Spring Fires

by Unknown

  "You never know… If you can cook as well as you look, I might not be able to resist."

  "I'm sure many girls could fill both those requirements."

  "Not as well as you." As they were stopped at a traffic light, his smoky eyes intimately roamed down her curves.

  Grateful for the dim light which concealed her burning cheeks, Stacy broke away from his smoldering gaze and, looking out the windshield, prosaically pointed out, "The light has changed."

  "Thanks." He shifted gears, his sinewy forearm brushing her thigh. She edged slightly closer to the door to conceal her quivering response to his fleeting contact.

  By his husky chuckle she realized that her maneuver had not gone unnoticed. "Take it easy… I never make love on an empty stomach… or in a car."

  "That relieves me considerably," she returned dryly, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of upsetting her further. He was not the type of man to take advantage of her innocence, she assured herself firmly, recalling his preference for experienced women who would satisfy his male needs without the encumbrance of marriage.

  A quarter of an hour later, he halted the car outside a row of contemporary town houses, each facade individualistically decorated.

  Preceding Drew into the hallway, she immediately noticed the carpeted staircase leading to the second floor, and, she assumed, the master bedroom. Pulling her mind away from that particular direction, she saw through an arched doorway an L-shaped room. The masculine decor was explicit in the deep brown leather chairs and sofa. A glass and chrome room divider housed a stereo unit separating the living space from the dining area, and several modern prints hung on the walls, adding to the unreal feeling that she was stepping into a page of a decorator's manual.

  "The kitchen's through that door." Drew pointed down the hall. "There's an apron hanging behind it. You don't want to spoil that… outfit."

  "You are well prepared."

  "Of course," he returned, unperturbed by her scathing tone.

  Her polished nails dug into her palms, but before she could think of an appropriately biting retort, he laughed down at her, the sound springing from deep within his powerful chest. "Come. Keep me company while I put on the steaks." His eyes held a teasing glint. "All that needs doing is to broil the steaks and put dressing on the salad—I've even set the table."

  "You were putting me on…"

  "And you rose so beautifully to the bait."

  She flashed him a rueful grin but quickly lowered her lashes as she felt her nerves start to tingle under his potent gaze. Shrugging off his black sport coat, he dropped it on a nearby chair, exposing the rib-knit grey turtleneck hugging the rigid muscles of his chest and tucked into tartan slacks. "Come on, I'm getting hungry." Then, leaving her to follow, he strode back to the kitchen. He went straight to the refrigerator and brought out a package of steaks with one hand and in the other grasped a wooden bowl filled with crisp pieces of lettuce mixed with bright slices of carrots and tomatoes. He nudged the door closed with his elbow and spread the items out on the counter.

  Looking over his shoulder to the girl standing just inside the room, he said, "Why don't you mix the dressing? All you need is up there." He inclined his head to the left toward a cabinet as he pulled out a drawer and produced a carving knife and a set of salad utensils. "I'll prepare the steaks."

  Silently, Stacy followed his directions. Inside were neatly arranged bottles of spices, oil and vinegar, and to one side a cruet. "Do you have any preferences?"

  "Just not too heavy on the oil."

  "Okay." Her eyes kept drifting away from her task, observing his deft movements. As the minutes ticked away she felt drawn into the intimate atmosphere created when two people worked side by side on such prosaic chores. It would be like this if we were married, she mused. Then, troubled by the trend of her thoughts, she vigorously shook the cruet.

  "I think it's mixed." She felt his warm breath caress her right ear lobe. He had put the steaks under the broiler and now stood beside her.

  "I like the ingredients to be thoroughly mixed."

  "You looked as though you were attacking it."

  Ignoring his gibe, she poured the dressing on the salad. "I'm finished. Should I carry it through?"

  "Go ahead. We'll start on it while the steaks broil. I've a couple of potatoes baking to go with them."

  After she set the bowl down between the places arranged at one corner of the plate-glass table, she slipped into the cushioned chair Drew held for her. "I couldn't have done better myself," she said lightly.

  "My mother taught me to be self-reliant." Drew filled two glasses with a red wine and handed one to Stacy.

  "Mmm, this is good. Thank you. You never told me—where does your mother live?" Her eyes swung around the room. "Obviously, not here."

  "No." The corner of his mouth lifted. "She has a house down the coast in Rockport. She spends most of her time painting."

  "Does she ever visit you?"

  "Now and then. She'll be in town in a week or two, so she can meet you."

  "Me!" Her voice rose. "Why me?" She hastily lowered a forkful of salad and met his eyes— glimmering with amusement. "There's nothing funny about it!"

  "What mother could resist meeting her son's fiancée?"

  "You told her?" Stacy uttered in disbelief.

  "Certainly…"

  "But why make this more complicated than it already is?"

  "She was bound to find out. I figured the news should come from me… We've nothing to hide… Excuse me; the steaks need turning."

  By the time he reappeared, Stacy had regained control of her shaken nerves and apologized as he sat down. "I'm sorry I reacted so badly. It never occurred to me that your mother would have to be brought into this."

  "Don't worry. Everything will work out in the end." His voice carried such conviction that, for some inexplicable reason, she was reassured.

  The remainder of the meal passed smoothly; talk was minimal as they devoured the tender meat and russet potatoes smothered in butter. Replete, Stacy tentatively offered to wash the dishes.

  "Don't bother. They can wait until the morning, when my cleaning woman comes in."

  "How convenient… Does she work every Saturday morning?"

  "Usually."

  Checking her train of thought, she rose to her feet and removed the plates, carrying them to the sink. She stalled for time by scraping them off and putting them in to soak. She heard Drew come up behind her and tilted her head up. "It's always easier if the food hasn't dried on them."

  "I'm sure Mrs. Davies will be grateful… Are you done?"

  "Yes." She carefully wiped her damp hands on a paper towel and bent over, tossing it in with the rest of the trash, aware of his observing every movement.

  "Let's go into the living room so we can listen to the stereo."

  Hesitating in the doorway to consider her options, she glanced at Drew, who, she judged by his aggravating smile, expected her to choose the security of the single chair. Refusing to let him intimidate her, she sat down at one end of the sofa, unconsciously stretching out both arms, thus forming an effective barrier.

  Surprised and a bit relieved, Stacy watched as Drew settled into the deep cushions of one of the chairs, comfortably stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles, his hands loosely clasped in his lap.

  "Tell me what you've been up to this week." He continued teasingly, "Any old boyfriends been after you to reconsider?"

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Paul Elmwood." Drew's voice was now edged with steel.

  "Who?" The color rose in Stacy's cheeks at her feeble attempt at evasion.

  "You heard me… Surely you haven't forgotten him?" His lids drooped over his eyes so they were narrow slits of darkness.

  "No. I believe I told you earlier that he was a friend," she said with a touch of hauteur.

  "And he hasn't said anything more about your engagement?" She saw the muscles of his jaw tighten as he leaned forwar
d, intimidating her with his latent strength.

  More bravely than she felt, she told him, "Whatever he said is my business, not yours."

  His tone softened and he eased back in the chair. "That's right… just so he isn't pestering you."

  "No. As a matter of fact, I haven't seen much of him."

  "Good." She heard the ring of self-satisfaction in his voice. Then he dropped the subject and asked instead, "How do you like the music?"

  Stacy had already perceived that the tunes were a selection of scores from various Broadway musicals and motion pictures; the haunting theme from Romeo and Juliet was gently teasing her senses. "It's very nice." With that, she closed her eyes, blocking out his chiseled profile and allowing the music to flow over her.

  She was so absorbed in the music that she was not aware of any movement until a tingling sensation at the nape of her neck warned her a second before she felt the cushion compress under his added weight and her nostrils caught his tangy, masculine scent. Her dark lashes lifted and she saw Drew watching her, ensnaring her in his spell; her pulse quickened as she waited uncertainly for his next move, her feminine instincts clamoring their alarm, but she was helpless to break the compelling fascination of those penetrating eyes.

  His strong, sinewy arms reached out and with one lightning movement shifted her body so that she lay helplessly across his lap, her soft breasts crushed against his chest. Her throat felt dry, her breath ragged as he murmured, "Darling, Stacy," an instant before his lips took possession of her mouth. Waves of heat spread throughout her body as he probed the secret recesses of her mouth with the warm moistness of his tongue. Tentatively, her hands explored the rippling muscles of his back with its ribbed covering while he drew her even closer, pressing one hand at the curve of her spine as his other fingers fondled the sensitive skin beneath her hair. Her heart pounded against her ribs and she sucked in a deep, quivering breath as he released her lips, descending along her chin and downward to the pulse beating frantically at the base of her throat, then on to the shadow between her breasts.

  Moaning deep within her throat, Stacy felt his caresses carry her far beyond her normal control, her primitive instincts taking over. Her fingers discovered his shirt had escaped from the confining waistband and she slid her hands sensuously up across the firm skin of his back, feeling the trembling awareness of his aroused body. He freed several buttons and now his mouth traced a line across the fullness of her right breast and, pushing aside the flimsy lace bra, he covered the taut, rosy tip.

  Slowly, Stacy lifted her lids as cool air tingled on her exposed skin. Drew's hand cupped her chin and his passion glazed eyes searched her face. He muttered thickly, "I want you, Stacy…" With a sharp intake of breath, her mind cleared for just an instant before he kissed her pliant lips, resuming his erotic assault on her senses.

  The harsh ringing of the telephone abruptly penetrated their consciousness. "Damn!" Drew swore violently as he lifted her off his lap and pushed her gently back onto the cushions.

  Suddenly it was like awakening from a dream into harsh reality. She watched him rake his fingers through his disheveled hair and then casually shove his shirttail back into his pants as he strode over to answer the demanding summons.

  "Yes," he said hoarsely and stood listening, his coiled strength prepared for action.

  Embarrassed now by her shameless behavior, Stacy frantically readjusted her clothing, her shaking hands fumbling over the slippery fabric. She refused to allow her brain to dwell on what had almost happened. She was safe now, her virtue still intact; the phone call had exorcised her wanton temptation.

  Dully, she heard Drew's voice from across the room. "Okay, I'll get right on it." He slammed down the receiver and turned to Stacy. "There's an emergency. I've got to fly down the coast tonight."

  Mustering her wits, Stacy said with a false bravado, "I understand."

  "Stacy, I don't want to leave." He ground out the words.

  "You might say I was saved by the bell." Her attempted lightness fell flat.

  "Don't joke!" His voice was harsh. "You're not that kind of girl!"

  "Oh, really?" She added silently, Well, then, what kind am I? I come willingly to a man's apartment, and when he starts to put the make on me I don't do anything to stop him.

  He cut into her thoughts. "Look, I'll take you home," he said, running an exasperated hand through his thick hair.

  Recoiling from his grudging solicitude, she suggested, "You could call a cab."

  "No, I won't."

  The leisurely pace of the early evening was gone; the car rushed through the night until it screeched to a halt before the apartment.

  "Take care." She flung the words over her shoulder as she jumped out and slammed the door. Running up the steps, she heard the sports car roar off into the night. At the top of the flight she paused, carefully wiping away all traces of the tears which had trickled down her cheeks.

  Only the hallway light was on and she thankfully flipped it off and made her way through the concealing darkness to the sanctuary of her room. Carelessly tossing her clothes over a chair, she climbed wearily into bed and pulled up the covers. Huddled there in the protective blackness, she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to dam the humiliating swell of tears, and with them came the shattering realization that she had fallen in love with Drew. "Oh, God… what am I to do?" she whispered, fervently aware that, though she cared for him, all he felt was the need to slake his carnal desires. She buried her face in the pillow, Drew's seductive words echoing shamefully in her mind until the solace of sleep blotted out her aching pain.

  Chapter Seven

  Stacy had just finished wrapping her hair in a terry towel when the doorbell chimed. Slipping into a velour wrap robe, she ran lightly to the front door and swung it open.

  "Katie! It's so good to see you—come on in." She practically dragged the other girl into the hallway.

  "Hi, Stacy. I hope, you don't mind my dropping by like this."

  "Not at all." Stacy closed the door with a muffled thud and turned back to Katie, who was hesitating in the hallway.

  "You haven't any plans for this evening?"

  Stacy fingered the damp towel. "I've just washed my hair—not a very thrilling task."

  "Oh. I thought you might be getting ready for a date with Drew."

  "No, he's still out of town." Her eyes clouded.

  "How long is he going to be gone?"

  She fixed a smile on her face and answered, "I'm not sure. Let's go sit down in the living room, if you don't mind my informal attire."

  Katie chuckled. "Of course not." They went into the living room. Katie sat on the sofa, one hand absently fingering the binding while Stacy curled up in an armchair.

  "Can I offer you anything to drink?" She half-rose in her seat, but settled back as Katie shook her head. "So what are you doing out this evening?"

  Katie glanced up warily. "I just felt the need for some company and took a chance that you'd be home."

  "Where's your mother?"

  Katie's eyes widened in surprise. "Didn't you know? Mom is out with your father."

  "Oh, ho, so that's where he went." Stacy grinned.

  "He's taking her out to a show."

  "The old fox. He was very close-mouthed about his plans. He gave me the impression he was attending a business function."

  "You're not upset?"

  Stacy smiled broadly, her eyes sparkling. "Are you kidding? It's perfect!"

  Katie nodded. "Maybe he thought you wouldn't understand."

  "Well, I'll have to set him straight," she said firmly. Then, with an amused glance at Katie, she added, "Don't worry. I'll be very subtle. I won't even mention that you"—she pointed an accusing finger—"spilled the beans." She chuckled at the other girl's expression of mock horror.

  "Oh, thank you," Katie said dramatically, clasping her hands to her breast. "They must never know of our scheming."

  Both girls fell into a fit of giggles. Slowly, Stacy recovered,
wiping tears of mirth from her long lashes. "Oh… if they only knew… that Sunday we had you to dinner—we were such good little girls to help in the kitchen."

  "And left them… alone."

  Sobering for a moment, Stacy added with a touch of satisfaction, "I'm glad it's working out."

  "Yes. Mom's needed someone to make her take an interest in life again."

  "That goes doubly for Dad." She paused thoughtfully. "He's been too wrapped up in his work." Rubbing her palms together, she added lightheartedly, "Now that they're taken care of, how about you?" A betraying flush spread over Katie's cheeks as she picked at a loose thread. "Are you keeping something from me?"

  A moment passed before Katie stammered out, "I've been seeing quite a lot of Paul Elmwood." She looked up and said apologetically, "You don't mind, do you, Stacy?"

  "Mind? Me? Not at all."

  Katie appeared relieved, her expression lightened, but she still persisted: "But didn't you used to date him?"

  "Yes," Stacy admitted honestly, "but it was never serious. Besides, I'm engaged to Drew." She spoke convincingly, but felt a guilty pang over her deception.

  "Well, of course. It's just that I've wondered… Paul speaks of you often."

  "So?"

  "So"—Katie looked straight into her friend's eyes— "sometimes I think he's still interested in you and just takes me out because there's no one else."

  "Oh, come on, Katie. You're a cute girl. Paul wouldn't be taking you out unless he wanted to."

  Her lips curled up. "Thanks, Stacy."

  "I mean it. You just need a shot of self-confidence."

  "I suppose."

  "If you don't believe me, take a good look in the mirror when you get home." She contemplated Katie's bouncy curls and big blue eyes and said speculatively, "I don't know if Paul is good enough for you."

  "That's because you're prejudiced," Katie responded with a return of her usual good humor.

  Stacy smiled. "Oh, am I?"

  "Of course you are. Since you fell for Drew, you don't think any other man is—to use your phrase— 'good enough'."

  "Is that it?" she murmured, her mind slowly absorbing Katie's reasoning. Then, with a rueful grin, she asked, "Well, then, you tell me, why is Paul so special? I've never noticed anything, and I've worked with him for over two years."