What did it all mean? Was that love? Was that what it amounted to—listening and caring?
“You’re thinking a lot over there.”
She blinked, checking the signs out the window. They were almost home.
Home. Dimitri’s home.
She rubbed her eyes, suddenly dry and hot, and reached into her bag for eye drops. “Got a lot on my mind.”
He made a noise of assent in the back of his throat. “Anything you want to share?”
She used the eye drops as distraction, squeezing them into her eyes and wiping away the tear trails they made on her cheeks. A month ago, Dimitri would have demanded she tell him. Now, he asked her to share.
A month ago, she would have declined.
“Yeah, actually. I do. After we get home.”
Home. A hot flush crept over her skin. There was that word again.
“We’re almost there,” he said.
The heat spread. She had an idea.
28
The questions were eating away at him. Between Little Lilac and the pole dancing classroom—and the woman he strongly suspected was a stripper—he’d learned a lot about Natasha today, seen other parts of her life that intrigued him, and he wanted to bombard her with inquiries until he knew everything there was to know about her.
But as antsy as her mysteries made him, he couldn’t demand she spill her secrets. She had to offer them willingly. He had to show her he was worthy of them.
That meant giving her space, when all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and beg her to tell him everything.
For the past three years, he’d made the first move every time, because he wanted her. But all it had ever been between them was sex, because he was scared to ask for more.
What if she felt the same way?
And okay, he’d been scared to offer more. The last time he had, he’d been laughed at. No sense making a move until he was sure of the result.
Right?
It had been his guiding principle in business and relationships for many years. He didn’t know how to put his heart, or his business rep, on the line. He couldn’t chance failing. He couldn’t chance losing everything he’d worked for.
He’d lost everything once. While he was grateful to his family for making the choice, moving to America had left a mark on him. The stress and fear of that time never really went away, carried in his blood and in his bones.
But if he wanted this to work, he had to trust Natasha. He had to show her she was safe. Even if it left him feeling unsteady.
Once they were in the house, he stopped at the kitchen doorway to suggest they make coffee or a snack, but she kept going on her crutches, through the living room to the sliding glass doors.
“Where are you going?”
She shot him a shy look over her shoulder. “It’s hot out. I was thinking it would be nice to use the pool.”
“Okay . . .”
When she struggled to unlatch the sliding doors, he rushed to help her, but she got them undone and was out before he could reach her.
“Tasha?” He followed her to the long, rectangular in-ground pool. She perched on the edge of a lounge chair and set down her crutches. He was about to offer to go back inside for her swimsuit, when she said, “Can you pass me the sunscreen?”
“Ah, yeah.” He looked around, then grabbed the spray-on sunscreen from the basket of pool supplies by the patio table.
