but until knowing Paige he had no concept that he was not lonesome for any woman. Just her. Her grace, her eyes, her swift mind, her fanny, her humor, her endearingly absentminded ways—there was nothing about her that didn’t draw him. The more he was with her, it was as if a key had unlocked feelings that he’d buried for years, deep inside him.
Paige wasn’t immune to him. Even a single kiss had ignited lightning, a heat that simmered like a banked fire whenever they were in the same room together. She could not have missed it, and of course he had noticed her wariness around him. To a point he understood it. No civilized rules had ever obliterated primitive instincts, not where men and women were concerned. The hunt-and-chase of a courtship always aroused wariness in a woman; how could she know if a strange man was a predator seeking prey?
But he was not a wolf, seeking to conquer. He was just a man, seeking to love. And he’d hoped that time together—and his behaving himself—would naturally build her trust level with him.
It wasn’t working. If anything, his lady seemed more tense around him instead of less. Helping him was different; Paige was a giver. She willingly accepted his company when she believed he needed help with the language, but Stefan was unsure how long he could pull off the bumbling-Russian-with-the-language routine.
In his work, he approached any impossible physics problem with patience, perseverance, and the process of elimination. There could be other reasons for her reserve. Doubts or concerns about his background, for one. And that was something he was hoping to bring up and deal with…today, if he could.
Paige was still hovering in the doorway. “You’ll be okay alone? Because I really have to work.”
“I know you do—you just go right ahead, lambchop. I am fine by myself,” Stefan said easily. Having given permission for her to desert him had worked before, as it did now, to guarantee she would linger a little longer. She felt guilty about leaving himalone, was never quite sure what the etiquette of the situation should be. And by three minutes into the show, invariably her attention was caught.
It took four minutes, this time, before she perched on the arm of the old leather sofa. Four minutes after that, she’d fallen off that stiff wagon and was hogging her full half of the couch, sitting Indian-style with her legs crossed. He hadn’t taken the spoon from the kitchen for nothing. Once he handed it to her, she leveled scoopfuls of the sweet faster than a kitten who’d been starved of food for a year.
“I have to get back to work,” she muttered.
“I know you do.”
“I don’t even like the old Kirk and Spock episodes half as much as the new version. I just like Picard and Deanna and Data and Worf. Worf is so adorable.”
Thanks to Paige’s dish antenna bringing in countless channels, he’d seen both versions. “Worf, the monster you like? The prehistorical male chauvinistic caveman? What happened to the lessons on American feminism and sexist behavior and women’s rights and-”
She gestured with the spoon, shushing him irritably. “There’s a place for realism and a place for fantasy. This is fantasy. I’d probably never marry a guy like Worf in real life, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love him on screen.”
“Ah. Is this example of American feminine logic?”
“Stefan?”
“Yes?”
“This Russian Cream is better than sin. I’m probably going to make myself ill, pigging out, because it is not possible to resist. I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful. But I’m warning you, if you keep teasingme, I’m probably going to bop you over the head with a pillow.”
If she’d chosen to bop him, Stefan noted there were dozens of pillows around. The small den was paneled in pecan, so small there was only space for the television, the couch, a lamp table, and a half-dozen tapestry pillows. There was some extremely interesting tickle-fight
Paige wasn’t immune to him. Even a single kiss had ignited lightning, a heat that simmered like a banked fire whenever they were in the same room together. She could not have missed it, and of course he had noticed her wariness around him. To a point he understood it. No civilized rules had ever obliterated primitive instincts, not where men and women were concerned. The hunt-and-chase of a courtship always aroused wariness in a woman; how could she know if a strange man was a predator seeking prey?
But he was not a wolf, seeking to conquer. He was just a man, seeking to love. And he’d hoped that time together—and his behaving himself—would naturally build her trust level with him.
It wasn’t working. If anything, his lady seemed more tense around him instead of less. Helping him was different; Paige was a giver. She willingly accepted his company when she believed he needed help with the language, but Stefan was unsure how long he could pull off the bumbling-Russian-with-the-language routine.
In his work, he approached any impossible physics problem with patience, perseverance, and the process of elimination. There could be other reasons for her reserve. Doubts or concerns about his background, for one. And that was something he was hoping to bring up and deal with…today, if he could.
Paige was still hovering in the doorway. “You’ll be okay alone? Because I really have to work.”
“I know you do—you just go right ahead, lambchop. I am fine by myself,” Stefan said easily. Having given permission for her to desert him had worked before, as it did now, to guarantee she would linger a little longer. She felt guilty about leaving himalone, was never quite sure what the etiquette of the situation should be. And by three minutes into the show, invariably her attention was caught.
It took four minutes, this time, before she perched on the arm of the old leather sofa. Four minutes after that, she’d fallen off that stiff wagon and was hogging her full half of the couch, sitting Indian-style with her legs crossed. He hadn’t taken the spoon from the kitchen for nothing. Once he handed it to her, she leveled scoopfuls of the sweet faster than a kitten who’d been starved of food for a year.
“I have to get back to work,” she muttered.
“I know you do.”
“I don’t even like the old Kirk and Spock episodes half as much as the new version. I just like Picard and Deanna and Data and Worf. Worf is so adorable.”
Thanks to Paige’s dish antenna bringing in countless channels, he’d seen both versions. “Worf, the monster you like? The prehistorical male chauvinistic caveman? What happened to the lessons on American feminism and sexist behavior and women’s rights and-”
She gestured with the spoon, shushing him irritably. “There’s a place for realism and a place for fantasy. This is fantasy. I’d probably never marry a guy like Worf in real life, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love him on screen.”
“Ah. Is this example of American feminine logic?”
“Stefan?”
“Yes?”
“This Russian Cream is better than sin. I’m probably going to make myself ill, pigging out, because it is not possible to resist. I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful. But I’m warning you, if you keep teasingme, I’m probably going to bop you over the head with a pillow.”
If she’d chosen to bop him, Stefan noted there were dozens of pillows around. The small den was paneled in pecan, so small there was only space for the television, the couch, a lamp table, and a half-dozen tapestry pillows. There was some extremely interesting tickle-fight
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