Loving Her Defiance

Nathaniel's POV

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The moment we reached the parking lot, Melissa slipped her hand out of my grip.

I stared at my now-empty hand for a second before lowering it to my side.

What the hell was that?

I'd known the woman for less than ten minutes, yet I'd found myself holding her hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Ridiculous.

Then again, Melissa was the first woman who had ever had the audacity to ask me to marry her without knowing my name, my family, or the size of my bank account.

And she'd done it while staring down two people who clearly believed they had the right to humiliate her.

I still couldn't decide which part surprised me more. Her proposal or the fact that I'd accepted it.

"Thank you," she said, turning to face me. "For what you did back there."

I studied her face beneath the parking lot lights.

The defiance in her eyes remained, but the tension around her mouth betrayed how exhausting the evening had been for her.

She was trying to appear composed, yet something about the way she held herself told me she was still affected by what had happened.

"You're welcome." She blinked, looking almost surprised by how easily I answered.

I wondered what she'd expected me to say. Perhaps she thought I'd demand an explanation for why she'd dragged me into her little drama.

If only she knew that I'd found the entire situation rather interesting.

"About the other thing..." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "The proposal. You shouldn't take it seriously."

I raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I?"

"I was angry. Those two were making a spectacle of me, and I wanted to get away from them. And you happened to be there." She took a quick breath before continuing. "So, I made a terrible decision."

"A terrible decision?"

A scoff escaped me before I could stop it.

I couldn't believe my ears.

This woman had looked me in the eye and asked me to marry her. When I'd agreed, she'd seemed perfectly capable of standing by her words.

Now, barely a few minutes later, she was trying to convince me that the entire thing had been a mistake.

Melissa's expression shifted when she noticed my reaction.

"Look..." She hesitated, seemingly searching for the right words. "I wasn't trying to make a fool of you."

"You already did, Melissa."

Her eyes widened slightly.

"Your idea of making use of my presence was to ask me to marry you. How was that not making a fool of me?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds worse than it was," she muttered.

I almost laughed again.

Almost.

"Well, I'm struggling to understand it myself."

She stared at me blankly. For some reason, that expression nearly broke through my composure.

It wasn't that I found her situation amusing. I simply couldn't understand how a woman could be so bold one moment and so flustered the next.

She looked torn between regretting her audacity and being offended that I expected her to stand by it.

I found that rather charming.

"You can stop looking at me like that," she said.

I realized I'd been staring at her. I should have looked away. Instead, I gave her a soft smile.

"Like what?"

"Like you're trying to decide whether I need medical attention."

That caught me off guard.

A laugh escaped me, and I briefly lowered my gaze before looking at her again. My eyes drifted to her mouth for a second before returning to hers.

"Do you need any?"

She gave me a look that made it clear she wasn't going to dignify my question with an answer.

I smiled.

God, this woman was something else.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt the urge to make someone smile simply because I wanted to see it happen.

Most people bored me. I had little patience for pointless conversations, unnecessary arguments, or anything that wasted my time.

Yet here I was, standing in a parking lot, entertaining a woman who had just attempted to withdraw a marriage proposal she'd made less than ten minutes ago.

I should have wished her goodnight.

Instead, I said, "I guess I'm the one with the medical emergency, because you've created a small problem."

Her expression tightened.

"A problem?"

"Yes."

I allowed a brief pause before continuing. "You made a proposal, and I accepted."

"That wasn't a real proposal," she argued, crossing her arms as though the gesture could help her stand her ground.

I glanced at her folded arms before meeting her eyes again. "Was there something unclear about the question you asked me?"

"I was under a lot of pressure!" Her voice rose slightly, and I had to fight the urge to smile at how quickly she became defensive.

"And I was under the impression that you were a woman capable of making her own decisions."

Her lips parted.

For the first time since we'd stepped into the parking lot, she had nothing to say.

I watched the embarrassment creep into her eyes, and the satisfaction I should have felt at winning the argument disappeared.

That wasn't what I'd wanted.

I hadn't meant to make her feel small. I simply didn't believe in allowing people to take back their words whenever the consequences became inconvenient.

Still, something about the way she looked at me made me reconsider my approach.

I wasn't interested in frightening her away.

Not when I was only beginning to understand why I wanted her to stay.

My voice softened. "Look, I'm not asking you to marry me tonight, Melissa."

She regarded me cautiously, as though she suspected I was setting another trap.

"Then what are you asking of me?"

"I'm only telling you that I meant my answer."

The silence that followed felt strangely heavy.

She searched my face for a trace of mockery, perhaps hoping to find something that would prove I wasn't serious.

I gave her nothing.

Because I was serious.

I wasn't entirely sure why, but I knew I hadn't accepted her proposal merely to amuse myself.

"Why?" she finally asked. "You don't know anything about me."

"That's true."

I wasn't going to pretend otherwise.

"You don't know whether I'm difficult, unreasonable, or completely unbearable."

"I've already established two of those," I replied with a straight face.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Are you always this insufferable?" she demanded.

"Only when someone proposes to me and then tries to run away."

"I'm not running away."

"Of course not." I nodded solemnly. "You're simply standing beside your car with your keys in your hand, preparing to leave."

Her gaze dropped to the keys.

I followed the movement and noticed how tightly her fingers curled around them.

For some inexplicable reason, the sight bothered me.

I wanted to take her hand again. I wanted to ease her grip, run my thumb across her knuckles, and reassure her that she had nothing to fear from me.

The thought caught me off guard.

I wasn't a man who went around comforting women he'd barely met. I certainly wasn't the type to feel responsible for easing someone's nervousness after a conversation that had barely lasted a few minutes.

Yet the urge was there, persistent and unfamiliar.

I wanted to touch her cheek, too.

To move that stubborn strand of hair away from her face and see whether she'd finally stop looking at me as though I were a problem she couldn't solve.

I did neither.

I barely understood what was happening inside my own head. The last thing I needed was to make an already confusing situation worse.

Melissa took a step back.

Whatever she'd seen in my expression seemed to make her reconsider the wisdom of remaining where she was.

"Listen, Mr..." She stopped.

I almost smiled.

It had finally occurred to her that she didn't even know my name.

"Nathaniel Brooks," I supplied.

Her jaw tightened.

"Fine. Nathaniel Brooks. Whatever this is, I'm not interested."

I studied her for a moment.

If she truly wasn't interested, why was she still standing there explaining herself? "Then why are you still standing here explaining yourself?"

She froze.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

I watched the realization settle over her face, followed by an expression that suggested she was thoroughly annoyed with me.

Then she shook her head, muttered something under her breath, and turned toward her car.

I should have let her go without another word.

Instead, I found myself watching her retreating figure with an odd sense of disappointment.

"Goodnight, Melissa."

She stopped at the driver's door and glanced back.

"Please don't follow me."

My expression cooled. "I have no intention of following a woman who has made it abundantly clear she wants to leave."

I meant every word.

Whatever interest she'd managed to stir in me, I wasn't going to force myself into her life. If she wanted to leave, she was free to do so.

Something in my tone seemed to reassure her.

She opened the door and got inside.

A second later, the engine started.

I stood there watching as she drove away, following her car with my eyes until it disappeared beyond the exit.

Only then did I realize I was smiling.

I immediately frowned.

Ridiculous.

She had called me insufferable, rejected the proposal she'd made herself, and left me standing in a parking lot.

And somehow, I was wishing she'd stayed a little longer.

What was wrong with me?

I'd barely had time to question myself when I heard footsteps approaching from behind.

"Mr. Brooks?"

I turned.

My intended date was walking toward me in a cream-colored dress, slightly breathless and clutching her purse with both hands.

My expression changed the instant I recognized her.

The brief amusement I'd felt moments earlier disappeared.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," she began, offering me an apologetic smile. "The traffic was terrible, and then my driver..."

"You're forty-seven minutes late." I checked my watch.

Her smile faltered, and she slowed her steps.

"I know," she admitted, her voice dropping.

"But I thought we could still enjoy the evening."

"We can't." The words left my mouth before she could say anything else.

She stared at me, her lips parting slightly.

"Excuse me?"

"Our meeting is over."

"But you haven't even given me a chance." A flush crept up her neck. Hurt and disbelief flashed across her face, but I felt no urge to explain myself further.

I had agreed to meet her at a particular time.

She had arrived forty-seven minutes late without a convincing reason, and now she expected me to rearrange my evening around her.

I had no interest in doing that. "You had your chance."

I turned and walked toward my car.

"Mr. Brooks! Surely we can arrange another meeting?" Her voice cracked as she hurried after me.

I ignored her protests, opened the driver's door, and looked at her one last time. "Don't contact me again."

Then I got inside and drove away.

My expression remained cold as I dismissed the encounter from my mind. I had no intention of wasting another evening on a woman who couldn't respect my time.

Yet, as I drove, my thoughts betrayed me.

Melissa's face appeared in my mind without invitation.

Her defiant eyes.

Her indignant mouth.

The way she'd demanded I marry her and then looked at me as though I'd committed a crime by agreeing.

My fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

I didn't understand her, and I certainly didn't understand myself.

I had no intention of pursuing her. I had no reason to see her again, and she had made it abundantly clear that she wanted nothing to do with me.

That should have been the end of it.

But as I drove through the night, I found myself thinking about what she might say if we met again.

For the first time in a long while, the thought of another meeting didn't feel like an obligation.

It felt like something I wanted.

And that was a problem I hadn't anticipated.