by Janet Dailey
"I think you should wear a hat," her father was saying. "The sun can be pretty hot."
"I'm not made of ice cream. I won't melt in the sun," Elinore Powell insisted in exasperation. "I'll sit in the shade if it gets too warm."
"I think I'll put a hat in the car just in case," he decided.
Elinore glanced at Alanna and smiled, shaking her head at the hopelessness of arguing with him. "Are you sure you don't want to join us for Sunday dinner? Ruth fixed a delicious picnic lunch."
"Two's a company and three's a crowd," Alanna quipped. "Besides, Kurt will be over at four o'clock. There isn't any need for you and Dad to cut your afternoon short just to bring me back here."
"It doesn't seem right to leave you here alone on your first Sunday home," her mother sighed.
"Don't worry about it,? she insisted. "I'm going to have a quiet, relaxing afternoon. I have a good book to read and I'm going to lie in the sun and read it."
"Well, if you're sure," her mother said grudgingly.
"Mother, if you're not careful, you're going to turn into a mother hen like dad!" Alanna laughed.
"Heaven forbid!" The answering response joined her laughter.
A few moments later, her parents were gone. With her book under one arm and the portable radio in the other hand, Alanna wandered out onto the patio at the back of the house. The concrete area was almost the only section of the vast lawn to receive the afternoon sun. Large pine trees and one maple tree shaded the rest.
Redwood lawn furniture was scattered in casual order about the patio. Setting the radio on a circular redwood table, Alanna slipped out of her cotton beach jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. Her brief bikini matched the jacket, a bold print of crimson and gold. She tuned the radio to a station that played a combination of popular music and old standards, then settled on to the redwood chaise lounge.
Reaching behind her neck, she untied the halter straps of her bikini top and let them fall to her side to avoid the white stripes they would make as the rest of her skin tanned. The neighboring homes were some distance away, separated by the vast lawns, so she was not concerned about any prying eyes. With sunglasses protecting her eyes from the glare of the sun, she opened her book and began reading, quickly becoming engrossed in the historical saga.
"Beautiful." A male voice murmured the compliment.
Alanna glanced up, startled. Between the radio music and her own absorption in the novel, she had not heard the sound of anyone's approach. But there, a few feet from her chair, towered Rolt Matthews. She had not seen nor heard from him since the day she had arrived in Hibbing. Because of that, she had begun to discount his statement that she would be the recipient of his attention whether she wanted to be or not, and that mistake in judgment had lulled her into a false sense of security.
Stunned, her mouth refused to function. She stared at him, momentarily unable to speak. He was dressed casually, the clinging print material of his shirt complementing the light blue of his snug-fitting trousers. The breadth of his masculine chest was outlined by the shirt, accenting the tapering length to his waist. Half of the buttons were unfastened, revealing golden-brown hairs curling against the tan of his hard flesh. A gentle breeze rippled through his thick brown hair, which was gilded by the sunlight. There was a sensual twist to his mouth.
He took a step forward, and his movement finally spurred her into speech. "How did you get here?" she asked him angrily.
"No one answered the door. I heard the radio playing and came around to investigate."
The direction of his hooded gaze made Alanna suddenly aware of the bikini strings hanging freely at her sides, and of how much the loosened top exposed of the full curves of her breasts. The book was discarded as she quickly gathered the strings and tied them around her neck.
Swinging her feet to the sun-warmed concrete of the patio, she stood up. The brief swimsuit made her feel too naked, but her beach jacket was lying on the chair Rolt was standing beside.
"Would you please leave? I have no wish to see you," she said with the greatest difficulty in sounding composed and controlled.
Rolt ignored the taut request. "I noticed your parents' car is gone. Your housekeeper is off for the day, too, isn't she?" He reached down and picked up her. beach jacket, holding it in his hand. His gaze raked her soft curves.
Alanna's skin burned. A slow warmth began to rise in her neck. She wanted the jacket desperately, to conceal her figure from his insolent blue eyes, but not for anything would she ask him to give it to her.
"Go away, Rolt." She tossed her head back in proud defiance.
"And leave you here alone to entertain yourself? I couldn't do that," he mocked.
"If you don't leave, I'll call the police," Alanna threatened.
"Will you?" he returned smoothly, and she realized that to get to the house and the telephone, she would have to pass him. It didn't take much intuition to know he wouldn't let her by to fulfill that threat.
"So help me, if you don't leave," she sputtered angrily, "I'll scream!"
"Go ahead." His gaze centered on the moistness of her lips. "I would enjoy silencing your cries."
Alanna inhaled sharply and about-faced, trembling with rage. How she would love to defy him and scream her head off, but the thought of his hard mouth smothering her lips was a strong deterrent.
"Why do you stay when you know how much I despise you?" she demanded in a strangled voice.
"I find you attractive and desirable," Rolt stated.
"Even though I'm going with your brother? You don't feel guilty about that at all, do you?"
"I've decided that I don't want you for a future sister-in-law. I want you for myself."
"But I don't want you!" Alanna cried in irritation. Suddenly she was still as a thought occurred to her. She tipped her head to one side and gazed at him. "Or is that it? You know I don't like you and you find that a challenge, don't you?"
The indigo shade of his eyes deepened, concealing his thoughts in dark, unreadable pools. "Perhaps." His aloof voice made it neither a yes or a no.
"That's it, isn't it?" She felt certain she was right. "I'm a challenge to your over-inflated ego. Because I prefer your brother to a cold fish like you."
"Cold?" An eyebrow arched in arrogant mockery.
"Yes, cold," Alanna repeated forcefully. "Cold and insensitive. You have no feelings, no compassion for anyone but yourself. Not even your brother."
His mouth thinned. "Then how do you explain the way I feel toward you?"
"You're the fox and I'm the grapes just out of reach. Emotions don't enter into it, otherwise you wouldn't be here when you know I don't like you at all."
"Maybe I want to change your mind," Rolt suggested.
"You'll never do that! Alanna said angrily.
"You aren't meant for my brother. You're mine." There was a gleam of fierce possession in his eyes. "He would never make you happy."
"And you would, I suppose," she jeered.
"I would make you very happy," he stated with complete certainty.
Alanna turned her head away, seething at his unbelievable conceit. A thousand angry words ran through her mind, spiteful phrases of how contemptible she found his arrogance. All of them churned, inside waiting to be hurled at him in a torrent of temper. Yet the scathing words would not deal the crippling blow that she longed for. There was another way, however, that she might accomplish it.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, her gaze wary and skeptical. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe. How could you possibly be so certain when you hardly know me?"
His gaze narrowed, measuring. "I think I know you better than you do."
"Really?" Alanna taunted in doubting sarcasm. Deliberately she moved toward him, coming nearer to stand in front of him, tilting her head back to meet the full force of his gaze. Her heart boat faster. Her plan was daring and dangerous. "Then why don't I like you?"
"Because you're afraid," Rolt answered easily. "You're afraid of m
e and of yourself."
For a moment his reply disconcerted her. Bewilderment glittering briefly in her violet eyes. She quickly concealed it, but not before it had been noticed by Rolt.
"I'm not afraid of you," she denied, "and I'm certainly not afraid of myself."
"Aren't you?" His mouth curved in amusement, faintly superior and mocking.
"No."
The gleam in his eye plainly laughed at her answer. Alanna breathed in, controlling her anger. Then she thoughtfully nibbled on her lower lip, peering at him through the sweep of her lashes. Gathering her courage, she reached out, letting her fingers touch the opened front of his shirt. She felt him stiffen and a tingle of approaching victory ran through her nerve ends.
"I'm not afraid of you," she repeated, slowly letting her fingers travel up his shirt to the collar.
Standing on tiptoe, she lifted her head toward the ruthless line of his mouth. Rolt waited, not moving even when her lips lightly touched his. Alanna swayed closer, her hands curving around the strong column of his neck. His own hands settled on the bare curve of her waist, resting there without actually holding her.
As the kiss lengthened, Alanna felt his mouth moving mobilely in response, deepening with desire. Feigning reluctance, she disentangled her suddenly trembling lips from his, but she made no attempt to move away from him, letting his hands remain on her waist while her head rested on the granite solidness of his chest. A light blazed darkly in his eyes, sensual and seductive, partially screened by his thick lashes.
His head dipped slowly toward her. Alanna checked the movement with fingertips pressed against his mouth and a small negative shake of her head. Rolt didn't argue or force the issue, waiting, the disturbing look not leaving his gaze.
"You see, I'm not afraid of you," she murmured. Strength of purpose kept her immune from his male virility. For a few seconds more, she kept her eyes blank and expressionless. "Do you know why I kissed you?" Her fingers drifted back to his chest.
"Why?" His voice was even, faintly amused, not revealing any of the passion blazing so vividly through the veil of his masculine lashes. His control was superb.
"Because—" her gaze fell from his as she breathed in to control a tremor of temper "—I wanted you to know what I feel for your brother I could never feel for you. It's not your kisses I want, it's his. Not your arms and not your touch. I will never be yours because I find you disgusting!"
Intense hatred flamed through her voice as she finished her speech. On the concluding word, she started to wrench free from his unresisting touch, but her scathing words had not left him stunned as she had expected.
His hands left her waist, but only to grip the soft flesh of her upper arms and jerk her against him. Immediately his arms encircled her, crushing her in an iron vice, trapping her arms between their bodies. Alanna writhed and twisted in the trap, straining to be free.
Harsh, low laughter mocked her futile attempts. She stopped struggling, knowing it was no use, and tossed her head back to glare at him coldly.
His eyes were hard, the line of his mouth more ruthlessly drawn than ever. Her blow had not crippled him, it had aroused his wrath. The silent fury of it caught at Alanna's breath and she was immediately angry with herself for letting it intimidate her.
"Never?" Rolt taunted in a low sneer.
Before she could elude him, her mouth was imprisoned by the burning force of his. It denied her breath as it consumed and destroyed, shattering her illusion that a kiss was an act of love and affection. Controlled savagery marked his possession, dominating her until she felt the acid taste of surrender on her moist lips. She strained, fighting the crush of his arms, but the hard circle held her fast.
Her bare legs carried the imprint of the tight weave of his slacks. Muscular thighs, like solid rock columns, pressed hotly against her flesh. The pinning arms had forced her spine to arch, molding her skin, her senses already swamped by the heady, musky scent of him, blood pounding in her ears.
The cruel mouth released her swollen lips, which were throbbing now in quivering disbelief. Alanna breathed in shuddering gasps, her head bowed in acknowledgment of the superior force of the onslaught and her inability to fend it off. The ignominy of her defeat burned in her cheeks.
One arm of the vice moved away. The freed hand punishingly gripped her throat, forcing her chin up. Resentment flared violescent in her eyes that Rolt should inspect the extent of his victory. The bronze mask of his malely harsh features bore no trace of the primitive ravishment he had inflicted. Yet dark, intimidating fires still blazed in the cold blue of his eyes.
"I hate you!" Her words were half strangled by his choking fingers and the bitter sob that rose in her throat.
"Hate me if you want." The grooves near his mouth deepened sardonically. Her feelings or emotions didn't interest him, she realized again. "But you will be mine."
"No!" She had nearly said never, but she doubted she could withstand him a second time. Her walls were yet intact and she didn't want to risk having them breached.
"Yes, my Alanna." The possessive ring in his voice chilled her with its certainty. Rolt laughed softly, mockingly, at the uncontrollable shiver that danced over her shoulders. "Remember that when Kurt kisses you. Because soon you will know only mine and his will be a fading memory. It is my ring you will wear on your finger. When you lie naked in bed beside your husband, the man will be me. No one else."
Her heart leapt in fear. The low, mesmerizing voice was painting a picture that Alanna could see all too clearly. It was as if she was looking into the future and seeing her fate written in the indigo glitter of his gaze.
Her head made a tiny movement of protest. His fingers relaxed their grip on her throat as if knowing she was incapable of looking away. The hand traveled down the slender curve of her neck to cover her breast, her heart hammering madly against it.
"I will be the one to caress you, Alanna," Rolt continued huskily, "the one to learn your intimate secrets. It will be my name you will whisper in the night." An inarticulate sound came from her throat, almost a surrender, and satisfaction glimmered through his impassive mask. "Your eyes tell me that you think it might be true. It is true. You will find it out—in time."
Then he released her completely. Alanna swayed unsteadily. She felt hot and cold at the same time, numb with shock yet every nerve alive. The ambivalence of her reaction was frightening. She stared sightlessly at the patio floor, trying to understand how she could feel so many things at the same time.
Something was wrapped around her shoulders, and she glanced up, dazed. The beach jacket covered her bikini, providing her protection too late. Rolt was standing beside her, watching her. Blankly she met his enigmatic look.
"I want you to have dinner with me tomorrow night," he stated.
For a moment she could only stare at him, still lost in her split world. Rising like a phoenix from the ashes, her will surfaced.
"No," she refused flatly.
Rolt shrugged, as if to say it was only a matter of time, and accepted her decision. When he spoke, his voice was soft yet very clear, quietly unrelenting.
"Don't forget what I've told you."
Alanna covered her ears with her hands. "Get out of here!" she shouted hoarsely.
Her eyes were tightly closed, trying to shut out the picture he had painted so indelibly. Rolt left the patio as quietly as he had come. Alanna's position didn't vary, not until the distant sound of a motor turning over in the driveway reached her muffled hearing. With a broken sob, she slumped on to the chaise lounge, but she didn't cry. There was too much anger, frustration, and confusion for tears.
Nothing he said was possible, she kept telling herself. He couldn't make her marry him against her will. It was only the momentary spell he had woven that had allowed her to believe it for a few frightened seconds. None of it could come true without her consent. And she would never give it. Never!
Chapter Four
THE PORCHLIGHT dimly illuminated the front door.
The night air was scented by the ever-present, pervasive perfume of pines, crickets and cicadas droned endlessly. The little traffic on the street at that late hour was far away.
In the shadows cast by the porchlight, Kurt's kiss deepened with persuasive ardor. It wasn't his kiss that Alanna experienced. Unwanted, unbidden, the brutal mastery of Rolt's kiss rocked her senses. The memory returned so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that she violently wrenched away from Kurt's embrace. When she saw the puzzled blue of his eyes instead of the indigo glitter of Rolt's, she realized what she had done.
"What's the matter? What have I done?" Bewildered laughter laced his voice.
Alanna turned away, taut, unable to meet his searching gaze. "It's…it's nothing" A trace of irritation at her own behavior accompanied her faltering denial of any wrongdoing on Kurt's part
"Something is wrong," he insisted, his hands turning her tense shoulders around so she faced him. "Tell me what it is," he coaxed gently. She looked into his handsome features, and a wave of hopelessness washed over her. There wasn't any way she could tell Kurt about Rolt's visit this afternoon or explain the way it had affected her.
She tilted her head back, moving it in a weary, negative motion. "I—I have a slight headache."
That had to be the oldest excuse on record, but Kurt had no reason to question her statement. He accepted it at face value and smiled ruefully.
"You should have said something earlier," he told her.
"I didn't want to spoil our evening," Alanna said.
"You probably got too much sun this afternoon," Kurt suggested.
Too much Rolt, she thought grimly. "Perhaps," she conceded with a brief nod.
"I don't want to let you go in, but I guess I'd better. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" His dark head was tipped to one side.
"Yes," Alanna agreed, and lifted her mouth for his goodnight kiss.
He brushed her lips lightly, but they remained cool and untouched by his gentleness. The memory of Rolt overshadowed the reality of the moment, spoiling any pleasure she might have obtained from Kurt's caress.
