Home Fires Page 6

  “You can! You can answer me honestly.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to do. But I can’t be honest by only giving you the answers you want to hear if those aren’t what I feel.”

  Her point was well taken. Mark pondered both it and the beseeching expression on her face. “I know, Deanna.” He spoke more gently as he took her hand and led her back through the bedroom to the living room beyond. “But I want you to listen to what I have to say. If you think that tonight has confused you, try to consider what I feel.”

  He led her to a small sofa and settled her in the corner before taking a nearby armchair. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. Deanna saw the lines of concern on his forehead and struggled not to reach out to ease them.

  “We met barely a week ago,” he began, choosing his words carefully, as though anguished by his own vulnerability. “There was an instant attraction between us. I didn’t believe it at first, but it persisted until finally I gave in. Every time our eyes met you spoke to me.” He studied her face for a sign of either rebuke or ridicule. When he found neither he went on. “When I went back home I thought of you, remembering how soft you looked and how … open to me. I didn’t know your name then, but I saw how regal you were. It wasn’t a total surprise to learn who you were when I finally mustered the nerve to ask my waiter.”

  “You … muster the nerve?” Deanna smiled spontaneously. Mark seemed so commanding, with his strong frame and his compelling air, that for an instant she forgot that he had unfulfilled needs as well.

  “Yes,” he grunted back. “Me muster the nerve. I felt as though I was somehow … trespassing.”

  “But that’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed.

  “Not if you’d been in my place, watching the steady stream of visitors who obviously knew you and respected you. I was starting from scratch.”

  Deanna sobered at his reference to her life as Mrs. Hunt. Had that been a lure for him? Could he have been attracted by her status? It was feasible to imagine that she could be exploited. Was that what he wanted to do?

  When he spoke again she found her fears dissolving. “You know, I half wish that you were a struggling working girl. It would be very easy for me to sweep you off your feet I could offer you all those things you’ve never had and bowl you over with my worldliness.” He laughed in self-mockery and shook his head sadly. “But you’re not a struggling working girl, are you? You’ve got everything money can buy. I can only offer you”—his voice lowered —“those things that aren’t for sale. Those things that can’t be priced.”

  Deanna sat raptly, listening to him, her gaze captured. At the last heartfelt declaration she felt the prick of tears in her eyes. Looking down in vain denial of the emotion he stirred, she tried to focus on his words, but those to come were even more emotion-laden.

  “You came to me willingly tonight, didn’t you?” he asked pointedly.

  She twisted the pearl ring slowly on her finger as she struggled to recall its origin. But the fact that it had been a gift from Larry was suddenly irrelevant. “Yes,” she whispered, unable to lie.

  “Why, Deanna? Why did you come? Why did you let me make love to you?”

  She shrugged, frowned and stared at his hands. They were strong and warm and she wished one held her own hand. She recalled how gently he’d touched her, how sweetly he’d caressed her body and brought her to the moment of fulfillment she’d never experienced before. Soft tremors tickled her insides in memory of that glorious instant. But it was past. Now she was being asked to examine her motives. How did one bare one’s soul when its contents were an enigma?

  Her eyes fell on her own hands, clutched together with tension. “Don’t ask me to explain myself,” she pleaded softly. “I don’t think I can do that.”

  “Can you see me again … tomorrow night?”

  Her head flew up. “No.”

  Though he’d known what the answer would be, it was no easier to accept. “You haven’t got other plans, have you?” Silently she shook her head, then raised her brows as he continued. “Will you tell me something, Deanna?” She waited. “Have there been other men since your husband died?”

  Startled by his directness, she stiffened. “You don’t need me to answer that, do you?”

  Mark’s chuckle held admiration. “The perfect evasion.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” she put in quickly. “But I’m sure you already know the answer. If I’d been with other men I would be taking this all in stride rather than agonizing over it, wouldn’t I?”

  “It’s possible”—he arched a brow—“that what you felt with me was powerful enough to frighten you.” The ensuing pause was pregnant with meaning. “Well … ?”

  Deanna jumped to her feet. “I’ve got to go. Really.”

  “You can’t!” Mark stood up just as quickly and reached out to feather-touch the auburn silk of her hair. “I mean …” He shifted self-consciously, grinned sheepishly, then broke into an exquisitely tender smile. “That is … you’d better hitch up your hair again. It looks positively beautiful to me … but that housekeeper of yours is apt to wonder.”

  Deanna put a hand to her shoulder, where her tresses spilled in sensual luxury. “Oh!” she gasped, then blushed, even dared to laugh at herself. “I forgot! You’re right. She would wonder …”

  “Come on.” He tilted his head. “You can use my things.”

  Unwilling to argue, she felt characteristically docile as she retraced her steps to the bathroom. Mark fished a brush from his leather kit, handed it to her, then leaned back against the doorjamb to watch her work.

  After several long strokes she paused. “My hair will be all over your brush … .”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and beamed in delight at the sight before him. “I don’t mind. Except for the length, it’d be hard to tell your hair from mine. And it’s not as if I have a jealous wife to wonder who’s been sharing my hairbrush.”

  Deanna froze. Unable to move, she stared at Mark in the mirror. “You don’t have one, do you?” she asked, horrified at the thought of what she might have done. Indeed, much of her horror was due to the fact that the possibility of his being married hadn’t once entered her mind.

  But rather than ridiculing her naivete as he might have done, Mark laughed his pleasure and shook his head in gentle wonder. “No, honey. I’m not married. If I was I would never have invited you here tonight. I might have sentenced myself to a hell of frustration, but I wouldn’t have made love to you. I do have some scruples.”

  Hiding her relief with a renewed assault on her hair, Deanna turned to silently scrutinize her own image. She had given herself to a man tonight and she barely knew him. What did that say about her values? What did it say about her past … her future? Who was he really? Had he ever been married? And what was he doing in Atlanta?

  Mark grinned knowingly. “Okay, Ms. Hunt. Is there something else you’d like to ask?”

  “No!” she vowed softly.

  “You’re sure? I thought you’d be curious.”

  She found no amusement in his own apparent amusement. Perhaps that was what hardened her. “The less I know, the easier it will be …”

  She’d hit her mark. His features sobered instantly. “To walk out on me?”

  Grimacing, she softened. “It’s not quite that way.”

  “But that is the end effect,” he countered quietly.

  Holding her hair up with one hand, Deanna blushed to realize that her silk clips were back on the bed where they’d fallen in the storm of passion. Mark produced them magically from his pocket

  “I’d like to see you again,” he persisted.

  She felt the spark of his touch when he calmly handed the clips to her and she tried to dispel its searing effect by fiddling with her hair.

  “That’s not possible.” With a few deft tucks her hair was acceptably secured. Determined to leave, she turned from the mirror. But Mark filled the doorway, hand po
sted on either side of the frame. “Please,” she begged. “It’s very late. I’ll be missed.”

  “First … a kiss.” He stood firm, unwavering.

  “Mark … please …”

  “A kiss.”

  Her shoulders sagged under the weight of frustration. Lifting a hand, she rubbed at the tension above her eyes. “Why? There’s no point. What would it accomplish?”

  His lips twitched in humor. “Why don’t we see?”

  She should have taken warning at his sureness, but there were too many emotions warring in her mind to allow for clear thought. “Let me go,” she whispered in a final plea as she gazed the wistful distance up at him.

  “One kiss,” he teased with precise enunciation, his smile gently masculine and insistent

  “Mark …”

  “One!”

  Deanna sensed that he wouldn’t release her until she’d complied with what seemed on the surface to be such a simple request She felt her own growing agony and knew that she had to get away soon. His closeness was a bittersweet torment

  Mindful only of her need to escape, she stepped close, tipped her head up and put her lips tentatively to his. Therein lay the catch. He hadn’t moved. He still filled the doorway, blocking her flight. Only his lips moved … but with devastating effect.

  It was as though Deanna were being given one final glimpse of the heaven she’d sampled earlier. At her first timid touch Mark’s lips began a sweet caress that blossomed to tantalize her with its honey. It coaxed and tasted, savored and revered until it had successfully extracted Deanna’s unconscious sigh of capitulation.

  Quite without knowing it, she slid her arms about his waist to the warm, vibrantly muscular span of his back and returned his kiss with the same poignant need it had itself demonstrated. She knew only the mindless pleasure she felt—the comfort, the warmth, the delicious languor seeping slowly through her. When Mark finally dragged his head up and set her back, she was breathless.

  “Well?” he croaked, breathing heavily himself. “Did it accomplish anything?” His brown eyes glowed as she knew hers must have done.

  But she couldn’t speak. Her throat was choked with emotions ranging from confusion, panic and despair to hope. Had this final kiss accomplished anything? Oh, yes, it certainly had. It had reminded her of how special Mark was, how unique their relationship, how very priceless that which they had shared. Hadn’t he said it himself … that he could only offer her what money couldn’t buy? Well, she reflected with mounting anguish, he had offered it to her. Now it was her duty to refuse the gift.

  The shakiness of her limbs was no obstacle to what she knew to be her own responsibility. Drawing herself up straighter she devoured his handsome features for a last moment, then took a deep, sorrowful breath. “It’s convinced me that I was wrong to have come here in the first place, Mark.” Before her aching gaze his face grew pained. “You have to understand that my life is … my life. I can’t change it Not yet, at least. I’m not … ready. This is too new. There’s too much to consider.”

  “But you came here tonight—”

  “It was a lapse!” she cried, finding a hidden reserve of strength to push past him and hurry through the suite.

  “But it reflected a deep need!” He followed her, his voice rising, though well controlled.

  “No!” She turned to him, then away. She realized that this forceful denial of his claim might be less than honest Ashamed and frightened, she couldn’t look back again. “No! I’m fine.” She drew open the door of the suite, moved through and closed it behind herself without knowing that Mark had stopped at the edge of the bedroom to watch her departure with rigidly enforced dignity.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered softly, willing her tears not to fall as she mustered her own waning dignity and approached the elevator.

  4

  The tears could only be held back so long. Deanna remained dry-eyed and composed through the short trip to the fortieth floor. She calmly let herself into her suite, answered Irma’s questions with the remarkably firm assurance that she’d had a pleasant evening, then retreated at last to the privacy of her own room. There she sank down onto the softness of the cushioned lounge and cried.

  Even Larry’s death hadn’t prompted so anguished a flood of tears. Then she had known a grief bounded by the finality of death. What one couldn’t change, one had to accept This situation was different

  As the sleepless hours passed and her tears slowly dried, she tried to assimilate what had happened, tried to find a proper perspective with which to view it But she couldn’t. Everywhere she looked she saw evidence of the life she’d lived for what seemed like forever. There in the bedroom she’d shared with Larry she could find no room at all for fantasy.

  She finally slept for several hours before awakening, groggy and unsure, to the buzz of her alarm. Though a hot bath eased the dismaying tautness in her thighs, nothing could ease the unsettled state of her mind. She was sure of only one thing: She had no desire to face Mark Birmingham in the hotel dining room that morning. Her feelings were far too raw and he read them far too accurately. It would take time for her to fully restore the veneer of composure that was such a vital part of her image.

  Unfortunately, Mark had no intention of granting her that time. She was sitting at her dressing table, taking her frustration out on her thick mane of hair, when the muffled sound of the doorbell reached her. She knew who it was instantly. Putting her brush down slowly, she stared at her reflection until the soft knock on her door drew her gaze in that direction.

  “Yes, Irma?”

  The housekeeper timidly eased the door open. Her voice was quieter than usual and distinctly hesitant “Excuse me, Mrs. Hunt, but there’s a Mr. Birmingham to see you. I’ve explained that you weren’t up yet, but he’s quite insistent. He says that you’d arranged to meet him for breakfast”

  The rogue! Deanna stiffened, but forced herself to hear Irma out without interrupting.

  “He was worried when you were late.” Irma paused. “And so am I.” Her plea grew more personal. “Are you feeling all right?”

  Deanna took a deep breath, only then making her decision. “I’m fine. Just tired. I thought I’d have some coffee here this morning.”

  For a few seconds the two women eyed one another expectantly. Irma finally broke the ice. “And Mr. Birmingham? Shall I tell him that you’re unable to see him now?” Her own feelings on the matter were well hidden.

  Deanna turned back to the mirror and gripped her brush fiercely. “No. Tell him I’ll be right out” Before she could change her mind Irma had left to deliver the message. And it was just as well. Procrastination was only a stopgap measure. If the man was persistent enough to appear at her door, an immediate confrontation was called for. Cowardice had no place here. She refused to become a prisoner in her own hotel out of fear of bumping into Mark Birmingham!

  With a bolstering surge of indignation Deanna tugged the tie of her silk robe more tightly, left the sanctuary of her room and made the silent journey down the hall toward the foyer. But Mark was already in the living room, his back to her, his eyes on the jagged skyline of Atlanta.

  She stood for a bit watching him, calmly accepting his tall, lean form, dark-suited and very proper once more. She told herself that he really wasn’t that much different from other men. But then he turned and shattered that wish.

  He didn’t say anything at first, simply stared at her across her exquisitely decorated living room. There weren’t any people to separate them now or to ensure the propriety of their interchange. Even so, neither moved toward the other. Deanna wasn’t the only one with a face full of emotion.

  He looked tired. She thought she saw the same vulnerability, the same need and curiosity, but it was hard to tell through the very definite anger there. She knew a moment’s fear at the fact that this man whom she barely knew could so easily betray her. She had given him the weapon herself. Would he use it?

  “Deanna?” He hesitated. “Can we tal
k?”

  He seemed so dark in contrast to the cream coloring of the room that she felt momentarily strong. The fantasy was incongruous in this setting. He was out of his element. In this Hunt stronghold she was safe.

  Nodding, she gestured politely toward the sofa. “Would you … like to sit down?” He was too imposing, stronghold or no. Setting an example for him to follow, she eased down into a corner of the couch, but Mark wasn’t her usual guest and had no intention of following her polite courtesies. He chose to stand and, in so doing, only exaggerated the height discrepancy she’d sought to diminish.

  Sighing, Deanna focused on her hands. Again there was a decision to be made. She could skirt the issue … or hit home. She chose the latter and faced him defiantly. “Irma said that you’d expected me for breakfast. You had no right to tell her that.”

  “She looked so wary of me that I had to think up some reasonable excuse for appearing here so early. It was the first one that came to mind.” His gaze narrowed in speculation. “You really don’t have many suitors, do you?”

  She tipped her chin up a notch. “I’m not in the market for a companion.” The word was inappropriate and brought a sly grin to Mark’s face.

  “No, it certainly wasn’t a companion you were looking for last night.” Was he mocking her?

  “Mark … please …”

  But her quiet warning went unheeded. The pleasantness in his tone couldn’t deny his determination any more than the dark glitter in his eyes could. “You needed something and I gave it to you. I needed something and you gave it to me. It went far beyond … companionship.” He stood with his legs apart, his hands in his pants pockets. Had Deanna not been shrouded in her own emotional turmoil she might have been intimidated.

  But she bolted from her seat to stand before him, matching his purposefulness with a will of her own. “What do you want, Mark?”

  “You.”

  “I’m not available.”

  “I think you are.”

  It was a standoff, and driven by desperation, Deanna wasn’t about to back down first. “It doesn’t matter what you think. There can’t be any kind of relationship without two willing partners.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she regretted them.