Читать книгу Against All Odds - Gwynne Forster, Gwynne Forster - Страница 9

Chapter 3

A soft sigh escaped Melissa when she awakened and realized that Adam wasn’t with her, that she’d been dreaming, and that the glistening bronze male who’d held her so tenderly was an illusion. Had she leashed her emotions so tightly these past four years that her defenses against masculine seduction were weak and undependable, that a man, who’d never even kissed her, could take possession of her senses? She didn’t think so. What was it about Adam? She reached for her glasses, looked at the clock, decided she could sleep another hour, and turned over. Wishful thinking. She answered the ringing phone.

“Hello,” she murmured, half conscious of the seductive message in her low, sleepy tones.

“So you’re awake. Thinking about me?”

“No,” she lied. “I was thinking about the weather.”

“First female I ever met who gets turned on by thoughts of the weather.”

She frowned. He was too sure of himself. Then she heard his amused chuckle and couldn’t suppress a smile, then a giggle, and finally a joyous laugh.

“Want some company? I want to see you while you’re so happy. You’re uninhibited when you first wake up, aren’t you?”

“Why did you call?” She twirled the phone cord around her index finger and waited while he took what seemed an inordinate amount of time answering.

“I didn’t intend to—it just happened. How about going to the Museum of Modern Art with me this afternoon? There’s a show of contemporary painters that I’d like to see, and browsing in a museum is my favorite Sunday afternoon pastime. What do you say?”

“Depends. I’m going to church, and then I’m going to shoot pool for an hour.” After his long silence, she asked him, “Are you speechless? Don’t tell me I shocked you. Women do shoot pool, you know.”

“Surprised, maybe, but it takes more than that to shock me. Should I come by for you, or do you want to meet me?”

“I’ll meet you at the front door of the museum. One thirty.”

She hung up and immediately the telephone rang, sending her pulse into a trot in anticipation of what he’d say.

“Mama! Are you alright? Why aren’t you going to church this morning?”

“Oh, I am, dear, and I’m just fine. I wanted to say hello before your father and I leave home. Schyler called. He just got a promotion to vice president and head of the company’s operations in Africa. I knew you’d want to know.” They talked for a few minutes, but Melissa’s pleasure at receiving her mother’s call had ebbed. Her parents took every opportunity to boast of her brother’s accomplishments. She hoped she wasn’t being unfair, but if they boasted about her, she hadn’t heard about it.

* * *

Melissa’s status within her family was far from her thoughts while she roamed the museum with Adam. She could have done without many of the paintings, she decided, but an hour among them was a small price to pay for a stroll with Adam in the sculpture garden. She had to struggle not to betray her response when he slung an arm around her shoulder as they stood and looked at a Henry Moore figure, splayed his long fingers at her back as they walked, and held her hand while he leaned casually against a post, gazing at her with piercing intensity—letting her see that his plans for them included far greater intimacy than hand-holding. She had to conclude that Adam Roundtree was a thorough man, that he left nothing to chance. He’d said he wanted to find out if there could be anything between them, and he clearly meant it. He was also stacking the odds. He might need proof, but she knew they had the basis for a fiery relationship, and he couldn’t want that anymore than she did, but he was in a different position. He was head of his family, and his folks might not try to censor him as hers surely would, but she couldn’t believe he’d be willing to drag up those ancient hatreds.

Adam let his gaze roam over Melissa. Her wide yellow skirt billowed in the breeze, and he could see the outline of her bra beneath her knitted blouse. Her softly feminine casual wear appealed to him, made her body more accessible to his touch, his hands. He grasped her arm lightly. “I’ve got a friend in Westchester I’d like you to meet. Come with me.” He sensed her reluctance before she spoke.

“I have to be home early—I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Come with me,” he urged, his voice softer, lower. Persuasive. “Come with me.” He watched her eyelids flutter before she squinted at him and insisted that she should go home. He knew she wanted to escape the intimacy between them, but he was determined to prolong it.

“I’ll take you home early. Come with me.”

She went.

* * *

They boarded the train minutes before its departure. Melissa didn’t know what to make of Adam’s mood, and his invitation to join him in a visit with a friend perplexed her. She was certain that he hadn’t planned for them to go to Westchester when he’d called her that morning.

“Are we going to visit one of your relatives?”

Adam draped his right ankle across his left knee and leaned back in his seat. “If that were the case, Melissa, I’d warn you. I would never spring a member of my family on you unexpectedly, and I think you know that. Winterflower is a very special friend. You’ll like her. She has an aura of peace about her that’s refreshing—the best preparation for the Monday morning rat race that anybody could want. I go up to see her as often as I can.”

“How old is she?” She could see that the question amused him.

“Oh, around fifty or fifty-five, I’d say. But I could be way off—I don’t make a habit of asking women their age.”

“I got the impression from what you said a minute ago that she’s different. Is she?”

“In a way. Yes. Winterflower doesn’t fight the world, Melissa—she embraces it.” He shrugged elaborately. “Flower defies description...you have to experience her.” So he had a tonic for the New York rat race after all, she mused, pleased that the woman wasn’t his lover.

* * *

A tall Native American woman of about fifty greeted them with a natural warmth. Adam introduced them, and Melissa liked her at once.

“What are you two doing together?” she asked Adam before telling him, “Never mind, it will work itself out. But you’ll both hurt a lot before it does.”

Melissa watched, perplexed, as Adam hugged the woman and then admonished her. “Now, Flower, I do not want to know about the rough roads and slippery pebbles ahead, as you like to put it. You told me about them three months ago.”

The woman’s benevolent smile was comforting, though her words were not. “You’re just coming to them.” Melissa had a strong sense of disquiet as Flower turned to her and extended her hand. “It’s good that you are not as skeptical as Adam is. You complement him well.”

Adam snorted. “Flower, for heaven’s sake!”

Flower held her hands up, palms out, as though swearing innocence. “Alright. Alright. That’s all—I’m not saying anything else.”

They walked around the back of the house to the large garden and seated themselves in the white wooden chairs. Adam moved away from the two women and turned toward the sharp decline that marked the end of Winterflower’s property, impatiently knocking his closed right fist against the palm of his left hand. He didn’t need Winterflower or anyone else to tell him that Melissa was well suited to him, that she could be his match. She was unlike any woman he had ever known. Independent, self-possessed, and vulnerable. He didn’t turn around—he was vulnerable himself right then, and he’d as soon she didn’t know it.

Winterflower served a light supper. The late, low-lying sun filtered through the trees, tracing intricate patterns on them, patterns that moved with the soft breeze and seemed to cast a spell over the threesome, for they ate quietly.

* * *

Melissa spoke. “Are you clairvoyant, Flower?”

Winterflower nodded. “I see what chooses to appear. Nothing more.” Melissa nodded. Not in understanding, but acceptance.

“Why were you surprised to see Adam and me together?” She thought her skin crawled while she waited for what was without doubt a reluctant reply.

“I’ve been associating the two of you with the end of the year.” Winterflower nodded toward Adam, who frowned. He may not agree, Melissa decided, but he didn’t suggest that the woman’s words were foolish, either.

Winterflower’s soft voice reached Adam as if coming from a long distance, intruding in his thoughts. “How is Bill Henry?”

Adam shifted in his chair, aware that her mind was again on the metaphysical. “He’s well enough, I suppose. I haven’t been home to Beaver Ridge recently, and I haven’t spoken with him by phone since I last saw you.”

“You will learn something from him,” she told Adam. “He has taught himself patience, and he has stopped racing through life. Now he has time to reflect, and soon his heart will be overflowing with joy.” She looked from one to the other, nodded, and relaxed as though affirming the inevitable. “And he is not the only one.” Then she turned to Melissa. “Ask Adam to bring you back to see me.”

Adam stood and hugged his friend. “See you again before too long.” Melissa shook hands with Flower and thanked her.

“You’re very quiet, Melissa,” he said, as they trudged downhill toward the train station. “Was I mistaken in bringing you to visit Flower?”

“No. I’m glad you did.” She appeared to pick her words carefully. “You seemed different with her.”

He couldn’t help laughing. “Melissa, I expect everybody’s different around her. She’s so totally noncombative, so peaceful. Life-giving. Sometimes I think of her as being like penicillin for a virus.”

“But she’s also unsettling.”

He slid an arm across her shoulder and drew her closer. “That’s because you were fighting her good vibes.”

“Oh, come on!” she said, and he thwarted her attempt to move away by tugging her closer.

“Now, you’re fighting my vibes.”

“Adam,” she chided, “you could use a little less self-confidence.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Be reasonable. Nothing would lead me to believe that you like wimps.” She wiggled out of his arm. “Go ahead. Move if you want to. You still know I’m here.” She reached up and pulled his ear, delighting him with the knowledge that she needed to touch him.

“Feel better?”

“About what?”

“About giving in to your desire to have your hands on me?” From the corner of his eye, he saw her frown dissolve into a smile, and he stopped, grasped both of her hands in his, and stared down at her.

“You’re delightful, even when you’re trying to be difficult.” Her eyes narrowed in a squint, and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue in a move that he now realized as unconscious. His breath quickened. “You make my blood boil.” She parted her lips as though to speak but said nothing, and his passion escalated as she merely looked down the tree-lined street, escaping the honesty of his gaze. He held her hand as they walked to the train.

“Somehow I can’t picture you with a close personal friend like Flower,” she said as they seated themselves on the train. “You belong to the modern era—she doesn’t.”

“She does,” he corrected. “Winterflower is her tribal name. She is Dr. Gale Falcon, a history professor, but she manages to stay close to her origins. My uncle, Bill Henry, introduced me to her. She and I can sit on her deck for hours at night without saying a word, yet we’re together. I value her friendship.”

“She’s clairvoyant.”

“Oh, yes,” he confirmed, “but that stuff works only if you believe in it.”

“And you don’t?”

His cynical laugh challenged her to accept his premise. “It implies that life is guided by fate, that whatever happens to you is preordained. I can’t accept that. Life is what you make it.”

His hand covered hers to assist her as they left the train, and her inquiring look drew a grudging half smile and an unnecessary explanation. “I don’t want you to get lost.”

“If I get lost, it will be deliberate.”

“I’ll bet,” he shot back. His arm around her shoulder held her close to him as they walked through Grand Central Station. The eyes of an old woman who pushed a shopping cart of useless artifacts beseeched him prayerfully. Melissa thought that he would give the woman a dollar and continue walking. Instead, he stopped to talk with her.

“What do you want with the money?” The woman seemed to panic at the question. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Well, I need some food for myself....” She paused, as though uncertain. “And for my cats, please.”

“Where are you cats?”

“In my room on Eleventh Avenue.” The woman looked into her hand and gasped at the bills he’d placed there. He bade the woman goodbye, and within a few paces a man asked him for money.

“Are you planning to buy a drink?” Adam asked him.

“No, sir,” the man replied. “I’ll take groceries. Anything, so long as I can feed my kids. You wouldn’t have a job, would you?” Melissa’s heart opened to Adam, and she didn’t fight it, couldn’t fight it, as she watched him write down the man’s name and address before giving him money. It made an indelible impression on her that he didn’t ignore the outstretched hand of a single beggar, and she couldn’t dismiss the thought that he might not be as harsh and exacting as he often appeared. She was unable to avoid comparing Adam’s response to people in need with her father’s behavior when accosted by beggars, whom he despised.

“You’re quite a woman, Melissa,” Adam told her as they walked to her apartment door. Her eyebrows shot upward. “You’re straightforward,” he went on. “No roughness around the edges. A man knows where he stands with you. And you’re not a flirt.” A smile creased his handsome cheeks. “At least not with me. And I like that. I like it a lot.” His gaze roamed over her upturned face, as if he searched for clues as to what she felt. He pushed a few strands of hair from her forehead and then squeezed both of her shoulders, letting her know that he wanted more than he was asking for.

“You’re not entirely immune to me, though,” he told her in a near whisper, “and I like that, too. Good night, Melissa.”

Melissa upbraided herself for having spent the day with Adam. She couldn’t fault his decorum, though: no cheap shots, no attempt at intimacy in spite of the almost unbearable sexual tension. He could brighten her life. Oh, he could, if he chose to do so. But he wasn’t for her, and she intended to make sure that, in the future, Adam Roundtree would be just a business acquaintance. She sighed, remembering having made that resolution on two previous occasions.

* * *

After leaving Melissa, Adam strode quickly up Sixty-sixth Street to Broadway, crossed the street, and entered his building. Melissa was beginning to tax his self-restraint. He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. Aching want settled in his loins when he thought of her high firm breasts, her rounded hips, and those long, tapered legs. He stopped undressing. It was one thing to desire an attractive woman, but it was quite another to be captivated by her because she was special, because she had an allure like none other. It bore watching, he decided, pulling off his shorts and getting into bed. Careful watching.

But she was there when he closed his eyes. Deeply troubled, he sat up in bed and turned on the bedside lamp, fighting a feeling he hadn’t had for years. For all his wealth, his phenomenal success as a realtor, and his meteoric rise in the corporate world, his life lacked something. An emptiness lurked in him, a void that begged to be filled with the sweet nectar of a woman’s love.

* * *

Three evenings later Melissa rushed to find her seat before the concert began. She hated being late and had been tempted not to renew her subscription to the museum’s summer concert series, because it meant fighting the rush hour traffic in order to be on time. She shivered from the air conditioning and rubbed her bare arms as she realized belatedly that she’d left her sweater in her office. It would be a long, uncomfortable evening. As she weighed the idea of leaving, a garment fell over her shoulders, and large hands smoothed it around her arms. She looked down at the beige linen jacket that warmed her, felt the gentle squeeze of masculine hands on her shoulders, and fought not to turn around. But she couldn’t resist leaning back, and when his hand rested softly on her shoulder, she tapped it lightly to thank him. So much for her resolve to avoid a personal relationship with him.

They left the concert together, stopped for coffee at a little café on Columbus Avenue, and though there was no discussion of it, she knew he’d walk her home. Maybe this time he wouldn’t leave her without taking her in his arms. But when they entered the lobby of her building, she shuddered at the sight that greeted her. Wasn’t it like her father to appear unexpectedly, giving himself every advantage? Rafer Grant rose from a leather lounge chair and walked toward them. He stopped, gazed at Adam, and fear ripped through her as his mouth twisted the minute he recognized the man whose family he detested.

“What is he doing here with you? Is this why you can’t come home and look after your mother?” He didn’t give her a chance to reply. “How could you consort with this...this man after what he and his kin did to our family? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” Adam’s arm steadied her.

Her voice held no emotion. “Hello, Father. I needn’t say that I’m surprised to see you. There’s no reason for you to be displeased. Adam—”

He interrupted. “Adam, is it? I’m shocked and disappointed at your bringing this man here to your home. It’s disloyal, and I won’t stand for it.”

Adam pulled her closer to him, possessively and defiantly. “How are you planning to prevent it? This isn’t the Middle Ages when you could have her shackled to the foot of her bed. She’s an adult, and she can do as she pleases.”

“It’s alright, Adam.” She was used to her father’s harangues, having endured his reproofs and censure for as long as she could remember, but until now no one had called him to task for it—not her mother nor her brother. She needed her father’s approval—it seemed that for most of her life she’d striven for it. Yet she couldn’t remember a time when he’d praised her. She reached toward him involuntarily, but he waved her aside, glared at Adam, and marched huffily out of the building without having told her why he’d come.

She looked up at Adam, trying to read him. “I’m sorry you were exposed to this, Adam. My father never wanted a daughter, and sometimes I think he’s not sure he has one. At least that’s how he acts.” She’d meant it in jest, but Adam’s dour expression told her that he was not amused. Upon reflection, she wondered if her father might be more caring if she showed him that his opinion of her didn’t matter. Should it matter so much, she pondered, as she and Adam walked without speaking to the elevator, her hand tightly enclosed in his.

At her apartment door he held his hand for her key, and she gave it to him and watched him open her door. Inside, Adam asked her, “Does your father always behave this way with you, or was he disrespectful because you were with me, a Roundtree?”

“Both. He’s that way when I do something that displeases him,” she explained, “which is fairly frequent.”

“How does he act when you brother displeases him? Or does that ever happen?”

She hesitated; even though she was displeased with her father and ashamed of his behavior toward her, she couldn’t criticize him. Especially not to a man whom he considered an enemy.

“Adam, my brother doesn’t displease my parents.” Then as the implications of her words hung between them, she joshed, “He’s the good kid.

“Come on in the kitchen with me while I make some coffee.” She had to change the subject—she didn’t want Adam to see her as an ineffectual person. They were business associates, and she’d better remember that. She gave him a mug of coffee, and when he nodded in approval after having sniffed it, she was glad she’d made it strong.

“I like it straight,” he told her, when she offered sugar and cream. “I also like your taste. I wouldn’t have thought that beige and a dark gray would be so comfortable to look at, but this kitchen is attractive. Of course, the yellow accents don’t hurt.”

Her surprise at his interest in colors must have showed, because he shrugged and explained, “I dabble in watercolors.” Then he asked her, “What’s your hobby?”

She hesitated. “I go to a library in Harlem on Saturday mornings in the winter and conduct a children’s story hour.”

“That’s not a hobby, Melissa. That’s volunteer work. What’s your hobby? I mean, what do you do for fun, just to please yourself?”

She didn’t reveal that part of herself to acquaintances. Only her mother knew of her secret pleasure, though she hadn’t let her mother read her verses. A desire to share herself with Adam welled up in her. She didn’t look directly at him. “I like to write poetry. When I was at home, before I went to college, I used to sit in my room writing poems, and if I heard my father or brother roaming around or calling me, I’d hide what I was writing under my mattress.”

His grim expression disconcerted her. “You don’t think much of poetry writing?” He stood, his gaze boring into her. “I was thinking that I’ve known you less than a month and yet I know you better than your family does.” Lowering her eyelids, she tried to veil her emotions from his probing stare. Her sudden self-consciousness must have been evident to him, for his casual posture suddenly changed. As though attempting to rein in an uncustomary wildness, he jammed both hands in his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels before turning swiftly and heading toward her hallway. Her ingrained courteousness overcame her diffidence, and she followed to see him out. At the door he turned to her.

“It’s too bad that my presence caused you problems with your father. I expect you have enough trouble with him without having to explain why you were with me.” She sensed that this impatient, demanding, and sometimes harsh man could be gentle, tender, and he would be that way with her. Her gaze drifted up to his face to the yearning, the fiery passion in his eyes and unconsciously she moved to him.

“Adam. Oh, Adam.” Both of his hands reached out and wrapped her into his embrace. Her senses reeled at the feel of his big hand behind her head, positioning her for the force of his mouth. Heat shot through her when his marauding lips finally took possession of her, imprisoning her in a torrent of molten passion. He nipped her bottom lip and quickly, as if she’d waited a lifetime to do it, she opened for him and welcomed his hot tongue into every crevice of her hungry mouth. She reveled in the savage intensity with which he loved her, crushing her to him, then caressing her with a gentleness that belied the strength of his ardor. She opened her mouth wider, and as if he sensed a deeper need in her—one that he wanted to fulfill—his hand stroked her bottom then pulled her up until the seat of her passion pressed against the unmistakable evidence of his desire.

More. She needed more. To be a part of him, to crawl inside of him. One hand moved to his head to increase the pressure of his mouth on hers while the other caressed his face and neck. Frantically she undulated against him. His groan warned her to stop it, but she couldn’t make herself move from him. The feel of his hard chest against her tender, sensitive breasts, his hands moving slowly over her back, and the intimacy of her position against him enticed her closer. She wanted... His hands gently separated them and held her from him. When she dared look at him, she saw his difficulty in maintaining control. Honest to a fault, as always, when she could restore her equilibrium, and without thought to sparing either of them, she told him, “If you hadn’t waited so long to do that, it might have been easier.”

He released a grudging laugh. “Easier? You’re kidding. Woman, kissing you is easy—it’s the consequences that’ll sure as hell be rough.” He continued to let his gaze roam indolently over her, and she knew his passion hadn’t cooled.

She backed away from him. What had she been thinking about? If she had doubted that an involvement with Adam would rekindle the hatred between their families, her father’s behavior when he saw them together was proof. Adam folded his arms and leaned against the wall, obviously judging her reaction to what had just happened.

“I see you intend to break off personal relations between us. I agree that we ought to at least decide if we want to go where we seem to be headed, but I hope you know that breaking it off and staying away from each other will be easier said than done.” He brushed her cheek with his lips and winked at her. “I’ll call you.”

“At my office on business only,” she quickly interjected. His raised eyebrow did not signify agreement.

She closed the door, drew a deep breath, and sat down to assimilate her feelings. One minute she had thought he’d walk away from her as usual, but in the next she was reeling from the jolt of his strength and passion. She knew that trouble lay ahead of her, so why was she already anxious for that telephone call? A famous actress once said that she’d have swum the Atlantic to be with her man—I still don’t know exactly why, Melissa reasoned, but I sure am in a better position to guess.

* * *

Two days later, one day short of the month allowed in her contract, Melissa decided that she’d found a candidate with flawless credentials, one whom Adam couldn’t reject. As was her custom, she escorted the candidate, Calvin Nelson, to his potential employer. Jason Court like the man and assured her that his boss would. Adam hired Nelson after an interview that confirmed Melissa’s opinion that Adam was hard, but fair, and that he had a keen mind. And her relief was nearly palpable when Adam made no allusion to the intimacy they had shared the previous Sunday evening.

“You’re African American and so is Mr. Court,” Calvin Nelson commented to Adam. “When I saw you, I was sure I wouldn’t get the job, that you wouldn’t hire a man who wasn’t African American for such a high position in your company.”

Furrows creased Adam’s brow as he leaned back in his chair and weighed the words. The man was open, unafraid to speak his mind; he liked that. “I’m an equal opportunity employer, Calvin. What I want in an employee is competence, integrity, and honor. I don’t give a hoot about a person’s sex or ethnicity.” He stood and shook Calvin Nelson’s hand. “Welcome to Hayes/Roundtree Enterprises, Calvin. Oh, yes. We use first names here and in Maryland. Let me know what I can do to help you get settled in Frederick.”

* * *

Jason shepherded Melissa to the reception room so that Adam could speak privately with his new employee. She blinked to make certain that her eyes weren’t betraying her when Adam followed them and told Calvin to make an appointment to see him the following morning.

“Let’s get some lunch,” he called to them, pausing by his secretary’s desk. “Olivia, call Thompson’s and tell the maître d’ I’m bringing three guests.”

Melissa couldn’t hide her surprise at Adam’s odd behavior. “I thought he’d want to talk to Calvin alone, Jason. And another thing, I didn’t say I was free for lunch.” Her resentment flared at his cavalier disregard for her preferences, forcing her to squash what would have been a rare display of temper. One kiss didn’t give him the right to take her for granted.

“He’s marking his territory,” she heard Jason say.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked him and warned herself to be calm—an agitated person didn’t think clearly.

Jason nodded toward his boss. “He just told me to stay out of his territory, meaning you.”

She reflected for a second. Jason had given her an appreciative glance. More than one, in fact, but she hadn’t thought that Adam noticed.

“How can you say that? I haven’t given him the right to do that.”

Jason’s shoulder flexed in a quick, careless shrug. “You don’t have to give it to him. Adam doesn’t wait for doors to open—he opens them himself. You believe what I’m saying. A man knows when another tells him to back off from a woman. Melissa, I have never lunched with Adam. Unless he has an important client, he doesn’t go to lunch. He has a sandwich and coffee at his desk. You’re the reason he’s going to Thompson’s.”

She turned on her heel and headed for the elevator, but Jason must have guessed her intention, because he detained her. “Melissa, it isn’t smart to belittle Adam. You wouldn’t get away with it, and there’s no point in making an enemy of him. Besides,” he grinned lazily, “the food at Thompson’s is first class. Worth a try.” She looked up as Adam approached the elevator with Calvin Nelson. His disapproving scowl told her that he knew what she’d threatened and dared her to do it. Jason looked from one to the other. He didn’t know that she and Adam were more than business associates, she remembered, forced a smile and got on the elevator.

* * *

Adam stopped abruptly as they walked out of the restaurant, and his companions stared while he greeted a woman with such warmth that neither of them doubted she was a close friend.

“Ariel! What a pleasant surprise!” A smile drifted over his face. He shook hands with his guests, excused himself, and left with the elegant woman. Jason’s knowing look confirmed what Melissa knew: Adam had repaid her and had enjoyed doing it.

“He’s not vindictive,” Jason said, so that only Melissa heard, “but he believes in letting you know how he feels about a thing.” They waved Calvin Nelson goodbye.

“What is this about?” she asked Jason.

“Melissa, surely you know that Adam has cut you away from the pack. He knew you intended to leave his office with me and without telling him goodbye, and he didn’t like it. You didn’t show much enthusiasm for his company and he’s just let you know that he isn’t pining for you.”

“Who was she?” She hated herself for having asked him, but she had to know.

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but I don’t think she’s anyone special, because she made a pass at Nelson but, well...you never know.”

Melissa swore to herself that she hated Adam, that he was just another of the four-martini corporate types she disliked. She wished that it was Jason Court who attracted her, but Adam was the one.

* * *

Adam settled down to work on that August morning, after telling himself that he’d done the smart thing in not calling Melissa over the weekend. They’d moved so fast in the short time they’d known each other that he figured he’d better step back and take stock of things, decide what he wanted. Maybe he’d been wrong last week in not asking her if she wanted to lunch with the group, but she’d been wrong in threatening to walk off in a huff, too. He flicked on the intercom.

“Yes, Olivia. Sure. Put him on.” He lifted the receiver of his private phone. His eyes widened in astonishment at Wayne’s incredulous request. Could he get away for a few weeks, go down to Beaver Ridge, and settle the strike at the hosiery mill? It was becoming increasingly clear that, except for Wayne’s newspaper, the family businesses had been held together by the force of their father’s personality, rather than by his managerial abilities.

“That’s asking a lot, Wayne. I’ll need an office manager for the time I’m gone, and it may be a few days before I can get one. I’ll get back to you.” He hung up and called Melissa, and the anticipation he felt as he awaited her voice surprised him.

“MTG.” His customary aplomb seemed to have deserted him, and seconds passed before he could respond in his usual manner.

“Melissa, this is Adam. I need an office manager right away. Can you get one for me without Jason having to spend hours drafting a contract? I’m in a hurry for this.” He walked around his desk cradling the phone against his left shoulder while he squeezed his relaxer—a plastic object that he kept in his top drawer—with both hands.

“Why do you need one? If your secretary can’t manage your office, maybe you should be looking for one of those, not an OM.”

He hoped that his deep sigh and long silence would warn her that he didn’t have time for games.

“Well?” she prodded.

“Melissa, would you please stop while you’re ahead? When I say I want an office manager, that’s what I want. If you can’t attend to that without lecturing me about how to run my business, I’ll try another service.”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir. Just fax me a job description,” she needled, her tone cool and sarcastic.

Olivia’s voice came over the intercom, and he realized he hadn’t turned it off. “My Lord, Adam, what could she have said to make you mad enough to break the telephone? And I didn’t know you knew those words.” Her chuckle didn’t relieve his boiling temper.

“I’m sorry, Olivia, but Melissa Grant strips my gears, and she gets a kick out of doing it.”

He turned off the intercom, grabbed Betty—as he called his relaxer—leaned back in his chair, and squeezed the plastic object. What was it about her, he pondered. Why did that one woman get to him that way? She could make him madder than anybody else, and she could heat him up quicker and make him hotter than any woman. If he couldn’t get her out of his mind, maybe the solution was to take her to bed and get her out of his system. He dropped the relaxer, pushed away from his desk, and put a hand on each knee as if to rise, but didn’t. That could work either way, and if it brought them closer together, what would he do then?

Adam locked his hands behind his head. She questioned his motives and grilled him about his decision—nobody did that, not even his brother, his closest friend. He could get the response he wanted from most people with just a look, but not from Melissa. Was her attitude toward him part of the old Roundtree-Grant antagonism, or was it just Adam and Melissa, a part of the storm that seemed to swirl around them and between them even when outward calm prevailed? His intelligence told him it wasn’t their last names and that their family ties were irrelevant. He sat up straight, his nerves tingling with excitement. Melissa was worth the cost of getting her.

* * *

Melissa began the search for Adam’s office manager, deliberately looking for a man, because she knew he would expect her to find a woman. He’d repaid her for threatening to defy him in the presence of Nelson and Court. Well, she’d give it back to him. Nobody put her down and got away with it, she vowed, still smarting from the warm greeting he’d given that woman at the restaurant.

* * *

Within an hour after speaking with Melissa, Adam received another call from Wayne.

“Adam, one of the older workers discovered what appears to have been foul play or, at best, an uncommon accident in the Leather and Hides plant. Nearly seven hundred pounds of cattle hides that we’ve earmarked for women’s shoes and luggage have been given chrome tanning rather than vegetable tanning, and the lot is now too soft and too elastic for its intended use. These valuable hides will have to be made into cheaper and less profitable items, and we haven’t been able to trace the error to any worker.”

“Do what you can, Wayne. I’m working on getting that manager.”

He hung up and phoned Melissa. “How’s the search for my OM going?” She was peeved with him, and he knew why, so he kept his tone casual and friendly. He didn’t want her to have an excuse to needle him.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been working on it ever since you made the request an hour ago. When I find one, I’ll notify Jason.”

He couldn’t resist correcting her, but he kept his tone gentle. “Melissa, Jason Court is not in charge of this—I am. Please remember that.” He hung up and stared at the phone. Somebody ought to tell her that he never walked away from a challenge. And she was that...in more ways than one.

* * *

Melissa walked into Adam’s office the following morning with his new office manager, a forty-six-year-old man who had impeccable references. She entered his suite with her head high and defiance blazing across her face.

“Good morning, Mr. Roundtree. I’ve got the perfect person for you. Adam Roundtree, this is Lester Harper.” Adam narrowed his eyes and glared at her for what seemed an interminable minute. Abruptly he extended his hand in a welcome to Lester.

“Have a seat, and tell me about yourself.”

“Well, Miss Grant said I’m just what you need, so I thought—”

Adam interrupted, pulling rank, Melissa thought.

“We’ll see about that,” Adam said, spreading his hands in exasperation. His lips tightened as he ground his teeth and looked Melissa in the eye. “If you’ll excuse us, please.”

Her triumph dissolved into remorse as she realized that he’d practically ordered her to leave them alone. Shivers sprinted along her nerves when his twinkling eyes delivered an icy rebuke. She was teasing a tiger, she realized belatedly, and his whole demeanor told her that he wouldn’t be soothed until he got proper recompense. His gaze held her, refused to release her even when she struggled to look away. And she had no doubt of their message: retribution is mine was their promise.

The day passed too slowly. He had to let her know what he thought of her smart trick, bringing him a man when she knew he would have preferred a woman or anyone less officious than Lester Harper. The man was bound to try lording it over Olivia, and Jason had winced at the sight of him. Clever, was she? Well, he’d see about that! He sighed heavily. She infuriated him—but, heaven help him, he wanted her.

* * *

She answered her door uneasily around seven thirty that evening, knowing intuitively that her caller was Adam. What had possessed her to toy with him, she asked herself, as she slipped the lock.

“You aren’t surprised to see me?”

“Not very.” Why tell him she’d known he’d come after her? When he stepped inside the door without waiting for an invitation, she wouldn’t let him see her eager anticipation of his next move, nor her erotic response to the danger and excitement that his determined look promised her. Goose bumps popped up on her arms, and she rubbed them frantically. He didn’t give her time to regroup.

“Come here to me,” he growled as if he’d waited long enough. She thought she didn’t move, but she was in his arms, his fiery mouth moving over hers, possessively, unbelievably seductive. Her hands moved up to push at his chest, but instead they wound themselves around his strong, corded neck. She felt him growing against her just as he stepped back, though he didn’t release her.

So he was holding back, was he? He’d fire her up, but he wouldn’t let her know how she affected him. Darn him, he wouldn’t play with her and do it with impunity. She pulled him to her and held him so tightly that he could release himself only if he hurt her. And she knew he wouldn’t consider doing that. She felt him then, all of him, and she gloried in his male strength, his heat and energy until his fire threatened to overwhelm her. Now it was he who wouldn’t let go, he who groaned while he spun her around in a vortex of passion, he who held the loving cup and tempted her to drink from it. And how she wanted that sip. But she couldn’t take the chance—there was so much at stake. And he didn’t intend to commit to her, he’d all but said it. It wasn’t Gilbert Lewis whom she was facing; that relationship had been child’s play. Adam’s gaze warned her that he intended to go all the way, and even with her nearsightedness, she couldn’t mistake the storm raging in his eyes.

“I think we’re being reckless.” She spoke softly as if she could barely release the words. “Adam, there would be the devil to pay back home if my family knew what we’re doing.” She hoped her words didn’t make her appear as foolish to him as she did to herself.

“We’re of age, Melissa.” He didn’t sound convincing, she noticed, sensing that his folks would also be furious. “And why do they have to know?” She moved back, farther away from him.

“I refuse to have a secret, back door affair with you or any other man, Adam, and I’m surprised you’d want something like that. I wouldn’t have thought it your style.”

His right index finger moved back and forth along his square jaw, a sure sign of frustration. “You’re right. I don’t want it. My one brief experience with a secret affair, if you could even call it an affair, was disastrous. But then I was only fifteen.” Her eyebrows shot up. He’d started early. When she was fifteen, she hardly knew what boys were for.

They hadn’t moved from her foyer. “Come on in.” He followed as she glided into the living room.

“Melissa, I’m relocating for a couple of months. That may cool things down between us, and if it does, I expect it will be for the best.” She couldn’t argue with that, nor could she understand why it pleased her that his heated look belied his words.

“You’re right again,” she said. “It would be for the best. I think we ought to avoid each other so we don’t reopen those old family wounds, because I don’t want to stir up that mess.”

“Neither do I.” He walked a few paces, turned around, and let her see the desire in his eyes. “But I want you.” A note of finality laced his tone.

His words sent tremors racing through her, but she maintained her composure. “And you always get what you want?” she goaded.

He shrugged. “Why should I want something and not get it if all that’s required is effort on my part? I go after what I want, Melissa. I work hard—I leave nothing to chance, and I get what I go after.”

“This time you may get what you don’t want,” she told him, seeing in her mind’s eye the ugliness on their horizon.

* * *

Adam walked home oblivious to the light misty rain. The minute Melissa had opened her door, she had guessed his reason for being there, and her demeanor had become that of a defenseless person at the mercy of a Goliath. Not that he’d been taken in by that. She could defend herself with the best of them. But she’d parted her lips and squinted at him, and he’d lost it. Getting her to him had been the only thing he’d cared about. He weighed the chances of dashing safely across Broadway against the light, noted the speeding cabs, and decided to wait. Thinking about it now, he admitted that his reason for going to Melissa had nothing to do with the office manager. He’d needed to see her. His displeasure about Lester had been a weak excuse.