others' self-serving interests. She couldn't forget that Neil's interests, though sincere and caring, were self-serving too. He wanted her, but not for the reasons she craved: a relationship worth building on, a home like one she'd never had that was full of shared joys and sorrows, standing shoulder-to-shoulder against an unkind world.
At least Neil had been honest. He deserved as much from her.
"If you really want to put yourself in my position. Neil, then try to understand where I come from. It does something to a person to live on handouts most of her life—"
"I did it," he said, resentment and empathy in his voice.
"Then maybe you can understand why I'm driven to make it on my own. There's nothing like poverty to fuel ambition."
"And nothing like ambition can guarantee poverty of a different sort. Best be careful what you ask for, 'cause you just might get it. Believe me, the having's usually not near as good as the imagining. You don't ever stop paying those dues."
"Then why do you have such a problem with me paying mine? I know better than to think it's your altruistic nature making you so concerned about my well-being. There are plenty of willing women out there. So why me? Is it the challenge of pursuing the unattainable? That's ambitious, you know."
He twined her hair about his finger and gave a quick, hard tug that brought her mouth down to a whisper from his.
"So you think you've got me all figured out."
"Don't I?"
"You're applying to me some lesson you learned from somebody else. Who was he?"
"Let's just say he was a good teacher, and I always learned fast."
"Then learn from this—you're right, there's not an altruistic bone in my body. But you're wrong about most everything else. I want more from you than some piddly-ass chase so I can preen once I've had my way and sent you on yours."
"Then what do you really want from me?"
"I'm not sure yet. I want you in bed, but not until you invite me there. Why, I don't know either, because it's a first for me. You've got something I need. Besides that, you're driving me so crazy, I'm offering you an even crazier deal. Let me set you up. Two keys, and you keep both until you decide to share."
"But you already said the having's not half as good as the imagining. Aren't you afraid of being disappointed?"
"I'm hoping I will be. And hoping I won't. I've never met a woman like you. A woman I wish I could take home to Mama and then make it with in the backseat of a car."
"I have a confession to make," she said, wondering why she was freely giving him more leverage than he already had. "You see, Neil, for some reason the men I've known have never wanted to take me home. They just wanted to make it with me in the backseat of a car. Or at some out-of-the-way place, away from a wife I heard about from someone else in time to cancel the next date."
"Jerks," he muttered, then added angrily, "you're not that kind of gal. If I had a mama, I'd take you to meet her. And then put the move on. Heavy-duty."
For a full minute she said nothing, too elated to question if this was no more than a line, a means to get what he wanted.
A line. A byline. Then she realized her need to know him had nothing to do with a story, and everything to do with her heart. Why couldn't anyone trace his mother? He'd probably paid plenty to see to that, but why? He'd been quoted as crediting her for his love of music, but more than that he wouldn't say. Would he tell her, Andrea, share with her what he refused to all others?
"Has your mother passed away?" she asked gently.
"Dead," he bit out. "Died young and left me behind with a father who said music was only for sissies, and he couldn't stomach sissies. Just tramps to screw while the bedroom door's open, and fellow welders to bet the week's paycheck against in a cock fight."
And she'd thought herself deprived. How she hurt for the boy, and for the man who'd learned too well to protect himself. Suddenly, she saw him as needing all the same
At least Neil had been honest. He deserved as much from her.
"If you really want to put yourself in my position. Neil, then try to understand where I come from. It does something to a person to live on handouts most of her life—"
"I did it," he said, resentment and empathy in his voice.
"Then maybe you can understand why I'm driven to make it on my own. There's nothing like poverty to fuel ambition."
"And nothing like ambition can guarantee poverty of a different sort. Best be careful what you ask for, 'cause you just might get it. Believe me, the having's usually not near as good as the imagining. You don't ever stop paying those dues."
"Then why do you have such a problem with me paying mine? I know better than to think it's your altruistic nature making you so concerned about my well-being. There are plenty of willing women out there. So why me? Is it the challenge of pursuing the unattainable? That's ambitious, you know."
He twined her hair about his finger and gave a quick, hard tug that brought her mouth down to a whisper from his.
"So you think you've got me all figured out."
"Don't I?"
"You're applying to me some lesson you learned from somebody else. Who was he?"
"Let's just say he was a good teacher, and I always learned fast."
"Then learn from this—you're right, there's not an altruistic bone in my body. But you're wrong about most everything else. I want more from you than some piddly-ass chase so I can preen once I've had my way and sent you on yours."
"Then what do you really want from me?"
"I'm not sure yet. I want you in bed, but not until you invite me there. Why, I don't know either, because it's a first for me. You've got something I need. Besides that, you're driving me so crazy, I'm offering you an even crazier deal. Let me set you up. Two keys, and you keep both until you decide to share."
"But you already said the having's not half as good as the imagining. Aren't you afraid of being disappointed?"
"I'm hoping I will be. And hoping I won't. I've never met a woman like you. A woman I wish I could take home to Mama and then make it with in the backseat of a car."
"I have a confession to make," she said, wondering why she was freely giving him more leverage than he already had. "You see, Neil, for some reason the men I've known have never wanted to take me home. They just wanted to make it with me in the backseat of a car. Or at some out-of-the-way place, away from a wife I heard about from someone else in time to cancel the next date."
"Jerks," he muttered, then added angrily, "you're not that kind of gal. If I had a mama, I'd take you to meet her. And then put the move on. Heavy-duty."
For a full minute she said nothing, too elated to question if this was no more than a line, a means to get what he wanted.
A line. A byline. Then she realized her need to know him had nothing to do with a story, and everything to do with her heart. Why couldn't anyone trace his mother? He'd probably paid plenty to see to that, but why? He'd been quoted as crediting her for his love of music, but more than that he wouldn't say. Would he tell her, Andrea, share with her what he refused to all others?
"Has your mother passed away?" she asked gently.
"Dead," he bit out. "Died young and left me behind with a father who said music was only for sissies, and he couldn't stomach sissies. Just tramps to screw while the bedroom door's open, and fellow welders to bet the week's paycheck against in a cock fight."
And she'd thought herself deprived. How she hurt for the boy, and for the man who'd learned too well to protect himself. Suddenly, she saw him as needing all the same
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