He nodded gloomily. “I was afraid you wouldn’t let it pass. I guess I’d better hold dinner for another thirty minutes.”
“It might be wise.”
“My jacket is in the hall closet. Put it on before you go outside. I’m going to be in enough trouble without letting you stalk out there and risk pneumonia.”
“I don’t stalk. It’s much too melodramatic, and I’m very careful about running any risk at all these days. I particularly refuse to risk mental stress when I can probably straighten out the situation with a few minutes of con versation.” She smiled fleetingly. “Andrew doesn’t like me to be upset.”
“Neither does Jon. Which means I’m due to catch hell. Tell them both I’m profoundly sorry.” He sighed. “That’s certainly bloody well true.”
A smile was still lingering on Elizabeth’s lips as she slipped Gunner’s warm suede coat on over her caftan. Her smile vanished, however, when she opened the front door and caught sight of Jon standing with his back to her staring out into the darkness. A light snow was beginning to fall, and a few glittering flakes were captured in the sable darkness of his hair. For the first time since she had met him, he looked totally relaxed. “Jon.”
He whirled toward her, an expression of wariness on his face that hurt her in the same strange way his careless words had earlier in the truck. He was so terribly guarded, every movement charged with painful intensity. She had a sudden desire to soothe away the wariness, hold him until he felt safe and … Good Lord, what was she thinking? Jon Sandell needed protection less than any man she’d ever met. She closed the door behind her. “I want to talk to you.”
He relaxed. “Fine. We’d better go inside, it’s too cold out here for you.”
“No. This will only take a moment. I need the fresh air.” And the darkness. The question she had to ask him was embarrassing enough without having to face his keen dark eyes. She crossed to stand beside him. “The snow isn’t falling very fast, is it? Maybe the Weather Bureau was wrong about the storm.”
“Perhaps.”
She could feel his gaze on her face, and her hands closed tightly on the rough wood of the railing. “I know what I’m going to ask you is silly. It’s all probably some idiotic misunderstanding, but I’m one of those people who can’t rest until they have everything crystal clear.” His face was a shadowy blur, but his stance revealed the same leashed tension she had heard in his voice. She was speaking with bulletlike rapidity, the words tumbling feverishly over each other. “If you’ll just explain what Gunner meant, I’m sure it will—”
“Just what did Gunner say? I can hardly ex plain something away, if I don’t know what it is.”
“He called me … your lady.”
He muttered a curse beneath his breath.
“I knew it was a mistake,” she rushed on quickly. “I just didn’t want to have it nagging at me.”
“It’s no mistake.”
She turned to look at him. “What?” she whispered.
“The only mistake was Gunner’s damn lack of discretion. I should have known he’d blow it.”
“But he said—”
“That you’re my lady? It’s quite true. You are my lady, though I wouldn’t have phrased it in just that fashion. Gunner’s people have a rather simplistic view of the man-woman relationship. Still, the elemental fact exists that you do belong to me.” He paused. “As I belong to you.”
She shook her head dazedly. “This is in sane. I just met you yesterday. We don’t know anything about each other.”
“I know everything about you.”
“From Mark’s letters? He couldn’t have told you more than some basic facts.” She laughed shakily. “And I can hardly believe that letters concerning someone as mundane as me would trigger any fantasies.”
“I know everything about you,” he repeated. “And I try not to fantasize about you at all. It disturbs me too much.”
She couldn’t breathe; the hot tingling in the pit of her stomach caused a muscular clenching that shocked her. No, she couldn’t feel de sire. It was something else. Not desire. Fear, amazement, anger. Not sexual hunger. Sex. The thought sent another shock jolting through her. Sex was a warm gentle river, not a rough, turbulent riptide. Sex was golden, kind Mark, not Jon Sandell. “No, Mark …”
“Mark is dead.” Jon’s words were harsh. “And if he wasn’t, it still wouldn’t matter. He had his turn. You’re mine now.”
“You keep saying that. I don’t belong to any one but myself.” She ran her fingers distractedly through her hair. “And it’s not true. I loved Mark. I don’t love you.”
“You will,” he said with calm certainty.
“How can you be so sure? You may think you know everything about me, but I know nothing about you. Right now, I don’t even think I like you very much.”
“That’s natural. I’m blasting you out of the complacent cocoon you’ve woven about yourself and Andrew. You’re bound to resent it.”
“I’m glad you’re so understanding of my psychological quirks,” she said tartly. “Freud, I presume?”
“Dzatskan, actually.” For an instant there was a hint of humor in his voice. “But I didn’t need his theories to tell me about you, Beth. We fit. You realize that as well as I do.”
“No.” Her voice was shaking. “You’re not the kind of man I could ever care about. You’re not…”
“Mark?” he finished for her. His hands suddenly gripped her shoulders with barely re strained violence. “For God’s sake, give me a chance. I’ll be better for you than Mark could ever have been.”
“If you mean sex, there are other elements in a relationship I value more highly.”
“I didn’t mean sex. I’m talking about love, companionship, and everything that makes two people one.”
“How can you talk about something we don’t have? We’re strangers, dammit.”
“We’re not…” His hands tightened on her shoulders. “I can’t convince you, can I? Okay. Let’s talk about the one aspect of our relation ship even you can’t deny. Let’s talk about sex.”
“I don’t want to talk to you about any of this. I think I’ll go inside.”
“No, you started this discussion. Do you think I wouldn’t have preferred to wait until you knew me better before we reached this point? I could have lied to you, but there’s enough standing between us without that. I won’t let anything stand between us from now on. Not even your fears. You may doubt our compatibility on every other level, but you know you’re as sexually attracted to me as I am to you. Physically we’re absolutely perfect for each other. There aren’t another two people in a million who are as well suited sexually as we are.”
“How can you know that’s true? Do you have a crystal ball?”
He laughed mirthlessly. “Close. It doesn’t matter how I know. All that matters is that you believe me. Sex between us will be absolutely incredible. It wouldn’t matter if you hated my guts, I’d still be able to please you sexually.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said fiercely. “I’m not the animal you think I am. I can’t separate sex and love.”
“Can’t you?”
“No.” She tugged futilely at his hands on her shoulders. Her throat was tight with emotion and she could barely get the words out. “Let me go. I can’t stay here …”
“I won’t let you go. I can’t let you go. You’re a part of me. Shall I tell you what I want to do with you right now? I want to take you to bed and lose myself in you. I want you as naked and hungry as I am.”
“You’re crazy. I’m about to have a child.”
“It doesn’t make any difference. I’d take care not to hurt you or the baby. I could show you roads to pleasure you didn’t know existed. Ways you were meant to travel only with me.”
“Will you shut up! You’re frightening me.” The tears that were brimming in her eyes overflowed and ran down her cheeks. “I don’t want to travel new roads. I don’t want to be here in this strange house. I want t
o be home and safe and—”
He went still. “You’re crying.” His right hand left her shoulder and his fingers gently touched her cheek. “Oh, Lord, I didn’t mean to upset you. Sometimes I get so damned frustrated I strike out at what’s nearest, and there’s no one nearer to me than you. Near to my heart, and my soul, and what I am.” His arms enfolded her and his cold jaw pressed against her tear-stained cheek. He stroked her hair soothingly. “Forget it. I’m only a clumsy, blundering soldier who should know better than to put you through this right now.”
The change in his demeanor from violent passion to paternal tenderness was as bewildering as what had preceeded it. Yet there was no doubting his sincerity. The web of tenderness in which he enveloped her was almost tangible, soothing her with the same tactile gentleness as his hand on her hair. She laughed shakily. “Forget it? How can I forget it?”
“Well, then don’t forget it. I’m not sure I want you to dismiss it completely.” His lips pressed her temple. “I like the idea of your looking at me and remembering how much I want you. Perhaps tonight, as you’re lying in bed, you’ll think about what I’ve said and imagine what it would be like to have me there with you. No, don’t forget it. Just put it aside, and know my wanting you will never be a threat.” He was rocking her gently. “It can only bring pleasure, Beth.”
The snowflakes were falling around them in a lazy dreamlike tempo. She felt dreamlike, too, enfolded in darkness and strength and warmth. “I don’t want this, Jon,” she whispered. “You’re not the kind of man I want to have in my life. There’s too much violence in you. I can feel it all around me when I’m with you.”
“All around you, but never touching you. That’s why I’m here. So that you’ll never know anything but gentleness and tranquillity.”
Her answering laugh rang free and full of mirth. “I haven’t noticed any great degree of tranquillity in the past two days of our ac quaintance.”
“Only because you’ve been fighting me at every turn. If you’d done what I told you to do, you wouldn’t have had to confront Bardot or—”
“I hate people who say ‘I told you so.’”
“I’ll try to restrain myself in the future.” His tone became grave, “In every way, Beth. I’m not as undisciplined as you might conclude. I won’t force an intimacy between us that you’re not ready for. I’m not about to rock the boat by scaring you away from me. I’ll take any thing you’ll give me. Sex, companionship.” He paused. “Love. Anything. The only thing I can’t tolerate is for our relationship to stand still. I’m not a patient man.”
“I suspected as much,” she said dryly. “Of the choices I’ve been given, I’ll opt for com panionship.”
“I was afraid you would.” His tone was faintly rueful. “Pity. The other alternatives I gave you would have been much more inter esting.”
“And riskier. I told you I wasn’t interested in taking chances. All I want is to be safe and keep Andrew safe.”
He slowly released her and stepped back. “Then, that’s what we’ll shoot for. Friends?”
“Friends,” she echoed softly.
“Now, I’d better get you inside and out of the cold.” His big hand ruffled her hair teasingly. “You look like you’re wearing a hood embroidered with snowflakes. You should have waited until I came in to have this discussion.”
“I’m not very patient myself, and you didn’t seem in any hurry to come back inside. You appeared absolutely fascinated by this winter wonderland.”
“It is a wonderland.” His hand beneath her elbow urged her toward the front door. As he opened it, an arrow of light illuminated his face. In that moment he didn’t look hard or violent at all. His dark eyes were shining with eagerness as he studied the exquisite delicacy of a snowflake caught for a moment out of time on the wool of his sleeve. “So beautiful. I’ve read the pattern of a snowflake never repeats itself.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever gone to the trouble to take an in-depth survey.” She gazed at him curiously. “You’re staring at that snow-flake as if you’ve never seen one before.”
“I haven’t. This is a first for me.”
Her eyes widened. “Your first snowstorm? How odd.”
The eagerness in his face was replaced by wariness. “Not so unusual. I grew up in desert country.”
She nodded slowly. “But if you were abroad for so many years I don’t see how you could have avoided running into snow somewhere. Where did you say you were stationed?”
“I didn’t say.” He shrugged. “I’ve batted around quite a bit, but principally in countries in the Southern Hemisphere.”
“No wonder you’ve kept that wonderful tan. Mark’s skin was that lovely bronze shade too. He grew up in a small town in New Mexico. Are you from New Mexico too?”
“We’re from the same general area.” Jon smiled as he closed the door. “You’d love my hometown, Beth. It’s a place where you’d never have to worry about the cold or ice.”
“It sounds wonderful.” She shivered a little as she shrugged out of Gunner’s jacket, opened the closet door, and reached for a hanger. “I visited Daytona, Florida, once and basked in the sun for two solid weeks. I loved every minute of it.”
“Yet you came back to the North.”
“I told you, my home is here. I believe in roots.” She glanced at him over her shoulder as she hung up the jacket. “I guess that sounds very provincial to a world traveler like you.”
“Why should it? It’s usually the people who have no roots who miss them the most.” His large hand closed over her smaller one, his fingers threading through her own. She felt a tiny unexpected shock that robbed her of breath and caused her gaze to meet his. The atmosphere in the last few minutes had been so light, almost casual, she had forgotten the tremendous physical rapport they shared. But he had not forgotten. His eyes were narrowed on her face with understanding and a touch of satisfaction. “You’ll soon discover we have a good many other things in common.”
“Will I?” She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from his brilliant black eyes. The heat began to tingle and build within her and she forced herself to look away. “Well, I’m sure we have one thing in common. I’m absolutely starved. Shall we go and see if Gunner’s man aged to salvage dinner?”
The snow was falling more heavily now, Elizabeth noticed. It still hadn’t escalated into a major storm, but it was proceeding rapidly in that direction. Standing in front of the floor-length windows in her bedroom was almost like being outside in the storm’s midst. She pressed her palm to the glass. It was cold against her flesh. The contrast between the cold beneath her palm and the warmth of the room was pleasant, even faintly sensual.
She jerked her hand from the windowpane. Sensual. The adjective had popped into her mind with a naturalness that bewildered and frightened her. She had never thought of her self as a sensual person. Her sex life with Mark had been quite satisfactory. He had been an understanding and skillful lover, and their lovemaking had been very gentle and sweet. It had been a pleasant part of their marriage, but certainly not a major part. If her sensuality was to be aroused by anyone, surely it should have been with Mark, the man she loved. Not by Jon Sandell.
Yet she was compelled to admit she had been thrown into a fever of arousal more than once tonight. One moment she would be talking and laughing with Gunner and Jon, and the next she would be watching the smooth, co-ordinated litheness of Jon’s movements as he crossed the room to stoke the logs in the fire place. She would look up from pouring a a cup of coffee and find her gaze clinging to the clean hard line of his lips. She would try to keep her gaze from his face and would focus on the lean strength of his hands, and wonder how those fingers would look against the paler flesh of her—
She closed her eyes. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want this aching between her thighs or the swelling sensitivity of her breasts. She didn’t want to look at him and know he wanted her.
At no time during the evening had he been anything but
the perfect companion. He had not betrayed by word or glance anything deeper than avuncular amusement and affection. Yet every minute she had been as conscious of his hunger for her as she had been on the deck outside a few hours earlier. He wanted her to be aware. He had said it himself. He wanted her to lie in bed tonight and think of him.
Well, she wouldn’t do it. If she tried, she could block him out of her consciousness. She shrugged off the loose pink flannel robe and tossed it on the chair beside the window. She started to draw the yellow satin draperies closed, and then changed her mind. It would be soothing to watch the snow fall as she lay in bed. Better than counting sheep.
She slipped between the sheets and pulled the yellow coverlet up to her chin, her gaze fixed with lazy contentment on the falling snow beyond the window. She would go to sleep soon, and if she dreamed at all it would be of the child tucked beneath her heart. She would not permit Jon Sandell to invade her privacy.
The snow was a lovely lacy curtain sticking to the panes, each pattern totally unique. Who had said that? she wondered drowsily. Jon. She had a fleeting memory of his face as he glanced down at the snowflake. Eagerness, wonder, excitement. Such a little thing to be come excited about.
Gunner Nilsen had betrayed the same joyous excitement as he blundered down the dangerous ski slope that afternoon. She would have to remember to ask Gunner tomorrow if he came from desert country too.
She nestled her cheek deeper into the soft ness of her pillow. The clean scent of starch and soap filled her nostrils, and the snow curtain was blurring before her eyes. The crackle of the burning logs in the fireplace was a soothing sound. She would not think about Jon Sandell. A few minutes more and she would be asleep, and the danger would be over.
The snow. There was something she should remember about the snow. Something that had been nibbling at her memory since she had seen Jon’s expression as he looked down at the snowflake. But she wasn’t going to think about Jon. Her lids refused to stay open any longer. She had won. Jon had lost.
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