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  Mark seized on them quickly. “You were willing enough last night”

  “I told you, that was a lapse,” she countered just as quickly, wanting only to lessen the humiliation she felt “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have gone with you. And you shouldn’t be here.” She glared at him with her last bit of strength before retreating to the window. Atlanta was Lawrence Hunt’s town. It seemed critical to remember that. But how could she concentrate when Mark approached? Even without turning, she felt his nearness.

  “Look, Deanna,” he began, then halted abruptly enough that she looked around. To her dismay, Irma was calmly setting down a tray bearing juice, muffins and coffee—more than enough for two. Had the woman chanced a look at her mistress she might have felt the silent chastisement Deanna cast her way. But Irma had both a thick shell and a strong sense of purpose herself. She made her exit without a word being spoken.

  “A-hah!” Mark crowed softly, drawing Deanna’s crestfallen face toward him once more. “It’s good to know that someone is looking out for my welfare this morning.” With a smile and an infuriatingly nonchalant step he crossed to the side table, poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Deanna, but only after he’d sternly pointed to the sofa and she’d meekly sat.

  But her meekness was surface deep. “You mean to say that you didn’t even eat breakfast while you were waiting downstairs?” she asked as she grasped at the last of her poise. Mark’s nearness made things so difficult.

  “I didn’t even bother to take a table. Since I’d half suspected you’d skip out on me, I waited in the lobby for five or ten minutes before heading up here.”

  “That was presumptuous of you,” she gritted. “I thought I’d made my feelings clear last night.”

  “You did.” He grinned. “Perfectly.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it, Mark! We have no future. There was no sense in your coming here.”

  Having sunk to the sofa, Mark very deliberately reached across her to the tray. He had to know that she felt his warmth, that her senses reacted instinctively to the tang of his after-shave and his manly freshness.

  “Muffin?” he asked sweetly.

  “No!”

  His sidelong glance caught her blush. “You’re sure? You have to be hungry …”

  After last night? “I’m not,” she snapped. “You do strange things to my appetite.”

  “That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing about you earlier. I can’t begin to tell you what I ate for dinner last night.”

  She’d had that experience herself and he knew it. With a loud sigh and the clatter of her coffee cup as she set it on the side table, Deanna acknowledged defeat. She wasn’t skilled at this sparring. She’d never had to do it. Nothing in her life had prepared her for psychological warfare.

  With her elbows on her knees and her fingertips against her brow, she spoke sadly. “Go away, Mark. Don’t you see—I’m not up for this. What happened last night shouldn’t have! It can’t happen again! I’m my husband’s wife—”

  “Widow! He’s dead, Deanna!”

  Her gaze shot up, her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t you think I know that?” she cried loudly, bringing Irma scurrying from the kitchen. It was only Mark’s upraised hand and faint headshake that held her off, then sent her away with the assurance that Deanna was all right

  Oblivious to the near intrusion, Deanna had burrowed into the corner of the sofa. Though her tears remained unshed, her misery was evident

  “Do you miss him badly?” Mark asked. His voice was suddenly much softer and so gentle that she couldn’t resist him. Here was a glimpse of her soulmate again. He seemed to want to know her feelings as much as she needed to tell them. It had all been held in for so long.

  Arms wrapped protectively around her middle, Deanna slowly perused the room. “Yes, I miss him. In so many ways he was my world. It revolved around him.”

  “You depended on him.” The statement brought a frown to Deanna’s face.

  “Uh-huh,” she whispered. “I did.”

  “How long has he been gone?”

  She sighed, eyes glued to the pink folds of her silk robe. “Fourteen months now.”

  “You can’t still be in mourning?” When she looked up sharply to counter his criticism, he qualified it “Wait! That came out all wrong. I’m just trying to understand why you won’t see me. You’re a young woman. You can’t bury yourself here forever.” He skimmed the suite before adding a low-murmured, “lovely as this place is.”

  But Deanna had grown more fearful by the minute and was beyond noticing the compliment He was such an attractive man. Her senses sharpened even against her will. “What is it you want, Mark?” she asked, using bluntness as a means of self-control. “Is it strictly a matter of a … bedmate?”

  “You know it’s not!” he exploded in a burst of frustration. “If it was simply a matter of sex I wouldn’t be here now. No man likes to invite rejection.”

  All too aware of his hurt, she softened. “Then what is it? Why me?” Perhaps her own ego needed boosting as well.

  When she looked up beseechingly, Mark captured her gaze. His eyes held that vulnerability to which she was herself so vulnerable and the now-familiar warmth came to life. She knew his answer before he gave it, though his grudging admission took her by surprise. It was as though he resented the power that rendered him helpless, regardless of its source. He was a strong man. This confession was a difficult one.

  “You, Deanna, because you’re special. You have something that I’ve never found in another woman. What? I don’t think I can put it into words yet, but I do know what I want … I need someone. Emotionally as well as physically. You need the same thing. I can tell.” She shook her head in denial, but her inner responses had already made a mockery of it. “I’m not sorry about what happened last night,” he continued, “only that it happened so quickly that it frightened you.” He paused to study her pale face, the haunted sheen of her eyes. “Can’t we start over again? More slowly this time?”

  It was a deep-seated fear, enigmatic but pure, that brought her from the sofa. “No, Mark. I can’t. I told you last night—my life is already cut out for me. I can’t change it” She inhaled and felt the shooting pain of regret

  “Can’t?” He was on his feet, towering before her, suddenly less patient “That’s absurd! You can do whatever you want! You … of all people! You’re a free woman!”

  “Freedom is relative. I have freedom—”

  “Within limits. Is that it?” he asked, echoing her own soul-searching. “But what about you? Forget the Hunt Corporation. Forget the Hunt Foundation. Forget the world Lawrence Hunt bequeathed you. What about you? What about your freedom?”

  She had no answers and trembled under the strain. “I think you ought to leave.”

  Mark stepped closer. “Not until you agree to see me again.”

  Her eye fell to the pulse throbbing at his neck and her own accelerated. “I won’t I told you … I’m not ready!”

  “Oh, you’re ready.” He moved closer, until he was only a breath away.

  Deanna couldn’t move. There was nothing of the fantasy in this room that was so thoroughly Hunt, so completely reality. Yet she was frozen in place, immobilized by the same physical force that had possessed her the night before. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly. “No …”

  The word was meant as much for herself as for him and had no effect on either of them. When he reached out to touch her lips she ached to respond. It had been so sweet before. Would it be as much so a second time?

  “Try,” he murmured, reading her thoughts. Then he dipped his head to taste her lips in a string of feather-light kisses that tormented her with maddening evasion.

  Closing her eyes to blot out reality, she welcomed fantasy with the parting of her lips. But it was to be a game. Mark’s teasing mouth captured hers, then darted away before she could claim satisfaction. When she could stand no more she cried aloud, a small cry represent
ing an anguish far greater than the physical frustration she felt. The unexpected sound startled her. Her eyes flew open and reality returned.

  Her cry this time was more akin to despair. Jerking back as though burned by fire rather than desire, she clamped a fist to her mouth, stared at Mark in horror for a last minute, then fled down the hall in confusion.

  Somehow she knew he wouldn’t follow. Even he wouldn’t be so crass as to invade the bedroom she’d shared for so many years with Larry. But her mind was not on Larry as she collapsed onto the lounge and hugged her knees to her chest. What was she going to do with Mark?

  Not for a minute did she believe that this would be the end of it. The light in his eyes had been far too intense. It was simply a question of when he would next make a move. She couldn’t stay in the sanctuary of her bedroom forever.

  As she dressed to go to the club she struggled to sort through her thoughts, but her emotions were diverse and in conflict with one another. She felt shame at her abandonment of the night before amid a lingering excitement She felt guilt at her indulgence even as her insides cried for more. She felt a fear she didn’t understand and a mourning for that passing fantasy. And, against her better judgment, she was still curious. Who was Mark Birmingham and why was he in Atlanta?

  It was Thursday. She’d held herself to her routine as a means of self-preservation, even daring to breakfast in the dining room that morning. But even without looking toward the window, she knew that Mark wasn’t there. She would have felt his presence. Instead she felt the emptiness of a fantasy gone awry and she couldn’t help but acknowledge a mild regret Mark had been right—that she knew. She did need something—someone—in her life. What they’d shared the other night—its beauty, its exhilaration, its marvelous sense of fulfillment—had convinced her of that. Yet she was frightened and confused and so very, very unsure that she could only be grateful for the time without him.

  That afternoon, however, she had no more than set foot into Bob Warner’s office when she sensed something new.

  “How are you, Deanna?” Bob had risen from his desk to greet her before she’d had time to cross the room herself.

  “Fine, Bob. How are things here?”

  “Not bad.” He grinned, a trifle too smugly for her comfort

  “Uh-oh. Something’s up.”

  Bob took her elbow. “Come on. Let’s take a walk. I want you to see the plans.”

  “The plans? For the hospital?” She perked up, temporarily willing to ignore the prickling under her skin as she fell into step beside him.

  “That’s right.”

  “But I thought we were still getting bids … .”

  “No, ma’am. We’re still trying to figure out how to raise the rest of the money, but the decision on the firm was made last week.”

  Deanna eyed him sharply. “Why wasn’t I told?”

  Unfazed by her disturbance, he seemed happy to treat it as he would a child’s show of temper. “A surprise, Deanna.” He grinned again. “Come on. I’ve purposely waited until there was something for you to see.”

  Turning a corner, he propelled her toward one of the smaller conference rooms, opened its door, then stood back to let her enter. The instant she saw the tall figure she knew. The pieces of the puzzle—some of them, at least—suddenly fit together. He stood at one side of the long conference table, bending over it to make notations on one of the many blueprints spread before him. His jacket was off, his shirt-sleeves rolled to the elbow. He looked devilishly handsome even before his dark head swung up to acknowledge the intrusion.

  “I hope we’re not disturbing you, Mark.” Bob’s voice came from directly behind Deanna to snap her from her paralysis as his hand guided her forward. “Deanna, I’d like you to meet Mark Birmingham. His architectural firm has just completed the preliminary design for the hospital. Mark … Deanna Hunt”

  For a brief moment Deanna knew an awesome terror. It shimmered in her eyes, which never left Mark’s. Would he betray her? Would he hint at their relationship? Would he embarrass her in front of Bob? Thanks to her foolishness he had the tool … .

  But his expression was one of absolute composure. It held neither gloating nor smugness. As his gaze shifted slowly from Bob to her, he smiled so innocently that he might have been meeting her for the first time. “Mrs. Hunt” He straightened and stepped forward to extend his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Weak-kneed with relief, she returned the smile and offered her hand in return. Though his touch sizzled through her skin and into her bloodstream, she clutched at his show of silence as a timely salvation.

  “Mr. Birmingham …” She nodded her head, rising to the occasion with studied poise. “Congratulations on having won the hospital contract. And welcome to the Hunt Foundation.” How she managed to remain as cool as she did, she’d never know. But she accepted his nod of response graciously.

  “Mark is with the firm of—”

  “Birmingham and Swift, I believe,” Deanna interrupted, startling both herself and Bob with her forwardness. “You’re headquartered in Savannah, aren’t you, Mr. Birmingham?”

  The eyes before her suddenly danced. “That’s right. But it’s ‘Mark.’ Please.”

  As she donned her most charming smile she determined that this demon would not get the best of her. Two could play at this game as well as one. And though she resented Bob for having excluded her from the decision-making process, it was a fait accompli. Mark Birmingham would be designing her hospital! It would take some getting used to, having him here … but it seemed she had no choice.

  “Tell me, Mr. Birmingham—uh, Mark,” she corrected herself, “have you ever done anything on this scale before? I’ve heard of your firm”—though she didn’t say where or when—“but I know nothing about your work.”

  Bob’s voice was a subtle reminder that she and Mark weren’t alone. As Deanna tore her gaze from Mark’s she realized that she’d been staring. It was one of the things she’d have to watch.

  “Mark’s firm established itself doing business complexes and shopping malls. Lately he’s done more work for educational institutions. He designed the state university’s new library last year and I understand that the art museum of his in West Virginia has brought in raves. This is your first hospital though, isn’t it, Mark?”

  Mark leaned back against the edge of the table and folded his arms across his chest. “First one.” At his grin, Deanna reacted on impulse.

  “You seem pretty pleased with yourself.” She stood on tiptoe and tried to steal a glance at the prints behind him. “Is that why you’re hiding your blueprints from me?” she teased.

  He dropped his complacency with a thoroughly endearing abruptness. “Oh! That’s right. Here, take a look and tell me what you think.”

  If she thought she’d caught him off guard, Deanna had underestimated the opposition. He knew precisely what he was doing as he stood aside to let her examine the tableful of prints. She looked carefully from one sheet to the other, searching for something of meaning to her among the myriad lines and figures. After her show of savvy in naming Mark’s firm, she felt particularly stupid now. Worse, Mark was enjoying her discomfort.

  “Well?” he prodded. “Are you impressed?”

  “Very,” she replied with a wry twist to her lips. “You must be brilliant to have drawn up these papers. But they’re meaningless to me.” She dared to look up. “Perhaps you’d tell me what I’m looking at?”

  If Bob was aware of her soft sarcasm or the silent current coursing between Mark and herself, he ignored it. Mark, on the other hand, was impressed with her forthrightness and took instant pity on her.

  “Here.” He reached forward to extract several large sheets from the bottom of the pile. “I think these are more along the line of what you’d expected.”

  They were … and they weren’t. Before her were a series of ink sketches of the proposed design, drawings of what the finished hospital would look like. This Deanna could appreciate. What
she hadn’t anticipated was the stunning effect Mark had created by taking traditional structural elements and giving them excitingly modern interpretations. It was indeed a hospital, but like no other she’d ever seen.

  “Well … ?” This time his urging was sober and earnest; he was obviously on edge with anticipation.

  But before Deanna could respond the telephone buzzed. Had she not been positively enchanted by the sketches before her she might have lent an ear to Bob’s low conversation and been better prepared for his departure, even ready with an excuse to leave with him. Being left alone in the room with Mark was not what she wanted. Unfortunately, she was left with no option.

  Bob turned to them on his way toward the door. “You’ll have to excuse me for a few minutes. I’ve been waiting for this overseas call too long to ignore it. I’ll be back.” Then he was gone, leaving the door ajar.

  Mark sauntered over and closed it without pretense. Then he turned to Deanna, leaned back against the door, put his hands in his pockets and smiled. “Well. Here we are.”

  All else was temporarily forgotten but the two of them. Deanna had known how to handle herself skillfully moments earlier; now she was breaking new ground. “You knew all along, didn’t you, Mark?”

  He arched one brow. “That I’d be designing your hospital? Not until last Friday when I got Bob’s call. But I didn’t learn who you were until Tuesday morning. Quite a coincidence, I’d say.”

  “I’m sure you would,” she muttered, turning away in impotence. She felt so helpless and she was tired of it

  “You’re not angry, are you?” He had approached to stand by her side, looking down at her.

  “At you?” She glanced up to meet his gaze. “No. At the situation … yes.”

  He cocked his head toward the door. “Does he walk out and leave you to the wolves like this often?”

  Deanna snickered at his interpretation of her words. “He has this way of conveniently unloading me on whomever he can corral to keep me busy. But you’ve received the supreme compliment. He must trust you.”