She blushed. "Nash, what will Osgood think?"
"About what?"
"Us.Seeing each other. He might not think it's professional."
Why was she worried about Osgood? Unless... No! She couldn't respond to his kisses like that and have her sights set on another man. "I don't see why it should matter."
"I suppose it doesn't, but he's so eccentric. I don't want to hurt my chances or yours."
"This project means that much?"
She looked him straight in the eyes. "I'm not like you. I don't have a reputation. I need this project to put me where I want to be."
Her vehemence shook him. Was her career more important than a relationship? He suddenly realized he was interested in more than sex, more than a temporary interlude. "And nothing's going to get in your way?"
"Not if I can help it."
What did she want more? The money? The prestige? Or was she simply career determined the way Monica had been after Christy died? And where would that leave him? "Sometimes circumstances don't turn out the way we want."
"I know," she said quietly, but she didn't elaborate.
How long would it be until she confided in him? Nash dug into his pancakes, more curious about the packet Jack was sending than he wanted to be.
***
Tobias Osgood telephoned Beth at nine o'clock Monday morning. Without preamble he asked, "Are you busy tonight?"
Beth rolled her eyes. He had to be kidding. She couldn't wait to see Nash, to explore what was developing between them. "I have an engagement."
"I don't suppose you could break it?"
She'd told Nash nothing would get in her way. Was that the truth or were her feelings for him already coloring her life? Her answer proved it. "I'd rather not."
"Thursday night then."
"I'm free."
"Good. I'd like you to join me for dinner. If it's all right with you, I'll have my chef prepare something here."
She wrote in the appointment on her calendar. "Does this concern the resort?"
"We'll discuss that."
Beth tapped her pen against the base of the gooseneck lamp. "Should I bring my notes?"
"My dear, just bring yourself. I'll send the limo for you. Will eight o'clock be suitable?"
Suitable for what? There was only one way to find out. "That's fine. I'll be ready." And she would be--for anything.
****
The package on Nash's desk snagged his attention time and time again during the long afternoon. He was disgusted with himself. Over and over he'd decided the clippings inside couldn't change his opinion about Beth or what he was feeling. So he might as well not read it. Right?
Turning off the light at his drafting board, he pushed off the stool and stood at his desk. He opened the envelope, feeling like he was opening Pandora's box. He looked at the projects outline first. Some of her designs were innovative, others traditional with a distinctive use of colors. She was talented, no doubt about that.
Next he picked up the clippings, expecting to see one of her publicity layouts. But that wasn't what he saw. After he read the Xeroxed pages, he sank into his leather chair, feeling as if a bucking bronco had shaken and tossed him far and hard. This woman wasn't Beth! She couldn't be. But the photograph in the Leesburg Sun didn't lie. John Winston's arms were around her and they were both dressed in bathrobes.
What further proof did he need? Headlines didn't lie, did they? They were spread across more than one paper for a week, and then three months later during the divorce trial. Nash didn't make it a habit to read the daily paper, so even if the story had been covered nationally, he'd missed it.
Some of the reporting was tabloid-like. When a politician was involved, that wasn't surprising. Nor was the depth of detail. Nash read everything twice, shaking his head, disbelieving the black and white print in front of him. Then like the controlled, organized man he was, he automatically took a blank manila folder from his drawer, attached an identifying green piece of tape like he used to label the rest of his information concerning Osgood, and printed Beth's name on the folder.
In a daze, he dressed for the outdoor concert, unmindful of what he grabbed from his closet. He drove his Corvette to Beth's house with his eyes on the road, a thousand questions parading through his mind, headlines from the divorce trial, snatches from Jack's report playing in his head.
When Beth opened her door, Nash forgot the questions for a moment in favor of the pure pleasure of looking at her. Two tortoiseshell combs secured her hair. She'd tied a red oversize shirt at her midriff, letting the tail hang over her stone-washed jeans. This was another side of Beth. She had so many facets and he liked all of them. Where did Katherine Elizabeth Terrell fit in?
"I'm ready." She stepped outside next to him and pulled the door closed. "I can't wait to get to the park. Some days being cooped up in an office drives me bonkers."
He walked beside her down the cement path. "Do you like to go horseback riding?" Damn. That had slipped out without enough forethought. One of the articles had stated she'd been seen riding with Winston on more than one occasion.
"Yes, I do. Where I'm from..." She stopped abruptly.
"Where are you from? You've never said." He hoped the question sounded more casual than he felt.
After a fractional hesitation, she replied, "Leesburg. We have beautiful country around there that lends itself to riding. When I was twelve, Pops put a slot in the budget for lessons. I liked trail riding the best, but Mom insisted I train and ride in the shows to learn grace and form."
"Your mom's a lady," he guessed.
"A very proper lady."
What had Beth's scandal done to her parents? Had they stood by her? How did her mother react when she discovered Beth was having an affair with a married man?
"Nash, what are you thinking about?"
He had to control his straying thoughts until he decided how he was going to handle this. He never acted rashly. He wasn't going to start now. "I was just picturing how you'd look in tight jodhpurs." That wasn't entirely a lie.
Nash tried to keep his mind from drifting as he drove. Beth's background and the taunt of her perfume made him sit longer than necessary at more than one traffic light as red turned to green. He parked in a line of cars and took a blanket from the backseat.
Although his hands itched to touch Beth, he kept his arms at his sides as they walked toward the orchestra shell perched on the edge of the lake. Nash chose a spot to the back of the area and off to the side under a tall maple. Beth helped him spread the blanket.
He sat down first, his back against the tree. Beth settled next to him, her shoulder brushing his. She pulled her legs up to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. "What do you know about Tom Rosenthal?"
He checked her expression. "Some of his work is very good."
"And some isn't?"
"Why are you asking?"
She averted her eyes and stared at the lake. "I've heard rumors."
"What rumors?" Nash didn't speak indiscriminately about his competitors. He and Rosenthal weren't friends. He didn't know why but the man seemed to have a chip on his shoulder where Nash was concerned. Maybe Rosenthal was a sore loser.
"I heard he has a drinking problem."
"He had a drinking problem."
Beth's head came up. "You know that for sure?"
Nash shifted against the tree trunk so it didn't poke his spine. "Everybody knows it. Tom thought he was hiding his problem. He couldn't. He ran behind schedule, was late or missed meetings, drank too many martinis at lunch. But as far as I know, he's cleaned up his act. Osgood wouldn't have selected him otherwise."
Beth looked thoughtful as she unwrapped her knees and leaned against the tree. Her mouth was a few inches from his. He was too aware of her beside him. Make conversation to keep your mind busy. "How are the ideas for the resort coming?"
She moved away slightly. "All right."
"Any blocks?"
"No. I have most of it worked out.
My boards aren't finished and I need to check with a couple of nurseries, but I have everything worked out in my head."
Nash thought of the pile of incomplete sketches on his table. "I have stacks of notes and ideas, but I'm still having problems coming up with a unifying concept. If I keep working, it'll come."
After a few minutes, Beth straightened out her legs. "What makes you so successful?"
"You want to take lessons?" he joked.
"Maybe."
She was serious so he dropped the humor. "Hard work, perseverance, good ideas."
Her elbow slid into his arm as she turned toward him. "But why do you think you get contracts over someone else?"
He knew his client's taste, his rivals' weaknesses. "I turn in the best bids at the most reasonable costs. Experience has taught me cost effectiveness. If a client loves color, I find the brightest red flowers. But if he wants drama, I spend more money on a tiered shelving and find less expensive plants."
Her eyes combed his face, appearing to search for something. "You make it sound simple."
He felt he was being tested again and it made him angry because he wanted to know why. "I use logic, Beth, and sound business management. But luck's involved, too. I won't deny it. Being at the right place at the right time's important. You've never told me where you got started." He knew what the clippings had stated, but he wanted to hear it from her.
She looked nervous. "The name of the firm was Powers and Rathton."
"Did they work locally, statewide?"
She toyed with the tie of her shirt. "It's the firm that was under a wider umbrella. We stayed local."
"I remember. You were hooked up with contractors, interior decorators. Was that in Leesburg?"
"Um hm."
Give her every opportunity to tell you. Maybe she was young, naive, didn't realize what she was doing. "Were you on your own?" Maybe she didn't even know Winston was married when she met him. How did she meet a senator?
"I lived with my parents to save money. I wanted to open my own office from the minute I graduated."
That was before she found a sugar daddy to set her up. Could that be the reason she stayed involved with Winston? Anything to further her career? "So you finally managed to pull the money together and move here."
She avoided his eyes. "I had to prove something to myself, prove that I could be successful on my own."
Powers and Rathton had fired her. Plain and simple. He had to admire her guts in starting over in a new place. But of course Winston was there to catch her if she fell. Was he involved in her life now? There was no evidence of her being kept. Her car was five years old, her apartment was by no means luxurious, her bedroom was strictly hers. He hoped. How could he reconcile Katherine Terrell with the Beth he knew? Maybe he should cut things off now before he got hurt.
The announcer came to the microphone on the podium, welcomed the public, and explained the classical program. A few minutes later music swelled around them. Beth tilted her head back against the tree and closed her eyes. Nash tried to still his thoughts and let the music soothe his soul as long shadows stretched into summer dusk and he sought to escape the turmoil inside.
One piece led into another. At the moment of a building crescendo, Nash looked at Beth. A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
"Beth? What's wrong?" Was she thinking about Winston, her life in Leesburg?
She opened her eyes and gave him a shaky smile. "It's silly. I get so involved in the music. This is one of my favorites."
There was no deception on her face or in her luminous gaze. She was a feeling woman who appreciated beauty. He'd been too distracted to let the music take him away. She hadn't. He wanted to put his arms around her and tell her he understood.
He patted his shoulder. "Come here."
She smiled. "Said the spider to the fly?"
"I don't bite. Just nibble. And I've been told I have a shoulder that makes a great pillow."
"Should I ask by whom?"
Could she be jealous? "By Davie. He's an expert. He has this habit of falling asleep after eight p.m. no matter where we are."
She laughed and angled against his chest, her head fitted into the crook of his shoulder.
"See? As comfortable as goose feathers."
"Nonallergic, too," she bantered.
Nash had overestimated his ability to hold her casually and keep himself aloof. Her glossy hair invited his chin to rest in its silkiness. The heat from her breast flattened against his chest penetrated his polo shirt. The span of her back beckoned his hand. They were in a public place. His blood pressure had no business skyrocketing.
Beth must have felt the increased tempo of his heartbeat. She raised her chin. Why did he want this woman so? Why did an empty part of him need her warmth, her laughter? He couldn't label it pure lust, not anymore. He searched her face, looking for the answer.
She attempted to sit up. "I can move away."
"No!" He hadn't meant to be so adamant. His arm closed her in so she couldn't move.
"Nash, I don't want to be a tease."
"I need to hold you." His gaze swept the grassy area. Most of the audience was collected near the orchestra. The closest blanket was a good twenty yards away; the darkening sky created an intimate space surrounding the two of them.
Beth relaxed against him, laying her hand along his throat. Her thumb stroked up and down. "I like having you hold me. It's been a long time since I felt safe."
He wanted to shield her, protect her, possess her. He wanted to be the only man in her life, in her thoughts, in her bed. His lips came down on hers hard with no gentleness. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, determined to brand her, make her forget everything but him.
She might have been surprised by his vehemence, but her response proved she wasn't afraid. Her arms circled his neck as her tongue lunged against his. Nash scooped her onto his lap and with fumbling fingers untied the knot at her waist. His hand slid under her blouse and without taking time to worry with the clasp, released her breasts from their soft cups.
When his fingers made contact, he knew his arousal was hard under her thigh. Her skin was velvety smooth, her breast was firm, her feel was heavenly.
He broke the kiss. "Touch me, Beth."
She brought one hand down and ran it along his jaw as the other one massaged his neck.
"More," he rasped.
She let her fingers stray slowly over his shirt from his neck, between his nipples, to his stomach. Then she drew circles and triangles to the strains of Mozart until Nash broke out in a sweat.
When he found her nipple and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, she burrowed under his shirt. Her fingers were cool against his heated skin. As they danced on his stomach, he thought he'd explode.
"Baby, that feels so good, but I can't stand much more. We have to stop unless you want to get arrested for indecent exposure."
She buried her nose in his neck and slowly slipped her hand out from under his shirt. He could feel her heart beating with his as they both took deep breaths. Beth stayed perfectly still, and he realized why.
With a wry chuckle he said, "My physical condition's not going to change until you're off my lap."
She groaned into his neck. "We're supposed to be listening to a concert. I thought this would be safe."
He swatted her bottom. "I'm not sure anyplace would be safe with you."
She squirmed from his lap. "This is happening too fast."
He wanted her doubts gone, her barriers down. And he wanted to pretend Reynold's report didn't exist. "I didn't hear you protesting a few minutes ago."
"Maybe I should have. Maybe we need time to cool off, time apart."
Anger tightened his throat. "Is that what you want?"
Beth tentatively touched his arm. "I need to think about us. If I'm with you, I'm afraid we'll end up in bed before I can do that."
Her hand looked fragile, delicate. "How much time?"
"I don't know. A few days. A
week."
He pulled his arm away. "Fine. You've got it. Give me a call when you're finished thinking."
From the look on her face, he knew he'd hurt her. Did he want to hurt her the way the report had hurt him? He rationalized. No. He wasn't cruel. Sexual frustration was making him short-tempered. Sorting things out now would be best for both of them.
Wouldn't it?
CHAPTER SEVEN
Beth thought about Nash as she rode in Osgood's limousine. She missed him. He'd been cool and polite after the concert, taking her straight home. No kiss, no hug, no "I'll see you." It was up to her now. She had to either let him in or shut him out. He'd made it clear, he wouldn't stay in between. But could she trust him? Could she tell him about John? She didn't know. But she had to see him.
The more she'd thought about Osgood's invitation, the more she'd wanted Nash's opinion on how to handle it. Maybe the man was having a one-on-one dinner with each of them. She'd used the possibility as an excuse to call Nash at his office this afternoon. But his secretary had told her Nash was at a construction site and wouldn't be back the rest of the day.
Later, Beth had called him on his home line, but the machine answered. She'd left a message for him to call, but he hadn't by the time she'd left. So. She'd dressed for this dinner in a green silk shirtwaist, hoping it wasn't too casual or too dressy.
When she arrived at the Osgood mansion, the butler showed her to the solarium. Osgood's Armani suit gave him a formal look.
He came toward her with a glass of red wine. "California's best. I've invested in a few vineyards. Tell me what you think."
She took the glass, smelled the wine, swirled it, and tasted it. "Wonderful bouquet, clean taste, smooth and full- bodied."
"Well, well. An expert." He motioned to the rattan Empress chair and waited until she sat before he took the sofa across from her. "Where did you learn the skill?"
"My father taught me."
"Was he a connoisseur?"
She smiled. "In a way. He owns a tavern. But he taught me respect for alcohol, how to enjoy it not abuse it."
"Well said. Respect for any pleasure will keep it from becoming a vice. Pleasure is important in our lives. Don't you agree?"
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