Читать книгу Against All Odds - Gwynne Forster, Gwynne Forster - Страница 8

Chapter 2

Several days later, frustrated by the poor caliber of the applicants she’d contacted, Melissa answered the phone without waiting for her secretary to screen the call.

“MTG.”

“Melissa? Adam. You must have guessed that it was me. Otherwise you wouldn’t have picked up, right?” What had come over him? She’d had the impression that he didn’t joke much, but that if he did, his words had an important, second meaning.

“Well?”

His voice carried a tantalizing urgency that challenged her to open up to him, but the very idea put her on guard, and she shifted in her chair. He had to be thirty-four or -five and couldn’t have reached that age without knowing his effect on people, especially women. Well, if he wanted to play cat and mouse, fine with her, but she was not going to be the mouse.

“Sure thing,” she bantered. “Didn’t you know that I’m a psychic?” She wasn’t, but let him think about that.

“You disillusion me. I thought you answered because you’re on my wavelength, but I’ve been wrong a few times. How are you getting along?”

“Just fine.”

“You have some good prospects? That’s great.”

“I don’t have any prospects, but I’m just fine.” Silence greeted her delicate laugh. “Adam, what happened to that sense of humor you had a minute ago? Don’t tell me that it only operates at somebody else’s expense?” Before he could reply, she asked him, “You wanted something?”

“I told you. I want to know how you’re getting along with the search.”

“Adam, when I have a candidate, I’ll contact Jason Court.”

“Are you saying you prefer speaking with Court?”

Melissa’s sigh, long and deep, was intended to warn him of her exasperation. “I’m assuming that you’re too busy to deal with so insignificant a matter as a head hunt.” Where was her brain? How could she have told him that he was paying her an exorbitant fee for an insignificant service?

Adam’s thoughts must have parallelled hers, because he spoke in clipped tones. “I didn’t realize you thought so little of the service you provide.” Did his voice reflect bitterness? She wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry, Adam. It wasn’t my intention to imply that I don’t take your needs seriously.”

“Now you see why I dislike discussing business on the telephone. If I had been looking at you, I wouldn’t have mistaken your intent. Have lunch with me, and let’s straighten this out.”

“Adam, I don’t see that there’s anything to straighten out. Anyway, you probably won’t enjoy lunch with me. I don’t care much for power executives and two-hour lunches.”

He spoke more slowly, and his tone suggested that he didn’t like what she’d said. Why did the worst in her always seem to come out when she talked to him? She reckoned that, no matter how much the corporate giant he was, he had feelings, and she didn’t want to hurt him.

“I take it you don’t care for executive men. Why?”

“It isn’t that I dislike them—I understand them.”

He winced, and she had no trouble figuring out what he’d thought of that. Not much.

“I wasn’t aware that we were all alike,” he replied with pronounced sarcasm. Then he asked her, “Melissa, when you signed our contract, did you know I was a member of the Hayes-Roundtree family in Beaver Ridge, Maryland?”

“Yes, I knew.” She’d been expecting the question and had wondered why he hadn’t asked earlier. That was one thing she had decided she liked about him—he didn’t waste time speculating if he could get the facts. “I run a business, Adam, and I try to give my clients good service. If I think I can find them the kind of employee they want, I take the job. I don’t hold one person responsible for what another did.” The words had barely left her mouth when she realized her mistake.

His low, icy tone confirmed it. “Moses Morris’s accusation was false and unconscionable, and that was proved in court.”

“I’m sorry I alluded to that. I’d rather not discuss it. As far as I’m concerned, the matter was over seventy years ago.”

“No. You won’t state where you stand on that issue, though you know it’s important. You’ll evade it just like you walked out of my office without completing our discussions the day I met you. Avoid the heat, lady. That way you can stay calm, unruffled, unscathed, and above it all.”

She couldn’t tell from his voice whether she had angered him or saddened him, but she wouldn’t let him browbeat her. “You’re very clever to have learned so much about me in the...let’s see, two and a half hours that you’ve been in my presence. The arrogance of it boggles my mind, Adam. Well, let me tell you that I hurt as badly as the next Joe or Jane, and I bleed when I get cut, just like you do.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to— Melissa, this was a friendly call. I wanted to get to know you. I... We’ll talk another time.”

Her gaze lingered on the telephone after she hung up, annoyed with herself for having revealed such an intimacy to Adam. She could hardly believe that he’d been so accurate. She’d gotten out of his office that morning to preserve her professionalism, but for reasons other than he’d said. His effect on her had been mesmerizing, and she’d had no choice but to flee or lose her poise. She couldn’t allow him to regard her as just so much fluff—she headed a flourishing business, and she wanted that fact impressed on him.

* * *

Adam replaced the receiver with more care than usual and stared at the blank wall facing his desk. He didn’t want to feel compassion for Melissa; she’d made a solid enough impression on him as it was. It was one thing to want her, but if he also began to care about her feelings, he’d be in trouble. He had close women friends, but he didn’t allow himself to become emotionally involved with them. One woman had taught him to need her, to yearn for her, but foolish boy that he’d been, he had believed her seductive lies and gone back for more. Her full breast and ripe brown nipples were the first he’d ever seen. She had guided his lips to them while she stroked him, and he’d gone crazy. How could he have known that she only wanted to humiliate him? After nineteen years her vicious laughter still rang in his ears. Not again. Yet his life lacked something vital: a loving woman with whom he could share everything, the deepest desire of his soul; a home warm with a woman’s touch, devoid of the chrome and black leather sofas that decorators loved. And children. He shook his head. Just so much wishful thinking.

He left work late, grabbed a hot dog from his friend, who sold them at a corner pushcart, and made his way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He enjoyed the concerts there. People went because they appreciated the music, not because it was the chic thing to do, and they didn’t applaud halfway through a piece. At intermission he strolled out to the hallway for a stretch and a look at the crowd. Was he seeing correctly? He wouldn’t have thought that Melissa would attend a concert alone. Maybe she was waiting for someone. He watched her, undetected, and saw that she didn’t have a date. Just as he decided to speak to her, she looked directly at him, surprise mirrored in her eyes, and flashed him a cool smile.

* * *

Melissa watched Adam walk toward her, a gazelle in slow motion, and resisted the urge to smile. He must collect women the way squirrels gather nuts, she mused. She told herself not to be captivated by his dark good looks, his blatant masculinity, but she sucked in her breath as he neared her and wished that she’d taken off her distance glasses at the beginning of intermission.

She couldn’t hide her surprise at seeing him there alone. What had happened to the New York City women that such a man as Adam Roundtree attended concerts by himself? She decided not to comment on it, not to rile him, since he seemed more relaxed, less formal than previously, though she sensed a tightness about him. Her heart lurched in her chest as his slow, captivating smile spread over his handsome ebony face. She wasn’t a shy person, but she had to break eye contact with him in order to control her reaction. When her glance found him again, he had nearly reached her, and she had to steel herself against the impact of his nearness. What was wrong with her?

Adam held out his hand to her, and she took it, but they didn’t shake—though that was what he seemed to have intended. Instead he held her hand, and they looked at each other. His gaze burned her until her nervous fingers reached for the top button of her blouse. What is it about him? she asked herself. He spoke first.

“The auditorium is barely half full. Why don’t we sit together for the remainder of the concert?” She didn’t want to sit with him, and she didn’t want him holding her hand. Tremors ploughed through her when he touched her. She eased her fingers from his—feeling as though he’d just branded her—opened her mouth to refuse, and had half turned from him when another familiar voice caught her attention. Gilbert Lewis sauntered toward them.

“Yo, Melissa. I saw you sitting by yourself. I’m going for a drink, mind if I join you?” The man glanced up at Adam. “Or are you busy?” She wondered if he would have suggested it had she been alone.

“Excuse me, Gilbert. I’m with Mr. Roundtree.” She watched Gilbert Lewis walk away and thought how long she’d waited for that small measure of revenge. Small, but priceless. If a man saw a woman with Adam Roundtree, he knew he didn’t have an iota of a chance. The lights blinked, signaling the end of intermission, and Adam touched her elbow to guide her to their seats. She stepped away, but he trapped her.

“Have a good look at me, Melissa, so that you won’t try this trick with me again. I’m not accustomed to being used, Melissa, because nobody dares it. If you didn’t want that man’s company, you could have told him so. You said you’re with me—and lady—you are with me. Let’s get our seats before the music begins.” He walked them to their seats. Chastened, she explained.

“Adam, if you knew how much that scene meant to me, you wouldn’t grumble.”

His tone softened. “Are you going to tell me?”

She laughed. “You’re a hard man, aren’t you? Not an inch do you give.”

His shrug didn’t fool her that time, because his eyes denied the motion. “If it suits you to think that, I wouldn’t consider disabusing you of the idea.” At least he smiled, she noted with satisfaction. They took their seats, and she turned to him as the curtain opened. “You realize, of course, that if I didn’t want to sit with you, I’d be over there somewhere, don’t you?” She nodded toward some empty seats across the aisle. He patted her hand, and his words surprised her.

“I should think so. If you were the type to allow yourself to be steamrollered, you’d be less interesting.”

They stepped out of the great stone building, J. Pierpont Morgan’s grand gift to the city, and into the sweltering night. Several men removed their jackets, but not Adam. Her glance shifted to him, cool and apparently unaffected. She wondered how he did it. She had the impression that he didn’t allow anything, including the weather, to interfere with his adherence to the standards he’d set for himself.

The swaying trees along the edge of Central Park provided a welcomed, if warm, breeze as they walked down Fifth Avenue, but as though they had slipped into private worlds, neither spoke until they reached the corner and waited for the light to change.

“It’s early yet,” Adam observed. “Let’s stop somewhere for a drink.” If he hadn’t been staring down at her, she reasoned, saying no would have been easier. But a smile played around his lips almost as if he harbored a delicious secret—she didn’t doubt that he did—and the twinkle in his eyes dared her to be reckless.

She voiced a thought that tempered her momentary foolhardiness. “Adam, if anybody in Beaver Ridge or Frederick saw us walking together, they’d be certain the world was coming to an end.”

“Why?” he asked, taking her arm as they crossed the street, “we’re not holding hands.” She was grateful that he wasn’t looking at her and couldn’t see her embarrassment, but she needn’t have worried, she realized, because his thoughts were elsewhere.

“Melissa, why did you agree to find a manager for me if you knew who I was?”

“What happened between our grandfathers was unfortunate, Adam, and it is one legacy that I don’t intend to pass on to my children. I’ve never been able to hate anyone, and I’m glad, because hatred is as crippling as any disease. Believe me—I’ve seen enough of it. Anyway, why shouldn’t I have taken your business?” she hedged, unwilling to lie. His large retainer had been her salvation. “I operate a service that you needed and for which you were willing to pay.” She looked up at him and added, “It’s tempting to walk through the park, but that wouldn’t be safe even with you. How much over six feet are you, Adam?”

“Four inches. How much under it are you?”

“Four inches.”

He stopped walking and looked down at her. “How much under thirty are you?”

“Two years.” Her lips curled into a smile. “How much over it are you?”

“Four years.” He grasped her hand and threaded her fingers with his own.

Each time she was with him, he exposed a little more of himself, she realized. His wry wit and unexpected teasing appealed to her—she liked him a lot. Pure feminine satisfaction enveloped her. Here was a man who was strong and self-reliant, sure of himself, who didn’t need to blame others for his failures, if he had any. She shook her head as though to clear it. Adam Roundtree could easily become an addiction. And she knew that part of his appeal was his contrast with her father. Adam was direct, fair, but her father tended to be manipulative, at least with her. Adam was a defender, but for all his accomplishments, Rafer Grant was a user.

“Where are we going for this drink? We’re walking toward my place, but we could go over to Madison and find a café or bar. There’s no reason to go further out of your way.”

“Stop worrying, Melissa. I recognize your status as my equal—well, almost.” A glance up at him told her that the twinkle carried humor. “We are walking my way. I live on Broadway just across from Lincoln Center.” When she showed surprise, he slowed his steps.

“Where do you live, Melissa?”

She laughed. “Four blocks from you, in Lincoln Towers.”

They took the bus across Central Park, stopped at a coffeehouse on Broadway, and idled away three-quarters of an hour.

“How long have you lived away from home?” he asked between sips of espresso.

“Since I left for college. A little over ten years.”

“Do you miss it?”

She thought for minute. “No. I guess not. Our home life was less than ideal.” Hot little needles shimmied through her veins when his hand reached across the tiny table and clasped hers, reassuring her. She knew right then that he’d protect her if she let him.

“I’m sorry.” His words were soft. Soothing. She wouldn’t have thought him capable of such gentleness. “That must have been difficult for you,” he added.

“Oh, it wasn’t all bad. From time to time, I got lovely surprises that brightened my life.”

“Like what?”

“Let’s see. The occasional rose that I’d find on my dresser. The little crystal bowl of lavender potpourri that would appear in my bathroom. Books of poetry under my pillow. I remember I was so happy to find ‘The Song of Hiawatha’ there that I read it and cried with joy half the night.”

His strong fingers squeezed hers in a gentle caress. “Who was this silent angel?”

“My mother.”

His perplexed expression didn’t surprise her, but she was glad that he didn’t question her further. He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head as though dismayed. “Ready to go?”

She nodded. As they left, he took her hand, intensifying her wariness of him and of what she sensed growing between them.

“Walk you home?” he asked her. She wanted to prolong the time with him but thought of the consequences and tried to extricate her fingers from his, but he held on and then squeezed affectionately. Warmth flowed through her, a warmth that strengthened her, invigorated her, and enhanced her sense of self. She noticed couples, young and old, among the late evening strollers, some of whom were obviously lovers, enraptured, in their own world. Some seemed to argue, to be ill at ease in their relationship. Others appeared to have been together so long that complacency best described them, but they all held hands. Like small children clutching their security blankets, she mused. When they reached the building in which she lived, Adam assumed a casual air and looked down at her, silently awaiting a signal for his next move. What a cautious man, she thought as she prepared to head off any gesture of intimacy on his part. Though wary of the guaranteed effect of his touch, she extended her hand.

“It’s been nice, Adam. Since we’ve just had coffee, I won’t invite you for more. Maybe we’ll meet again.”

His displeasure wasn’t concealed by the dancing light in his eyes, she noted. “Are you always so cut and dried?” When I’m nervous, yes, she thought. Without waiting for her answer, he went on. “Your tendency to dismiss people could be taken as rudeness. Why are you so concerned with protecting yourself? Trust me, Melissa. I can read a woman the way fortune-tellers read tea leaves. You’d like this evening to continue, but you’ve convinced yourself that it wouldn’t be in your best interest, and you have the fortitude necessary to terminate it right now. I like that.”

He grinned. She hadn’t seen him do that before, and she couldn’t decide what to make of it. Why didn’t he leave? She didn’t want to stand there with heat sizzling between them. Tension gripped the back of her neck, and her hair seemed to crackle with electricity when he took a step closer. She moved, signaling her withdrawal from him, and he pinned her with the look of a man who knows every move and what it symbolizes. His brazen gaze told her that her reprieve was temporary, that he knew she was susceptible to him, and that he could easily get her cooperation in knowing him more intimately. Her blood raced when his right hand dusted her cheek just before he nodded and walked away.

* * *

Melissa closed her apartment door, leaned against it, and sighed with relief. Adam Roundtree was quintessential male. An alluring magnet. But she wasn’t fool enough to ruin her life—at least she hoped not. But the uneasy feeling persisted that Adam Roundtree got whatever he wanted, and that her best chance of escaping him was if he didn’t want her. Just the thought of belonging to a man like him was drugging, a narcotic to her libido. With his height, fat-scarce muscular build and handsome dark face, and those long-lashed bedroom eyes with their brown hazel-rimmed irises, he was a charismatic knockout. Add to that his commanding presence and... A long breath escaped her. She recalled his squared, stubborn chin and the personality that it suggested and concluded that if he softened up and stayed that way, he would be a trial for any woman. She heard the telephone as she entered her apartment, and excitement boiled up in her at the thought that Adam could be calling her from the lobby.

Her hello brought both a surprise and a disappointment. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t call me again, Gilbert.”

“You suggested it,” he said, “but I didn’t agree.” At one time she couldn’t have imagined that this man’s voice would fail to thrill her or that her blood wouldn’t churn at the least evidence of his interest.

“You don’t say.” His weary sigh was audible. Women didn’t dangle Gilbert Lewis, and she found his impatience with her disinterest amusing.

“Well, if you didn’t agree, what’s your explanation for this long hiatus? Do you think I’ve been twiddling my thumbs waiting to hear from you?” She didn’t approve of toying with a person’s feelings, but where Gilbert was concerned, she didn’t have a sense of guilt—if he had feelings, he hadn’t made that fact known to her. She grinned at his reply.

“Honey, you don’t know how many times I’ve tried to reach you, but you’re never home. Let’s get together. I’m giving a black tie party next Saturday, and I want you to come. And bring Roundtree.” The latter was posed as an afterthought, but she knew it was the reason for his call. Ever the opportunist, Gilbert Lewis had called because he wanted to meet Adam Roundtree. He had no more interest in her that she had in him.

“And if Adam has other plans, may I come alone or bring someone else?” She had evidently surprised him, and his sputters delighted her, because she’d never known him to be speechless.

“Well,” he stammered. “I’ve always wanted to meet the guy. See if you can get him to come.” She imagined that her laughter angered him, but he was too proud to show it. When she could stop laughing, she answered him.

“Gilbert, you couldn’t have been this transparent four years ago. If you were, there must have been more Maryland hayseed in my hair than I thought. Be a good boy, and stick to your kind of woman. I’m not one of them.” She hung up feeling cleansed. What a difference! Her thoughts went to Adam. That man would never expose himself to ridicule or scorn.

Minutes after he left her, Adam sat at a small table in the Lincoln Center plaza drinking Pernod, absently watching the lighted waters spray upward in the famous fountain. Across the way, the brilliant Chagall murals begged for his attention, offering an alternative to his musings about Melissa Grant, but he could think only of her. His strong physical reaction to her mystified him. He sipped the last of his drink, paid for it, and walked across the street to his high-rise building.

“This has to stop,” he muttered to himself. He’d never mixed business with pleasure, but when they’d reached her apartment building, he had wanted more than the coffee she refused to offer or a simple kiss—he’d wanted her. She would never know how badly. Sound sleep eluded him that night. Another new experience. Like a flickering prism, Melissa danced in and out of his dreams. Awakening him. Deserting him. And waking him up again.

* * *

Adam walked into his adjoining conference room promptly at eight o’clock to find coffee and, as he expected, his senior staff waiting for him. Their normal business completed, he detained them

“Where might an abusive man look for a woman who’d defied him and escaped his brutality?” he asked the group. Anywhere but a small town was the consensus. He returned to his office and began redrafting plans for a women’s center in Hagerstown, Maryland, an unlikely place for one. His secretary walked into his office.

“Are you planning to open another one?” He nodded, explaining that “this is more complicated and more ambitious than our place in Frederick.”

Her gaze roamed over him, with motherly pride, it seemed. “If you need help with this, I’ll work overtime at no cost to you. It’s a wonderful thing you do for these poor women, supporting these projects from your private funds.”

He leaned back in his big leather chair. “I can afford to pay you, Olivia, and I will. You do enough for charity.”

“Pshaw,” she demurred. “What I do is nothing compared to the help you give people. These homes for abused women, that hospital ward for seriously ill children, and the Lord knows what else. God is going to bless you—see if He doesn’t.”

He shook his head, rejecting the compliment. “I’m fortunate. It’s better to be in a position to give than to be on the dole.” Abruptly he changed the topic. “Olivia, what do you think of Melissa Grant? Think she’ll find me a manager for Leather and Hides?”

“Yes. She seemed very businesslike. Real professional. Anyhow, I trust your judgment in hiring her. When it comes to people, you don’t often make mistakes.”

Adam slapped his closed left fist into the palm of his right hand. Not in the last fifteen years, he hadn’t, but the thought pestered him that where Melissa was concerned he was ripe for a blunder of the first order.

Melissa. He had the sense that he’d been with her before. She reminded him of a woman he’d danced with in costume one New Year’s Eve. He’d been dancing with the woman, but at exactly midnight she’d disappeared, leaving an indelible impression. As farfetched as it seemed, whenever Melissa spoke in very soft tones, he thought of that unknown woman. Perhaps he’d wanted the woman because she was mysterious. His blood still raced when he thought of her. Warm. Soft. He’d like to see her at least once more. Yet he wanted Melissa. He rubbed the back of his neck. His elusive woman was at least two, maybe three, inches shorter than Melissa, but he couldn’t dismiss the similarity in allure.

He picked up the business section of The Maryland Journal and noted that the price of sweet crude oil had increased more rapidly than the cost of living index. His folks were no longer in the natural gas business and had sold their property in Kentucky, so fuel prices didn’t concern him, but every day his family had to combat the scandal brought on by Moses Morris’s unfair accusation of seventy years earlier. Anger toward the Grants and Morrises surged in him as he reflected on how their maltreatment had shortened his grandfather’s life and embittered his mother. His passion for Melissa cooled, and he strengthened his resolve to stay away from her.

He dictated a letter pressuring Melissa to find the manager at once, though the contract specified one month. He rationalized that he wasn’t being unfair, that he was in a bind and she should understand.

Several hours later Adam told himself that he would not behave dishonorably toward Melissa or anyone else, that he should have investigated MTG and identified its president. He tore up the letter and pressed the intercom.

“Olivia, get Jason for me, please.” Melissa hadn’t been in touch with Jason, and that riled him. He paced the floor of his office as he tried to think of a justifiable reason to telephone her. Finally, he gave up the idea, left his office and went to the gym, reasoning that exercise should clear his head. But after a half hour, having conceded defeat, he stopped as he passed a phone on his way out and dialed her number.

Adam held his breath while the phone rang. She’s in my blood, he acknowledged and wondered what he’d do about it.

“Melissa Grant speaking.”

“Have dinner with me tonight. I want to see you.”

* * *

She had dressed when he arrived at her apartment. He liked that, but he noticed her wariness about his entering her home. He didn’t put her at ease—if she didn’t want to be involved with him, she had reason to be cautious, just as he had. It surprised him that she didn’t question why he’d asked her to dinner, and he didn’t tell her, reasoning that she was a smart woman and old enough to divine a man’s motives. He’d selected a Cajun restaurant in Tribeca, and it pleased him that she liked his choice.

“I love Cajun food. Don’t you think it’s similar to soul food?”

He thought about that for a bit. “The ingredients, yes, but Cajun’s a lot spicier. A steady diet of blackened fish, whether red or cat, would eat a hole in your stomach. Reminds me of my first trip to Mexico. I’d alternate a mouthful of food with half a glass of water. I don’t want that experience again. Come to think of it, that’s what prompted me to learn to cook.”

“You cook?”

He knew she wouldn’t have believed it of him, and neither would any of his staff or business associates. “Of course I cook, Melissa. Why should that surprise you? I eat, don’t I?”

“Aren’t you surprised that we get on as well as we do?” she asked him. “Considering our backgrounds, I’d have thought it impossible.”

He let the remark pass rather than risk putting a damper on a pleasant evening. Later they walked up Seventh Avenue to the Village Vanguard, but neither liked the avant-garde jazz offering that night, and they walked on.

Adam took her arm. “Let’s go over to Sixth Avenue and Eighteenth or so. The Greenwich Village Singers are performing at a church over there, and we may be able to catch the last half of the program. Want to try?” She agreed, and at the end of the concert, Handel’s Judas Maccabeus, he walked with her to the front of the church to shake hands with two acquaintances who sang with the group. While he spoke with a man, his arm went around her shoulder, automatically, as if it belonged there, and she moved closer to him. He glanced down at her and nodded, letting her know that he’d noticed and that he acknowledged her move as natural, but he immediately reprimanded himself. He’d better watch that—he’d been telling the man with whom he spoke that Melissa wasn’t available, and he had no right to do it.

“That was powerful singing,” he remarked, holding her arm as they started toward the front door. She nodded in agreement.

“That mezzo had me spellbound.” He tugged her closer.

“Would you have enjoyed it as much if you hadn’t been with me?” She looked up at him just before a quip bounced off of her tongue. She’d never seen a more serious face, but she had to pretend that he was teasing her.

“I doubt it,” she joked, “you’re heady stuff.”

“Be careful,” he warned her, still serious. “I’m a man who demands evidence of everything. If I’m heady stuff, you’re one hell of an actress.” His remark stunned her, but she recovered quickly.

“Oh, I’ve been in a drama or two. Back in grade school, it’s true, but I was good.” Laughter rumbled in his throat, and he stroked her fingers and told her, “You’re one classy lady.”

* * *

Melissa looked around her as they continued walking down the aisle of the large church toward the massive baroque front door and marveled that every ethnic group and subgroup seemed to be represented there. She stopped walking to get Adam’s full attention. “Why is it,” she asked him, “that races and nationalities can sing together, play football, basketball, tennis and whatever together, go to school and church together, but as a group, they can’t get along? And they make love together—what’s more intimate than that? You’d think if they can do that, they can do anything together.”

“But that’s behind closed doors,” he explained. “Two people can resolve most anything if there’s nobody around but them, nobody to judge them or to influence them. Take us, for instance. Once our folks get wind of our spending time together, you’ll see how easily a third person can put a monkey wrench in a relationship.”

* * *

Melissa quickened her steps to match those of the man beside her. He must have noticed it, because he slowed his walk. Warmth and contentment suffused her, and when he folded her hand in his, she couldn’t make herself remove it. Was the peace that seemed to envelop her the quiet before a storm? She couldn’t remember ever having felt so carefree or so comfortable with anyone. Adam was honorable, she knew it deep down. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t leave her to cope alone with the problems that they both knew loomed ahead if they continued to see each other.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he asked her, “Would your family be angry with you if they knew we spent time together?”

Looking into the distance, she nodded. “I’d say that’s incontestable. Furor would be a better description of my father’s reaction.” She tried to lift her sagging spirits—only moments earlier they had soared with the pleasure of just being with him. He released her hand to hail a speeding taxi, and didn’t take it again. She sat against the door on her side of the cab.

With a wry smile, Adam commented, “If you sat any farther away from me, you’d be outside this cab. Scared?”

She gave him what she intended to be a withering look. “Of whom?”

“Well, if you’re so sure of yourself,” he baited, “slide over here.”

“I read the story of ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’” she told him solemnly, careful to maintain a straight face.

“Are you calling me a wolf?”

She was, she realized—and though he probably didn’t deserve it, she refused to recant. “You used that word. I didn’t. But I bet you’d be right at home in a wilderness.” Or most other places, she thought.

She controlled the urge to lean into him, when his long fingers stroked the back of her neck. “Don’t you know that men tend to behave the way women expect them to? Huh? Be careful, Melissa. I can howl with the best of them.” Tremors of excitement streaked through her. What would he be like if he dropped his starched facade?

“What does it take to get you started?” she asked idly, voicing a private thought.

“One spark of encouragement from you.” He flicked his thumb and forefinger. “Just that much, honey.” She couldn’t muffle the gasp that betrayed her.

“Move over here,” he taunted. “Come on. See for yourself.” Tempting. Seductive. Enticing her. The words dripping off of his smooth tongue in an invitation to madness. She clutched the door handle and prayed that he wouldn’t touch her.

“Melissa.”

She clasped her forearms tightly. “I’m happy right where I am.” Her heart skittered at his suggestive, rippling laughter.

“You’d be a lot happier,” he mocked, “if you closed this space between us.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Believe me, honey,” he purred, “I’m doing exactly that.” If she didn’t control the impulse, her fingers would find his and cling.

He took her key to open her door for her and held it as though weighing the consequences of alternative courses of action. After a few minutes during which he said nothing and she was forced to look into his mesmeric eyes while she fought rising desire, she had the impulse to tell him to do whatever he wanted—just get on with it. But seemingly against his will, as if he pulled it out of himself, he spoke.

“I’d like to spend some time with you, Melissa. I don’t have loose strings in my personal life nor in my business affairs. I need to see whether our friendship, or whatever it is that prevents our staying away from each other, will lead anywhere. I’m not asking for a commitment, and I’m not giving one. But there’s something special going on between us, and you know it, too. What do you say?”

“We’ll see.” Even if she hadn’t already learned a lesson, she had good cause to stay away from Adam. The most optimistic person wouldn’t give a romance between them a chance of maturing, because no matter how they felt about each other, their families’ reactions would count for more. So that settled it—she wouldn’t see him except with regard to business. But how could she be content not knowing what he’d be like if she let herself go and succumbed to whatever it was that dragged her toward him? Oh, Lord! Was she losing sight of the storm that awaited her when Rafer Grant learned of her passion for Adam Roundtree?

* * *

Adam awakened early the next morning after a sound and refreshing sleep. He’d made up his mind about Melissa, and as usual he didn’t fight a war with himself about his decision. That was behind him. He suspected that given the chance, she’d wrestle with it as any thinking person in her circumstances would, but he didn’t plan to give her much of a chance.

He scrambled out of bed as the first streaks of red and blue signaled the breaking dawn, showered, poured coffee from his automatic coffee maker, got a banana, and settled down to work. He liked Saturday mornings, because he was free to work on his charities, the projects whose success gave him the most pleasure. The Refuge, as the Rachel Hood Hayes Center for Women that was situated in Frederick was commonly known, had become overcrowded. He had to find a way to enlarge it and expand its services. His dilemma was whether to continue financing it himself or seek collaborative funds. If it were located in New York City or even Baltimore rather than Frederick, raising the money would be fairly simple, but corporations wouldn’t get substantial returns from humanitarian investments in Frederick, and he couldn’t count on their support.

He looked out of the window across Broadway and toward the Hudson River, knowing that he wouldn’t see Melissa’s building. He had had years of impersonal relationships and loveless sex, and he had long since tired of it. After the humiliation of that one innocent adolescent attachment, he’d sworn never to be vulnerable to another woman. The lovers he’d had as a man had wanted to be linked with Adam Roundtree and regarded intimacy as a part of that. They hadn’t attempted to know or understand him. Hadn’t cared whether he could hurt or be disappointed. Hadn’t dreamed that a hole within him cried out for a woman’s love and caring. But Melissa was different. He sensed it. He knew it. He pondered what his mother would think of Melissa. She’d probably find reasons to shun her, he mused, and none of them would have anything to do with Melissa herself. Mary Hayes Roundtree was bitterly opposed to the Morris/Grant people for having vilified her family’s name without cause. And he suspected that Melissa’s fair complexion might bother her, too—his mother liked to trace her roots back to Africa, and she ignored all the evidence of miscegenation that he could see in the Hayes family. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He couldn’t and wouldn’t allow his mother’s preferences and prejudices to influence his life.

He spent an hour on his personal accounts, then lifted the receiver and dialed her number.

“Hi. I mean, hello.”

He could barely understand the mumbled words. “Hi. Sorry to wake you, but I’ve been up for hours. Want to go bike riding?”

“Biking?” The sound resembled a lusty purr, and he could almost see her stretching languorously, seductively. “Call me back in a couple of days.”

“Come on, sleepyhead, get up. Life’s passing you by.”

“Hmm. Who is this?” He had a sudden urge to be there, leaning over her, watching her relaxed and inviting, seeing her soft and yielding without her defenses. Her deep sigh warned him that she was about to drop the receiver.

“This is Adam.” He heard her feet hit the floor as she jumped up.

“Who? Adam? Bicycle?” A long pause ensued. “Adam, who would have thought you were sadistic?”

“I didn’t know I was. Want to ride with me? Come on. Meet me at the bike shop in an hour.”

“Where is it?”

“Not far from you. Broadway at Sixty-fifth Street. Eat something.”

“Okay.”

They rode leisurely around Central Park, greeting the few bikers and joggers they encountered in the still cool morning. Melissa knew a rare release, an unfamiliar absence of concerns. It was as if she had shed an outer skin that she hadn’t known to be confining but the loss of which had gained her a welcomed freedom. She looked over at the man who rode beside her, at his dark muscular legs and thighs glistening with faint perspiration from their hour’s ride and at the powerful arms that guided the bike with such ease. From her limited experience, she had always believed that it was the man who wanted and who asked. She shook her head, wondering whether she was strange, decided that she wasn’t, and let a grin crease her cheeks. Self-revelation could be pleasant.

* * *

“Let me in on it. What’s funny?”

“Me.” She replied and refused to elaborate, watching him from the corner of her right eye. He slowed their pace and headed them toward the lake. At the shed he locked and stored their bikes and rented a canoe for them. He rowed near the edge of the lake. The ducks made place for them amidst the water lilies, and some swam alongside the canoe, quacking, seemingly happy to provide entertainment. Melissa looked around them and saw that, except for the birds, they were alone. The cool, fresh morning breeze pressed her shirt to her skin, and she lowered her head in embarrassment when she realized he could see the pointed tips of her breasts. Her restless squirming seemed to intensify his fixation with her, and she had to employ enormous self-control to resist covering her breasts with her arm.

“Don’t be shy,” he soothed, “let me look at you. I’ve never before seen you so relaxed, so carefree.”

“If you saw it all the time, you’d soon be fed up with it,” she jested in embarrassment. “And maybe worse. One Latin poet, I believe his name was Plautus, said that anything in excess brings trouble.”

His half smile quickened the twinkle of his eyes, and her hands clutched her chest as frissons of heat raced through her. “I prefer Mae West’s philosophy,” he taunted. “She said too much of a good thing is wonderful. You stick with Mister What’s-his-name’s view.” Melissa stared at him. Did he know what he’d just done to her?

His eyes caressed her while she squirmed, rubbed her arms, and moistened her lips. As though enchanted, he dropped anchor and let the boat idle.

“You’re too far away from me. If I wasn’t sure this thing would capsize, I’d go down there and get you.”

“And do what?” she challenged. Heat seemed to radiate from him, and she shivered in excited anticipation.

“When I finished, you’d never think of another man. You know you’re playing with fire, don’t you?” She wrinkled her nose in disdain.

“Keep it up,” he growled, “and I’ll go down there to you even if this thing sinks.” The air crackled and sizzled around them, and she fought the feminine heat that stirred in her loins. Sweat poured down her face as his hot gaze singed her, but she struggled to summon a posture of indifference. Nose tilted upward and chin thrust forward, she teased him, her voice unsteady.

“Planning to rock the boat, are you? Well, if you let me drown, the Morrises and Grants will have your head.”

She thrilled from head to toe as his laughter washed over her, exciting her. “I’m scared to death, Melissa. I’m shaking in my Reeboks.” Her right hand dipped into the lake as a duck swam by, and she brought up enough water to wet the front of his shirt.

“Lady, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Cooling you off.” She hoped she’d made him give her some room. She hadn’t. He looked at her steadily and spoke without a trace of humor.

“If you think I’m hot now, Melissa, you’re in for a big surprise.”

* * *

Adam watched as her eyes widened and knew she was at a loss as to how to handle him. He regretted that—he wanted her to handle him and to enjoy doing it. He pulled up the anchor and began rowing. The trees heavy with green leaves and the quiet water provided the perfect background against which he could appreciate her beguiling loveliness. His fingers itched to replace the breeze that gently lifted her hair from her shoulders and neck, and his lips burned with the impulse to taste her throat, to... They had the lake to themselves. If he dared... He raised his gaze from the water surrounding them and caught the naked passion unsheltered in her eyes. Watched, flabbergasted, as she licked her lips. Desire sliced through him, and he had to fight to rein in his rampant passion.

He rowed back to the shed, surrendered their boat, and retrieved their bikes. He was in control, he assured himself. He could stop the relationship, walk away from it anytime he chose. Or he could have until he’d seen the heat in her eyes and the quivering of her lips—for him.

* * *

He stood in front of the building in which she lived, looking down at her, trying to keep his hands to himself. She squinted at him and licked her lips. Did she want him to...? He ran his fingers over his short hair in frustration.

“Melissa, I... Look, I enjoyed this.” He settled for banality, when what he needed to tell her was that he wanted her right then.

She smiled in an absentminded way and responded to his meaningless remark: “Me, too.”

Maybe he’d spend some time with Ariel on Sunday and get his desire for Melissa under control. Abstinence wasn’t good for a man. He smiled grimly as he bade Melissa goodbye, admitting to himself that self-deception wasn’t good for a man, either. The next morning, Sunday, it was Melissa whom he called.