Natalie giggles.
“I think Mr. and Mrs. Truman wanted to put their son up for adoption the first five times it happened. But the sixth time, they were admirably calm and made Nate clean it up himself. He’s not young you know! He was seven or eight, so he knew better and was just doing it to jerk them around.”
I snort.
“Boys,” I harrumph. “What a handful!”
She smiles up at me once more, and I take her hand before leading her to my library.
“Come on, in here, sweetheart,” I invite.
“Ooh, this is gorgeous!” Natalie breathes, looking around. “I didn’t know one person could have so many books!”
I chuckle.
“Well, I do have to admit that while I like reading, I don’t read for fun that much. Most of these books were picked by the interior decorator, and as far as I know, have never been cracked open.”
Natalie whirls around to look at me.
“Really?”
I nod while pouring a drink.
“Yes. I think most people with private libraries like to tell you that they’ve read everything they own, or at least that they’re on their way to that goal. Me, though? I’m too realistic. I know I’m not going to peruse Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronte. Nope. Not gonna happen.”
Natalie giggles then, the melodic tones soothing my soul like warm honey.
“Well, I’m glad you’re honest, Mr. Aston. I’ll help you read some of these if you like,” she says, gracefully accepting the wine.
I pause for a moment, however.
“Thanks honey, but hold on a sec. Are you of legal drinking age?”
She smiles and shakes her head, making my heart sink.
“Not technically, but as a responsible adult you can ‘supervise’ me if you want.”
I have half a mind to take the red wine back, but then nod with a sharp jerk of my chin.
“One glass then,” I growl. “No more.”
Natalie giggles again as my heart lurches. Fuck, what have I gotten myself into? The girl’s so damn young and I’m so old by comparison. Does she even realize how far apart we are in age? I take a long swallow from my own wine as she saunters about the library, perusing the shelves.
But we’re not here to read, and I gently take her elbow before leading her to an armchair. She sinks into the plush velvet before tucking her legs underneath her and throwing me an expectant look.
“Is everything okay, Mr. Aston?”
I growl because she’s just so beautiful and the conversation we’re about to have is so fucking difficult.
“First, I think you should call me Morgan,” I say, buying time. “I think we’re at that point, don’t you?”
She nods and giggles again, getting more comfortable on the couch.
“I agree,” she states. “You should call me Natalie too.”
I nod, my heart pounding. Then, she looks at me expectantly again, waiting for me take the lead.
To be honest, I’m tempted to forgo any conversation in favor of jumping her sweet curves without further ado, but that’s not the right thing to do, and I’m a principled man. At least, when the stakes are this high, I am. With a sigh, I shake my head and place my drink on a side table before taking the seat across from her and steepling my fingers under my chin.
“What is it, Morgan?” she asks in an innocent tone. “Is everything okay?”
After a moment of silence, I lean forward with my elbows resting on my knees.
“Natalie, before this goes any further, I need to know that you’re okay with everything that’s happened.” Before I can even finish my sentence, she’s giving me that dazzling smile and nodding her head, but I raise one hand, stopping her before she can speak. “You’re still in high school, sweetheart, which means you’re what? Eighteen? Nineteen?”
“Eighteen,” she responds. My heart does a little dance because at least she’s legal.
“Okay, eighteen,” I repeat slowly. “Do you know how old I am?”
She pretends to think while tucking a chestnut curl behind one ear. “Hmm...thirty-five?”
I shake my head gently. “No baby girl. I’m thirty-eight, which is closer to forty than I’d like to admit, and a solid two decades older than you. Imagine that, Natalie. When you were just being born, I was already in my sophomore year of college.”
But the curvy girl doesn’t seem put off because the laugh she gives me is deep, throaty, and seductive as it sends shivers of desire down my spine.
“Well, at least you went to college. I could be hooking up with a forty-year-old man who’s a deadbeat high school dropout, right?”
I roll my eyes, even though I’m entranced by her sense of humor.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” I begin.
“Then what are you saying, Mr. Aston?” she asks in a far-too-innocent voice.
I clear my throat, trying to keep things serious.
“I’m just saying that you should be dating boys your own age. Guys who are still in high school, or at least college. Shit, I graduated from college when you were two years old,” I snort.