Читать книгу Swept Away - Gwynne Forster - Страница 9

Now who could that be? He put his felt-tipped pens in the holder he kept for that purpose, slipped his feet into his house shoes and took his time walking to the front door. He had to finish the design of his New Age cable TV channel descrambler before he went to bed that night, and he didn’t welcome an intrusion. He knew his dad wouldn’t go to the door, because he didn’t let anything, especially unexpected visitors, interfere with his work. The brass knocker tapped several more times, less patiently than before. He opened the door.

He stared. Something akin to hot metal plowed through his belly, and an indefinable gut-rearing sensation winded him as if he’d just run a mile. She stared back at him.

“What are you doing here?” they asked each other in unison.

“I live here,” he managed, groping for his sanity. Where had she come from and why was she here? But he didn’t ask her, because he didn’t trust his eyes.

“You…you live here?” She checked a piece of paper that she held in her left hand. “Is this 37 Waters Edge?”

A twinge of apprehension coursed through him. “Yes. This is number thirty-seven. Why are you here, Veronica?” His hope had already begun to dissolve into nothing, because he saw no affection in her manner, not so much as a smile. Rather, she seemed troubled, far more so than when they’d sparred in court. He didn’t like the aura of unhappiness that seemed to settle over her.

“Why are you here, Veronica?”

Her deep breath and eyes that suddenly glistened with unshed tears rocked him, but he waited, trying to ignore the pain that suffused his body, for he realized at last who she was. And he knew she wasn’t happy with what she’d discovered.

“I came to see Richard Henderson, my birth father. Don’t tell me; I’ve already guessed. You’re the son he adopted.”

He didn’t recognize his own voice, cracked and tired. “I’m Richard Henderson’s son.”

They stared at each other, stared for one poignant moment. As if she didn’t want to be reminded of the fire that had burned between them, she dropped her gaze. At that, he opened the door wider and beckoned her to enter.

“You’ve rattled my whole foundation,” he told her. “This takes some getting used to.”

She didn’t look at him but perused the foyer where they stood. “Tell me about it. Is my father home?”

Cue number two: she didn’t intend to be friendly.

Veronica closed her eyes as though in fervent prayer. “Are you related to Richard Henderson?”

Schyler backed up a few steps, symbolically distancing himself from her. “Related?” he asked, shaking his head as though denying the possibility. “By blood, you mean?”

She nodded, afraid of his answer, vaguely aware of a sense of foreboding. She didn’t want a relationship with Schyler Henderson, did she? So why was she afraid he’d say yes? And even if her heart skipped and hopped at the sight of him, even if her blood boiled thinking of him, wasn’t he the man who had self-righteously jimmied her world?

“Well?” she pressed him.

“Not to my knowledge,” he finally said. “He took me in when I needed him, and I’d give my life for him.” He closed the front door and began walking with her toward the rear of the house, but suddenly he stopped. “Why are you searching for him after all these years?”

His aura warmed her, but she didn’t want to respond to Schyler’s gentle but disconcerting charm and braced herself against it. “I promised my mother. The last words she said to me were ‘Find your father.’ Is he here?”

“Yes. But shouldn’t you have called to let him know you’d be here this afternoon? I doubt a man’s heart will stay a steady beat if he lays his gaze on a daughter he hasn’t seen in thirty years—suddenly and without warning.” His manner was gentle, but his voice stern, giving notice that he’d protect Richard Henderson from everything and everyone, including her.

He was right, but she’d acted partly on impulse. She’d also gotten the courage to do it and she didn’t believe in procrastination. Besides, if she’d asked for an appointment and waited for his reply, she could have gotten cold feet. Or, she’d reasoned, he could have refused to see her.

“I had no guarantee that he’d agree to see me,” she said, answering Schyler’s mild reprimand. “After all, he deserted us.”

His body stiffened, and the gray of his irises seemed to lighten as though glazed over with a coating of ice. She saw his jaw working and knew she’d angered him.

“I don’t believe it!” he spat out. “If you came here to cause my father distress, don’t fool yourself into thinking I’ll stand for it. I won’t!” He walked ahead of her. “My father’s back here.”

As they passed the dining room, her gaze took in the contemporary walnut furnishings and the crystal chandelier that dangled from the ceiling. She imagined that the beautiful carved breakfront contained fine linens, crystal, porcelain and silverware, and resentment of Richard Henderson threatened to choke off her breathing. She’d bet that chandelier cost more than her beloved stepfather made in months of grueling, back-breaking work.

She reflected on Schyler’s admonishment of minutes earlier. “I’ve seen the lion close up when he roared loudest; he can no longer frighten me, Mr. Henderson.”

She couldn’t let the pain she saw in his eyes soften her attitude. He’d had her father’s love; she hadn’t. Yet, something in her hurt for him, and because of him. He put a half-smile on his face, but it never reached his eyes, and she had to grasp her shoulder bag with both hands to prevent herself from reaching out to him. He opened the door to what appeared to be a small solarium. Sunny and homey with white rattan furniture and numerous green plants.

“Who was that at the door, Son?”

Son, indeed! For the first time in thirty years, she heard the voice of the man who’d sired her. And in spite of herself, excitement and anticipation shot through her.

How gentle his voice, she thought, when Schyler answered his father, and how solicitous. “Brace yourself, Dad,” he said, blocking her entrance to the room. “We knew she’d come sooner or later, and she’s here.” He stepped aside. “Come on in, Veronica.”

“Veronica? Veronica!” As she walked in, Richard Henderson bounded up from his desk and started toward her. “Veronica!” He pronounced the name as if it were sacred to him. “I despaired of ever setting my eyes on you again.”

He opened his arms to her, but she couldn’t walk into them, couldn’t make herself act the lie. She gave him as much as she could, extending her hand to him. After seconds during which tension crackled in the room and her blood pounded in her ears, he took her hand and held it, though only for a second.

He stepped back then, and she saw him as he was. Tall. Proud. Self-possessed. If she’d hurt him, he didn’t show it. “If you’re not glad to see me, Veronica, why have you come?”

She tried to shove aside the connection she’d instantly felt to him. An indefinable something that drew and held her, repositioning her center of gravity.

“I came because it was my mother’s last request of me. I promised her I’d find you.”

He gasped, held his head up and his flat belly seemed to jam itself against his backbone. He closed his eyes, large and almond shaped like hers. “Esther is dead? Your investigator didn’t mention it. She’s dead?”

She nodded, unwilling to believe the news would mean anything to him. “Just before my investigator located you.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Schyler move toward his father, but Richard walked over to the window, turned his back and gazed out. From the bend of his shoulders, she knew he’d gone there for privacy, to shield his emotions and to get a grip on them. She glanced at Schyler, but the dark expression that clouded his face as he gazed in the direction of his father gave her no comfort. She walked halfway to the window and paused, uncertain as to what to do. She thought she detected a quick, jerky movement of his shoulders as though a shudder had torn through him. But the man possessed dignity.

He turned and smiled at her. “At least you’ve come. I’d like us to get acquainted. Would you…would you…spend the night?”

She wasn’t prepared for a love-in, not after years of resenting this man who had rejected her, only to welcome another man’s child into his home and his heart.

“Thanks, but I’m staying at that little white, two-story hotel on Front Street. It doesn’t seem to have a name,” she told him, “and I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

Richard made a pyramid of his long fingers, propped up his chin and scrutinized her. She had the feeling that he judged her and found her wanting. But what could he expect from the daughter he’d left thirty years earlier?

He gazed steadily into her eyes. “If Esther told you to find me, what did she want me—or you, for that matter—to know?”

She’d wondered about that but couldn’t guess a convincing answer. “I…I don’t know. She didn’t get a chance to tell me.”

He knocked his right fist into his left palm as she’d seen Schyler do while he tried to sway the judge against her. “I see. In that case, we’ll have to spend enough time together to figure out what was left unsaid. So stay for dinner.”

A command if she’d ever heard one, and her good sense told her to obey it. She glanced at Schyler, who’d said nothing during her exchanges with his father. His guarded expression told her that she’d displeased him and that she was on her own.

“My housekeeper is usually here on Saturdays,” Richard explained, “but she’s at a church outing today. The food will be edible, though, because I cook about as well as anybody, and I’ve taught Schyler to do the same.”

He shifted his glance to Schyler. “Son, why don’t you show Veronica our little village while I get the meal together? We eat at six-thirty, Veronica.”

“Well I—”

Schyler had her by the arm. She didn’t think she’d find his fingerprints on her flesh, but he had certainly touched her with gentler fingers in the past.

“Finish your writing, Dad. There’s plenty of time before dinner. I’ll entertain her.”

He ushered her into the living room and pointed to a brown leather recliner. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Dark colors didn’t do a thing for her, and her green suit would die against brown. Feeling wayward and, in a way, trapped, she ignored his suggestion and sat on the huge cream-colored sofa.

“Thanks, but I’ll sit over here.”

He stood several feet away looking at her. And saying nothing. She resisted crossing her knee, or swinging her foot, or pulling her hair. And she was damned if she’d rub her nose. When she could no longer stand this scrutiny, she blurted out, “Are you being rude deliberately?”

His shrug was slow, nonchalant. “If I were, you’d probably know it, considering what an expert you are at it.”

She knew she deserved the reprimand, for she’d hurt Richard Henderson when she didn’t return his warm greeting. But she couldn’t explain it to Schyler, couldn’t expose herself by telling him what her youth had been compared to his.

Instead, she defended herself. “I’m honest, Mr. Henderson, and I’m not good at pretense. I was as gracious as I could be.”

He dug the toe of his house shoe into the broadloom carpet. “Yes. I suppose you were. But that’s not saying much. Did you plan to hurt him? Did you come here to get revenge for something he doesn’t seem to remember?”

She could feel her shoulders sag with a heavy weight that seemed to shroud her body. Weary in spirit. She knew it wasn’t the kind of fatigue that a tub of hot water could soak away. It seeped into her marrow and nearly brought tears to her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she replied, trying honestly to understand her motive. “I don’t believe I planned anything. This is a trial for you and for him, but what do you think this visit is doing to me? I looked at him, and for the first time, I saw myself. My eyes, hair, coloring, face and height. It’s as though I didn’t know myself until now. Don’t you think this is a shock for me? That it hurts? No. You’re too busy judging me. Both of you.”

He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his trousers, sat down with his legs spread wide apart and gazed steadily at her. After what she figured was a full minute, he rested his left ankle on his right knee and leaned back in the chair.

“And how do you think I feel, Veronica? You’ve taken up permanent residence in my head. A woman who turned me around. A woman who detests my dad and with whom I’ve had a rough legal battle. A woman who probably blames me for having done my job as honestly and competently as I knew how. But the worst of it is the fire between us, a fire so hot not even our attitudes toward each other can put it out.”

She jerked forward, ready to deny it, even as the woman in her yearned to touch him and to feel his hands hot on her flesh.

He waved a disparaging hand. “I don’t need your agreement on this. I’m thirty-six years old, and I know when a woman is attracted to me. We both felt that…” He threw up his hands as if in surrender. “Chemistry or whatever the minute we met.”

She opened her mouth to disown it and to accuse him of arrogance, but dancing lights suddenly twinkled in his eyes and a smile played loosely around his mouth, knocking her off balance. Her heart shimmied, frenzied, like a demon possessed, and in spite of herself, her hand clutched at her chest.

“Don’t worry,” he soothed, “the way things are going, I expect fate intends to keep a lot of distance between us. A pity, though. We could have danced one hell of a dance.”

She leaned forward, disappointment chilling her to the bone, yet fascinated with his cool acceptance that he wanted what he wasn’t likely to get or even to pursue. “How can you say that when we’ve never even tried to be friends?”

He flexed his shoulders in a quick shrug and strummed his fingers on the wide arm of the recliner. “Certain people can’t begin with a friendship.” Shivers coursed through her as desire blazed briefly in his gray-eyed gaze.

He shrugged again, seeming to downplay the importance of what he said and of what he’d felt. “With us…too many obstacles. Too many and too big when we met and even stronger ones now.”

“Right. The main one being all that energy you expended trying to get me convicted of a crime I didn’t commit.”

He flinched, and a stricken expression flashed over his face. Then he laid back his shoulders and looked her in the eye. She had to hand it to him; the man ruled his emotions.

“Do you want to reopen that matter? The judge dismissed the case for lack of evidence, vindicating you. Let’s bury it, shall we?”

She couldn’t believe he’d said it. “Don’t you realize you torpedoed my career? Let’s bury it, you say.” She snapped her finger. “Simple as that.”

He leaned forward, his eyes beseeching her. “I’m not callous, Veronica. I just can’t see the use of continuing the argument. If I’ve caused you any damage, you know I’m sorry, and I’ll do anything I can to repair it.”

She gave him the benefit of her sweetest smile. “A guy thing, huh? If you don’t see a reason, there isn’t one.”

His gray eyes widened in surprise. “Good grief, is that the way I come across to you?”

Don’t let him snow you, girl, she told herself, when crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Just cut it right out.” She slammed her hand across her mouth when she realized she’d spoken those words aloud.

Caught out, she jumped to her feet. “I’ll…I think I’ll see what’s going on in the kitchen.” She didn’t know why she’d said that; she didn’t want to be alone with her father because she didn’t know what to say to him.

Schyler saved her. “Uh-uh. Dad hates to have anybody in that kitchen with him when he’s cooking.”

She sat down. Trapped. She had to get out of there. Away from him and his mesmeric eyes and seductive smile. “In that case, I think I’ll go for a walk. You must have something you’d rather be doing.”

His teasing grin and the sparkles in his eyes couldn’t be taken for anything but frank deviltry. “Not another single thing,” he said and placed his right hand over his heart. “Just keeping you company, and it’s my pleasure.”

No sooner had he said it than Richard appeared in the door of the living room. “There you two are. I know you wanted to finish that descrambler, Son. So I appreciate your taking the time to get to know Veronica, because that’s important to me.”

As Richard looked from one to the other, Schyler put up his hands, palms out, in surrender. “Okay, so I lied. Truce?”

“I won’t ask what that was about,” Richard said and left them alone.

She didn’t realize her demeanor had changed until Schyler frowned. “How can you dislike him so much when you don’t even know him?” he asked her. “Is he kind, warm, gracious, honest and decent? Is he? Does he pay his debts, and does he help people who can’t do for themselves? Does he? You can’t answer, and that means you can’t judge him.”

She wanted to erase the pain reflected in his eyes, to hold him and…For a quick moment, her gaze went toward the ceiling. A father she’d been taught to despise inextricably tied to a man whose smile made her head swim and whose every gesture made her long for the feel of his arms hard around her. A man who made her dream dreams that kept her blushing for days. If she was being punished, she’d like to know what she’d done to deserve it. She wished her ambiguous feelings toward him would sort themselves out, that she could either despise Schyler Henderson and dismiss him from her life or let herself feel what her heart and body longed to experience. And while her conflicting feelings battled with each other, she searched for a gentle reply. Truthful, yet without the verbal tentacles that could pierce the heart.

“It’s best not to pry, Schyler—if I may call you that. There’s a well of hurt and misery that you apparently know nothing about. I don’t know anything about it, either, only what I’ve been told, what I had drilled into me ever since I’ve known myself. You said you’re not callous. Neither am I. Don’t dig deep. It’s enough that one of us carries the burden.”

He reached across the three feet of space that separated them and grasped her hand. “Don’t make that mistake, Veronica. All three of us feel the pain. Tell me why you’ve taken a three-month leave from CPAA and why you’ve hinted you might not return to your job.”

She shared with him her reasons for downplaying the importance of a job that had consumed all of her energies, thought and passion for the previous five years. Her proving ground. The place where she’d taught herself that she could do whatever she set herself to do and do it well. Her chest went out and her shoulders back.

“I had to get away from there, to find myself. I’d done a lot of things, covered a lot of miles and garnered my share of laurels, but…” she faced him fully, wanting him to understand what she’d never told anyone “…but I’d never lived. Never wrestled with a relationship slipping through my fingers, never argued and gossiped with girlfriends, never opened my arms wide and let the breeze blow me wherever it would.”

“Back up a minute,” he said, and she had the impression that he was putting events into their proper perspective. “That case wasn’t the only reason why you decided your office can get along without you for three months?? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Some of my reasoning was bound up with that, the fact that after so much acclaim, the community that I had served so selflessly could forget so quickly.”

“What do you mean, people forgot?”

She waved a hand in disdain. “Not one reporter asked me for an interview when that case was closed in my favor.”

His sharp whistle sliced through the room. “I never dreamed.”

“It’s okay now. I learned a lot from that.”

“So you went to Europe. Then what?” he asked.

“I think I’ve done more living in the weeks since I left CPAA than in the previous thirty-two years and five months of my life.”

He leaned toward her, an animated expression on his face, and squeezed her fingers. “You did something you always wanted to do?”

The mere memory of those few exhilarating days eased the harsh feelings that had beset her since she’d stepped across Richard Henderson’s threshold.

She nodded eagerly. “Yes. Oh, yes. I skied the slopes of the Jungfraujoch, hiked alone through the mountain terrain, spent the night with hospitable strangers and got a proposal of marriage from their six-foot-four-inch tall, blond and handsome elder son. Every single second of it exhilarated me. Free. Almost a part of nature. I’ll never forget it.”

Schyler felt her fingers soft and warm in his hand. He’d held them for all of five minutes, and she’d let him. He focused on her words. “A proposal? You sure you’re telling all of this?”

When had he last seen a woman wrinkle her nose in pure wickedness? He braced himself. Maybe she wasn’t as straitlaced as he’d thought.

“All except…uh…his…er request after I turned him down.”

“Wait a minute! Don’t tell me…you—”

She interrupted him, snatching her hand from his as she did so. “You think I’m crazy? The man was a gentleman. He asked. I said no to that, too, and he didn’t press me.”

Schyler let himself breathe. “I would have been surprised if your answer had been different.” He rubbed his chin, reflecting on some of his own temptations. “But when we’re under stress—and you certainly were—we sometime behave out of character.”

A softness seemed to envelop her. He wouldn’t have associated shyness with her, but he sensed it in her changed demeanor and saw it in her lowered gaze. Long lashes, half an inch of them, hid her large, almond-shaped black eyes—so much like his father’s—from him.

“Your eyes must be the most beautiful I’ve ever looked at. It’s a wonder they don’t get you into trouble. Every time you blink, it’s as if you’re flirting.”

She managed to look at something beyond his back. “I’ve been told that.”

Right then he made up his mind to get to know Veronica Overton. He’d seen her regal in her professional armor and arrogant with his father, but the woman before him at that moment was sweet and feminine. If he dug deeper…He stood and it seemed natural to reach for her hand. He did, and she grasped it.

“Come help me set the table for dinner. I can tell from the rattling in the kitchen that he’ll have it ready in five or six minutes.”

Being with her gave him a good feeling, he realized, but he didn’t fool himself. No woman would ever be important to him unless she showed genuine affection for his father. He eyed her as they set the table, and he liked the way she went about it. Unhurried. Self-assured. She might well have been in her own home. At the thought, his belly tightened, and whispers of air skittered through the hairs on his forearms and the backs of his hands, teasing his nerves. Warning him. No you don’t, man, he told himself. Don’t go there! Don’t you even think it. But an image of her in his home, belonging there, and filling it with warmth flitted through his mind.

He shook his head symbolically, getting his mind straight. “You could grow on a guy.”

She whirled around, her face wreathed in the warmest smile he’d ever seen on her. “Think so?”

“Yeah. You think you could handle it?”

Now she was flirting with him. He walked over to the china cabinet where she stood twirling a linen napkin. She grinned at him. “No doubt about it. I can catch anything you can pitch.”

He looked at her hands propped against her hips and couldn’t help laughing. “Anytime you want a demonstration, be glad to oblige you. I like a woman with guts, and you’ve got plenty.”

“Hmmm. You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

So she liked to challenge! Fine with him; he enjoyed a good jostle, and he saw in her a worthy opponent. “I’d better be. A tongue-tied lawyer and an insecure engineer might as well not leave home.”

She worried her bottom lip. “Engineer?”

“Yeah. That’s the other hat I wear.”

He yielded to the temptation to pull the strands of hair dangling in front of her left ear lobe, tugging on them much as he would have on the rope of a bell. “I’m confident. Yes,” he said recalling her comment. “You’re not lacking self-confidence yourself.” He watched her tuck the errant strands behind her ear and marveled at her ability to look over his shoulder at some object past him, but not into his eyes.

“A little boy in my second-grade class used to do that, pull my hair, I mean.” She still didn’t look at him.

He stepped closer to her. “If you don’t look at me, I’ll disappear. Is that what you think? You have to deal with me, Veronica, and I’m here to tell you it won’t be child’s play, either. Believe me!”

She looked at him, her long lashes sweeping up from her cheeks, and her expression was one of mild defiance. Figuring her out could be a full-time job. “I’m equal to the task, Schyler, so let’s not waste time outdoing each other.”

He had to force the smile, because he liked her too much. Or he would, if it wasn’t for her attitude toward his father. Wanting her had never bothered him too much; he could deal with that. But to like a woman who heated your loins every time you looked at her…He let out a harsh breath. Straighten out your head, man.

She might like the truth, and she might not, but anything short of straight talk could take him where he didn’t want to go.

“Look, Veronica,” he said, pronouncing her name slowly to emphasize the importance of his words. “I’ve watched a lot of animals square off, but except for a mother guarding her young, they were never male and female. So don’t count on a big fight between us to cool things off. It isn’t going to happen.”

Her hand went to that unruly hair hanging over her ear, and when she spun it around her index finger, he knew she was stalling for time. Thinking. She had plenty of patience with herself. Good. He liked that, so he waited.

“You know, Schyler,” she said at last, “you’ve been talking out of both sides of your mouth. The right side says maybe, and the other yells, ‘Don’t even think it.’ Doesn’t matter, though, since I probably won’t be around when you get it straightened out.”

Her mocking tone set off the sparks that tripped his ego, but he reeled it in. He made it a point to control his reactions to such deliberate provocations as the one she’d just thrown at him. He was his own man, and if he accepted every gauntlet, he’d get bandied around like a hockey puck.

He smiled as best he could, though he knew it barely touched his lips. “I see you like to fence,” he said, glad for the presence of mind not to say what he was thinking. “Remember that a clever swordsman knows his opponent’s strengths and weaknesses before he agrees to duel.”

“Well, I’m glad to see the two of you getting along,” Richard said as he placed a platter of food on the dining room table, ending their game of taking each other’s measure.

Schyler didn’t want his father to think they’d come to terms, because they hadn’t and probably never would. Only mutual passion united them, and they both had the strength to ignore that.

“We were setting the table, Dad.”

Richard nodded slowly, as one trying to accept the inevitable. “I’ll get the rice and salad. What do you want to drink, Veronica?”

Schyler couldn’t help relaxing when she replied, “Water or white wine with club soda in it,” because his father didn’t hold “drinkerds,” as he called them, in high regard.

Richard returned with the remainder of the meal and lit the huge, five-inch-thick candle that graced the center of the table. He sat between his daughter and his son and held out a hand to each of them. Schyler wondered if the hand Veronica held gave her the same sense of security and well-being that his father’s hand had always given him.

Richard bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, we thank you for this food, and on this special occasion, we thank you for each other. I had decided, Lord, that you weren’t listening to me all these years, but it seems that you were. It’s not exactly as I had hoped and prayed it would be, but she’s here with me. You’ve given us a second chance, an opportunity to erase the hurt and the pain of these thirty years. But with your help and me trying all I know how, I know I can’t miss. I’m accepting this second chance for which I do thank you. Amen.”

Schyler glanced first at his father, who was reaching for the dish of rice, and then at Veronica, who’d glued her gaze to their father. If they could get through the meal in peace, he’d be grateful.

“Have some rice,” Richard said to Veronica, as though he ate with her every day. “You can’t eat shish kebab without rice.”

Schyler thought his heart had stopped beating. Would she accept the dish his father held out to her?

“Nobody has to beg me to eat rice,” she said and held out her plate for him to serve her. “Saffron rice, at that. What kind of meat is it?”

He had to control his heavy release of breath or they would both know he’d feared her response.

Richard served her a large helping and laid two skewers of shish kebabs on it with pleasure so obvious that Schyler ached for him.

“It’s lean, tender pork, slices of sage sausage, mushrooms, onions and green peppers. And I marinated the meat in my special sauce all day.” He watched as she sampled it.

“Hmmm. This is fabulous.” A smile of pure contentment covered her face as she glanced up at her father. “I’m telling you, this is great.”

Schyler said a silent prayer of thanks, and he could see the hope written on his father’s face. He wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t move too fast or hope for too much. But how could he prick that fragile balloon of optimism? Veronica’s behavior was probably nothing more than good manners. The test was yet to come.

Veronica listened to the man she’d learned by age four to dislike say a prayer of thanks that he had been reunited with her, and she heard him express his hope and faith for a future in which she was a part. Her heart constricted at the sound of his words, and she’d never been more torn in her life. But when he passed her the rice, gazing into her eyes with a look that was part challenge and part prayer, he touched her deeply in an indefinable but life-giving spot. From the corner of her eye, she read on Schyler’s face a dread, even a fear that she would refuse the food her father held out to her. I’ve got decent manners, I’m hungry and I love rice, she told herself, handing him her plate.

And she was glad she did. She saw Schyler take a deep breath, close his eyes and let the air pour out of him. And for a second, Richard raised his eyes skyward before looking at her with a smile of delight on his face.

“You’re one terrific cook,” she told him and meant it.

“I like to cook,” he said, savoring morsels of meat and mushrooms. “That’s when I do my best thinking.” He glanced at his watch. “Schyler, it’s still light for another hour or so. Could you give her a tour of our little village? I’ll have the kitchen cleaned by the time you get back, and we can have dessert.”

Veronica looked at Schyler. “You don’t clean up when he cooks?” She shook her head. “Shame. Shame.”

Schyler’s eyebrows shot up with such speed that she knew she’d suggested the unthinkable. “Me? Clean up after he cooks? You’re joking. He cleans up his own mess, and when I cook, I do the same. Ready to go? The bay is spectacular about now.”

She settled into the passenger seat of Schyler’s cream-colored Buick Le Sabre, big and comfortable like the man who’s driving it, she found herself thinking. He backed out of the garage and headed for Front Street, and all she could see as he drove through the little village were white buildings.

“Is there an ordinance in this town that requires all the buildings to be white?” she asked.

“I don’t think so. This place is the bedrock of tradition, so it’s probably just copycatting. I think I’ll check that.”

“I can’t imagine growing up here, though I suspect it was more fun than where I lived, considering you’ve got the Chesapeake Bay at your doorstep.”

So she intended to keep their conversation impersonal, did she? All right. He was known for his patience. “The Seafarers Museum is our biggest attraction. Back in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, this region was a pirate’s playground. They came to replenish their supplies and to ply their contraband goods. Of course, there was a great deal of legal trade as well. Spanish galleons used to take refuge in the bay from those powerful Atlantic storms. So we have a phenomenal cache of treasures from ships that were sunk in these parts. Maybe I’ll take you through the museum next time, but right now I want you to see the sunset over the bay.” He turned the car south, swung down Waters Edge to the bay and parked at the edge of the beach.

He looked down at her feet. “At least you’ve got on low-heeled shoes.”

He got out and headed around to her side of the car, but she opened the door before he reached it.

“Why didn’t I know you’d do that?” he asked.

She favored him with her sweetest smile. “Simple. Because you’re not omniscient. That’s supposed to be the Lord’s specialty.”

He stopped, stuck his hands in his pants pockets, emphasizing his broad chest and flat belly, rocked back on his heels and did what could only be described as a slow burn.

“I get angry about twice every couple of years, Veronica, but you’ve nearly shoved me to it twice this day. Try not to give vent to your sharp tongue and remind yourself what it feels like to hurt.” Before she could answer, he took her arm, walked along the narrow beach and paused. “Veronica Overton, the executive, is a far cry from the woman I’m looking at.”

She didn’t mind the comment; in a way, it was accurate. On the nose. “When I was that woman, I hadn’t skied the slopes of the Jungfraujoch, and I hadn’t hiked alone for miles over flower-strewn meadows in the lap of the Swiss Alps. Imagine being the only person for miles and miles around with God’s blue sky, towering white snow-capped mountains and flowers of every color for company. Not a puff of wind, and air as fresh as new life. It was truly a rebirth. So you’re right. I’m different, and I hope I stay that way. I’m not chasing fame or success, and I’m no longer hell-bent on becoming Secretary of Welfare. I don’t even give a snap about any of it. I’m myself. Free. I mean free!”

His stare didn’t make her uncomfortable, because she knew he was seeing her with new vision. “And you were yourself before,” she heard him say under the edge of his breath. He turned toward the water and stopped as though frozen in time. “Look! Would you just look at that?”

She followed his gaze to the long red rays that streaked across the rolling water, fanning out from the huge red globe that moved slowly downward against a navy blue and gray sky. At her gasp, he moved closer to her, and for the first time, the feel of his arm around her waist sent powerful shivers of sensual awareness plowing through her. Helpless to prevent her tremors and realizing that he was well aware of her reaction to his touch, she made herself look at him to brazen it out, as if trembling for him were of no consequence.

But he denied her that avenue of escape. “Months ago, when you were the consummate executive, I as much as told you we’d have to deal with this. Don’t count on its going away by itself and of its own accord. The chemistry between us is strong enough to cause an explosion, and nothing will make me believe you don’t know that.”

“I’m not going there right now, Schyler. That isn’t something that bears discussion.”

“Oh sure. If you talked about it, that would make it a fact,” he said. “Well, discuss it or not, whatever hooks men and women has its claws in us.” He laughed a deep tension releasing growl. “No point in worrying until it gets unruly.”

She stepped out of his encircling warmth and walked along beside him swinging her arms. The sun dipped into the Chesapeake Bay, and she couldn’t help reaching for him, clutching his sleeve.

“Schyler. That was…It was so beautiful. I don’t think I ever saw anything to match it.”

He took her hand and sat on a log that had rested in its spot so long that the elements had bleached it. “I love to sit here and look out at the bay. You should see it in the moonlight when the stars almost blanket the sky. I’ve spent hours thinking and dreaming right in this spot. Did you have a special spot where you fought your fears, dreamed dreams and plotted your future?”

Suddenly, she didn’t want to share that part of his life with him, and she couldn’t tell him about the times when her only toys were the stories she told herself. Not about the things and places she imagined when, as a small girl, she’d sat on the back porch of her parents’ modest home and tried to count the stars. Not when she’d talked to the owl that hooted nearby and cried a child’s pain when the bird didn’t respond. Schyler had lived in luxury by comparison, a luxury that was rightfully hers. She pulled her hand from his and jumped up from his precious log.

“What is it? What’s the matter, Veronica?”

“Nothing. It’s…Nothing. I…have to go. That’s all.”

He stood, and she swung away from him, fearing his touch. As she moved, she felt her right leg come out from under her, but as quickly, he grabbed her, breaking her fall, and a burst of heat skittered through her body when she realized his fingers were splayed across her right breast. Warm. Delicious. Arousing. She wanted him to caress her, to…She needed him to tighten his hold on her and love her. His breathing deepened, and she heard him suck in air. He didn’t move his hand, but he had to know it was there, where he wanted it to be. The thought kicked her pulse into overdrive and heat spiraled through her veins. Desire quickened her body and, as though he willed it, she raised her eyes and gazed into his—heated pools of blatant need, of hot undiluted want.

She should move, get out of his way. She had to…

“I’m not forcing you to stand here,” he said, his voice low. Guttural.

She wanted to move, but he kept looking at her like that, making her belly churn until her body wanted him to…to…“I’ve…I’ve got to—”

He didn’t spare her. “If you don’t want my mouth on you, say so. Right now.”

She stared into his fiery eyes, glittering pools of unbridled desire, and told herself to run while she still owned herself. At her hesitance, he lowered his head, tightened his grip on her body and stroked her breast possessively, as if he owned it.

“Part your lips for me, take me in and get what you want.” She told herself not to open her mouth, but her disobedient tongue danced around its edges and dampened her lips. She heard him suck in his breath in anticipation.

“Schyler. I…I’m—”

His mouth came down on hers, and frissons of heat pelted her feminine center. Her arms went around him and tightened, and his tongue plunged into her mouth with an expertise that shocked her and sent her blood racing like a wildfire out of control. His hands roamed her body, stroking, teasing, possessing, seducing. Making her his own. Beads of perspiration dampened her forehead, her nerve ends curled like lamb’s hair and the strength went out of her knees, but still he kissed her. She felt his lips tremble, but that didn’t stop him. No longer caring about the consequences, she grasped the back of his head and sucked on his tongue, feasting on it, loving him, taking all he offered. She gave no thought to his pagan groan as his hand squeezed, pinched and caressed her breast; she only wanted, needed his loving. He wrapped her tightly to him, taking her will and her energy, and she slumped in his arms.

They held each other, silently, unable to move and unwilling to articulate what they truly felt.

At last she got breath enough and sense enough to speak. “Schyler, this is…we can’t…I mean…Schyler, I don’t know, I—”

“Shhh. I know I took it too far, but I needed the feel of you in my arms. Badly.” He blew out a mass of air. “I didn’t dream it could be like this.”

He took her hand and started walking toward the car. “I hate to drop something that stirs me the way you do, but you’re going to force me to let it go.” He flexed his shoulders in a quick shrug. “And that may be for the best. But hell, it sticks in my craw like cracked glass.”

She didn’t attempt to coat the truth. “You’re right. We have to let it go, because it spells nothing for us but misery.”

He wanted more. “Will you admit, as I do, that under better circumstances, we…we…might have made memorable music together?”

She noticed that when he said it, he grinned as though savoring a delightful thought. And she knew she should be as honest as he, but no other man had exposed her naked need as he’d done, and she felt too vulnerable and finessed her reply.

“You’re attractive in many ways, Schyler. I respond to that.”

He laughed aloud. “I don’t suppose I had a right to expect more. We’d better get back. Dad’s got that chocolate soufflé ready by now.”

She gulped. “Chocolate soufflé? He can make that?”

“Yeah,” he said in a voice tinged with pride. “And does every time he cooks dinner.”

Her eyes widened. “Why?”

His laughter wrapped around her like a blanket of contentment. “Veronica, I love chocolate. I would eat chocolate soup, chocolate bread, chocolate anything for as long as anybody would give it to me or I could get it for myself. Dad humors me. I expect he’s tired of it. Every dessert cooked in that house has chocolate in it, and a lot of it.”

She couldn’t believe it. “He spoiled you.”

They reached the car, and he opened the door for her. “Yes, he spoiled me. When he met me, I was almost ten years old and couldn’t remember ever having heard the word love directed at me. He knew that.”

There it was again, and it would always be there, looming like a gallows between them. Her joviality was gone.

“Dad’s going to enjoy impressing you with his soufflé.”

His words penetrated her conscious thought only vaguely. Growing up, she hadn’t known chocolate soufflé existed and didn’t get a taste of chocolate unless one of her schoolmates shared a piece of candy with her. Her mother and stepfather hadn’t been able to afford the luxury of chocolate. But the man who’d given her the seed of life had lavished it on a child he didn’t sire, catering to that child’s need and whims. Bitterness simmered within her, rising like bile on her tongue, eating away the rapport she had achieved with Schyler and her father. The hurt came back with the strength of a gale-force storm, beating back the passion that Schyler had dragged from the very bowels of her being.

“I don’t think so,” she said, almost absentmindedly. “I’d better be going. Be seeing you.” She wanted to run, but controlled the urge and walked as rapidly as she could, leaving him standing there. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.