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He stirred the powder into the milk for nearly a minute, then filled each of the mugs. He pulled one of those whipped cream spray cans from the refrigerator and added a generous dollop to the mugs before handing her one. She inhaled the scent of sweet chocolate and nearly moaned.
“You do know how to treat a girl,” she said before taking a sip.
Not moaning became even harder. The drink was smooth and sweet, without being too sweet. The chocolate flavor indulged her senses, especially her taste buds.
“This is so good it’s dangerous.”
Ronan settled next to her and grinned. “Women and chocolate.”
“It’s a thing. We can’t help it.” She took another drink and sighed. “Oh, man, I could get used to this and I bet it has like a billion calories. Does it?” She held up a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“I’ll send you home with the can.”
“Thanks, but don’t you dare. I’m short and curvy. I told you, weight finds me much more easily than it does my leggy friends. I try not to be bitter, but sometimes I can’t help myself. And don’t say you understand. You’re a guy and you have a job that’s physical. You can eat the entire grocery store and not gain a pound, which annoys me and I don’t want to talk about it.”
He studied her for a second, then smiled again. “I see the late hour doesn’t make you any less feisty.”
Feisty? He thought she was feisty? That was very close to sexy. She told herself not to think about her braless state. She was wearing an incredibly baggy sweatshirt. He would never notice. Still, it was nice to pretend, even for a second. Although after the conversation they’d had at dinner, he would probably be terrified if she made the slightest move. Speaking of which...
“I’m sorry about the app.”
One brow rose. “Putting it on your phone or discussing it?”
“Talking about it. I really was just checking out the questions. There are a lot of them and some are really interesting. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Scare is strong.”
She rolled her eyes. “You were terrified.”
He chuckled. “Your words, not mine.” He lifted his mug. “What do you normally do when you can’t sleep?”
“Work. It’s relaxing and eventually I get tired enough to sleep. I would have done that tonight, but I don’t have anything with me except a few sheets of origami paper.”
“Do you ever paint?”
“Sometimes. I’m not very good at it. I used to paint all the time. One day I finished a watercolor and realized it was awful. I got so frustrated I tore it up. When the pieces settled on my desk, they’d created something really beautiful and that was the beginning.”
“From failure, success.”
She smiled. “Exactly. I enjoy the unexpected and I’ve been working with mixed media ever since.”
“Which explains the trash.”
Ronan and his brothers often teased her about her found objects that she worked into her pieces. “It’s not trash. Just because someone doesn’t want something doesn’t mean it’s trash.”
He held up his free hand. “Don’t get riled. You’re supposed to be getting sleepy.”
“Trash,” she grumbled. “Your inability to see the potential in things is surprising, given what you do for a living.”
“Like I said, feisty.”
There was a tone to his voice. Or maybe she just wanted to hear something. Regardless, she liked the slightly affectionate, slightly teasing sound. Maybe it was the late hour or the storm raging outside, but she liked this Ronan. He was much more approachable and charming than the one she knew at work.
He’d always been appealing, and not just based on his features. There was something...wounded about him. She knew the danger of the brooding, damaged guy and had always avoided the type, but there was something about him that drew her in.
“Would you like to work?” he asked, drawing her attention back to their conversation.
“Sure.”
“Then come with me.”
She thought he would lead her to his studio behind the house. Instead he went upstairs, toward the guest room.
For a second, she wondered what he was going to do. If he pulled her close and kissed her, well, she had no idea how she would react. The thought of Ronan touching her was kind of intriguing. She felt a slight shiver low in her belly.
But instead of heading to her bedroom and making her question his definition of “work,” he stopped on the landing in front of the curved wall decorated with molding. He pressed in and the wall popped open to reveal a hidden door.
Natalie jumped back and nearly spilled the rest of her cocoa. “I had no idea that was there.”
“I think that’s the point. I’m not sure why the builder put in the secret room. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I made it into an art studio.” He walked inside and turned on the lights.
She was about to say he already had the custom studio he’d built when she followed him inside and saw this space was totally different. There weren’t any ovens, no raw materials for making glass. Instead there was a long counter at desk height, a drafting table and several easels. Cabinets filled the walls on either side of the door.
The room itself was in the turret, she realized as she looked around. There were huge windows that would let in light during the day. Tonight the storm raged just beyond the panes. She could practically feel the fury as the wind howled.
Ronan began to open the cabinet doors, revealing stacks of paper in all different sizes, canvases, bags of clay and boxes of brushes. Another cabinet held paints—oil and acrylic—along with colored pens and pencils, markers, glue and a glue gun. There was yarn, string, crochet hooks, scissors, rubber stamps, ink, X-Acto knives and ribbon.
She turned in a slow circle, then stared at Ronan. “But you work with glass.”
“Most of the time. Every now and then, I need to be inspired.”
“It’s a magical place.”
“I’m glad you think so. While you’re here, consider it yours.”
“What? No. I couldn’t.”
“Sure you could. I rarely come up here. Indulge your inner artist. Keep your own hours.”
It was a gift beyond measure, she thought, slightly light-headed at the thought of all the possibilities. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
He gave her that smile again. “I don’t mind. Have fun, Natalie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She nodded and moved toward the cupboards. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do first. A collage, or maybe paint. She was a horrible painter, but sometimes the wretchedness of her work inspired a mixed-media piece. She would have to—
The sound of a door closing caught her attention. She turned and saw Ronan had left. The door to the landing was easily visible from this side of the room.
How amazing, she thought, setting her cocoa down on the long table. Energy flowed through her. Paint first, mixed media second, she decided, reaching for a canvas. And in a few hours, she would get to watch the sunrise through the storm. Honestly, it didn’t get better than that!
CHAPTER FOUR
RONAN HAD NO idea what time Natalie finally went to bed. When he got up after a handful of hours sleeping, the house was quiet. Despite the storm still milling around, he checked with the county road crew and was not surprised when they said there was no way they could begin to clear roads for at least another twenty-four hours.
He went into his office to send an email to his brother Mathias, telling him what was going on. As his laptop booted, he noticed a tiny green origami dragon sitting next to his computer. He picked it up and held it on the palm of his hand.
The workmanship was precise, the lines perfect. There was something compelling about the tiny creature. He finished his email, then put the paper dragon on his bookshelf before heading to the kitchen to brew coffee.
As he waited for the machine to work its magic, he prowled the family room, spotting a tiny paper mouse on an end table. There was a turtle in the dining room and a classic crane in the foyer.
Once the coffee was done, he picked up the turtle and carried it with him to his studio. As he passed through the long hallway, he felt the force of the storm outside. According to the weather reports, it would blow itself out by the end of the day and then the cleanup would begin.
He put the turtle on his desk and began to sketch. He wasn’t sure it was possible for glass to capture the sharp edges of origami. He couldn’t use a sheet of glass and fold it—that would be too thick. So he would have to create the illusion of folds and lines.
Hours later he stared at the molten mess he’d made. It was a green blob that was more failed science experiment than turtle, but he’d learned from his mistakes and was eager to try again. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since dinner, so he went back into the house.
He found Natalie sitting at the island, a mug in front of her. She was back in her dress, with her hair all curly and her eyes slightly sleepy. She looked soft and rumpled and sexy as hell.
For a second, he allowed himself to simply look. To take in the perfect line of her cheek and the way her glasses added an impish air.
Something stirred inside of him. Not the need to re-create her in glass—no, the sensation was more base. Desire, he thought with some surprise. He wanted to know if her skin was as soft as it looked, and how her scent would surround him when he got close to her. He wanted to kiss her and taste coffee on her lips. He wanted to know what she was like in bed. Was she as feisty as she was in the rest of her life, or did she yield with a sigh designed to drive a man to madness?
She looked up and smiled. “Morning.”
He mentally turned his back on his imaginings and glanced at the clock. “Barely,” he said, his voice teasing.
“I know, I know. I indulged my inner night owl and worked until sunrise. It was glorious.”
“The work or the sunrise?”
“Both. The storm was going hot and heavy, but I could still see the light on the horizon. Nature is miraculous. What have you been doing in your studio?”
“Playing, mostly. You?”
“I painted.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s total crap, but that’s okay. From crap comes inspiration. I seem to often start with a horrible painting. I guess it’s because my mom was a painter, only she was brilliant.”
“Have you eaten?”
She shook her head. “I was trying to figure out what I wanted, although it would probably make more sense to see what you have and then decide on something.”
“Breakfast or lunch?”
“I’m open.”
“Let’s make it brunch. Omelets okay?”
“Sure.”
He headed to the refrigerator and started pulling out ingredients. He stacked eggs, cheese, a red pepper and mushrooms on the counter, then pulled a box from the freezer and handed it to her. Based on her reaction to the hot chocolate, he had a feeling she would be all in.
She read the label and groaned. “Cinnamon buns? What are you doing to me?”
“You don’t want one?”
“I want all of them, but one will do.”
He turned on the oven and got out a baking sheet, then washed his hands and began chopping up the pepper.
“How do you know how to do all this?” she asked. “You’re very handy in the kitchen. I wouldn’t have expected it.”
“Mathias and I moved out when we were maybe twenty-two. Neither of us was crazy about takeout every night, so we took a couple of cooking classes. It was fun and we learned the basics.”
“And it was yet another weapon in your attracting-women arsenal.”
“Asking or telling?”
She grinned. “Oh, I’m telling.”
He was surprised. While he used to be very successful with women, in the past few years he’d stopped trying. He preferred to be alone. So how would Natalie know whether he had an arsenal or not?
He finished prepping the vegetables about the time the oven chimed that it had reached the right temperature. He slid the cinnamon rolls into the oven and set the timer, then poured more coffee and joined Natalie at the island.
“Did you sleep at all?” he asked.
“About five hours. I’ll take a nap later and then stay up tonight.” She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “You have great coverage up here.”
“There’s a tower on the edge of the property. It’s close to the hiking trails. I think the state put it in for search and rescue teams.”
“Makes sense.” She pushed a couple of buttons. “Would you say you have a moral compass?”
The question surprised him. “Don’t most people? Yes, and I try to follow it.”
“Me, too. I hate to lie. I feel icky and then I can never remember. Better to just be honest.” She paused. “Do you think people are basically good, but sometimes misguided, or do you believe there are actually evil people?”
He hesitated. Most people were basically good but there were others who seemed to be following a separate set of rules, like his father. Ceallach Mitchell wasn’t evil, but he rarely showed compassion and thought kindness was for suckers. At the same time, he expected those around him to rotate in the orbit of his greatness and be grateful for the opportunity. No, his father wasn’t evil, but he wasn’t good, either. Ronan wasn’t sure if—
He grabbed her phone and stared at the screen. The app logo made him shudder. “You said we weren’t going to play this game anymore. I’m not going to be your sperm donor.”
“Oh, I know. I just thought the questions were interesting.” She smiled. “I hadn’t realized you were so emotionally delicate.”
“I’m a typical guy who doesn’t want unexpected children wandering around.”
Her smile turned impish. “That would be your moral compass at work.”
“Good to know it’s working.” He glanced at the timer, then got up and began cracking eggs into a bowl. “Are you serious about having a baby on your own?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m playing with the idea. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fall in love.”
“You don’t really believe you’re unlucky in love, do you? You can’t base all your decisions on the actions of a single jerk.”
She hesitated just long enough for him to know there was more to the story. Something she wasn’t telling him.
“He was a jerk who said he wanted to marry me and then changed his mind.”
“That’s on him, not you.”
He got out a twelve-inch pan, figuring he’d make one big omelet, then cut it in half. He tossed the vegetables into the pan to begin to sauté.
“It was one guy, Natalie.”
“My high school romance ended badly. He cheated.”
“That was high school, and if you want to use those two men to plot a course for the rest of your romantic life, have you considered the problem might be your choices rather than a cosmically determined fate?”
She winced. “It’s very early to be so judgmental.” She sipped her coffee. “You’re saying I have bad taste rather than bad luck?”
“I’m suggesting it might be something to consider before you jump into having a baby on your own.”
“I’m not jumping.”
“You’re practicing for your interviews.”
“I guess you’re right. I have been looking at adoption, but it’s not easy if you’re single.”
He kept the vegetables moving in the pan. When they were nearly done, he dumped them back onto the cutting board, then wiped out the pan. The oven chimed. He turned it off and set the cookie sheet onto a cooling rack, then added butter to the frying pan.
“What do you really want?” he asked, swirling the melting butter in the pan.
“What everyone does. To belong. To have family, to feel safe and loved and be the most important person in someone’s life.”
He glanced up in time to see her mouth twist. He had the most ridiculous need to go over and somehow make things better, although he had no idea how. Her desires required more than a friendly hug.
“You’re talking about finding a partner, not having a child. Kids grow up and leave. Unless you’re planning to keep him or her locked in the basement.”
“I don’t have a basement, and no, I’m not creepy. I just want...”
To be loved.
She didn’t say the words, but then, she didn’t have to. He heard them. He supposed nearly everyone wanted that. He had, at one time. Back before everything had changed, he’d assumed that one day he would fall in love, get married and have kids. All his brothers were married. He was, as they often put it, the last dog standing.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” she admitted as he poured the whipped eggs into the hot pan. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
He grinned. “You love it.”
“That will depend on whether or not the cinnamon rolls are frosted.” She raised her eyebrows questioningly.
“They wouldn’t be cinnamon rolls without frosting.”
She smiled. “You’re the best host ever. I may never leave.”
Words that should have scared the crap out of him but didn’t. And what was up with that?
* * *
NATALIE WATCHED THE clock with a sense of anticipation. It was nearly midnight. She’d worked all evening, beginning the process of turning her flawed painting into mixed-media magic. She’d already done a quick sketch on thick paper that she’d mounted on canvas. Now came the painstaking work of layering in the various elements. Around eleven she’d started to feel restless, as if waiting for something important.
She knew what she was hoping—that once again she and Ronan would spend time together. It didn’t seem to matter that they’d shared brunch and then dinner. She wanted to see him at midnight, as if the hour had some significance or mystical power.
Or maybe it was more the man. She’d never spent so much time with him before. He was pleasant enough at the gallery studio, but not chatty like Nick or Mathias. She’d always been aware of him when he was around, but that was more an energy thing than a personality thing.
Staying with him had changed everything. He was so...interesting with his brooding eyes and sexy smile. He could cook! He was more open than she would have thought, even as he kept his secrets. He was a good host and yet gave her plenty of personal space. She hadn’t realized he had a sense of humor—it was subtle, but seemed to be coming out more and more. She had the feeling he was slow to trust people, cautious about opening up, and she liked to believe he was starting to let her into the inner circle.
She left her work space and went downstairs, hoping to run into him. She found him in his study, on his computer. In the second before he looked up, she spotted her origami pieces on a shelf. As if he’d collected them to put them somewhere safe.
“How’s your work going?” he asked.
“Good. I’m making progress and I have an idea.”
“Is this about the app?”
“No.” She laughed. “The foyer ceiling is two stories with a nice updraft. We should fly paper airplanes.”
“I haven’t done that since I was a kid.”
“Did you ever compete?”
He grinned. “You’ve met my brothers. Do you have to ask?”
“Did you ever win?”
“Sure.”
“You won’t tonight.”
His gaze turned speculative. “Are you challenging me?”
“I am so going to kick your butt. Every single time. Even if you get lucky.”
“You’re on.” He rose. “What’s the wager?”
As he spoke, she would have sworn that his gaze dropped to her mouth. She felt heat and a sensation that was almost a kiss. Then he returned his attention to her eyes and she wasn’t sure it had happened at all. Real or wishful thinking?
“You don’t want to bet with me, Ronan,” she said, hoping her voice sounded playful instead of needy.
“I’m not afraid.”
“In the words of Yoda, you will be.” She grinned. “How about this? We each do a practice flight, and then if you still want to bet, we will.”
“Done.”
He followed her upstairs to the turret. She’d put out paper, scissors and a couple of rulers to flatten the edges. They each sat at the long table and started to work. In a matter of minutes, he’d completed a traditional paper airplane. It took her a few seconds more to complete her gliding plane. The more snub-nosed design was reinforced with additional folds that would withstand the updraft from the furnace vents.
Ronan looked from her plane to his sleek design. “You think that’s going to win?”
They walked to the landing. She smiled.
“In this confined space, winning is about staying aloft longer. Your plane is built for distance. It’s going to soar out perfectly fine and then pretty much plummet. Mine is going to stay up in the clouds for hours.”
Ronan’s eyes brightened with humor. “You’re a ringer, aren’t you? Instead of hustling for money at a pool table, you use paper airplanes. I’ve been had.”
She tried not to look smug. “And you were so sure you’d win. Come on, Mr. Bossy Pants. Let’s see what you’ve got under the hood.”
Ronan turned and sent his plane soaring off the landing. As she’d predicted, it made its way across the foyer with great speed and grace. He threw it hard enough that it actually hit the opposite wall and then tumbled to the floor two stories below.
“Well, damn,” he muttered. “You were right.”
“I know. Isn’t it great?”
She put out her arm and felt for the warm updraft from the air below, then aimed her stubby plane at the ceiling. It took off, looped once, then kept flying as it was slowly, slowly, oh so slowly, taken down by gravity.
“I want to learn how to do that,” he said the second her plane touched the floor. “What other kinds of planes do you know how to make?”
They spent the next hour folding paper planes. She showed him a half dozen designs and they practiced with all of them. When the foyer was littered with their efforts, they went downstairs for hot cocoa. While Ronan heated the milk, Natalie pulled a bag of marshmallows out of the pantry.
“I found these earlier,” she said, waving the bag. “I’m superexcited.”
“About marshmallows?”
“Duh. Of course. Aren’t you?”
He studied her for a second before he smiled. “I am. Now tell me how you learned to fly airplanes so well.”
She settled on a stool at the island. “There weren’t any girls on the street where I grew up. Just boys. It was fine when I was little, but by the time I was seven, they didn’t want me tagging along. Whenever I convinced them to play with me, it was sports and they always beat me. I got tired of being humiliated. My mom was the one who came up with the idea of paper airplanes. I was already doing origami, so it was an easy transition.”
She grinned at the memory. “They were woefully unprepared to be beaten by a girl and they didn’t take it well. After about a dozen rematches, they stopped trying to beat me and I was still shut out.”
“That must have hurt.”
“It did, but then a couple of girls moved in, so I cared less. Plus anytime the boys tried to tease me, I reminded them they’d been beaten by a girl and they wilted.”
“You’re scrappy.”
“I try.”
He stirred the cocoa into the pan. The smell of chocolate filled the kitchen and her mouth began to water.
“I’m drinking up your supply,” she said. “I should order you more.” Although she had no idea how much it would cost to buy a tin of cocoa from the former East Berlin. There went her meat budget for the month.
“I already have.” He poured the mixture into mugs, then handed her one. “It’s nicer when it’s shared.”
“Thank you.”
She looked up and saw he was watching her. For a second, their gazes tangled and refused to separate. She found herself leaning toward him, as if... As if...
He turned away and put down the pan, then passed her the bag of marshmallows. She took two and dropped them into her cocoa all the while telling herself not to be silly. Whatever she was feeling was obviously one-sided. Ronan wouldn’t be interested in her that way. He was worldly and famous and rich. She was just a girl who couldn’t find someone to love her and who tore up bits of paper and called it art. He was the real artist. Speaking of which...