Temptation

by Nora Roberts

  wander over by the orchard, just once?”

  “No.” Only a hundred times. “Seen one apple tree, you’ve seen them all.”

  “The same doesn’t hold true for an apple grower who’s about six-two, with a hundred and ninety well-placed pounds and one of the most fascinating faces this side of the Mississippi.” Concern edged into her voice. She had watched her friend suffer and had been helpless to do more than offer emotional support. “Have fun, Eden. You deserve it.”

  “I don’t think Chase Elliot falls into the category of fun.” Danger, she thought. Excitement, sexuality and, oh yes, temptation. Tossing her legs over the bunk, Eden walked to the window. Moths were flapping at the screen.

  “You’re gun-shy.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Honey, you can’t use Eric as a yardstick.”

  “I’m not.” With a sigh, she turned back. “I’m not pining or brooding over him, either.”

  The quick shrug was Candy’s way of dismissing someone she considered a weasel. “That’s because you were never really in love with him.”

  “I was going to marry him.”

  “Because it seemed the proper thing to do. I know you, Eden, like no one else. Everything was very simple and easy with Eric. It all fit—click, click, click.”

  Amused, Eden shook her head. “Is something wrong with that?”

  “Everything’s wrong with that. Love makes you giddy and foolish and achy. You never felt any of that with Eric.” She spoke from the experience of a woman who’d fallen in love, and out again, a dozen times before she’d hit twenty. “You would have married him, and maybe you would even have been content. His tastes were compatible with yours. His family mixed well with yours.”

  Amusement fled. “You make it sound so cold.”

  “It was. But you’re not.” Candy raised her hands, hoping she hadn’t gone too far. “Eden, you were raised a certain way, to be a certain way; then the roof collapsed. I can only guess at how traumatic that was. You’ve picked yourself up, but still you’ve closed pieces of yourself off. Isn’t it time you put the past behind you, really behind you?”

  “I’ve been trying.”

  “I know, and you’ve made a good start, with the camp, with your outlook. Maybe it’s time you started looking for a little more, just for yourself.”

  “A man?”

  “Some companionship, some sharing, some affection. You’re too smart to think that you need a man to make things work, but to cut them off because one acted like a weasel isn’t the answer, either.” She rubbed at a streak of red paint on her fingernail. “I guess I still believe that everyone needs someone.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Right now I’m too busy pasting myself back together and enjoying the results. I’m not ready for complications. Especially when they’re six foot two.”

  “You were always the romantic one, Eden. Remember the poetry you used to write?”

  “We were children.” Restless, Eden moved her shoulders. “I had to grow up.”

  “Growing up doesn’t mean you have to stop dreaming.” Candy rose. “We’ve started one dream here, together. I want to see you have other dreams.”

  “When the time’s right.” Touched, Eden kissed Candy’s cheek. “We’ll have your dance and charm your counselors.”

  “We could invite some neighbors, just to round things out.”

  “Don’t press your luck.” Laughing, Eden turned toward the door. “I’m going for a walk before I check on the horses. Leave the light on low, will you?”

  The air was still, but not quiet. The first nights Eden had spent in the hills, the country quiet had disturbed her. Now, she could hear and appreciate the night music. The chorus of crickets in soprano, the tenor crying of an owl, the occasional bass lowing of the cows on a farm half a mile away all merged into a symphony accompanied by the rustling of small animals in the brush. The three-quarter moon and a galaxy of stars added soft light and dramatic shadows. The erratic yellow beams of an army of fireflies was a nightly light show.

  As she strolled toward the lake, she heard the rushing song of peepers over the softer sound of lapping water. The air smelled as steamy as it felt, so she rounded the edge of the lake toward the cooler cover of trees.

  With her mind on her conversation with Candy, Eden bent to pluck a black-eyed Susan. Twisting the stem between her fingers, she watched the petals revolve around the dark center.

  Had she been a romantic? There had been poetry, dreamy, optimistic poetry, often revolving around love. Troubadour love, she thought now. The sort that meant long, wistful glances, sterling sacrifices and purity. Romantic, but unrealistic, Eden admitted. She hadn’t written any poetry in a long time.

  Not since she had met Eric, Eden realized. She had gone from dreamy young girl to proper young woman, exchanging verses for silver patterns. Now both the dreamy girl and the proper woman were gone.

  That was for the best, Eden decided, and she tossed her flower onto the surface of the lake. She watched it float lazily.

  Candy had been right. It had not been a matter of love with Eric, but of fulfilling expectations. When he had turned his back on her, he had broken not her heart, but her pride. She was still repairing it.

  Eric had given her a suitable diamond, sent her roses at the proper times and had never been at a loss for a clever compliment. That wasn’t romance, Eden mused, and it certainly wasn’t love. Perhaps she’d never really understood either.

  Was romance white knights and pure maidens? Was it Chopin and soft lights? Was it the top of the Ferris wheel? Maybe she’d prefer the last after all. With a quiet laugh, Eden wrapped her arms around herself and held her face up to the stars.

  “You should do that more often.”

  She whirled, one hand pressing against her throat. Chase stood a few feet away at the edge of the trees, the edge of the shadows. It flashed through her mind that this was the third time she had seen him and the third time he had taken her by surprise. It was a habit she wanted to break.

  “Do you practice startling people, or is it a natural gift?”

  “I can’t remember it happening much before you.”

  The fact was, he hadn’t come up on her, but she on him. He’d been walking since dusk, and had stopped on the banks of the lake to watch the water and to think of her. “You’ve been getting some sun.” Her hair seemed lighter, more fragile against the honeyed tone of her skin. He wanted to touch it, to see if it was still as soft and fragrant.

  “Most of the work is outdoors.” It amazed her that she had to fight the urge to turn and run. There was something mystical, even fanciful, about meeting him here in the moonlight, by the water. Almost as if it had been fated.

  “You should wear a hat.” He said it absently, distracted by the pounding of his own heart. She might have been an illusion, long slender arms and legs gleaming in the moonlight, her hair loose and drenched with it. She wore white. Even the simple shorts and shirt seemed to glimmer. “I’d wondered if you walked here.”

  He stepped out of the shadows. The monotonous song of the crickets seemed to reach a crescendo. “I thought it might be cooler.”

  “Some.” He moved closer. “I’ve always been fond of hot nights.”

  “The cabins tend to get stuffy.” Uneasy, she glanced back and discovered she had walked farther than she’d intended. The camp, with its comforting lights and company, was very far away. “I didn’t realize I’d crossed over onto your property.”

  “I’m only a tyrant about my trees.” She was less of an illusion up close, more of a woman. “You were laughing before. What were you thinking of?”

  Her mouth was dry. Even as she backed away, he seemed to be closer. “Ferris wheels.”

  “Ferris wheels? Do you like the drop?” Satisfying his own need, he reached for her hair. “Or the climb?”

  At his touch, her stomach shot down to her knees. “I have to get back.”

  “Let’s walk.”

  To walk with you
in the moonlight. Eden thought of his words, and of fate. “No, I can’t. It’s late.”

  “Must be all of nine-thirty.” Amused, he took her hand, then immediately turned it over. There was a hardening ridge of calluses on the pad beneath her fingers. “You’ve been working.”

  “Some people make a living that way.”

  “Don’t get testy.” He turned her hand back to run a thumb over her knuckles. Was it a talent of his, Eden wondered, to touch a woman in the most casual of ways and send her blood pounding? “You could wear gloves,” Chase went on, “and keep your Philadelphia hands.”

  “I’m not in Philadelphia.” She drew her hand away. Chase simply took her other one. “And since I’m pitching hay rather than serving tea, it hardly seems to matter.”

  “You’ll be serving tea again.” He could see her, seated in some fussy parlor, wearing pink silk and holding a china pot. But, for the moment, her hand was warm in his. “The moon’s on the water. Look.”

  Compelled, she turned her head. There were such things as moonbeams. They gilded the dark water of the lake and silvered the trees. She remembered some old legend about three women, the moonspinners, who spun the moon on spindles. More romance. But even the new, practical Eden couldn’t resist.

  “It’s lovely. The moon seems so close.”

  “Some things aren’t as close as they seem; others aren’t so far away.”

  He began to walk. Because he still had her hand, and because he intrigued her, Eden walked with him. “I suppose you’ve always lived here.” Just small talk, she told herself. She didn’t really care.

  “For the most part. This has always been headquarters for the business.” He turned to look down at her. “The house is over a hundred years old. You might find it interesting.”

  She thought of her home and of the generations of Carlboughs who had lived there. And of the strangers who lived there now. “I like old houses.”

  “Are things going well at camp?”

  She wouldn’t think of the books. “The girls keep us busy.” Her laugh came again, low and easy. “That’s an understatement. We’ll just say their energy level is amazing.”

  “How’s Roberta?”

  “Incorrigible.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Last night she painted one of the girls while the girl was asleep.”

  “Painted?”

  Eden’s laugh came again, low and easy. “The little darling must have copped a couple of pots of paint from the art area. When Marcie woke up, she looked like an Indian preparing to attack a wagon train.”

  “Our Roberta’s inventive.”

  “To say the least. She told me she thought it might be interesting to be the first woman chief justice.”

  He smiled at that. Imagination and ambition were the qualities he most admired. “She’ll probably do it.”

  “I know. It’s terrifying.”

  “Let’s sit. You can see the stars better.”

  Stars? She’d nearly forgotten who she was with and why she had wanted to avoid being with him. “I don’t think I—” Before she’d gotten the sentence out, he’d tugged her down on a soft, grassy rise. “One wonders why you bother to ask.”

  “Manners,” he said easily as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Even as she stiffened, he relaxed. “Look at the sky. How often do you notice it in the city?”

  Unable to resist, she tilted her face up. The sky was an inky black backdrop for countless pinpoints of lights. They spread, winking, shivering overhead with a glory that made Eden’s throat ache just in the looking. “It isn’t the same sky that’s over the city.”

  “Same sky, Eden. It’s people who change.” He stretched out on his back, crossing his legs. “There’s Cassiopeia.”

  “Where?” Curious, Eden searched, but saw only stars without pattern.

  “You can see her better from here.” He pulled her closer to him, and before she could protest, he was pointing. “There she is. Looks like a W this time of year.”

  “Yes!” Delighted, she reached for his wrist and outlined the constellation herself. “I’ve never been able to find anything in the sky.”

  “You have to look first. There’s Pegasus.” Chase shifted his arm. “He has a hundred and sixty-six stars you can view with the naked eye. See? He’s flying straight up.”

  Eyes narrowed, she concentrated on finding the pattern. Moonlight splashed on her face. “Oh yes, I see.” She shifted a bit closer to guide his hand again. “I named my first pony Pegasus. Sometimes I’d imagine he sprouted wings and flew. Show me another.”

  He was looking at her, at the way the stars reflected in her eyes, at the way her mouth softened so generously with a smile. “Orion,” he murmured.

  “Where?”

  “He stands with his sword behind him and his shield lifted in front. And a red star, thousands of times brighter than the sun, is the shoulder of his sword arm.”

  “Where is he? I—” Eden turned her head and looked directly into Chase’s eyes. She forgot the stars and the moonlight and the soft, sweet grass beneath her. The hand on his wrist tightened until the rhythm of his pulse was the rhythm of hers.

  Her muscles contracted and held as she braced for the kiss. But his lips merely brushed against her temple. Warmth spread through her as softly as the scent of honeysuckle spread through the air. She heard an owl call out to the night, to the stars, or to a lover.

  “What are we doing here?” she managed.

  “Enjoying each other.” Without rushing, his lips moved over her face.

  Enjoying? That was much too mild a word for what was burning through her. No one had ever made her feel like this, so weak and hot, so strong and desperate. His lips were soft, the hand that rested on the side of her face was hard. Beneath his, her heart began to gallop uncontrolled. Eden’s fingers slipped off the reins.

  She turned her head with a moan and found his mouth with hers. Her arms went around him, holding him close as her lips parted in demand. In all her life she had never known true hunger, not until now. This was breathless, painful, glorious.

  He’d never expected such unchecked passion. He’d been prepared to go slowly, gently, as the innocence he’d felt in her required. Now she was moving under him, her fingers pressing and kneading the muscles of his back, her mouth hot and willing on his. The patience that was so much a part of him drowned in need.

  Such new, such exciting sensations. Her body gave as his pressed hard against it. Gods and goddesses of the sky guarded them. He smelled of the grass and the earth, and he tasted of fire. Night sounds roared in her head, and her own sigh was only a dim echo when his lips slid down to her throat.

  Murmuring his name, Eden combed her fingers through his hair. He wanted to touch her, all of her. He wanted to take her now. When her hand came to rest on his face, he covered it with his own and felt the smooth stone of her ring.

  There was so much more he needed to know. So little he was sure of. Desire, for the moment, couldn’t be enough. Who was she? He lifted his head to look down at her. Who the hell was she, and why was she driving him mad?

  Pulling himself back, he tried to find solid ground. “You’re full of surprises, Eden Carlbough of the Philadelphia Carlboughs.”

  For a moment, she could only stare. She’d had her ride on the Ferris wheel, a wild, dizzying ride. Somewhere along the line, she’d been tossed off to spiral madly in the air. Now she’d hit the ground, hard. “Let me up.”

  “I can’t figure you, Eden.”

  “You aren’t required to.” She wanted to weep, to curl up into a ball and weep, but she couldn’t focus on the reason. Anger was clearer. “I asked you to let me up.”

  He rose, holding out a hand to help her. Ignoring it, Eden got to her feet. “I’ve always felt it was more constructive to shout when you’re angry.”

  She shot him one glittering look. Humiliation. It was something she’d sworn she would never feel again. “I’m sure you do. If you’ll excuse
me.”

  “Damn it.” He caught her arm and swung her back to face him. “Something was happening here tonight. I’m not fool enough to deny that, but I want to know what I’m getting into.”

  “We were enjoying each other. Wasn’t that your term?” Nothing more, Eden repeated over and over in her head. Nothing more than a moment’s enjoyment. “We’ve finished now, so good night.”

  “We’re far from finished. That’s what worries me.”

  “I’d say that’s your problem, Chase.” But a ripple of fear—of anticipation—raced through her, because she knew he was right.

  “Yeah, it’s my problem.” My God, how had he passed so quickly