Secret Baby Santos by Bárbara McCauley Page B

to give a hand to someone,” she said dryly, then squeaked when he took hold of her by the waist and hefted her none too gently up into the truck. Frowning, she scooted across the seat and settled back while he slammed the truck into gear and tore off, spinning gravel with his back wheels.
    The air in the truck cab crackled with the heat of their tension. He obviously was in no mood for idle chitchat, and she decided she’d wait until they got to her house to give him a piece of her mind.
    But instead of turning left at Woodrow Street, the direction he should have taken, he turned right.
    â€œYou missed the street,” she said tightly.
    â€œNope.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, ‘nope’? You know perfectly well that you have to take Woodrow to get to my parents’ house.”
    He turned sharply into the parking lot of his shop. “Of course I know that.”
    â€œYou said you were taking me home, Nick.”
    â€œI am taking you home.” He got out of the truck, came around and opened her door. “ My home.”
    She opened her mouth to argue, but when he reached in and lifted her in his arms, she forgot what she wanted to say. He carried her to the entrance of his shop, slid the key into the lock and kicked the door open. When he closed the door again, she finally found her voice.

    â€œNick Santos, put me down right now.”
    â€œNope.” A light from a workbench lamp lit the inside of the shop. He carried her into the office, through the door of his living quarters, flipped on the wall light switch, then deposited her into an overstuffed chair beside a small bookcase.
    When she started to jump up, he pointed a finger at her. “Sit. You are going to listen to me, Margaret Smith Hamilton, and listen close, because what I’m about to say I’ve never said to any woman before and I will not repeat it.”
    Her anger warred with her curiosity, but curiosity won. Folding her arms, she eased back into the chair and glared at him.
    â€œI’ve never felt the need to explain myself to anyone,” he said irritably, pacing the small confines of his combination bedroom, kitchen and living area. “What I do, what I’ve done is nobody’s business but my own.”
    â€œNick—”
    He paused mid-stride and pointed his index finger sharply at her. She pressed her lips tightly together.
    â€œI like women.” He stomped to the tiny kitchen, turned and faced her, hands on his hips. “I certainly won’t apologize for that.”
    â€œI’m not asking—”
    â€œShut up and listen. I like women, I’ve dated a lot of them but that doesn’t mean I’ve slept with every one of them. In spite of what you seem to think of me, I’ve actually slept with very few of them, and not one of them was a ‘one-night stand,’ as you seem to be so fond of accusing me. Every woman I’ve been with meant something to me. I cared about them.”
    He stared at her, his face rigid, his eyes narrowed
and hard. “I care about you, Maggie. From that first moment I picked you out of that pile of green bean cans, I felt something for you. I won’t deny it’s partly physical, nor will I apologize because I want to take you to bed. At least I’m honest about that, which is a hell of a lot more than you’re being with me.”
    Her heart missed a beat “What do you mean?”
    â€œYou know exactly what I mean. You’re just as attracted to me as I am to you. You don’t want to be just friends with me any more than I do with you. We both want a hell of a lot more than that, but you haven’t got the guts to admit it.” He dragged his hands through his hair in frustration. “Who hurt you so bad that you’re afraid to let yourself live, to let yourself feel? Was it your ex-husband?”
    You , she wanted to blurt out, to let loose the tension coiled inside her. But even if she could,