by Joan Hohl
“Thank you.” Helen’s husky, sleepy-sounding tone had shifted to wide-awake alertness. Without even looking at Marsh, she swung through the doorway to the living room, calling to him over her shoulder, “Marsh, you may as well go home. I have to go to the hospital and I have no idea how long I’ll be.”
He caught up with her halfway across the living room, grasping her arm to spin her around to face him.
“I’ll drive you and wait for you.”
Impatient to be gone, Helen shrugged his hand from her arm. “Don’t be silly! I told you I have no idea how long it will take. It’s one thirty in the morning. Go home, get some sleep.”
“But I don’t mind—”
“Marsh, please,” Helen interrupted sharply. Cold reality, and the knowledge of how close she’d come to sharing her bed with him put an edge on her tongue. “I have to go and I want to change my clothes. Will you just go home?”
“Would you object if I wait while you change and walk down to your car with you?” Marsh asked sarcastically. “As you said, it is one thirty in the morning.”
“Oh, all right,” Helen replied ungraciously, turning to run into the bedroom.
When she came hurrying back a few minutes later, he was standing at the door, holding her coat and handbag.
“Marsh, I—I’m sorry I was so sharp with you,” Helen apologized haltingly, sliding her arms into the sleeves of her coat. “It’s just that I ... well—”
“Don’t worry about it.” His hands tightened a second on her shoulders before he removed them and turned to open the door. “Had you scared for a minute there in the kitchen, didn’t I?” he teased as she walked by him into the hall. His good humor was entirely restored and the devil gleam was back in his eyes.
“I don’t understand.” Flustered, Helen stepped into the elevator, turning deliberately widened, questioning eyes to him.
“You understand perfectly,” he said softly, tormenting her. “I’m going to get you and you know it. It’s just a matter of time.” He paused, grinning ruefully. “And an uninterrupted opportunity.”
As they stepped out of the apartment entrance, for the second time that night, they were met by a swirl of snow-flakes.
“I hope this doesn’t amount to anything.” Marsh frowned, looking up at the dirty gray sky.
“Why, don’t you like snow, Marsh?” Helen had always liked snow.
“As a rule it doesn’t bother me one way or the other,” he answered, taking her keys from her fingers as they reached her car. He unlocked the door, handed her keys back, then opened the door for her and added, “But tonight, at who knows what time, my girl’s going to be driving home in it, so I hope it doesn’t amount to anything.”
Before she could say anything he kissed her hard on the mouth and strode across the lot in the direction of his car, parked some distance away.
His girl! His girl! Helen wasn’t sure if she was amused or angry. His girl indeed. As she drove off the lot Marsh’s car was two bright headlights reflected in her rearview mirror. And the reflection was there, every time she glanced in the mirror, all the way to the hospital. Now she was sure she was angry.
After parking her car in the section marked DOCTORS ONLY, Helen flung out of the car and across the lot to where the big Lincoln sat idling quietly. He slid out of the car when she reached the front fender. Walking with jerky, angry steps around the door, she snapped, “What do you think you’re doing? I asked you to go home.”
Without a word he pulled her into his arms, kissed her roughly.
“And I’m going home,” he grated when he lifted his head. “I wanted to make sure you got here safely, and to tell you to call me when you get home.”
“But I don’t know what time it will be.” She started walking toward a side entrance, Marsh close beside her.
‘That doesn’t matter,” he stated flatly.
“Marsh, I do this all the time,” Helen reasoned.
“And people get stopped and attacked in their cars more and more all the time.” His tone was adamant, final. “Helen, I mean it. Promise you’ll call or I’ll wait right here.”
“All right, I promise.” Helen yanked open the door. “Now will you go and let me get to the delivery room before that baby does?”
“Okay, I’ll go. Don’t forget.”
Helen was gone, practically running down the long hall to the elevators.
It was a hard delivery and Helen felt exhausted when she finally let herself into her living room close to three-thirty. At least she hadn’t had to face treacherous driving conditions, as the snow squall had moved off and the streets were dry.
The baby was a large one and had taken quite a bit out of his mother, not to mention Helen. Like a sleepwalker she went into the bedroom and undressed, thinking light-headedly that even at birth most males gave women an undue amount of trouble. After washing her face and hands, Helen sat on the side of her bed, drew a deep breath and picked up the phone.
“Helen?” Marsh’s voice questioned after the first ring.
“Yes, Marsh.” Helen spoke softly, tiredly. “I’m home.”
“You sound beat, love. Was it bad?” Deep concern laced his tone.
“For a while there,” she sighed. “But Mrs. Rayburn is fine and so is her son and I’m half asleep sitting here.”
“I can hear that,” he murmured. “I wish I was there to hold you, reward you. Go to bed, love. I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon. By the way, my parents would like you to come for dinner tomorrow, or should I say tonight, but I’ll tell you more about that when I call. Good night, love.”
Helen murmured good night, replaced the receiver, then sat up with a start. His parents’ for dinner! Whatever for? Good grief! Was she to be brought home to Mother and Dad for approval? Was Marsh out of his mind to think she’d stand for that? And what did he mean by reward me?
Too many questions in a mind too tired to search for answers. Helen yawned, switched off the light, crawled into bed, and was instantly asleep.
The phone remained considerately silent all Sunday morning, and Helen slept until after noon. She was glancing over the paper, sipping at her second cup of coffee, when the instrument issued its insistent cry. It was Marsh, and she was ready for him.
“What was all that business about dinner at your parents’ home?” Helen began the moment he’d finished saying, “Good morning, love, did you sleep well?”
There was a long pause before he asked smoothly, “Are you always this prickly when you first wake up?”
“Only when I’ve been sent to sleep with the threat of being paraded for approval, like a horse at an auction,” she replied acidly.
“Only with the very best Thoroughbred fillies, darling.” He laughed softly. “What gave you the idea you were going to be paraded?”
“It smacks too much of ‘bring the girl home for inspection before you do anything stupid, son,’ “ Helen retorted. “Really, Marsh, why else would they invite me?”
“Because they want to meet you? Get to know you?” His amusement curled along the line to her.
“Why now? All of a sudden?” she asked bluntly.
“All right, Helen.” His voice sobered, grew serious. “I admit that Mother asked a few discreet questions after we left Kris’s room together. I’m also sure she had already talked to my father about it, as he was there during the”—he paused—”questioning.”
“And?” Helen prompted.
“I told them I’d asked you to marry me.”
The calm statement almost had the power to curl Helen’s hair.
“Marsh, you didn’t!” Helen fairly screamed into the mouthpiece.
“Don’t fall apart, love.” He was laughing again. “I was honest. I told them you’d turned me down—for now.”
“Marshall Kirk,” Helen gritted, “if you’re trying to get yourself strangled, you are going about it in the right way. I can’t go.”
“You’d better,” he warned. “I’ve told them we’ll be there at s
even. It won’t be all that bad, love. Kris and Mike will be there, and as an extra added attraction they’ve invited Cullen. You can sit back and watch my father and the old bear take verbal potshots at each other.”
Good Lord, the whole family! Helen groaned. Am I going prematurely senile? I must be or I wouldn’t put up with this silliness. Why should I volunteer to endure this meet-the-family routine? I haven’t the slightest intention of getting involved with him in any way, let alone marry him. The scene in that very kitchen the night before returned to mock her, and she groaned again.
“Helen? What’s the matter?” His sharp query made her aware of how long she’d been quiet. His next question assured her he’d heard her soft groan. “Are you crying?”
“I never cry,” she answered bitingly. “I don’t have the time.”
“But you do have time for dinner tonight.” He bit back. “And I will come for you at six thirty.” The bite turned into a threat. “And you’d better be ready.”
Helen simmered, just below boiling point, all afternoon. Marsh’s parting thrust, “You’d better be ready,” stabbing at her mind like the tip of a red-hot poker.
Yon fool! she berated herself unmercifully. You stupid fool! You have no sense at all? Silently, as if to another person, she dressed herself down as harshly as a tough top sergeant might a raw recruit. You, a professional—whose very pride is in that cool professionalism—are you going to meekly submit to the dictates of a man? What can you be thinking of? You are not a twittering teenager. You are not a fresh-faced young woman, just starting out. You have earned your pride, your confidence, your independence. And you did it by yourself, without the support, the consideration of any male.
Although the day waned, Helen’s self-directed fury did not. As she went about washing the few dishes in the sink, making her bed, straightening the apartment, her mental tirade continued.
Now, now when you’ve reached the point in life where you hold that pride, that independence, tightly in your hands, are you going to fling it all away for the brief assuagement of your resurrected physical needs? And don’t, for one minute, try to convince yourself it will be anything but brief.
At five forty-five, her soft lips twisted in self-derision, Helen stepped under the shower. Still scolding silently, she told her invisible target, The very idea of a woman like you is a challenge to the Marshall Kirks of this world. He says he loves you. In all probability he would say or do anything to get what he wants.
Helen stepped out of the shower, scooped up a towel, and began patting herself dry. And what does he want, you ask? Helen went still, a wry smile tugging at her lips as she gazed into the hazel eyes of the recipient of her condemnation, reflected in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Okay, you asked for it. I’ll tell you exactly what he wants. He wants the power to make you come to heel, like a well-trained puppy, at his mildest command. He wants the exquisite satisfaction of knowing he has brought the very cool, so very professional, Dr. Cassidy to her knees. And when he is sated with that satisfaction, he will take a walk—and forget to come back. Are you willing, Helen asked those watchful, reflected eyes, to deny everything you’ve worked so hard for, for a few moments of mindless bliss that can only be found in this one man’s arms?
Helen blinked, and her head snapped up. The answer was there, in the clear hazel eyes staring back at her. Silently, yet loud and clear, those eyes proclaimed, “No way.”
Her self-denouncement completed, Helen dressed slowly, carefully, a secret smile softening the contours of her face. She had tried, and failed, to convince Marsh of her disinterest in any kind of male-female relationship. He had, figuratively, backed her into a corner. She refused to cower in that corner. Her intelligent father and gentle mother had not raised a female fool. She would play Marsh’s game, and beat him at it.
The doorbell rang at exactly six thirty. Composing her features, squaring her shoulders, Helen went to open the door, a smile of welcome curving her lips. The smile wavered at the sheer, overpowering look of him, then strengthened at the memory of her resolve.
He was dressed in a dark suit and silk shirt, which matched exactly the color of his eyes, and a patterned tie, which contrasted, yet complemented, his attire. The overall effect was one of elegantly covered, raw masculinity. His gleaming, not-quite red hair had been slightly tousled by the wind. His gray topcoat had been tossed carelessly over one broad shoulder, and his casually arrogant stance gave him the look of a well-dressed hell-raiser.
“Good eve—” He broke off mid-word, a stunned expression on his face, as his eyes made a slow tour of her body, while her own expression returned the compliment.
Without speaking, Helen moved back to allow him to enter then closed the door quietly and turned to face him.
After long deliberation she had dressed in a long, narrow black velvet skirt with a snugly fitting matching vest over a smoky-colored, long-sleeved chiffon blouse. A single strand of milky-white pearls a gift from her brother when she had graduated from medical school) glowed around her slender throat. The warm admiration in his eyes told her she’d chosen well.
“Black on black,” he murmured when her eyes met his. “Very effective with your hair, your fair skin, and the pearls.” His voice deepened huskily. “You’re beautiful, Helen.”
A thrill of excitement shot through Helen, followed by a shaft of elation. He had called the game and dealt out the cards on the day they met. Now, she decided, was the time for her to pick up her hand and play her first card.
Helen’s eyes lifted to his. “Thank you. You—you’re beautiful too.” She laughed softly. “I suppose a woman shouldn’t tell a man he’s beautiful, but you are, you know. A beautiful male animal.”
A flame ignited in his eyes and he drew his breath in very slowly. As he exhaled, equally slowly, he moved to stand close to her.
“I don’t know if a woman is supposed to tell a man that,” he murmured. “But I know this man likes hearing it.” His hands came up to cup her face. “Tell me more. Tell me why you think I’m beautiful.”
“I don’t know if I can explain, exactly.” Helen searched for words. “Certainly you are very attractive, but you know that. You dress well. Instead of simply covering your body, your clothes enhance it, proclaim your masculinity.”
His thumb moved caressingly over her cheek, and Helen paused to run her tongue over suddenly dry lips.
“An invitation if I ever saw one,” he whispered, bending his head to touch his mouth to hers. “Is there more?” he whispered against her lips.
“You make me laugh, even when I’m angry,” Helen whispered back. “And you make me breathless, most of the time.”
“Are you breathless now?”
“Yes.”
“And me.” His mouth crushed hers, sending the room spinning around her head.
When he lifted his head and the room settled back into place, Helen drew deep breaths to calm her racing senses. “Marsh, we must go, your parents are expecting us.”
“I know,” he groaned. “Helen, will you let me stay?”
It was time to play the second card. Lifting her hand to his face, she trailed her slim fingers across his cheek, over his firm lips. “Marsh, please, be patient with me. Let me get to know you, feel ... easier ... with you. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt safe with a man.” She shuddered and felt his lips kiss her finger. “I don’t want what happened that night in your apartment to happen again.” She slid her hand from his mouth, across his face, and around his neck to draw his head close to hers. Her lips against his, she pleaded, “Please, Marsh.”
Helen felt a ripple run through his body and heard his soft sigh before he answered tersely, “All right, love, I won’t pressure you. But I think it’s only fair to warn you that I want you very badly and I’m going to do every damned thing I can think of to warm that core of ice that’s deep inside you.”
He stepped back, his eyes eating her, then he shook his head and muttered, “We’d
better leave.”
* * *
Chapter 7
Helen shivered, but not from the outside cold. The warmth from the car’s heater protected them from the biting winds and subzero temperature. The soft music from the tape deck added to that warmth. The chill was inside Helen, deep inside. The shiver stemmed from two different sources. One of them was excitement, the other, fear. The elements of both those emotions had Helen at near-fever pitch.
The feeling of power that had surged through her at Marsh’s reaction to her small advance had generated an excitement Helen had never experienced before. It was heady, exhilarating, while at the same time, she realized, a little dangerous. And then there was the tiny fear that had begun with Marsh’s words. Taken at face value they were innocuous enough. But could she take them at face value? There was the seed of her growing fear. “I’m going to do every damned thing I can think of to warm that core of ice” A simple straightforward promise? Or something more? Perhaps she was reading words between the lines that simply were not there, but his tone, everything about him, had been so intense that a small alarm had sounded inside her mind.
“You’re very quiet,” Marsh said softly into her thoughts. “You’re not nervous about meeting the family, are you?”
All traces of his earlier intensity were gone, and telling herself she was being over-imaginative, Helen turned to him with a smile.
“A little,” she admitted. “Mostly of your grandfather. He sounds a very formidable character.”
“Oh, he is that.” Marsh laughed. “But he’s a pushover for a beautiful woman. And an absolute lapdog for one with intelligence as well as beauty. You, love, will have him eating out of your hand fifteen minutes after you’re there.”
“Your confidence in my feminine prowess is overwhelming,” Helen murmured dryly, secretly elated. He thought she was beautiful. He thought she was intelligent. She was a challenge to his manhood, and he wanted to overcome that challenge by possessing her physically. Nothing very complicated or scary about that, she assured herself. You, Doctor, have been chasing shadows that just are not there. Relax and enjoy the game until the final card is played.
