Taming Natasha by Nora Roberts

first hot dog.” She smiled and picked up her wine again. She never spoke of that time, never. Not even with family. Now that she had, with him, she felt a desperate need to change the subject. “And the day my father brought home our first television. No childhood, even one with nannies, is ever completely secure. But we grow up. I’m a businesswoman, and you’re a respected composer. Why don’t you write?” She felt his fingers tense on hers. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I had no business asking that.”
    â€œIt’s all right.” His fingers relaxed again. “I don’t write because I can’t.”
    She hesitated, then went on impulse. “I know your music. Something that intense doesn’t fade.”
    â€œIt hasn’t mattered a great deal in the past couple of years. Just lately it’s begun to matter again.”
    â€œDon’t be patient.”
    When he smiled, she shook her head, at once impatient and regal. Her hand was gripping his now, hard and strong.
    â€œNo, I mean it. People always say when the time is right, when the mood is right, when the place is right. Years are wasted that way. If my father had waited until we were older, until the trip was safer, we might still be in the Ukraine. There are some things that should be grabbed with both hands and taken. Life can be very, very short.”
    He could feel the urgency in the way her hands gripped his. And he could see the shadow of regret in her eyes. The reason for both intrigued him as much as her words.
    â€œYou may be right,” he said slowly, then brought the palm of her hand to his lips. “Waiting isn’t always the best answer.”
    â€œIt’s getting late.” Natasha pulled her hand free, then balled it into a fist on her lap. But that didn’t stop the heat from spearing her arm. “We should go.”
    She was relaxed again when he walked her to her door. During the short drive home he had made her laugh with stories of Freddie’s ploys to interest him in a kitten.
    â€œI think cutting pictures of cats from a magazine to make you a poster was very clever.” She turned to lean back against her front door. “You are going to let her have one?”
    â€œI’m trying not to be a pushover.”
    Natasha only smiled. “Big old houses like yours tend to get mice in the winter. In fact, in a house of that size, you’d be wise to take two of JoBeth’s kittens.”
    â€œIf Freddie pulls that one on me, I’ll know exactly where she gotit.” He twirled one of Natasha’s curls around his fingers. “And you have a quiz coming up next week.”
    Natasha lifted both brows. “Blackmail, Dr. Kimball?”
    â€œYou bet.”
    â€œI intend to ace your quiz, and I have a strong feeling that Freddie could talk you into taking the entire litter all by herself, if she put her mind to it.”
    â€œJust the little gray one.”
    â€œYou’ve already been to see them.”
    â€œA couple of times. You’re not going to ask me in?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAll right.” He slipped his arms around her waist.
    â€œSpence—”
    â€œI’m just taking your advice,” he murmured as he skimmed his lips over her jaw. “Not being patient.” He brought her closer; his mouth brushed her earlobe. “Taking what I want.” His teeth scraped over her bottom lip. “Not wasting time.”
    Then he was crushing his mouth against hers. He could taste the faintest tang of wine on her lips and knew he could get drunk on that alone. Her flavors were rich, exotic, intoxicating. Like the hint of autumn in the air, she made him think of smoking fires, drifting fog. And her body was already pressed eagerly against his in an instantaneous acknowledgment.
    Passion didn’t bloom, it didn’t whisper. It exploded so that even the air around them seemed to shudder