“Never doubted it.” He leaned back again, his swivel chair squeaking. “You've got a nice smile, Megan. When you use it.”
She knew that tone, lightly flirtatious, unmistakably male. Her defenses locked down like a vault. “You're not paying me for my smile.”
“I'd rather it came free, anyhow. How'd you come to be an accountant?”
“I'm good with numbers.” She spread the ledger on the desk before opening her briefcase and taking out a calculator.
“So's a bookie. I mean, why'd you pick it?”
“Because it's a solid, dependable career.” She began to run numbers, hoping to ignore him.
“And because numbers only add up one way?”
She couldn't ignore that—the faint hint of amusement in his voice. She slanted him a look, adjusted her glasses. “Accounting may be logical, Mr. Fury, but logic doesn't eliminate surprises.”
“If you say so. Listen, we may have both come through the side door into the Calhouns' extended family, but we're there. Don't you feel stupid calling me Mr. Fury?”
Her smile had all the warmth of an Atlantic gale. “No, I don't.” “Is it me, or all men, you're determined to beat off with icicles?”
Patience, which she'd convinced herself she held in great store, was rapidly being depleted. “I'm here to do the books. That's all I'm here for.”
“Never had a client for a friend?” He took a last puff on the cigar and stubbed it out. “You know, there's a funny thing about me.”
“I'm sure you're about to tell me what it is.”
“Right. I can have a pleasant conversation with a woman without being tempted to toss her on the floor and tear her clothes off. Now, you're a real treat to look at, Meg, but I can control my more primitive urges—especially when all the signals say stop.”
Now she felt ridiculous. She'd been rude, or nearly so, since the moment she'd met him. Because, she admitted to herself, her reaction to him made her uncomfortable. But, damn it, he was the one who kept looking at her as though he'd like to nibble away.
“I'm sorry.” The apology was sincere, if a trifle stiff. “I'm making a lot of adjustments right now, so I haven't felt very congenial. And the way you look at me puts me on edge.”
“Fair enough. But I have to tell you I figure it's a man's right to look. Anything more takes an invitation—of one kind or the other.”
“Then we can clear the air and start over, since I can tell you I won't be putting out the welcome mat. Now, Nathaniel—” it was a concession she made with a smile “—do you suppose you could dig up your tax returns?”
“I can probably put my hands on them.” He scooted back his chair. The squeak of the wheels ended on a high-pitched yelp that had Megan jolting and scattering papers. “Damn it—forgot you were back there.” He picked up a wriggling, whimpering black puppy. “He sleeps a lot, so I end up stepping on him or running the damn chair over his tail,” he said to Megan as the pup licked frantically at his face. “Whenever I try to leave him home, he cries until I give in and bring him with me.”
“He's darling.” Her fingers were already itching to stroke. “He looks a lot like the one Coco has.”
“Same litter.” Because he could read the sentiment in Megan's eyes perfectly, Nathaniel handed the pup across the desk.
“Oh, aren't you sweet? Aren't you pretty?”
When she cooed to the dog, all defenses dropped, Nathaniel noted. She forgot to be businesslike and cool, and instead was all feminine warmththose pretty hands stroking the pup's fur, her smile soft, her eyes aught with pleasure.
He had to remind himself the invitation was for a dog, not for him. “What's his name?”
“Dog.”
She looked up from the puppy's adoring eyes. “Dog? That's it?”
“He likes it. Hey, Dog.” At the sound of his master's voice, Dog immediately cocked his head at Nathaniel and barked. “See?”
“Yes.” She laughed and nuzzled. “It seems a bit unimaginative.” “On the contrary. How many dogs do you know named Dog?”
“I stand corrected. Down you go, and don't get any ideas about these receipts.”
Nathaniel tossed a ball, and Dog gave joyful chase. “That'll keep him busy,” he said as he came around the desk to help her gather up the scattered papers.
“You don't seem the puppy type to me.”
“Always wanted one.” He crouched down beside her and began to toss papers back into the cigar box. “Fact is, I used to play around with one of Dog's ancestors over at the Bradfords', when I was a kid. But it's hard to keep a dog aboard a ship. Got a bird, though.”
“A bird?”
“A parrot I picked up in the Caribbean about five years ago. That's another reason I bring Dog along with me. Bird might eat him.”
“Bird?” She glanced up, but the laugh froze in her throat. Why was he always closer than she anticipated? And why did those long, searching looks of his slide along her nerve ends like stroking fingers?
His gaze dropped to her mouth. The hesitant smile was still there, he noted. There was something very appealing about that touch of shyness, all wrapped up in stiff-necked confidence. Her eyes weren't cool now, but wary. Not an invitation, he reminded himself, but close. And damn tempting.
Testing his ground, he reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. She was on her feet like a woman shot out of a cannon.
“You sure spook easily, Megan.” After closing the lid on the cigar box, he rose. “But I can't say it isn't rewarding to know I make you nervous.”
“You don't.” But she didn't look at him as she said it. She'd never been a good liar. “I'm going to take all this back with me, if you don't mind. Once I have things organized, I'll be in touch with you, or Holt.”
“Fine.” The phone rang. He ignored it. “You know where to find us.”
“Once I have the books in order, we'll need to set up a proper filing system.”
Grinning, he eased a hip onto the corner of the desk. Lord, she was something. “You're the boss, sugar.”
She snapped her briefcase closed. “No, you're the boss. And don't call me 'sugar.'“ She marched outside, slipped into her car and eased away from the building and back into traffic. Competently she drove through the village, toward The Towers. Once she'd reached the bottom of the long, curving road that led home, she pulled the car over and stopped.
She needed a moment, she thought, before she faced anyone. With her eyes closed, she rested her head against the back of the seat. Her insides were still jittering, dancing with butterflies that willpower alone couldn't seem to swat away.
The weakness infuriated her. Nathaniel Fury infuriated her. After all this time, she mused, all this effort, it had taken no more than a few measuring looks to remind her, all too strongly, that she was still a woman.
Worse, much worse, she was sure he knew exactly what he was doing and how it affected her.
She'd been susceptible to a handsome face and smooth words before. Unlike those who loved her, she refused to blame her youth and inexperience for her reckless actions. Once upon a time, she'd listened to her heart, had believed absolutely in happy-ever-after. But no longer. Now she knew there were no princes, no pumpkins, no castles in the air. There was only reality, one a woman had to make for herself—and sometimes had to make for her child, as well.
She didn't want her pulses to race or her muscles to tense. She didn't want to feel that hot little curl in her stomach that was a yearning hunger crying to be filled. Not now. Not ever again.
All she wanted was to be a good mother to Kevin, to provide him with a happy, loving home. To earn her own way through her own skills. She wanted so badly to be strong and smart and self-sufficient.
Letting out a long sigh, she smiled to herself. And invulnerable.
Well, she might not quite achieve that, but she would be sensible. Never again would she permit a man the power to alter her life—and certainly not because he'd made her glands stand at attention.