by Kay Hooper
Amanda shivered without knowing why, and went the rest of the way across the bridge a bit hastily.
Only a few yards beyond, just off the path to one side and balanced over several of the flung-out roots of a giant oak tree, the solid octagonal shape of a gazebo was visible. Amanda didn’t get off the path to investigate; she merely stood looking for a few moments at the small wooden structure. It appeared to have built-in seats on the inside of two of its latticework half walls; there were four distinct half walls, the spaces between them open doorways, and the flooring of the structure was, like the rest of it, wood.
There was a clearing here, so a little moonlight drifted down to give the gazebo its shape and paint latticework shadows.
Turning her head to gaze farther along the path, Amanda could just faintly see a hint of white through the trees. She knew she was close to King High—but it seemed an odd place to put a gazebo, so far from the house.
Odd—but nice. It made her smile.
She went on, following the final yards of the trail until the woods ended abruptly at the edge of a neat lawn.
King High. Bathed in moonlight. It was, in its way, every bit as perfect in its setting as Glory was. It didn’t overwhelm the senses, but rather soothed somehow; it didn’t step out boldly to meet visitors, but beckoned graciously; it didn’t rear commandingly in a shout for attention, but waited quietly to be noticed.
Amanda was conscious of the oddest sensation as she stood there staring at it, a kind of empathy she had yet to feel at Glory.
The big, two-and-a-half-story house was designed like many found farther south, with wide galleries running across the front and back on the second floor and brick-paved loggias on the ground floor; the galleries had exterior staircases at each end. Each of the second-floor bedrooms opened out onto the galleries, where white ceiling fans turned lazily to keep the air stirring and white wicker furniture provided comfortable seats.
It was no longer a common layout, and galleries had grown scarcer than hen’s teeth in this modern age of air conditioning, but the design suited both the massive, century-old oaks surrounding the house and the humid heat of Carolina summers.
Amanda hadn’t intended to go closer once she reached the edge of the woods, but she found herself walking steadily onward, across the damp, soft grass of the neat lawn and underneath the huge oak between the woods and house. She could smell more of the heavy sweetness of honeysuckle somewhere near, and lightning bugs flickered here and there, but her attention was fixed on the house that had been named King High for the poker hand that had won Daulton land for the McLellan family.
It was a big house, far too large for one laconic lawyer. A white elephant, Walker had termed it—but it seemed clear he had no intention of unburdening himself of it. And either he cared more deeply than he let on, or else his sense of responsibility to his heritage was strong, because the house and grounds looked to be in excellent repair, and that would demand an inordinate amount of both time and money.
She stopped suddenly, her gaze fixed on the second-floor gallery at the end nearest her. A match flared, illuminating his hard face as he stepped out of the shadows and toward the railing. He was lighting a pipe, but his eyes were directed beyond that action. Even at this distance, she knew what he was looking at. He was looking at her.
He saw her, knew she was there. And he wanted her to know that he was watching, waiting. Her instincts told her that he was giving her the opportunity to retreat, to maintain the careful distance between them, and that if she did go away he wouldn’t say a word about having seen her.
Just as he had not said a word about having held her comfortingly when she had been sick and in pain. Not a word about having carried her.
Things would go on as they had.
Amanda stood there for a long moment, watching until his pipe was lit, until the match died. Then she drew a breath and walked on.
When she reached the stairs, she climbed them steadily, and in the strong light of the moon she could see him clearly as she reached the top and walked across the solid flooring of the gallery toward him. He was shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of jeans, leaning a shoulder against one of the columns and smoking his pipe methodically as he watched her approach.
Waiting.
As always, he was calm, handsome features expressionless because he’d trained them to be. She knew that if there had been more light, she would be able to see that his eyes were veiled as usual, hiding his thoughts and not even hinting at whatever he might be feeling. Unless she annoyed him, of course. Then the green eyes would burn.
He didn’t believe she was Amanda Daulton, and she doubted he would be convinced without absolute scientific proof. But that didn’t concern her tonight. Tonight, she didn’t want it to matter who she was or wasn’t.
Didn’t want it to matter to her.
And, most especially, didn’t want it to matter to him.
She made herself look beyond him, and near open French doors probably leading to his bedroom, a mattress from a single bed or daybed had been placed on the gallery floor, covered simply with a white sheet. As many people used to do, he apparently spent the hottest nights out on the gallery, where the fans stirred the night air and made it at least bearable.
No wonder he was comfortable with Jesse’s forbid-dance of air conditioning, she thought; he must have gotten used to doing without it in his own home. But she asked anyway. It seemed as good a way as any to begin a conversation that she had a feeling was going to get complicated.
“No air conditioning?”
He shook his head, one hand cradling the bowl of the pipe and the other resting on the railing beside him. Between lazy puffs, he said with his usual calm, “No air conditioning. How can anyone enjoy the seasons’ change if they’re constantly shut up in a temperature-controlled environment? I like summer. I like the sights and sounds and smells and feeling of it. And I don’t mind sweat.”
His pipe smoke wafted toward her, the scent of it rich and sweet, and Amanda breathed it in unconsciously. She could smell him as well, spicy soap from a recent shower and the underlying musk of a man. She liked it. “In the city, you get used to being shut up most of the time. It’s really the only way to live because of the dirty air and noise. But out here … it’s like another world.”
“A new world? Or one You’ve come back to?”
She felt herself smiling, unsurprised. “You never stop, do you? Always questioning, probing, weighing. Why do you bother, Walker? You don’t believe anything I say anyway.”
“Maybe I keep hoping that you’ll say something to convince me you are who you say you are.” He took the pipe from his mouth and studied it for a moment, then set it carefully on the railing.
Amanda waited until he met her gaze once more, then said deliberately, “Does it really matter who I am?”
“You know damned well it does. The estate aside, Jesse deserves his real granddaughter—”
“No, that isn’t what I mean. I’m not talking about the others and what they think or believe. I mean, does it matter between us? Right now, with no one else around. No one else watching or listening. When you look at me, right now, do you really care whether I’m Amanda Daulton? Do you, Walker?”
“Does it matter whether I care?”
“Never answer a question with another question.”
He shrugged. “Okay. It’s after midnight, and a beautiful woman just walked into my bedroom—so to speak. And in a certain frame of mind, who she is probably wouldn’t matter.”
“So guarded,” Amanda murmured. “Do you ever give an inch, Walker?”
Instead of answering that, Walker said, “it’s hot as hell, and I’m in no mood to play games.”
“Did I say anything about playing games?”
“you’re here. Why are you here, Amanda?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I thought a little walk might help.”
“A little walk of a country mile? Through the woods?” He made his
voice mocking. “Bored, Amanda? Looking for a little action? After Boston, this place must seem like the ass end of the world to you, and I imagine playing sweet Amanda for Jesse gets pretty tiresome. And with most of the men around supposedly related to you, finding a nonincestuous bedmate must be a matter of prime concern to you.”
It wasn’t like him to be cruel, and for a moment the attack left her unable to say anything at all. But finally she drew a short breath, holding on to composure, to a smooth mockery of her own. “You really are a bastard, aren’t you? I can’t decide whether you hate my guts or just want me to think you do.”
“I don’t play games.”
“Bull. We all play games. And you and I have been playing this one since the day I walked into your office.”
“I’m not playing a game. I want the truth.”
“The truth?” She managed to laugh, and the sound was even amused. “What’s the truth got to do with this?”
“Everything.”
She shook her head. “Maybe you’d like to think so, but you know better, Walker. I asked you a question before, and I’d like a—truthful—answer. Does it really matter, right now, at this minute, whether I’m Amanda Daulton?”
“No.” The word was almost forced out of him, and Walker felt the tension inside him wind tighter and tighter.
Damn her. Damn her.
Amanda didn’t laugh or even smile; she merely said, quietly, “Maybe you’d sooner trust a cobra reared up in front of you, but that doesn’t change anything, does it? You want me, Walker. And we both know it.”
“Whatever I may or may not want, I’m old enough to keep my head about it.” His voice was harsh, and hurt his throat. She had pulled his desire out of hiding, laid it bare and naked between them, and even though he knew he had goaded her, the knowledge did nothing to help him.
“Are you? But what if I’m not?”
He didn’t move. Very carefully, he didn’t move. “What are you saying, Amanda?”
“So like a lawyer,” she murmured. “Needing everything spelled out in detail. But I thought you already knew why I’m here. Didn’t you say so? Didn’t you say I must be bored and looking to get laid? Or words to that effect.”
“Amanda—”
She cut him off, her voice no longer quiet, but flat and sarcastic. “I’m mostly surrounded by relatives, and this summer’s already turning into a … sultry one. The nights are so long. And so hot. What’s a girl to do? Oh, I suppose I could wait for Victor to come back, since he’s indicated his interest, but I’d really rather not pander to his inflated ego, and besides, men who believe they’re the world’s greatest lovers never are.”
He could feel something moving inside him, slow and massive and unstoppable, and wondered dimly if she had any idea what this night would unleash. “A waste of your time, in fact.”
“Worse. I’ve a notion Victor has a few nasty habits when it comes to sex, so I’d just as soon avoid his idea of fun.”
“Which leaves me.”
She smiled. “Naturally. So why don’t we just complete this little scene, shall we? Then we can ring down the curtain in style.”
Even in the grip of his own tumultuous emotions, Walker had the sudden realization that he had unquestionably succeeded in shattering her calm facade. She was wildly furious, definitely offended and possibly hurt. Her smile was bright and false, her voice so sweetly mocking it was unsteady, and she was shaking visibly. Before he could say anything, she was going on in that dulcet, taunting tone.
“Why don’t I make it easier for you? I’ll say to you that since you’re the only interesting and available stud in the immediate neighborhood, I did stroll over here tonight to get laid. And then, while I wait expectantly, you can tear me to shreds by voicing your scorn and loathing and telling me what a whore I am. And if that doesn’t make you feel a nice sense of superiority, you can add a few choice insults regarding my utter lack of attractiveness and desirability as far as you’re concerned.”
“Amanda—”
“Oh, go ahead, Walker. Isn’t that what You’ve been trained to do—decimate an adversary by whatever means are required? Isn’t that what You’ve been doing? If you can’t gain control of the situation any other way, then just fall back on the tried and true, and humiliate and degrade me. That’ll teach me a lesson. And I sure as hell won’t stroll over here again looking to get laid—no matter how hot the nights get.”
“Amanda, wait.” He stepped forward and caught her arm as she was turning away. She froze, and eyes as intense as a cat’s in the dark glittered at him.
“Go to hell.” She jerked her arm from his grasp and hurried toward the stairs.
Walker hesitated only an instant, then swore and went after her. He caught up with her under the big oak tree between the house and the woods, and was hardly aware of the soft, damp grass under his bare feet. When he grabbed her arm this time, she made a wild sound and tried to claw at him with her other hand, but he caught her wrist before her nails touched his face.
“Amanda, I’m sorry,” he said roughly. Her wrist was shockingly small in his grasp, and he was abruptly, overwhelmingly conscious of how defenseless she was in the grip of any man.
She went still, but her voice dripped scorn. “No, you aren’t. And I’m not either. It’s a relief to know where I stand with you. I knew you thought I was a liar—how I know what else you think of me.”
“You know I want you.” His hands shifted to her shoulders, and he shook her a little, aware of his control splintering and unable to do a thing about it. Between the two of them, they had torn down the barriers, all the barriers, and the only thing that was left was the truth. This truth. “You were right about that, and we both know it. Right that it doesn’t matter who you are.”
She pushed at his hands. “Let go of me—”
“No, not until you listen to me. I’m not in control of this situation, and it is driving me crazy—and that’s why I tried to hurt you. Why I’ll probably try to hurt you again.” His fingers tightened, biting into her shoulders. He didn’t want to say this, but the naked words spilled out of him, quick and sharp with urgency.
Jesus, why couldn’t he stop this?
“I think about you all the time, every day and every night, at the office and in court and here and at Glory, until I’m half crazy with it. Christ, I am crazy. I can’t sleep because I dream of having you and wake up so frustrated I have to pace the floor like some caged animal.”
He shook her again, and his furious voice was like a lash. “Do you understand now? Want is a feeble word to describe how I feel about you, and desire doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m obsessed, damn you, so filled with you there’s no room for anything else.”
She was staring up at him, still for an instant but then moving again, trying to jerk away from him. “Stop it—let go of me, Walker!”
He laughed harshly. “Not what you had in mind, is it? Too intense, too unromantic, too abrupt—too much. But that doesn’t matter either, does it? Because you want me too, Amanda. That’s why you came over here tonight.”
She was still again, wide darkened eyes fixed on his face. She wet her lips in a gesture that was nervous rather than provocative. “I—I don’t know. … I didn’t mean to come over here tonight, not all the way to the house, I just started walking, following the path, and when I saw you, I …”
“You expected a civilized conversation followed by a little genteel necking?”
This time, his harsh mockery didn’t disturb her, because she was so absorbed by the startling change in him. It astonished her that the sleek, cool, and rather dispassionate man of the past weeks had hidden within him such fierce, dark, turbulent emotion, and she didn’t know quite what to make of him. He was right —she had thought no further than likely kisses and possibly an affair of sorts—hadn’t let herself think further than that—and it was utterly tame compared to the obsessive desire he described so vehemently.
He was also right in believing it wasn�
�t what she wanted. Not now. With the overwhelming complications in her life right now, the various strains and tensions and undercurrents and puzzles, the last thing she would have gone looking for was anything—anything —demanding more of herself than she wanted to give.
“It doesn’t matter what I expected,” she managed to say calmly, very conscious of his nearness, his unexpectedly powerful chest and arms, and the way his fingers kneaded her shoulders with strong, restless movements he probably wasn’t even aware of. “You don’t like what you feel, and I don’t have the emotional energy to cope with—” She conjured a twisted smile. “—with anything more complicated than getting laid.”
“Then I’ll have to settle for that, won’t I?”
Even in the dimness, his expression was almost frightening in its intensity, and Amanda felt a queer inner jolt, as if all her senses had received a profound, almost primitive shock. She wanted to back away— no, to run away—but she couldn’t move at all. Her heart was pounding, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe and deep inside her was a heat she had never felt before.
“No.” She swallowed hard, unable to even look away from him. “I can’t. You want too much. You—”
He bent his head in an abrupt movement, his mouth covering hers hungrily, and Amanda forgot whatever she’d been about to say. Her hands were on his naked chest, fingertips probing thick, soft hair and hardness beneath. He didn’t feel like a man who spent his days in a suit behind a desk. He felt like a construction worker or a rancher, like a man who used his muscles in the vigorous daily struggles of life.
And he was hot, hotter than the night, his skin burning as if it could hardly contain the fever raging inside him. Her lower body molded itself to his of its own volition, and the shock of his arousal sent another wave of heat through her. She knew she was kissing him back, her mouth as fierce and blindly compulsive as his, and that almost-brutal desire was so powerful and so unexpected it made her dizzy.
Then Walker jerked his head up, leaving her lips feeling swollen and throbbing, almost bruised from the force of him, and he drew a breath that sounded more like a growl. “I need you.” His voice grated. “Need you. I thought it would go away, but it hasn’t, it’s only gotten worse.”
