Nathan's Child - By Anne McAllister Page 0,43

that wasn’t why he was here now. He was here because he loved Carin Campbell.

But he couldn’t ask her to marry him now because, damn it to hell, when he married her, he wanted her to love him, too!

She didn’t. Not anymore.

Once she probably had. He understood now—with maturity and the experience that came with years of casual dating—that while other girls might hop into the sack with a man just for the fun of it, Carin had never been one of them.

When she’d made love with him that night, she’d been doing exactly that—making love.

And he understood now what he hadn’t understood then—that he’d loved her, too—in his way.

But he hadn’t been in any position to do anything about it then. In fact, what had happened between them that night had scared him to death.

It wasn’t only betraying his brother’s trust that had been wrong. It was that he’d become involved with Carin. He’d told himself he was merely entertaining her while she waited for Dominic. He’d charmed her and teased her and talked to her—and found himself drawn ever deeper by his attraction to her.

He’d wanted her. And he’d had her with no thought as to what the consequences might be.

He’d overstepped his limits.

It went back to exactly what Mateo had been telling him when they’d gone climbing. There were some things that were, for the time being, out of his reach.

“You’re not ready for that peak,” Mateo had told him.

He hadn’t been ready for Carin, either.

And as soon as he’d made love with her, he’d known it was wrong. He’d felt gut-punched. Queasy. Desperate. Guilty. Every bad thing he could imagine.

If he’d never fully understood the Sunday school story about forbidden fruit, he’d had firsthand experience of it when he’d made love to Carin.

He couldn’t undo what he’d done. And heaven help him, he had still wanted her—as wrong as it was. So he’d done the only thing he knew how to do at the time.

He’d run.

He’d gone as far and as fast as he possibly could. He’d turned his back on all of them, consumed with guilt, with knowing he’d overstepped. If he couldn’t undo it, still he’d tried desperately, with the naiveté of youth, to put things back as best he could.

It couldn’t be done.

The world had changed.

Carin had changed. At the time, of course, Nathan hadn’t had any idea how much. Now he knew that by taking her love when he’d had no right to it—when it should have been beyond his reach—he had completely altered her life.

He hadn’t realized then that he’d also altered his own.

Now he did. And he was still trying to put things right, knowing even as he did so that the odds were against him. He’d had his chance with Carin all those years ago. He’d blown it. He had no right to expect her to look kindly on his efforts now.

Still he couldn’t stop trying. Couldn’t walk away. He’d promised Lacey he wouldn’t. But this was about more than Lacey. It was about Carin and him. It was about second chances and trying again.

He was smarter now. Older. More mature. He had something to offer her—if he could only get her to see it.

Sometimes—like at lunchtime—he thought he was making a bit of progress. Sometimes she was like the old Carin, eager and interested, easy to talk to. Sometimes they could have a genial conversation.

And then, all at once, she would pull back, the way she had this afternoon. One minute they’d been talking comfortably about Mateo Villarreal, and the next minute the wall between them had slammed back down again. He was on one side, she was on the other, and she wouldn’t even let him touch her.

He’d enjoyed the conversation. He’d been looking forward to touching her. Having the excuse to carry Carin from one place to another was a pleasure—and a pain.

It was wonderful to have her in his arms, to touch her soft skin and rest his chin against her silky blonde hair. He lived for those moments, for being close enough to breathe in the scent of her, to surreptitiously rub his nose against her hair, to accidentally on purpose brush his cheek against its softness, to rub the pad of his thumb along her arm, to let his fingers slide down the backs of her bare legs.

He prowled the house, irritable and unsettled, needing to work on his book, unable to focus on it at all.

Talk to me he wanted to demand.

But