She didn’t turn as she went toward the bedroom and reached to swing the door shut.
“Madison?”
She stopped and stared at the empty poster bed through the open door to the bedroom. “What?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ll think up some excuse to take Wyatt and leave. You can come back with me, or go back to the city with the Kincaids when they go on Monday. It’s your call.”
“My money, my call,” she muttered, an anger that felt red-hot growing in her. She felt anger at Steven, at Ron for setting this all up and mostly at herself for falling into the biggest mistake she’d ever made in her life.
She spotted the Santa tie the housekeeper must have found and folded neatly before putting it on a table by the bedroom doors. She reached for it and found herself being winked at by Santa’s red eye.
“Get rid of this tie,” she muttered as she tossed it back over her shoulder. She went into the bedroom, reached for the door and closed it behind her.
Chapter Thirteen
Steven heard Madison moving around in the bedroom, and he flinched when he heard a thud, then a muffled oath. He turned and headed for the hallway door. There was no way he could sit in here, knowing she was just feet away from him while he imagined her undressing and getting into bed alone.
He slipped out the door and into the silent house. Thankfully, he didn’t see anyone as he headed for the stairs and went down into the entry. It would have been so easy to take Madison, to make love with her, and everything else be damned. But the idea of a husband in the background, another man who held her and loved her and knew her, was too much for him. And a part of him knew that once he’d had her, there wouldn’t be any turning back or forgetting. He’d said he wouldn’t be anyone’s mistake. But he wouldn’t let memories tear at him, either.
He’d gone through hell when Jeannie had died, but he’d come out the other side intact. But something in him knew that he wouldn’t be so lucky a second time. He hesitated, then went into the great room lit by the low glow of embers in the fireplace. He crossed to the bar near the doors to the deck, poured himself a generous amount of whiskey, then picked up the bottle along with his drink and crossed to the expanse of windows. He dropped down in one of the overstuffed chairs facing the view of the night outside and rested his glass on one arm with the bottle on the other.
In the silence, he sipped his drink and thought about going outside to walk off some of the nervous energy coursing through him. But he knew that there wasn’t enough exercise or coldness out there to kill the lingering feelings in his body.
He poured more whiskey, took a long drink, then stared out at a light snow drifting down from the darkness. As he tossed part of his drink to the back of his throat and it burned a path of heat into his middle, he knew that whiskey wasn’t going to stop those feelings, either. The woman had well and truly gotten under his skin.
He chuckled softly. Under his skin? He felt as if she were burrowing into a place so deep inside him that he couldn’t begin to understand it. “A married woman,” he muttered and drained his glass. “A married woman.”
He poured another drink, took a sip, then rested his head against the back cushion and closed his eyes. He could feel the muzziness of the alcohol starting to blur the edges of a need that wouldn’t die. If he stayed down here, he knew he’d fall asleep, and that’s all he needed—for Darla and Harvey to find him passed out here in the morning.
He sat up, finished off the last drink, then stood and put the glass and bottle back in the bar. Slowly, he went back upstairs, and when he went into the sitting room, he was thankful it was quiet and he couldn’t see any light under the bedroom door.
He locked the door to the hallway, then glanced at the couch by the fireplace and saw a pile of sheets and a blanket along with a pillow sitting there. He flipped off the overhead lights, then in the faint glow from the fire that still flickered in the fireplace, he made up the couch before he stripped down to his jeans. When he stretched out on the couch that barely fit his six-foot frame, his eyes felt heavy. As he closed them, he welcomed the fuzziness that helped him ease into sleep.
* * *
The Sixth Day of Christmas
AT FIRST Steven was relieved to fall into nothingness and forget the frustrations of his situation. But if he thought that the alcohol-induced peace would last, he was incorrect, and he knew how wrong he was when the dream began.
There was just a voice at first, a soft, gentle sound, whispering his name over and over again. A sigh brought on a warm breeze that held the scent of night and desire in it. It brushed over his bare skin, drawing responses that, if he’d been awake, he would have fought. But now he didn’t fight. He gave in to the building desire in him.
He felt every contact, every whispered promise, and he went with them. He relished them, then out of the soft blackness all around him, Madison came to him. She was all white, gauzy, shimmering softness that fell away as she came closer and closer to him. And when she was right in front of him, she was naked, and the sight of her drew a response in him that shattered all semblance of control.
He reached out, touching, stroking, needing to know every part of her. He’d waited a lifetime for her. And he knew that with a certainty he accepted and embraced. She was against him, skin against skin, heat mingling with heat. Then they were falling together until he was over her and looking down into eyes so blue that they rivaled a summer sky.
Her hips lifted to his, and the moment he knew he was going to take her, that he had to take her, he heard the voice again. But this time it was abrupt and cutting through the heated haze of the dreams.
“Steven, Steven,” Madison said as her image began to dissolve and sleep slipped out of his grasp.
Then the dream was gone, and he knew he was awake. He knew he was on the couch in the sitting area, lying on his stomach, and Madison was speaking to him. All he had to do was shift onto his back and open his eyes. But he knew if he rolled over, his body would give away what he’d been dreaming about. And if he opened his eyes, he didn’t know what he’d do when he saw Madison.
Instead, he mumbled, “What do you want?” with his face pressed into the pillow.
“They’re gone.”
“What?”
“Everyone’s gone.”
He took several deep breaths. When he was reasonably sure that his body had eased, he shifted to his back, his legs tangled with the sheet, and he squinted at the overhead lights in the room. For a brief moment, he saw Madison over him, her hair a pale halo around her face...an angel hovering over him. An illusion that made his breathing almost impossible and his body tighten ominously.
Then she stood back and he saw the reality. A woman in an untucked chambray shirt, jeans that molded to long legs and a peaches-and-cream face that could put the beauty of an angel to shame. That reality drove him to sit up quickly, and he regretted it when he realized the movement brought with it a headache behind his eyes.
He pressed his head into his hands with his elbows on his thighs, and he muttered, “What are you talking about?”
He heard paper rustle, then Madison said, “Listen to this. ‘We didn’t want to disturb the two of you, so Harvey and I took Wyatt into town with us to shop and pick out a tree. Mrs. Henderson came along to get extra food for the boy. The telephone should be back on this morning, so we’ll call around three or so to arrange to meet you in town for dinner. Meanwhile, you two enjoy being alone. Coffee and rolls are in the kitchen. Help yourself.’ And that’s it.”
He slowly lowered his hands and squinted up at Madison. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon.”
The dream had felt as if it had lasted forever, or just a heartbeat. But he’d slept for around ten hours. “How long have you been up?”
“Half an hour or so. I overslept.”
“They left to go shopping?”
“Yes.”
He looked down at his hands clenched on his thighs as the headache throbbe
d behind his eyes. “Then what’s the problem?”
“They left without waking us up.”
“They probably thought we wanted to stay in bed,” he muttered and wished he hadn’t. Not when images of Madison in bed with him came with a razor-sharp clarity that said it was all fantasy. He stood cautiously without looking directly at her, and when the headache didn’t get worse, he started for the bedroom.
“Everyone’s gone,” she called after him.
“And the Kincaids thought we wanted the time alone. I’d say we’re doing a damn good job with the Kincaids, that everything’s going very well,” he said over his shoulder. “When the phone’s back on, I’ll arrange to get out of here. Things are working out all around.”
“Where are you going?”
“I need a shower.” He stepped into the room with the bed with its mussed sheets and blankets. He knew a degree of satisfaction that she hadn’t slept well, then he crossed to the dresser where his things were laid alongside Madison’s in the drawers. He grabbed clean jeans, a navy pullover, then headed for the bathroom. As he stepped into the room, for a moment he thought of forgoing the shower.
The room was still steamy from a shower Madison had taken recently. And her things were scattered around the room—a hairbrush on the sink, damp towels on the vanity and a scent he knew was all hers in the humid air. But if he left, that meant facing her again. He reached for the door and swung it shut. He was safer in here.
Madison stared at Steven as he crossed the room and disappeared into the bedroom. He’d taken off his shirt to sleep, and she was shocked that the hallucination she’d had of him stripping in her office had been so close to the truth. His chest was broad, with the suggestion of a T of hair crossed on it and tapering down to the waistband of his slacks.
Her mouth went dry when he said that they had been doing a damn good job with the Kincaids. So good that Darla thought they just wanted time alone. But that’s just what she didn’t want. Not with Steven, not after what had almost happened last night—or where her thoughts wandered no matter how hard she tried to refocus that he was the one doing a good job. A job he was being paid to do.
When the door to the bathroom closed, she stood in the room for a long moment, then decided she wasn’t about to stay in here. Just knowing Steven had been in the sitting room last night had robbed her of rest, and when she’d finally fallen asleep, it had been until noon.
The memory of that moment when she saw him asleep came to her full force and she flinched at reliving it. The sight of his bare back rising slowly with each deep, even breath, and her impulse to touch him, had stunned her.
When the water started in the bathroom, she quickly tossed the letter from Darla onto the couch, then found her jacket, slipped it on and left the room. She hurried downstairs and didn’t stop until she was outside the front door on the front porch, standing in the swirling snow and the gray day with its chill and wind.
The cold air brushed her flushed face, and she quickly zipped up her jacket and hurried down the steps. It had snowed enough to obliterate a good share of the land, but she needed to walk outside and away from an atmosphere that seemed saturated with the essence of Steven. She headed away from the house, down the driveway where faint tire tracks in the four-inch-deep snow were quickly being filled in by the continually falling large, wet snowflakes.
Last night Darla had said something about them building on ten acres, but most of it was rocky and steep. When Madison got to the gates, she saw a side route that led away from the driveway and into a hilly side section of the property, a path Darla had said rimmed the property and wound into a more deserted area. And that’s just what she wanted right now. Solitude.
She headed along the path, climbing the hilly ground as she zigzagged back and forth until her legs started to ache and her lungs burned from the high altitude. Just when she was about to turn around and head back, she crested a rise and found herself at a vantage point that overlooked the lake far below.
The land ahead fell away sharply and going farther was impossible. Madison looked around, then brushed at the snow on a large stone and sank down on it. She hugged her arms around herself against the growing breeze and stared out at the view.
She’d come here to satisfy Ron, to make the Kincaids happy and keep their sponsorship at the station. Then she’d found herself isolated with a man who was threatening to become something to her that scared her to death. A man who had a son, a child who was appealing and smart and smiled like his father. A man that she’d responded to as she had never connected to a man before. A man that she knew—if she gave in to the temptation—she could love with a single-mindedness that more than scared her.
“Damn it all,” she muttered. She drew her knees up to her chest to press her forehead to them and closed her eyes tightly. She was a psychologist, a doctor trained to deal with relationships and people’s problems. She was Dr. Love who supposedly had all the answers.
* * *
STEVEN KNEW MADISON had left when he came out of the bathroom and stepped into the sitting area. The space felt horribly empty, and he hated it that he could literally feel her absence.
A married woman, he reminded himself. Someone else’s wife. She wasn’t a woman he should even be having dreams about, much less be thinking of making love to her. He thought of going to find her, but didn’t. Instead, he busied himself rebuilding a fire in the hearth, then he grabbed his briefcase and sat in front of the blaze. He opened the case on his lap and took out his notes on Harrington’s.
Work had been his salvation for a very long time, and he reached out for it again. He could lose himself in it until Madison came back to the room and he could make arrangements to leave. For a while, he wouldn’t have to think about anything except financial statements and the form of the offer he was going to make for Harrington’s.
It took more than an hour before Steven finally gave up trying to concentrate on his work and admitted that nothing could reroute his thoughts from Madison. Nothing he did stopped the memories of what almost happened, the memory of the silky smoothness of her skin under his hands, the way her lips parted for him, the way her breasts strained against him.
He put the briefcase on the table by him and cursed harshly at the way his body refused to forget, and the way his mind insisted on remembering. Finally, he reached for the phone on the table and was relieved to hear a dial tone. Quickly, he dialed his number, waited through four rings, then his answering machine clicked on.
He hit his code, scanned messages on his machine, then hit another code and left a message for Bishop, telling him the phone was working and he’d try to get back as soon as he could. He’d just put the receiver back in place when the phone rang. Quickly, he grabbed it up again.
“Hello?”
“Hello there,” Harvey Kincaid said in a jarringly jovial voice. “We were going to call and ask the two of you to meet us here, but it looks like there’s a real blizzard coming.” His voice crackled on the line. “It’s really coming down.”
Steven glanced at the window, shocked to see that the wind had grown to where it was buffeting the trees and snow was sleeting out of a leaden sky. “When are you coming back?”
“We were told the roads are already getting hazardous. I think, considering everything, we should just stay put here for a while, and see how things go. If worse comes to worst, we’ll just get a room and stay the night.”
“What about Wyatt?”
“Don’t worry about your boy. He’s just having a ball. He’s got skis and goggles, and he picked out a huge tree that they were going to deliver tomorrow morning. He’s excited about the snow. Right now he’s at the table with Darla. If you want to talk to him—”
“No, that’s fine.”
“Well, there’s plenty of food for you and there’s firewood in the side room off the garage. Wine’s in a closet in the kitchen.” He chuckled. “That doesn’t sound too bad, does it? Alone with your wife with wine and food and a crac
kling fire?”
Steven cringed at how good that would sound if this were real. “Not too bad,” he echoed.
“Just settle in and stay inside.” His voice broke up. “...the snow’s really coming and the windchill factor...” It broke again, then, “...safe in the house...” and the line went dead.
Steven jiggled the Disconnect button, but the line stayed dead. Slowly, he put the receiver back in the cradle and looked out the windows. Alone. He watched the wind driving the snow almost sideways, and large trees near the house were bent by the force.
He sat there for a while, waiting for Madison to come back upstairs to find out about the phone call. But when she didn’t come into the suite, he knew he should go and tell her what was going on.
Downstairs, he called out to her as he went through the lower floor, but his voice echoed in the house and there was no response. When he came back to the entry hall, he called again.
His voice echoed back to him, and he knew that she hadn’t only left the suite, she’d left the house. He went to the front doors, opened them and looked out at a world washed in white and buffeted by gusting winds. The temperature seemed to have dropped precipitately since last night, and the sky was so dark it threatened to blot out all light.
“Madison?” he called, cupping his hands to keep her name from being snatched away in the wind. “Madison?”
The chill was cutting through his clothes and he hunched his shoulders to the wind and cold, and called again and again.
He couldn’t see anything in the failing light, and a deep-rooted fear grew in him. He knew she was out here, where anyone could be in real trouble. He hurried back into the house, found his jacket, then went downstairs and stepped out into the storm to find her.
He’d known fear before. Just being a father brought a whole new set of fears that he’d never dreamed of before Wyatt was born. And fears shifted and changed when Jeannie had died. The fear for Madison was every bit as powerful. It made his heart race and adrenaline surge through him. He narrowed his eyes to the power of the storm, then he headed down the driveway, the only way a person could walk away from the house.
The Christmas Husband Page 17
