasha.”

“Yes.”

He looked at their joined hands. “Why don't we—?” A noise at the window had him breaking off and glancing over. Before he could move, Natasha tightened her hold. It took only a moment to see that she wasn't frightened, but amused. She brought a finger from her free hand to her lips.

“I think it's a good idea to be friends with my professor,” she said, lifting her voice and making a go-ahead gesture to Spence.

“I, ah, I'm glad Freddie and I have found so many nice people since we've moved.” Puzzled, he watched Natasha root through a drawer.

“It's a nice town. Of course, sometimes there are problems. You haven't heard about the woman who escaped from the asylum.”

“What asylum?” At her impatient glance, he covered himself. “No, I guess not.”

“The police are keeping very quiet about it. They know she's in the area and don't want people to panic.” Natasha flicked on the flashlight she'd uncovered and nodded in approval as the batteries proved strong. “She's quite insane, you know, and likes to kidnap small children. Especially young boys. Then she tortures them, hideously. On a night with a full moon she creeps up on them, so silently, so evilly. Then before they can scream, she grabs them around the throat.”