by Diana Palmer
"Yes, you remember, don't you?" he asked. "I made the mistake of my life that night. The next day I went to Toronto, and I avoided you like the plague after that, or didn't you notice?" he asked on a rueful laugh. "And from that day on, if you spent the night with Eve, it was at your house, not mine."
"It wasn't what you thought," she began. "I honestly didn't know you were in the house."
His face contorted and he looked away. "Oh, God, don't you think I finally realized that? But the damage was done. The only reparation I could make was to keep out of your way. I'd made you afraid of me. I didn't want to do any worse damage. But in the end it wasn't necessary. You ran straight to Ben the first time I asked you out on a date."
Her shoulders lifted and fell in a helpless little gesture. "I thought you might still think I was a…tease and…" She swallowed. Her fears sounded juvenile now. She wrapped her arms around her. "I couldn't be sure that you might not be in the mood for a little revenge. You seemed to hate me that night. You said…" She laughed brokenly. "You said I was too small-breasted to appeal to any real adult male, and that it was just proximity that had made you touch me at all."
His eyes closed on a heavy sigh. He turned toward the horizon again and rammed his hand into his pocket. "Men… say things when they're frustrated," he murmured uneasily. "I'm sure you know that now. I didn't mean any of the things I said to you that night. I was hurting pretty bad."
She stared at the ground. She'd managed to work that out, over the years. It didn't help very much. She'd loved him, and he'd savaged her fragile ego. "I'm sorry," she said helplessly.
"It wasn't your fault," he replied curtly. "I should have walked away, but I couldn't. I'd never seen anything so beautiful." He glanced at her, his face rigid when he read the doubt in her dark eyes.
She felt warm all over at the softness in his deep voice. She couldn't quite manage to meet his eyes, though, and it sounded more like an apology than praise. "Thank you, but you don't have to pretend," she said, her eyes staring blankly toward the distant trees. "Ben thought I was…too small, too—Ryder!"
He took her by the arms, his steely grip unconsciously bruising as he jerked her up against him. "I lied," he said huskily, eyes blazing. "Can't you get it through your head that I lied? I wanted you almost enough to force you, damn it! I had to get out of there, I had to hurt you so that you wouldn't reach out to me when I let you go!" His tall, powerful frame seemed to vibrate with passion. "Oh, God, Ivy, you don't know how that night has haunted me over the years. You don't know…!"
She recognized the unholy torment in his face without understanding what was causing it. Without thinking, she reached up to his lean cheek and touched it gently. He actually flinched, but when she started to draw her hand back, he pressed it, palm flat, to his jaw.
"It's all right," she faltered. "It was years ago."
"It was yesterday." He looked older suddenly. Bone-weary. His eyes darkened as they searched her face. "You ran from me," he said huskily.
Her eyes fell. "I didn't know what else to do. I could never talk to Mama about things like that."
He pulled her against him and held her gently, his eyes staring blankly toward the auction platform. "Maybe it was a good thing to get it out in the open, to talk about it."
"Yes." She closed her eyes. It was heaven to stand in his arms, to be close to him like this. She shivered with pleasure.
Ryder felt the trembling and went rigid. She was afraid of him. He'd thought the fear was because she wanted him. But was he only deluding himself, again? His big hand slid slowly down her back, bringing her even closer. He could feel her breath sighing out quickly at his throat, an erotic little sigh that made him feel hot all over. He liked the feel of her so close. It brought back memories of that night long ago when he'd tasted her, when she'd been everything in the world to him. She still was, but over the years the feeling had grown and ripened, until now what he felt for her was a raging fever that all the oceans on earth couldn't have put out. He wanted her, but not just physically. He wanted her like a thirsting man wants water, all of her, just for him.
"I used to wonder what life would have been like if I hadn't lost my head with you," he said under his breath, folding her even closer. "We were friends. Over the years I hoped that we could regain that closeness."
"I…thought we had," she said, trying to make her voice steadier, to calm her screaming pulse. The feel of all that masculine strength so close to her was doing impossible things to her. She wanted to reach up and hold him, to bury her face against his bare skin and feel him wanting her…
"Not quite," he said huskily. He drew in a ragged sigh. "But maybe if we work at it, Ivy, we might manage friendship again. What do you think?"
She closed her eyes. "I think we might, too," she whispered.
His heart raced wildly in his chest. He lifted his head and tilted her face up to him. "So beautiful," he said deeply. "Every man's dream."
Except yours. She almost said the words aloud. She smiled a little sadly and pulled away. "Not quite," she replied, laughing nervously. "Shouldn't we get back?" she said evasively, noticing the crowd gathering around the auction platform. "I think they're starting."
"What?" He had to force his mind to work. The scent of her was in his nostrils, the feel of her… He glanced where she was staring. "Oh. The auction. Yes, we'd better get back."
Back to reality, that was. He took her arm and guided her through the crowd, still savoring his brief taste of heaven. Friendship, he told himself firmly, was better than nothing. And from there, he might build something much more lasting and satisfying. He was smiling by the time the auctioneer began rattling off items for sale.
Chapter 3
Ivy stood beside him, feeling his warmth, his strength while the auction went on and on. He didn't speak to her until the bidding was over and they were walking back to the truck.
"You've gone quiet," he remarked, his hands toying with his coffee cup.
She stared down at her own feet while she waited. "It hurts to think back," she confessed. "I'd pushed it to the back of my mind for so long…"
"So had I," he said shortly. He took a long drink from the cup. "I misread the whole damned situation. I should have known what an innocent you were."
"Considering the way I gave in, I couldn't blame you for thinking what you did," she said miserably.
"Couldn't you?" he asked angrily.
Her eyes dropped and embarrassment washed over her in waves. "I didn't even try to stop you at first," she said in a subdued tone, because it would do no good to lie anymore. "I felt like a streetwalker."
"I'm sorry about that." He glanced toward her with bitter regret in his eyes. "You had no reason to feel ashamed."
"You avoided me afterward," she said, her face showing traces of remembered pain.
"I felt that I had to," he replied, his voice quiet. "I handled it badly. But that taste of you gave me some problems," he murmured, laughing bitterly.
"I learned my lesson," she mused, staring straight ahead as other people milled around in the darkness. "It cured me of any wanton tendencies."
He stiffened. "You weren't wanton," he said curtly. "You were young and curious, that's all."
"Do you think that makes it any less embarrassing?" she asked wearily.
He stopped and looked down at her, his eyes hidden under the shadow cast by the brim of his hat. "We should have talked about it years ago," he said. "I could have told you that I wanted you badly enough to forget your age, that I stayed away because you were a temptation I couldn't have resisted. Does that make it less painful?"
She hesitated. "You…wanted me?" she whispered.
"Oh, yes," he replied grimly. "I wanted you. But you were eighteen, Ivy, and I was twenty-eight."
She searched his eyes, her body still, waiting. "I wanted you, too," she confessed softly.
His jaw tautened. "Do you still?" he asked bluntly.
She averted her face, tightening her ar
ms across her chest.
"I can't feel anything right now," she said evasively. "Not with Ben lying dead because of me."
"What do you mean, because of you?"
She closed her eyes. "I failed him," she whispered huskily. "I could never…" Her shoulders rose and fell jerkily, and she stared in anguish toward the horizon. "I wasn't a good wife."
He let out his breath in a long, slow rush. He'd never considered that she might feel guilt. He scowled as he looked down at her, wishing he knew more about her marriage, about her feelings for her husband.
She uncrossed her arms and shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her skirt. "It's all over now, anyway," she said. "As you said, I have to start living again."
"Yes." He had to drag his eyes away from her face. Looking at her was a taste of heaven. He lit a cigarette. Ivy strung out his nerves; just being near her made him vibrate like a taut cord. "Why don't you get a job?"
She laughed. "Here we go again."
"That's right. Sitting around brooding is not good for you." He stopped and turned toward her. "Come to work for me. My personal assistant quit last month and I haven't found anyone yet to replace her. I have to have someone who can travel with me, and most especially, someone I can trust not to gossip about company business. You and I have known each other for a long time. I think we could get along."
The thought tempted her. But the anguish of being that near him made her hesitate. She loved him. How would it be to work for him, knowing that all he felt was a casual affection with lingering traces of a long-buried desire?
"I don't know," she said hesitantly. "I don't know if I'd like trying to keep up with you all over the world."
"I think you might enjoy it," he replied. "You'd get to see a lot of exotic places. The pay's good. You've got a quick mind, and I think you'd find the work interesting."
There was no doubt about that. Ryder always had something exciting going on in his business, and he knew a surprising number of famous people. It would be a fascinating job.
"Can I think about it?" she asked finally.
He smiled. "For a couple of weeks. I can't go on like this indefinitely. I'm no good at keeping the office organized, and the secretarial pool isn't adequate."
"It would mean a lot of travel?"
His eyes began to glitter again. "Yes. But the offer is an honest one. I'm not offering you a job so that I can lure you away from Jean's protection and throw you onto the nearest bed. I'm not that hard up for women these days."
She drew in a painful breath. "That was uncalled for!"
"Was it?" He glared at her with something akin to dislike. "Maybe you think you're irresistible, is that it? If it will set your mind at ease, I can take along one of my usual companions…"
She walked away from him, her heart pounding, her eyes flashing. "Take your job and sit on it," she fired at him as they reached the truck. "I wouldn't work for you under any circumstances!"
The flash of temper amused and delighted him. Maybe the idea of another woman in his arms affected her. It was a heady thought.
"Oh, I think you will," he mused, watching her. "You'll get damned tired of all this inactivity sooner or later. Sitting around will drive you crazy."
"So would you," she retorted.
He shrugged. "Better crazy than buried alive," he said, and all the amusement left his hard face. "The best way to get over a loss is to get your mind off yourself. Get it on other people."
"How would working for you accomplish that?" she demanded.
He smiled. "Do it and see. One of my newest projects is a retirement village in Arizona. I'm designing it with the future residents in mind, so I keep in close contact with a few of them. They're well into their seventies and eighties, and they'll make you want to live to get old."
Despite herself, she was interested. "I like elderly people," she began hesitantly.
"So do I. The wisdom of the world resides in those keen minds. You'll find yourself fascinated by them."
"I don't doubt it." She traced a pattern on the door handle, her thin brows drawn into a frown. "I think I might like it," she said after a long minute.
Ryder didn't realize he'd been holding his breath. He let it out slowly, so that she didn't notice. "You could start Monday. I have to fly to Phoenix."
She lifted her eyes to his. "Why do you want to do this for me?"
"You're too young to hide in a mausoleum," he said simply. "I'd do the same for Eve. Despite the scare I gave you when you were eighteen, I think you know that you can trust me. Don't you?"
She nodded. "Yes. I know." She managed a smile. "Okay. I'll polish up my rusty office skills and pack my bags."
He searched her dark eyes for a long, static moment. "Good girl," he said finally. "Get in."
"But aren't we going home?" she asked when he pulled up in front of his own big brick house.
"Not until you teach that damned devil how to cook salmon, we aren't," he said curtly, helping her out of the pickup. "I'll call Jean and tell her where we are."
She burst out laughing. He had to be the most unpredictable man she'd ever known.
"That sounds good," he murmured on the way up the steps. "I haven't heard you laugh, really laugh, in a long time."
"Poor Kim Sun," she began.
Just as she spoke, the front door flew open and a small man with almond eyes, a balding head and a golden complexion launched himself at Ryder, shouting in an unintelligible language, waving his arms.
"Calm down," Ryder said heavily. "Damn it, calm down!" he repeated.
Kim Sun glared up at him. It was a long way, too. "No milk," he raged. "No eggs. No flour. No shortening. No sugar. How do you expect me to cook under such primitive conditions?"
"The lights are on," Ryder said. "At least you have a stove that works."
"What good is a stove without food to cook?"
"You've got salmon," Ryder said with a poisonous smile.
"Two guesses where I put your salmon this time…?" Kim Sun fired right back.
"I brought you an instructor," he said, pushing Ivy forward. "She and her mother make the best salmon croquettes south of the Antarctic."
Kim Sun bowed elegantly. "Miss Ivy. So good to see you again. Tutoring in the art of salmon cookery would be much appreciated." He glared toward Ryder. "Some people too stupid to realize one must be educated in preparation of a desired new food."
"Call me stupid one more time, and I'll send you home in a cornflakes box!"
"No breeding," Kim Sun told Ivy, shaking his head. "This peasant knows nothing of proper social behavior. I shall undertake his enlightenment. Again," he said with practiced weariness.
"Who are you calling a peasant?" Ryder demanded. "Who the hell pays your salary?"
"That pittance?" The indignant man scoffed at his employer. "You pay me not one tenth of my true worth."
"Listen, buster, if you got what you were really worth, you'd owe me money!" Ryder ground out. "A pittance!" He threw up his hands and looked skyward. "He must be the only cook in Georgia who drives a Mercedes-Benz!"
"Now, now," Ivy said gently. "Remember your blood pressure. Come on, Kim Sun, let's retreat before he cuts loose another barrage."
"Good idea," he replied. He made a face at Ryder. "Tomorrow I quit!"
"Tomorrow, I fire you!" came the gruff reply.
Kim Sun said something in his own language and strutted off to the kitchen with an amused Ivy behind him.
He was a quick study. It took no time at all for Ivy to teach him how to make the croquettes that Ryder liked.
"Is he really so horrible to work for?" she asked, nibbling at a celery stick while she watched Kim Sun fry the croquettes in vegetable oil.
"Not horrible. Impossible!" Kim Sun shook his head. "He stays up all hours, never eats properly—work, work, work. He has no time for women, and he seems not to sleep very much. At first, I thought he was wasting away for love of someone. But now I think it is an addiction to making money."
<
br /> "He's always been a restless kind of man," Ivy mused, smiling with the memory. "He could never sit still. But I didn't think you'd have a problem getting him to eat. Heavens, his appetite is legendary around these parts."
"Only for things I cannot cook. I thought he knew I was a pastry chef. The first time he asked for beef stew, I had a nervous breakdown. From that day, everything went downhill."
"I can imagine," she said, laughing. She pushed back her long hair and got up from the table where she'd been sitting. "I'd better go and reassure my mother that he hasn't kidnapped me."
He stared at her curiously. "Were you ever engaged to Mr. Boss?" he asked unexpectedly.
"Oh…why, no," she faltered. "Why do you ask?"
He averted his eyes. "Please excuse my curiosity," he asked softly, and even smiled. "Someday perhaps you will understand the reason for the question. Are the croquettes done now?" he added to divert her, drawing her attention back to the frying pan.
She wondered what he knew that she didn't. Ryder's attitude was brotherly for the rest of the afternoon. He talked to her about Eve and her husband, showed her the wooden elephants he'd brought home from Sri Lanka, and coaxed her to stay and eat a small salad and some of the salmon croquettes. Kim Sun had done a great job, she had to admit.
"Next week, fried chicken," Ryder told her, leaning back in his chair after he'd polished off an exquisite Pavlova that Kim Sun had created from egg whites and fruit and whipped cream. "You can't stop now. We'll make a Southern chef out of him yet!"
"Not likely," Kim Sun muttered as he removed dishes. "One dish does not a chef make."
"Then we'll get her to give you weekly lessons," Ryder assured him. "She can consider it part of her job."
"Kim Sun might not like me for a role model," she began.
"He will," Ryder said, glaring at the fuming cook. "Or I'll let him polish the entire family silver service tonight."
