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.