“Tonight’s almost over, Ryder,” she pointed out wistfully.
“There’s tomorrow to look forward to. Good night, sweet lady.”
“Good night, Prince Charming.”
He laughed sleepily and then he was asleep. A moment later so was Brenna.
She awoke the next morning in a warm, tousled bed, the down quilt snuggled close to her chin. Her first impression was that something was wrong.
Brenna’s eyes opened slowly to find the sunlight filtering brightly through the window cut in the peaked roof. It was late. But that wasn’t what was wrong. Her legs stretched idly and she became aware of a faint soreness in the muscles of her thighs.
Not an unpleasant sensation in and of itself, but it brought back memories of the night with alarming speed. Brenna struggled to a sitting position, glancing around her bedroom with a kind of fear. Where was Ryder?
It wasn’t his absence that seemed wrong, it was the possibility that he would step out of the bathroom or come up the stairs with breakfast at any minute that sent a wave of panic through her senses.
My God! What had she done last night? She must have been out of her mind! With heartfelt anxiety she tossed back the quilt and stumbled to her feet, chilled in the morning light. Shakily she reached for the fluffy, high-necked, saffron-colored robe lying across the foot of the bed. It was only as she belted it on that she remembered it hadn’t been there last night. Ryder had put it out for her. She stood very still for a moment, listening to the quiet sounds of the cabin. Then she began to relax slightly. He wasn’t in the house, she was certain now.
A bath, she thought grimly, that was what she needed first. The scent of him seemed to have somehow combined with her own. She made her way to the bathroom and locked the door behind her.
What the hell was the matter with her? Brenna demanded of herself in the mirror. Why was she so nervous this morning? So she had let herself be seduced by a mood and a man unlike any other she had ever known. What was so terrible about that? It wasn’t as if she had been unfaithful to Damon. Her relationship with Dr. Fielding hadn’t even progressed as far as the bedroom yet and she’d known him, worked with him, for months!
Which didn’t make her feel one bit better. Brenna looked away from the anxious expression in her own eyes, turned on the shower, and stepped underneath the spray with alacrity.
No, her relationship with Damon hadn’t gotten to the point her association with Ryder Sterne had reached in three days! With a shock of startled realization, Brenna knew that even if she were to know Damon Fielding another ten years, even if she were to go to bed with him every night of that ten years, her relationship with him would never be quite what she’d found with Ryder last night.
The knowledge made her catch her lower lip between her teeth, and another rush of panic seemed to tingle through her bloodstream. Why had she gotten herself into this mess? She closed her eyes at the thought of how Ryder had given her a chance to halt matters before it was too late.
But it had already been too late, even at that point. Somehow the culmination of the evening had been inevitable. Not a pleasant thought for someone who taught the ethics of responsibility and free choice! Brenna’s fingers curled into a small fist and she braced her forearm against the tiled wall of the shower. Leaning her forehead against her arm, she let the warm water pound over her while she tried desperately to think.
Over and over again she told herself that nothing all that devastating had happened. She had never been a promiscuous person and she needn’t condemn herself for succumbing to the incredible attraction Ryder had held for her last night. There had been very, very few serious romances in her life, she reflected bracingly. Surely a woman her age was allowed the mind-spinning excitement of a night like last night at least once.
She knew, though, that she was, in a sense, chastising herself to no purpose. It wasn’t that she felt guilty; it wasn’t that she felt as if she’d been disloyal to Damon, who certainly dated other women. There was no point in berating herself for any of the traditional reasons.
The real problem, the one that had to be faced, was that last night had been, in some indefinable way, an act of surrender. She had given herself to Ryder and he had taken possession.
What if he chose to retain that possession now that the night of passion had passed?
With that thought, the full truth surfaced amid the chaos of her thoughts and Brenna straightened away from the shower wall. Facing a truth with intelligence and dispassionate calm was something she was normally very good at.
Unfortunately the kind of truth she was usually compelled to face was of an intellectual nature that made no real impact on her emotions. This was of an altogether different nature and she swallowed unhappily at the implications.
What was Ryder thinking this morning? Where was he? Perhaps he would make everything easy for her by letting the happenings of the night slip away into oblivion. Perhaps he would make no further demands now that morning had come. He, too, had been sharing her separate reality last night. With the advent of day he might have returned, as she had, to the real world.
But then she remembered the curious, restrained hunger in him that she had been so eager to unleash and satisfy. Brenna knew instinctively that it was more than a physical appetite. She had sensed that from the beginning. What had she done by giving it herself to feed upon?
It all came down to an emotion more primitive than she would have imagined could still exist in a civilized, intelligent, reasonably sophisticated human female. She felt claimed.
Unnerved, Brenna turned off the shower and reached clumsily for one of the thick, striped towels. Claimed. Possessed.
What if Ryder chose to exercise his claim?
This was ridiculous, Brenna told herself violently as she furiously towel-dried her dark hair. Utterly ridiculous! What was the matter with her? Number one, he probably wouldn’t dare presume too much on the basis of one night, and number two, she was a mature, independent woman who could handle the matter firmly and politely if he did!
Oh, lord! Who was she kidding?
Her scattered thoughts ricocheted around inside her head as she dragged a comb through the wet tendrils of her hair and twisted the dark mass into a long braid that hung down between her shoulders. The severity of the style suited her mood, she thought wretchedly.
Where was Ryder?
Sooner of later she was going to have to deal with the man, she told herself tensely as she pulled on her jeans and found a long-sleeved plaid shirt. She was tucking in the ends of it and groping under the bed for her flat sandals when she heard a knock on the door. Brenna froze.
Blindly she glanced down at the shoe she had retrieved. It wasn’t her flat, casual sandal at all. It was the red high-heeled dress shoe Ryder had removed last night. The knock sounded once more, this time with a note of impatience that surprised her.
Why was Ryder knocking in the first place, and in the second, why should he sound impatient? He was the one who had left her bed this morning. Knowing him, she couldn’t understand why he didn’t feel quite free to walk back into her cabin at his leisure.
“Brenna! Are you inside?”
With a gasp Brenna got to her feet, still clutching the red sandal. The voice outside her door wasn’t Ryder’s. It belonged to Damon Fielding!
The next knock jolted her into action. As she started down the stairs she shook her head in annoyance. She had to get a grip on herself.
It should have been harder to open the door to Damon Fielding than it would have been to open it to Ryder. Damon, after all, occupied a much more important role in her life and there was a great deal unsettled between them. He was the man who could assist her in her career, guide her through the intricacies of faculty politics, and lately, she had begun to think, the man whom she might eventually marry. But somehow, when she turned the knob, all Brenna could think of was how grateful she was that she wasn’t going to have to face Ryder just yet.
“Damon! What in t
he world are you doing here?”
She looked up at the dark-haired man of medium height who stood on her doorstep. Professor Damon Fielding had spent a year studying at Oxford sometime in his academic past and it still showed. He wore the tweed jacket with its leather patches on the elbows, the button-down shirt, and the slacks and loafers with aplomb. Nearing forty, Dr. Fielding was aware of his position as next in line to assume the responsibilities of head of the Department of Philosophy when Paul Humphrey retired. He was a good-looking man with stylishly cut hair of the proper length and charmingly blue eyes. He had been divorced from his first wife, a professor of English, for three years. He was, above all else, a highly respected scholar in his area of expertise.
“Good morning, Brenna. Going somewhere exciting?” He smiled down at her and the red sandal she still held in her hand.
“No, no, of course not.” Hurriedly Brenna backed away, gesturing him politely inside. “I’m astonished to see you, Damon. Did you drive all this way just to find me?”
“Who else do I know in Lake Tahoe?” He chuckled, stooping to kiss her lightly. “Got a cup of coffee for a man who’s had a long trip?”
“Right away. How about breakfast? Did you stop along the way?” Thankful for the excuse, Brenna hurried toward the kitchen.
“No, and I’ll admit that sounds like an excellent suggestion.” Damon wandered interestedly into the living room, glancing around. “Enjoying the summer, Brenna?”
“It’s hardly started,” she protested a little weakly, searching the refrigerator for something edible. It would have to be eggs and toast and coffee. “Did you…did you drive up just for the day?”
“No, I was visiting a colleague in Sacramento and decided on the spur of the moment to come on up to Tahoe. I was a little worried about you, darling.”
She glanced up to see him watching her, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket. Any moment now he would light his pipe and the image would be complete. Her lips tightened as she closed the refrigerator door.
“It’s kind of you to be concerned, Damon,” she began formally, “but this is something I’m going to have to think about for a while.”
“That’s why I’m here, darling,” he explained magnanimously, “to help you think. Normally you’re one of the most rational, analytical people I know, but on this one subject you can’t seem to be realistic.”
“Damon, Paul Humphrey is publishing my work under his own name, for God’s sake! That’s wrong, any way you look at it! Unethical, unprofessional, dishonorable, and unworthy! What the hell do you expect me to do? I may only be a very junior assistant professor but I’ve got my rights!”
“You also have your future to consider!” he snapped forcefully, clearly annoyed with her inability to be reasonable.
“My future involves teaching things like ethics and the honorable quest for truth! How can I presume to teach such things when I’m personally choosing to ignore them!”
They faced each other across the short space of the kitchen. Where in the world was Ryder? Brenna wondered incongruously. Where had he gone when he’d left her bed this morning? And why was she thinking about him at a time like this? Damon Fielding had come all this way to talk sense into her. She should be thrilled at this sign of his concern!
“Brenna, you’re living in the real world, not some perfect construct where everyone behaves according to an ethical code! Be reasonable. Paul Humphrey will be retiring very soon, perhaps even earlier than we thought. His career is over and yours is just beginning. You can’t punish him, because it would always be a case of your word against his. He’s got a brilliant academic career behind him. You’ve got virtually nothing yet, except your doctorate and a bottom rung on the faculty ladder. You’ll only wind up hurting your own future, perhaps even destroying it, if you accuse him of stealing your work!”
“No wonder you’re so good in front of a class full of students, Damon.” She tried to smile weakly. “Your logic is impeccable and your delivery is perfect!” She pulled out the frying pan and began to crack eggs into a bowl. “But it’s no good. I honestly don’t know if I can go back and work for the man in the fall.”
“You little idiot,” he declared tightly, his temper apparently on edge. With reason, she thought fleetingly. He hadn’t even had breakfast yet and here he was trying to deal with a crazy young faculty member. “You’ll be back in the fall and you know it! What else can you do? Jobs for philosophy professors are damn scarce! It could take you months, maybe a year to line up another one. And in the end you would have achieved nothing.”
“How about my pride and self-respect?” she hazarded dryly, beating the eggs violently.
“What good are they going to do you in a world where there are a lot of Paul Humphreys? And that’s the way it will be, Brenna. Our faculty politics are no different than those of any other college or university. If you’re going to get ahead, you’ve got to play the game. That means not embarrassing men like Paul Humphrey or making yourself look like a fool!”
“Good lord, Damon! You make it sound like corporate politics in the business world! All the maneuvering and power struggles and the pains taken to avoid embarrassing the boss or yourself!” She dropped the egg beater and whirled to face him, her hands on her hips.
“That’s exactly what it’s like! There’s a price on success in any sphere, and playing the political game is part of that price,” he grated.
“You’re telling me you think it’s all right to pay the price?” she challenged tersely.
“Yes, damn it! It’s the only way one can make a contribution to his or her profession!”
“The ends justify the means? Do you realize what you’re saying, Damon? We’re talking about theft and dishonorable conduct. Do you realize what you’re condoning? What that makes you?”
She didn’t know why she pushed him that far. She certainly never intended to do so. Perhaps it was because she was so unnerved and upset with herself this morning. Brenna only knew she hadn’t meant to enrage the man she had actually been contemplating marrying!
But she had done exactly that. She saw the red flush sweep into his face, saw the hardening line of his mouth, and the next instant his palm connected with the side of her cheek in an instinctive reaction to the insult in her words and eyes.
Even as she flinched automatically from the blow, Damon was being whirled around by the shoulder. Ryder was in the room.
She had never seen him enter, never heard that silent stride as he crossed to the kitchen. The first intimation of his presence was when he swung a fist that collided with Damon’s jaw.
Dr. Damon Fielding toppled to the floor before Brenna’s horrified gaze.
Chapter 5
“Damon!”
Rushing to the fallen man’s side was an automatic reflex, Brenna realized even as she did so. She would have gone to the aid of whichever man had taken the fall.
“Leave him alone, Brenna, he’ll be fine.” Ryder’s voice was incredibly soft.
But she was already kneeling on the floor beside the other man even as Damon groaned and opened his eyes weakly. She threw a furious, accusing glare up at Ryder, who stood easily, feet slightly braced, his expression utterly unruffled. He had obviously been back to his own cabin, because he was again wearing the black denim jeans he favored and an open-throated white shirt with a tiny stripe in it. His brown and gold hair was lightly raked by the morning breeze and his recent exertion, and when his silver-gray eyes met Brenna’s angry glance, she saw the memory of last night hovering just below the surface. For some reason that fueled her own fury and disgust.
“There was no call for this kind of violence, Ryder,” she stormed. “Is this how you handle any problem that comes along? With stupid acts of unthinking machismo? This man is a colleague of mine! A respected professor of philosophy! Do you realize what you’ve done?”
Ryder looked down at her, his eyes momentarily unreadable. “He deserved it. He struck you.”
“Well
, I deserved that!” she raged. “I said some terrible things to him, insulted him!” And she had, Brenna thought, horrified. She’d unforgivably insulted the man who had cared enough about her future in the academic world to come all this way to talk sense to her. Why had she done such a thing?
“Get away from him, Brenna. Come here.” Ryder didn’t seem inclined to argue at the moment. His attention went to his victim, who was slowly lifting a hand to touch a tender jaw.
Defiantly Brenna didn’t move, turning a worried glance down at Damon. “Damon, Damon, I’m so sorry about all this! I never meant to insult you like that and I certainly never meant to involve you in a fight with Ryder. Are you all right? Here, let me help you…”
“Brenna, I said get away from him. Come over here or I’ll come and get you.”
This time something in his voice reached her and Brenna tensed. She had heard that soft, gentle tone before—when he was giving a command and when he was making love. In both instances, she had discovered, it was equally dangerous. Uncertainly she got to her feet, her worried eyes still on Damon, who was painfully sitting up. The other man’s attention was focused narrowly on Ryder.
“Who’s the cowboy, Brenna? Friend of yours, I take it. Is this how you always spend your summers? Shacked up with some stud you wouldn’t normally be seen with during the academic year?”
“Oh, Damon, please, you don’t understand…” Brenna began plaintively. She heard the enraged humiliation in his words and wanted to soothe it away. It was all her fault.
“That’s enough from both of you,” Ryder cut in dryly. “In case either of you has failed to notice the fact, I happen to be the one in charge here at the moment and I’m not in the mood to listen to any more accusations, apologies, or uncouth comments. You, Professor, will get to your feet and get out of here. You’re not badly hurt and you know it. If, however, you ever lay another hand on Brenna, I will personally take you apart, is that quite clear?”
“Go to hell.” But Damon was on his feet and moving resentfully toward the door. When Brenna would have put out a placating hand to touch his sleeve, her face anguished, Ryder stopped her with a single word.
Affair of Honor Page 7
