by Janet Dailey
Blanche had told her Roarke's house was a showplace, but Tisha had truly expected something ostentatious and elegant. Certainly nothing as cosy and inviting as this room was. The luxury was implied, not brazenly displayed.
"Take your jacket off and sit down."
She turned with a start to see Roarke standing at the top of the steps.
"If you want more light, there's a dial on the wall by the fireplace," he motioned with his head since he held a cup in each hand.
That was when she noticed the indirect lighting in the ceiling above. Now its dimness suggested an intimacy that Tisha felt the need to dispel, so she walked with an assumed nonchalance to the dial and turned the light brighter.
"The room is very lovely," she commented in a tight voice.
"Thank you," he replied, accepting her compliment with a brief inclination of his head, but Tisha couldn't find any arrogance in the gesture. "You can turn the chair towards the fire if you like."
"It's all right," she assured him nervously as she slipped her arms out of her windbreaker and sat down on the edge of one of the bluestriped chairs. She started to lay the jacket across her lap.
"Let me hang that up for you," Roarke offered, setting her cup of cocoa on the table beside her.
Reluctantly Tisha gave it up. It was damp and although it wasn't dripping water, she knew the logical thing to do was to put it somewhere where it could dry without getting something else wet in the process. She watched Roarke as he carried her jacket up the few steps before disappearing in the foyer. In seconds he was back. His presence seemed to complete the room, adding the vitality it lacked on its own. As he reclined his lean body on the couch, Tisha picked up her cup, concentrating on the swirling cream floating on top rather than meet his gaze.
The silence began to grow. She swallowed nervously, the crackling of the fire adding to the tension in the air. Somehow she had to speak—about anything.
"Blanche told me your home was beautiful, but I never expected anything like this."
"What did you have in mind?" Roarke asked dryly.
Tisha glanced over at him, trying to read the veiled expression in his brown eyes. He seemed quite relaxed, yet there was tenseness there, too.
"I suppose I thought it would be…more showy," she replied, trying to adopt an indifferent attitude.
"Gaudy?" An eyebrow quirked.
"I really don't know. I didn't think about it that much," Tisha shrugged, feeling a surge of retaliatory anger that he should try to put her on the defensive. "Probably if I had, I would have expected a sofa that made into a bed at the flick of a button while the lights dimmed and soft music filled the room."
"A perfect setting for a seduction scene, is that it?"
"Something like that," she agreed, "but this," sweeping the air around her with an expressive movement of her hand, "is much more subtle, although I'm sure it accomplishes the same purpose."
"Isn't it strange?" Roarke murmured. "I always looked on this as my home."
The blandly stated comment curled Tisha's fingers as she carried the cup to her mouth. She heard the reprimand in his words and knew she deserved it for her insult. The hot liquid burned her throat as she tried to drain the cup dry so she could leave. She started when Roarke got to his feet in a lithe movement.
"Come," he ordered. "I want to show you the rest of my home."
"Another time," she refused quickly, setting her cup down and rising to her feet.
"No," Roarke said firmly, his tall form blocking her way to the steps, and Tisha had no doubt he would forcibly stop her from leaving. "I want your impression to be complete."
She took a deep angry breath. "Very well."
"After you." His outstretched hand signaled her to precede him down the dimly lit hall branching off from the living-room.
Tisha complied, her shoulders squared and stiffly resentful, as she led the way. A few feet into the corridor were two doors directly opposite each other. Roarke opened the one on the right first, turning on the light switch to reveal a blue and green bathroom. Then he moved to the opposite side of the hall and opened the other door.
"This was meant to be the spare bedroom," he explained, turning on the light and waiting for Tisha to enter the room. "But I use it as an office and drafting room."
Just inside the door was a small alcove with closets on each side followed by a set of three steps leading up into the panelled room. Shelves covered one wall with a desk and leather chair in front of them. A drafting table and stool occupied one corner while the rest of the furniture consisted of a leather sofa in a rusty orange colour and a matching recliner chair. The same rusty orange shade was included in the curtains, which also incorporated the blue of the carpet in a bold plaid that completed the masculine, businesslike atmosphere.
Roarke didn't wait for a comment from Tisha as he led her out of the room to the door at the end of the hall. This time he offered no explanation as he opened the door and flicked on the light switch. As Tisha stepped in she realized why. This was the master bedroom—Roarke's bedroom.
There was the same thick blue carpeting on the floor, but here the steps led down where the room was dominated by a large bed covered in a spread of shimmering antique gold. Tisha found it difficult to swallow as her gaze remained riveted to the inviting expanse of the bed to the exclusion of the matching pieces of walnut furniture. She was painfully conscious of Roarke standing beside her.
"It's very nice," she said abruptly, turning on her heel to escape.
Her pace didn't slow up until she was in the relative safety of the living-room. She glanced back at Roarke, seeing the mockery in his eyes and hating him for it.
"I'd better be going now." she declared.
"You haven't seen the kitchen yet," he reminded her with a repressed smile. "All women are interested in kitchens, aren't they?"
"Show me the kitchen, then," Tisha snapped.
The marble white tile of the foyer led into the modern kitchen, spacious and efficient. The blue theme of the rest of the house was present in the small yellow and blue flower bouquets of the vinyl paper in a background of cream white. In spite of herself, Tisha was drawn to the homely essence of the room that managed to creep through, but she refused to let it win her.
"As I said before, you have a lovely home." The insincerity in her voice was a cool wind meant to show her indifference.
"I'm so glad you like it," Roarke returned with the same hollow enthusiasm. He moved back in the entrance hall where he retrieved her coat from the closet. "Please thank Blanche for me, won't you? I did have need of the package this weekend."
"I will," Tisha nodded, slipping on her jacket and reaching for the umbrella sitting in the corner. She tilted her head back to meet the measured coolness of his eyes. "And thank you for showing me around."
He reached around her and opened the door as if he was in a hurry to be rid of her. "My pleasure," he taunted.
A stab of lightning illuminated the night as Tisha hurried out the door, more anxious to leave than he was to have her go.
Chapter Six
THE puddles were deeper and the rain was still pouring down. If anything, the storm had increased in intensity as Tisha waded through the running water to her car. When she opened the door and ducked inside, she noticed the headlights of her car illuminating the downpour. Groaning aloud, she tossed the umbrella on the floor beside her and turned the key in the ignition switch. Nothing. Only the click of the key and no answering response from the motor.
Her hands clutched the wheel of the car and she rested her head against them. The battery was dead. She had left the lights on and run down the battery. That meant she had to go back and ask Roarke for help. And that thought didn't appeal to her at all.
With the protection of the umbrella over her head, Tisha sloshed back to the house and banged the knocker against the oak door. This time she didn't have to wait as long for Roarke to answer the door.
"I left the lights on and my battery i
s dead," she announced as the door swung open. "Would you help me get it started?"
He stared at her for a brief moment. "I'll get my car out of the garage." Tisha nodded and started to turn away. "Wait," Roarke called her back. "There's no sense getting ourselves drenched trying to start your car tonight. I'll give you a ride home and bring your car back in the morning."
Tisha started to argue, then changed her mind and again nodded agreement. "My shoes are wet. I'll meet you by the garage door," she said, avoiding the suggestion she could see forming on his lips.
She arrived at the double doors just as Roarke began raising them from inside. In seconds she was out of the rain, folding up her umbrella and climbing in the passenger side of the white car. She huddled in her corner while he reversed the car out of the garage and turned it down the lane. Lightning jagged across the sky followed immediately by rolling thunder.
"Well?" Tisha muttered, glancing at the coat sleeve of tan leather. "Aren't you going to make any comments about women drivers?"
"Why should I?" His head turned briefly towards her. "You didn't leave your lights on deliberately. It was an honest mistake."
"But a stupid one," she grumbled, hating him for the magnanimous way he had dismissed it.
"We all make them. That's what makes us human." The words were barely out when they were followed by a muffled "Damn!"
Tisha pushed herself more erectly in her seat, prepared to do battle at the imprecation she thought he had directed at her. Then she felt the application of brakes and glanced ahead. Through the downpour, she could see the reason for his vehement exclamation. A large pine tree had fallen across the road, taking two smaller trees with it.
"Can you move them?" she whispered as she stared at the formidable barrier in the road.
"You can't be serious! Do I look like Superman?" he asked with an accompanying sound that resembled laughter.
"Maybe we can push them out of the way," Tisha suggested desperately, and fumbled for the handle of the door.
"Forget it," Roarke barked. He slipped the gear shift into reverse and backed to a wider section of the road and turned the car around.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
"Back to the house," he answered, his sharp, clipped tones stinging her with their coldness. "You'll have to stay the night."
"I'll do no such thing!"
"The road is blocked. We don't have any choice."
"Oh, yes, we do," Tisha declared as the lights of the house came into view.
"What brilliant suggestion do you have this time?" He turned the car into the garage and switched off the motor as he brought his gaze around to her.
Her hand closed over the door handle and opened the door. "I'll walk home!" she declared, scurrying out of the car before the arm that was reaching out for her could stop her.
She fumbled with the umbrella catch while her feet carried her swiftly out of the garage and into the storm. The answering slam of his car door only hurried her movements while the rain began drenching her hair and face.
"Tisha!" Footsteps sloshed through the rain after her. "Tisha, come back here!"
"I'm going home!" she cried.
Then the umbrella was wrenched from her hands as Roarke pulled her around. The sloppy ground gave her no leverage to struggle with as she uselessly tried to twist free.
"I am not going to let you walk home!" He gave her a vicious shake. "Now be sensible!"
"No!" She renewed her struggles. "I'm not going to stay in that house with you!"
"Damn it, Tisha!" Water was pouring down both their faces, making spikes of their lashes and streaming down their necks. "I didn't put that tree in the road! You're acting as if I'd engineered the whole thing."
"It isn't so very far to Blanche's. I've walked farther," she insisted vigorously.
"What happens if a tree falls on top of you, or lightning strikes you?" he demanded.
"Anything would be better than…than…I hate you!"
If her own temper hadn't been driving her, Tisha would have seen the building anger in Roarke's face. She would have noticed the tightening of the muscles in his jaw instead of the artificial darkness of his hair glistening wetly in the rain.
With a brutal yank he pulled her against the slickness of his leather jacket. Her arms were pinned against his chest by the force of his hands at her back while her heartbeat tried to keep tempo with the hammering rain.
"You crazy little fool!" he muttered savagely. "Am I really more dangerous than the storm to you?"
"Roarke, let me go." It was a weak plea, almost lost in the crash of lightning, and Tisha couldn't tell the difference between the rolling thunder and the pounding of her heart.
"Not Mr. Madison?" His lip curled in sarcasm as his gaze flamed over her upturned face, frightened and pleading with him for mercy.
The denim material of her jeans was plastered against her legs, sapping them of strength with cold dampness, but the crush of his body against her was sending out heat-waves. Yet the violent assault of the elements couldn't match the destruction his embrace was having on her senses. In the midst of the storm, they were isolated from it.
Her lips moved to breathe his name again as she stared into the darkly burning eyes. A hand touched her cheek, pushing back the dark streaks of wet hair that had escaped her scarf before the fingers curled around the back of her neck and Roarke drew her head upward to meet the mouth descending towards hers.
Hungrily Tisha accepted his fierce possession. The bruising pain was no match for the flaming ecstasy that consumed her. There was nothing tantalizing about his kiss this time. He took her mouth with a complete sensuous mastery that turned her bones to water. A desire to be closer to the straining muscles of his body sent her fingers around the buttons of his jacket, releasing them so she could feel for herself the throbbing of his heart. The rain seemed to increase the musky scent of his manhood as Tisha twined her arms around him to force herself closer.
With an agonizing moan Roarke wrenched his mouth away from hers and buried it in her neck, running a trailing fire along the pulsating vein in her throat. She trembled violently, understanding the driving need he felt for her because it was burning inside her, too.
"Roarke," she murmured achingly, turning her head to seek the hollow of his throat above the cream shade of his sweater.
But the movement of ultimate submission was rejected with a savagery that left her stunned as he thrust her away from him. Rain glistened on the parted sweetness of her lips still swollen from the raging passion of his kiss. She couldn't believe the coldness in his eyes as he glared across the distance that now separated them. A knife of cold steel plunged itself in her heart as she realized he had felt none of the blazing desire she had known. For him the kiss had been a means of punishment for her insults. Only she had read more into it. Racking sobs tore at her chest as she spun around to flee.
"You aren't leaving!" His hand brought her up short again.
"After…after that, you expect me to stay!" Her voice pierced the night like the cry of a cornered animal.
"I don't expect anything. You're staying!" Roarke clipped out savagely.
"I'd rather be dead than be with you!" Tisha flung at him, tearing at the fingers that gripped her wrist with her free hand.
"You made that point clear before, and it's as meaningless now as it was then." He retained his grip with ease. "You're soaking wet. Let's get in the house before you catch pneumonia."
"No!"
This time she fought him like a wildcat, kicking at him, failing her arm about his head until he caught it in a vicelike hold. While aiming blows at his legs, she tried to sink her teeth into his hand. Finally he released her wrists and picked her up by the waist, carrying her under his arm like a sack of potatoes to the house. The insults she strung together went unheeded, as did her struggles. Roarke didn't put her down until they were in the foyer and the door was shut behind them.
Her eyes were smouldering dark fires of green as
she faced him, her fists rigidly clenched at her side. He was between her and the door and Tisha knew she couldn't get by. Except for the water trickling from his sodden clothes on to the floor, he looked as unruffled as if he had just walked in from the kitchen, whereas she was panting from her exertions to be free.
"You pig!" she spat at him.
"Save your insults for the time when you're capable of defending them," he returned coldly, slipping off his jacket. "Give me your coat."
Tisha stared at him defiantly and Roarke took a threatening step towards her. She hesitated only briefly before angrily ripping the wet windbreaker from her back and throwing it at him. The thin knit top of olive-green was clinging to her like a second skin, accenting the rapid rise and fall of her breasts beneath the scooped neckline.
"Into the kitchen," he ordered.
Pivoting sharply on her heel, Tisha stalked into the room, knowing Roarke was only one step behind her. She stopped at the table, her fingers closing over the back of a chair as she watched him walk to a cupboard and take out a bottle of drink and two glasses. The door leading to the garage was to her left. She could see it out of the corner of her eye and edged slightly towards it.
His back was still turned to her as he snapped, "Don't try it!"
"Try what?" Her gaze was defiantly innocent when he turned around.
The line of his mouth mocked her. "You'd never make it to the garage door and don't tell me that's not what you were planning, because we both know it was." He poured a shot of amber liquid into each glass, then emptied his in one swallow before picking up the other and walking over to her. "Drink this."
Roarke held the glass out to her, but she slapped it away, seeing the liquid slosh out of the glass on to the floor. The muscles in his jaw were working fiercely.
