by Sandra Brown
All too soon, he raised his head. She could feel his stare. His features were indistinguishable in the absolute darkness, but his eyes were powerful even without the benefit of light. She was held immobile and silent under that hypnotizing power.
“This never happened,” he rasped. “Do you understand, Erin?” His voice was urgent, compelling her to grasp what his words conveyed. “This never happened. Do you understand?”
Dumbly she shook her head “no.”
But of course, in the darkness, he couldn’t see her.
Chapter Five
He had already left the study when she woke up. She opened her eyes slowly and, without moving her head, surveyed the room. It hadn’t changed overnight. Everything was exactly as it had been before. Only she was different. All the changes had been within herself.
What had she done? How had it happened? What had she been thinking? Obviously she hadn’t been thinking or it would never have happened. Had she gone temporarily insane?
Maybe it had been a nightmare. Yes? No.
All right, if it were too pleasant to have been a nightmare, maybe it had been a dream. No. She could still smell elusive traces of Lance’s cologne on her skin. Her breasts were slightly abraded where whiskered cheeks had nuzzled her. Her body evidenced too many signs of his intimate embrace. Even now she could recall each nuance of it in vivid detail. It had been no dream.
Her eyes wandered again to the chair where he had slept. The pillow crumpled in the corner still bore the imprint of his head. A feeling of great tenderness welled up inside Erin, and she caught herself smiling in remembrances.
The smile vanished when she saw his blanket lying discarded on the floor beside the chair. No doubt he had discarded thoughts of her just as indifferently.
She covered her mouth with a dainty fist. Mortification caused her eyes to squeeze tightly shut when she recalled the abandon with which she had kissed him back. God! He must be basking in self-satisfaction this morning. Surely he would be very pleased with himself. He could have easily seduced her to… No!
Another sob rose in her throat and a tear managed to slide past her closed eyelids and roll down her flushed cheek before she buried her face in the pillow.
How had it happened?
She couldn’t defend herself by saying that he had plied her with alcohol, or played on her sympathy, or physically forced her to submit to his kisses. He hadn’t even wooed her with loving words. He hadn’t said anything. He had merely come to her out of the darkness and touched her and kissed her and she had been more than willing to give him even more than he had demanded.
Miserably, she moaned again with the humiliating recollection of how her naked breasts had been plundered by his greedy mouth. No. His mouth had been neither plundering nor greedy. To add to her abasement, each time her mind conjured up the memory, her body ached again with longing.
She mustn’t lie here and dwell on it any longer. It would be better to face him with an aloof attitude. It had been nothing more to him than a naughty game in the dark. She wouldn’t let him know that it had meant more than that to her. Getting off the couch, she realized her breasts were still bare. She found her T-shirt behind the sofa after a frantic search.
She crept on silent feet toward the door. Listening thoroughly, she couldn’t hear anyone else in the house stirring. She left the study and went into the tiny bathroom she had used the night before. She shuddered with embarrassment when she remembered Lance catching her in that awkward position with her shirt raised. In fact, any thought of Lance Barrett brought on a wave of hot sensations.
“Oh, there you are,” Melanie said as Erin came out of the bathroom. Her sister-in-law was standing in the doorway of the study.
“Good morning,” Erin mumbled, hoping Melanie wouldn’t detect some sign of guilt.
She was behaving like a moron! After all, what had actually happened? A little heavy necking; that’s all. People did it all the time. She wasn’t a candidate for a scarlet letter. Yet.
“I’ve come to rescue you,” Melanie said mysteriously. “I’ve persuaded Mike to let you come upstairs and take a long bath. Then you and I will have breakfast together.”
“What about General Barrett? Don’t you think he’ll consider me AWOL?”
“Maybe he won’t find out,” Melanie trilled. “He’s not here. Come on.”
Melanie allowed Erin only enough time to pick up her suitcases in the bathroom, offering to carry the larger one herself, before virtually dragging her upstairs and showing her to the small, but comfortable, guest bedroom.
It was furnished in white wicker which contrasted nicely with the apple green walls. The bedspread and curtains were gaily scattered with a daisy pattern. A green and white striped easy chair was placed at an angle in a corner.
“The bathroom’s through that door,” Melanie said. “I checked everything, but if I’ve missed something you need, just call me.”
“Thank you, Melanie. It’s lovely. Really. I’ll be down as quickly as I can.”
“Don’t hurry on my account,” Melanie said.
“I’m not. I’m hurrying on Mr. Barrett’s account.”
Melanie only giggled before she closed the door and left Erin alone.
The bath was heavenly and she reveled in the hot, bubbly, scented water. She convinced herself that she took no special pains with her appearance this morning, but the results of her efforts made it seem otherwise.
She blew-dry her hair, skillfully wielding the hairbrush to produce a style of artful disarray for her dark curls. She chose a khaki skirt and a cotton plaid blouse in muted shades of blue and burgundy. Her Beene Bag shoes were navy kid with stack wood heels. Her only jewelry besides a tailored gold wristwatch and Bart’s diamond ring was a pair of small gold loops in her ears. She looked cool, confident, and in perfect control.
That control slipped when she heard Lance Barrett’s voice coming from the kitchen as she was descending the stairs. Her heart jumped to her throat and she gripped the banister reflexively when her footsteps faltered.
“Hey, Lance, is that you?” She recognized Mike’s voice.
“Yeah.”
“Charlie Higgins is holding on the line for you.”
“Be right there.”
Erin could hear hurried footsteps as Lance journeyed through the house toward the living room. What would he say to her this morning? What would she say to him? Not for one minute did she believe that he could have forgotten what they had shared in the inky darkness despite his commission for her to do so. How could she ever forget those few precious minutes when she experienced total bliss from a man’s embrace? She still felt the impact of his lovemaking like rippling aftershocks to an internal earthquake.
She had to face him sometime, so it might just as well be now. She took the last few steps down the stairs and then stood poised on the bottom stair where she could see into the living room. Lance held the telephone in the crook between his clefted chin and his shoulder. He was jotting down notes on a tablet.
She had expected him to look like he had the day before—gray slacks, dark tie, white shirt, the uniform of all government officials. That was hardly the sight that greeted her eyes.
Lance was clad only in a brief pair of blue running shorts and a pair of running shoes. Nothing else. As he leaned over the desk, writing on the paper that was becoming soggy from the sweat on his hand, he grew impatient with the glasses that continued to slide down his perspiration-beaded nose. In exasperation, he reached up and jerked them off, tossing them onto the desk as he continued to write furiously.
For how long she stood there and stared at him, Erin didn’t ever remember, so mesmerized was she by the symmetrical perfection of his physique. Now she knew why he was in such superior physical condition. If he ran like this every morning—and by the looks of him, it had been no small distance—his secret to that well-honed body was out.
His legs and arms were hard and sinewy. His shoulders were broad and topped an impres
sive chest that was matted with light brown hair now curled into wet ringlets. Erin’s eyes shamelessly followed the growth pattern of that hair over a corded rib cage and a flat, taut stomach into the elastic waistband of his shorts. It was disconcerting that his deep tan showed no lines of demarcation. Even more unsettling was the full evidence of his sex beneath the tight, damp shorts.
“No, I think that should do it,” he was saying crisply. “If I need anything else, I’ll call. Thanks, Charlie. I owe you one.”
He hung up the telephone and continued to scratch the pen across the paper for a few seconds before he straightened up.
He almost did a double take when he saw her watching him from the staircase. Then his eyes boldly traveled the length of her body and back up again. For a flickering moment their eyes met and locked and Erin’s breath caught in her throat. She was perplexed when he looked away quickly. Where was the smug, knowing jeer she had expected?
Bravely she entered the room and stood in front of the desk. Finally, he raised his eyes and looked at her with a blank, unreadable face. “You’re up early.”
“So are you,” she said. “Do you always start the day this way?” she asked, indicating with a nod of her head his postrunning condition.
“I try to get in several miles each day, yes.” Why were his sentences so abrupt? He wasn’t engaging in conversation with her, he was answering her question out of politeness. His eyes told her nothing she wanted desperately to know.
“Wasn’t it cold outside?”
His shrugging shoulders set all sorts of muscles into play, and Erin strove to tear her eyes away from his chest. “Sometimes it is when I start out, but I warm up fast enough. I had on a jacket. I left it out on the porch. The boys across the street said that Mike needed me.”
He wiped the sweat out of his eyebrows with the back of his hand and attempted to dry it on his shorts. His movement was mechanical, for it was obvious that his mind was on something else.
“You’ll be glad to know that your identity has been confirmed.”
He said the words offhandedly, as if they weren’t really important. She looked at him in surprise, but the rigid planes of his face remained intact. “I called a cohort in Houston last night and he got right on it. What he couldn’t do last night, he followed through with this morning. We know everything there is to know about you, Miss O’Shea.”
His reverting back to the formal means of address hurt her to the quick. Last night, just before he returned to his chair, he had whispered her name in the darkness and the sound of it coming from his lips had thrilled her. He didn’t even remember.
“We know that your garbage is picked up on Tuesday and Friday. I hope you remembered to put it out before you left.”
Was that supposed to be a joke? She didn’t think so because he wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t looking at her either. His eyes darted around the room, studying first one object then another. If he looked at her at all, it was with a brief and sweeping glance. Since she had come in the room, he hadn’t once met her eyes.
“You, of course, are free to go,” he said matter-of-factly.
Why was he acting as though nothing had happened between them? Why didn’t he smile, or tease, or torment? Why didn’t he beg her forgiveness? Why didn’t he do something?
“I’m sorry if I have inconvenienced you.”
Perhaps if he hadn’t said that last sentence, she would have left and remained forever bewildered by the enigmatic man she had once met in San Francisco. It was that casual dismissal that infuriated her. Her puzzlement turned into boiling anger and she lashed out at him.
“I guess everything you did was in the line of duty!”
He knew immediately to what she was referring, and Erin saw immediately that her anger was contagious. “Exactly,” he said precisely.
Yesterday she had stormed at him for treating her with such abuse, but he hadn’t even begun. Little did she know what degradation he had planned for her. Her eyes shone like burning coals as she glared at him.
“You—” she started.
“Mrs. Lyman is ready for you to come to breakfast. She’s cooked up something special,” Mike said, grinning as he came into the room.
He had interrupted Erin’s well-chosen epithet and she felt robbed of the opportunity to blister the ears of Mr. Lance Barrett and shake his impregnable indifference.
“We’re not here to eat,” Lance snapped to the hapless Mike and his grin dissolved under the cold blue eyes.
“No, sir,” he said quickly. “Only she’s been cooking all this stuff and said…” He licked his lips nervously. Lance’s stare hadn’t relented one iota. Mike whipped the napkin out of his belt and asked, “Is there something you need me to do, Lance?”
Lance released a deep breath with a whooshing sound as he raked agitated fingers through the hair that was still sweat-plastered to his head. “No. Go on and eat breakfast. I’m going across the street to clean up. Then I need to make some phone calls to the main bureau, but if you need me, call. It shouldn’t take me more than an hour.”
With that, he came from behind the desk and stalked out of the room without once glancing in Erin’s direction. She stood immobile for a moment, stunned and angry, until Mike said abashedly, “Mrs. Lyman is waiting for you. I think I’ve had enough.” He had been intimidated by Lance’s over-bearing attitude.
Lance Barrett had that kind of effect on people.
* * *
Melanie proved to be an accomplished cook, but all the while Erin was eating the sumptuous food Melanie had prepared, she was contemplating her future plans. She didn’t know what to do.
Whether it was to her liking or not, she had become embroiled in her brother’s life and he was in desperate trouble. He would never be the man he was before. He would either have to go to prison for many years or suffer some other stigma equally as devastating. Yesterday he had been no more to her than a name on a slip of paper, a hope, a promise. Today, he was a real person with real problems, and she couldn’t turn her back on him, her only relative, when he would need all the support he could get.
Her reason for wanting to find Ken was that she longed for a family. What she had expected to find was warmth and happiness, hours filled with laughter and reminiscing. Instead she had walked into a tragic situation. Could that negate the fact that Ken Lyman was her brother? Families didn’t always share joviality. They shared trouble, too. And perhaps that was far more binding.
She had become fond of Melanie. The younger woman’s naiveté and sweetness evoked a maternal affection in Erin and she felt compelled to stay with Melanie and provide whatever help she could during the trying days still to come.
Her decision was made. She would stay in San Francisco.
As she absently sipped her second cup of coffee, she wondered why she felt no relief in having made that important decision. Could it be that she was worried about her business? Taking extended leaves of absence was no way to run a business, particularly one in which the clients often felt they needed to deal with her directly. They trusted Erin’s expert opinion and imaginative, though excellent, taste. Sometimes they wanted her approval before they accepted a proposal presented by one of her employees.
Well, she hadn’t missed more than a few days of work since she had started the business. She had trained her staff well. They would manage. And when one compared the problems that sometimes arose over a fashion show, they seemed far too trivial and superficial to weigh against the ones facing her brother and his wife.
Was it being away from Bart that made her hesitate in offering her assistance to Melanie? He would be peeved at her for staying in San Francisco. He would whine and plead for her to come home, but he would understand. She didn’t intend to tell him about Ken’s crime, but she would make her reasons for staying sound so imperative that a good businessman like Bart would see the advisability of her staying to find the solution to whatever problem detained her.
Melanie had been chattering gaily as sh
e went about the chores of cleaning the kitchen after breakfast. She had insisted that Erin needn’t help her. Erin hoped she was making all the correct responses to Melanie’s questions and comments, but her mind still revolved around her dilemma. Why didn’t she want to stay until Ken was found?
She knew the reason, but didn’t want to face it. It was tucked away somewhere in her mind and she refused to bring it out of the safe corner into which she had hidden it.
Lance Barrett.
She didn’t want to stay here with him around. It hadn’t happened often in her life that Erin had been made to feel a fool. Her practical parents had taught her well to handle herself with aplomb, and she had never shied away from adversity, but rather met it head on.
How then could she have been so swayed by Lance last night? She should have fought him with all her strength when he first kissed her. She should have slapped his face hard, called Mike to her rescue, anything but lie there and respond so wantonly to his caresses. What had possessed her to behave that way?
She had resisted the advances of men since high school. And resistance had become more difficult and the advances more complex the older she became. Bart’s persistent urging that she share his bed was an example of that. She had never allowed a man such access to her. Except, of course, poor Joseph. But that was totally different.
Still, Lance’s attitude this morning was baffling. Just after he had switched off the light in the study last night, he had talked about Ken’s future. He hadn’t sounded as though he were speaking in an official capacity. He had sounded concerned. His kiss had been that of an ardent lover. Her body was no longer a stranger to his. He had spoken her name in an emotional whisper after that electrifying interlude in the darkness.
This morning he had reverted to that cool, impersonal demeanor and called her Miss O’Shea in that dictatorial voice. But he hadn’t taunted her. He didn’t look like a man pleased with himself. He seemed distraught and worried. She couldn’t figure it out. Even though she had no illusions of him having any real romantic interest in her, she had expected some kind of reaction.
