Free Loving You by Maureen Child

uncomfortably as she simply stared at him.
    â€œAm I supposed to be impressed?” she asked finally.
    Nick jerked his head back, surprised. She didn’t even know his
name
? Had she been living in a cave or something? “Well, yeah,” he said, and to hell with any pretense of humility. “Most people get a charge out of meeting me.”
    One corner of her mouth quirked, and even that hint of a smile, wry though it was, did something spectacular to her eyes.
    â€œSorry to disappoint you,” she said, “but I’ve never heard of you.”
    â€œI play football. For the San Jose Saints. Well, I did. I’m a—
was
a running back.”
    She shook her head. “And that means exactly what?”
    â€œYou don’t know football, either?”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œGreat. This day just keeps getting better and better.”
    â€œJust what I was thinking,” she muttered so softly he almost missed it.
    Nick studied her and swallowed back the bitter pill of being a nobody. Something he was going to have to get used to. And it wouldn’t be easy. He liked being recognized. Liked having kids lined up outside the stadium waiting for an autograph. Liked being ushered to the best table at a top restaurant. When it came downto it, there wasn’t a single damn thing he
didn’t
like about it.
    Except the fact that it was over.
    Okay, fine. Let it go. Concentrate on the current problem. “So. You don’t know me.” He shoved both hands into his jeans pockets. “That makes us even then, because I still don’t know you.”
    â€œTasha Flynn,” she said, biting off each word to make sure he understood that she gave the information grudgingly.
    â€œFlynn. Irish.”
    â€œWow,” she said tightly. “A football player
and
a genealogist.”
    â€œIrish explains the red hair,” he mused, ignoring her jibe. “
And
the temper.”
    â€œYeah? Well,
your
name’s not Irish, so how do we explain you?”
    â€œHey, I’m not the hostile one here,” Nick reminded her.
    â€œNo, you’re just the idiot who can’t tell when he’s not wanted.” Tasha’s insides were vibrating. Anger, frustration, and pure unadulterated fear rippled through her in alternating waves until she wasn’t sure which was which anymore. But did it really matter? For whatever reason, Mr. Football had invaded her home and didn’t show any sign of leaving.
    She could always call the police.
    Oh, yeah, Tash. Great plan. Let’s get the authorities involved. Then they’ll want to talk to Mimi and things’ll only get worse.
    Nope. There was no cavalry riding to the rescue. This one was up to her.
    She stared up at the man who for whatever reason had decided to make himself a part of her world.
Way
too tall for her liking. As short as she was, people tended to look at her and see not a woman but a child. Thank heaven for the red hair. If she were
blond
and short, she’d never get respect.
    Today he was wearing a navy blue sweater over a white T-shirt—she could just barely see the edge of it beneath the neck of the sweater. His blue jeans were as worn as hers and she told herself not to notice how long and lean his legs were. The running shoes he wore were a real departure from the tassel loafers of the day before. But she wasn’t fooled. She’d been shoe shopping with Jonas and had to dial him back from the super-expensive shoes he always drooled over. That particular brand of tennis shoe sold for around a hundred and fifty dollars.
    Tasha had to cut four heads of hair to earn that much money—and that was only if tips were good.
    Whether he was wearing intimidating designer wear or the “just plain folks” outfit, Nick Candellano had money behind him. So whatever it was he wanted, he could afford to stay as long as it would take him to succeed.
    â€œI really think we’ve done all we can