Kara felt as though a pitcher of ice water had been dashed against her feverish skin and she realized with horror that she'd actually been enjoying his kiss.
"What do you think you're doing…" she started to gasp. But her captor pressed a tanned, muscular hand over her mouth.
"Quiet," he grated. "This is what I want you to hear."
"… flash flooding in Frederick and Garrett counties… Traveler's advisory warning. Highway 15 is under four feet of water and impassable. Flood waters are expected to recede by early morning."
"We're just going to have to put up with each other's company, for now," he said, smiling sardonically. "Neither one of us can leave this cabin. We're stuck with each other for the night."
Chapter Two
Wrenching herself free from his grasp, Kara leaped to her feet.
"Well, we may have to spend the night together, but you better believe it will be in separate rooms," she stormed.
"My, you are the proper young miss. Don't you think your Victorian theatrics have gone far enough?" he paused, considering. "You say you've never heard of Bill Thorp and you claim to have permission to use this cabin—so you must be one of Barnett's girlfriends. I've heard he likes his women young. But honestly, isn't he old enough to be your father?"
"He's older than my father by five years," the young woman snapped. "Haven't you been listening to a word I've said? James Barnett is my uncle. And I'm Kara Barnett. Now I think you'd better tell me just exactly who you are," she challenged, putting her hands on her hips.
"For the politician's niece you claim to be, you don't seem to keep up with public affairs, do you? I'm Matthew Jordan—you know, the brash young politician who's challenging the crumbling old-line machine for control of the party in Maryland."
Kara's hand flew to her mouth to hide a gasp of surprise. Suddenly everything fell into place. She had seen his picture almost every day in the newspapers and on TV, but the media hadn't done justice to his rugged good looks and imposing virility.
Presently a state senator with an enviable record in Annapolis, he had recently announced his bid for Bill Thorp's U.S. congressional seat in the 6th District. And his campaign had promised personal accountability to voters.
But a cloud of suspicion crossed Kara's mind. What was this knight-errant of Maryland politics doing meeting with Uncle James, who represented the state's old-line politicians? Matt Jordan must be another wheeler-dealer after all—making promises he had no intention of keeping. And the way he was trifling with her tonight made that easy to believe.
"So you're just one of Uncle James' puppets," she accused.
"Your uncle and I are holding a press conference here tomorrow. You can read about our business in the afternoon newspapers. Until then, the subject is closed," he shot back, his eyes flat and hard.
Kara was searching her mind for an appropriate retort when her eyes widened in surprise. Matt Jordan had slowly begun to unbutton his plaid flannel shirt, revealing a well-muscled chest covered with crisp, dark hairs.
Kara knew she should look away, but she found herself unable to drag her eyes from his well-proportioned body. An image of how it had felt to be caught in those arms and held against that unyielding chest flashed through her mind. Angrily she dismissed the disturbing picture.
His muscles rippled as he tossed the shirt carelessly onto the sofa and reached to undo the monogrammed brass buckle on his leather belt.
"Surely you're not going to take off your clothes in front of me?" she gasped.
"Why not—turnabout's fair play," he taunted. "Besides, I'm soaking wet and covered with mud from your temper tantrum out in the car. I want to change into something dry. And I suggest you do the same. You look first cousin to a drowned cat."
Kara flushed to the roots of her dark hair. Matt Jordan was unzipping his pants and in a moment they would be off, too.
Grabbing her overnight case, she fled through the bedroom and into its adjoining bathroom, locking the door firmly behind her. She pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to calm her jumbled thoughts. So many emotions were racing through her brain that she was unable to sort them out.
Matt Jordan had upset her in a way no other man had done before—not even Wayne with his constant pressure to share his bed. What's wrong with me? she asked herself in disgust. I mustn't lose control like this. I'm behaving like an adolescent schoolgirl.
I'll bet if I had just stood my ground I could have called his bluff. But deep down she knew it hadn't been a bluff.
Firmly erasing Matt Jordan's mocking image from her mind's eye, she focused her attention on her own face in the mirror. I do look a mess, she thought, pushing back a dark curl from her forehead. Her delicate face was flushed and framed in a riot of unkempt raven ringlets. There was a smudge of mud on her right cheek. And her eyes seemed almost twice their normal size.
Maybe I'll feel more able to cope with the situation after a shower, she thought. Kara reached down and began to tug her mud-spotted apricot sweater over her head. But the movement reminded her of the way Matt Jordan's eyes had lingered upon her earlier in the evening. Hastily, she reached over and checked the lock on the bathroom door. It was tightly secured. Reassured, she took off her clothes, turned the water on full, and stepped into the shower stall.
The warm needle spray felt invigorating and buoyed up her spirits. I can deal with Matt Jordan, she thought. He probably makes a pass at every halfway attractive woman he meets. And they're all thrilled to receive the attentions of an up and coming man of power. But it's not going to work with me, she assured herself firmly.
Ten minutes later she stepped purposefully from the stall. Briskly she toweled herself with a large red bath sheet she found in the linen closet and dried her hair with a blow dryer, combing and arranging her curls. Then she rummaged in her bag for clean, dry clothes. She chose a pair of navy blue corduroys and a lavender Western shirt that matched her eyes and emphasized their unusual color.
After dressing, she applied a dab of gloss to her pale lips. Now that's better, she thought, giving the image she saw an approving nod. But the next moment her satisfaction turned to disgust and she wiped off the gloss with a tissue. She didn't want that arrogant Matt Jordan to think she was doing anything special to attract him.
Kara threw open the bathroom door and stepped onto the thick yellow shag carpet of the bedroom. Crossing the room, she set her bag beside the king-size quilt-covered bed. Next she pulled out her leather moccasin slippers and sat down on the bed to put them on. But the mattress swayed under her and she leapt to her feet. Why that uncle of mine has put a water bed in here, she thought, giving the mattress a push with her palm to confirm her suspicions. The gossip I've been hearing since I left must be true. And I thought Uncle James just used this place for hunting parties. No wonder that crony of his out there got the wrong idea about me.
Kara was about to sit down in the wooden rocker near the rain-streaked window, when the tantalizing smell of bacon and eggs wafted through the bedroom door. She'd only had a bite to eat at lunch. And now it was nine o'clock, she thought, glancing at her watch. She was starving!
Quickly pulling on her slippers and switching off the bedroom light, Kara opened the door into the cabin's main room. From where she stood in the shadows, she could observe the brightly lit kitchen without being seen.
Matt Jordan, dressed casually in jeans and a gray pullover open at the neck, was standing at the counter-top stove, expertly stirring a skillet of fluffy yellow eggs. A plate of crisp bacon strips was nearby.
Kara watched him in silence. She had to admit there was something magnetic about his rugged good looks. His features were strongly defined. His neck was a proud bronze column above the open V of his pullover. His body, though muscular, moved with an effortless grace. Despite herself, Kara felt her emotions responding to the attraction of his masculinity. But one portion of her mind remained cool.
Don't get carried away, she told herself fiercely. You hardly know t
hat man—and what you do know about him is all bad. He's a conceited, opportunistic politician who's into some dirty dealings with Uncle James. Pressing her lips into a tight line, she walked further into the room.
Matt Jordan looked up and favored her with a friendly smile. But she wasn't about to respond in kind.
"Isn't this marvelous," she said caustically. "I can see you're a man of many talents. You can fry bacon and scramble eggs as well as manhandle women."
"Being a bachelor has sharpened my skills in many areas," he replied, grinning rakishly now.
"I'll just bet," she returned, angry that a blush was once again spreading across her cheeks.
She reached to pull out one of the antique pressed-oak chairs at the kitchen table. But a firm hand on her shoulder restrained her. She could feel Matt Jordan's warm breath on her neck.
"Not so fast," he said. "I'm not going to do all the work while you sit at the table like a lady of leisure. Fix the toast and start the coffee. And then get the table set."
Though Kara seethed at his high-handed manner, she realized that his request was a fair one. Biting her lower lip to keep from making a retort, she set about following his directions.
The kitchen was planned for one-person efficiency. A row of honey-brown wood cabinets across the wall held all the necessary dishes and silverware. Kara was acutely aware of Matthew Jordan's presence as she brushed past him standing at the stove. His peremptory manner grated, and she couldn't help slamming the plates onto the table and clattering the coffee cups before she filled them.
"Take it easy," he admonished. "You don't want your uncle to find all the crockery broken, do you?"
"He can afford it. And anyway, I don't care what Uncle James finds."
"Aren't you fond of your uncle?" he inquired, coolly fixing her with an appraising glance.
"He may be my only relative, but he's always had more time for politics than his orphaned niece," she retorted. Yet inwardly she knew her show of temper was really directed at the man who sat across from her, not her Uncle James.
Matt Jordan stared at her quizzically, but she ignored the questioning look in his eyes as she began to eat the bacon and eggs he had just dished out. The first forkful made Kara realize just how hungry she really was. She concentrated on her food, ignoring the disturbing man who was sharing the simple meal with her. But once the last mouthful had disappeared from her plate, she looked up to find Matt's eyes fixed on her in a penetrating gaze.
"I guess my cooking can't be that bad after all," he observed.
"Almost anyone can scramble eggs," she parried. "But maybe your publicity writer can turn it into something spectacular. From that ad campaign you've had on TV, anyone would think you're Superman in disguise. You come across too good to be true."
Matt raised an eyebrow at her criticism. "Maybe you'd better explain yourself a little better," he challenged.
"What I mean is your campaign isn't showing any human side of you. You need to step down from that pedestal your ads have put you on and show that you can relate to real people—like a real human being."
"And just what qualifies you to tell me how to run my campaign? Where do you get this wealth of critical analysis?" he shot back.
"I'm a public relations specialist with Citizens for Consumer Protection," she replied smugly. "I know what goes over with the public."
"And how long have you been with them? Six months?"
Kara felt her face grow hot. How had he guessed? But Matt Jordan gave her no time to mount a defense.
"I'm always interested in a fresh approach," he said smoothly. "What would you do if you were running my campaign?"
"I'd try to portray you as less of a tin god. I'd show you as a human being who can relate to other people." Kara's eyes widened with excitement as the thought of how it would be to manage a major political campaign flashed through her mind.
"That's an intriguing idea," he drawled as he pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. "Why don't we try out some of your ideas right now," he suggested, walking around the table and draping his arms over Kara's shoulder. "You don't know how unbending I can really be," he added huskily.
Kara's mind was a jumble of confusion. Would this important politician really listen to her opinion? she wondered. But she had little time to think. Matt Jordan had drawn her chair firmly away from the table. In a swift motion he caught her under her elbows and pulled her smoothly to her feet.
"I think the couch is a more appropriate place to put some of your theories into practice." Everything happened so quickly that Kara was thoroughly confused. Dazedly she let herself be led across the living room. But when he pulled her down on the couch she suddenly realized his real intentions.
"You aren't really interested in my PR expertise at all," she accused, trying to free herself from the steel band of his arms. But he ignored her protest.
"Kara, can't you feel the chemistry between us?" he murmured, his lips against her hair.
She tried to deny it. But the warmth of his breath on her neck and the male scent of his body so close to hers had a devastating effect on her senses. Brushing her hair back, he caressed the sensitive spot behind her ears as his lips trailed feather light kisses down her neck.
Quicksilver flame coursed through Kara's veins.
Of their own volition her arms slid around his neck. Suddenly, unaccountably she wanted to fit the soft curves of her body closer to the unyielding hardness of his.
Sensations she had never dreamed of kindled in the very center of her being. It was as though Matt Jordan had control of her body. Every kiss, every touch, struck a responsive chord that she had no power to fight.
His lips teased the sensitive hollow at the base of her throat. His strong hands moved down her shoulders to the curve of her back. Then he caught her under her knees and she felt her feet being pulled off the floor, her legs being stretched out on the couch.
"Don't deny you want this too," he whispered huskily in her ear. "I can feel the way your body is trembling."
A warning light flashed in Kara's brain. Here she was being seduced by a man she'd known less than three hours. She forced herself to a sitting position on the couch and said in a not too steady voice, "I think this political discussion has gotten out of hand, Mr. Jordan."
"If you'd give in to your real feelings, we could plot my campaign strategy well into the night," he said, trying to draw her back into his warm embrace.
But she dodged aside and sprang to her feet. She didn't look back till she had reached her bedroom door.
Matt's gray eyes were flinty hard. "Your reputation as a tease is still intact, Miss Barnett. But let me assure you the primaries aren't over yet," he threatened.
Not wanting to hear another word, Kara slammed the door and turned the key with a loud click. That man has made a fool of me twice, she thought. Oh how I hate him, she added, crossing over to the bed and pulling the covers back with a savage yank. She began to fluff up the pillows, giving them hard jabs as she thought about the way he was probably laughing at her right now. She paced around the room, but it was hard to calm her emotions.
Still angry, Kara fumbled in her overnight bag for her nightgown. Pulling it out, she realized that she'd forgotten how cold it was in the mountains. The light blue, sleeveless nylon gown she'd packed would offer little protection against the cold.
Shivering, she looked out the window. Rain was coming down in sheets again, and now she could hear the low rumble of thunder in the distance. How she wished she could open the door to let some of the warmth of the fireplace into the bedroom. But that was impossible with Matt Jordan in the cabin.
Kara switched on the waterbed heater and crossed to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and washed her face before quickly changing into her gown. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she realized her nightdress was more revealing than she remembered. But it wouldn't matter since she wasn't planning to see Matt Jordan until she was fully dressed in the morning.
&nb
sp; Crawling into the waterbed, she pulled the covers up to her chin. The bed swayed beneath her weight and the sheets were still cold. The unaccustomed motion made it hard to get comfortable. For warmth, she drew up her knees and tucked her head under the covers, leaving the barest air hole for breathing. How am I ever going to get to sleep? she thought, feeling the waterbed move under her body. Outside, in the main room, she could hear Matt Jordan poking up the fire. Was the lock on her bedroom door strong enough to keep him out? she wondered. But she knew it should be, since Uncle James always made sure everything in his cabin was the best.
It was hard for Kara to settle down, but the events of the day had left their toll on her body as well as her mind. Finally she drifted off into a restless, troubled sleep.
Suddenly she was jolted from an uneasy dream by an awful crash above her head. Sitting bolt upright, she heard herself scream. Had the deafening noise been part of a nightmare? It wasn't a dream—something was happening. The house shook as another crash sounded in her ear and she looked about wildly, finally looking up. Plaster was falling from above where the huge limb of a tree protruded through the ceiling. The heavy branch shook, spattering icy water about the room.
Kara threw the covers aside and rushed from her bed. She fumbled for the light switch and flipped it. But nothing happened. At the same time, she heard Matt Jordan's concerned voice through the closed door.
"Kara, what's happened? Are you all right?" he questioned urgently. She could hear him rattling the lock.
"I—I don't know," she stammered, feeling dazed and disoriented. Just then the tree above her gave a groan and shifted further into the ceiling. A branch raked through her thick black hair, holding her prisoner. She screamed again, beside herself with hysterical terror. The more she struggled, the tighter the prickly branches clutched her.
"Unlock the door," Matt Jordan ordered. But she was unable to obey.
"All right, then stand clear. I'm coming in." She heard the lock give under the thrust of his powerful shoulder. In a moment he was beside her. Taking in the situation in one, comprehensive glance, he disengaged her tangled hair and folded her into the protection of his strong arms. She felt the soft flannel of his robe against her cheek.
Love Is Elected Page 2
