Sensuous Burgundy Read online

  “No. I paint in Rockport. I have a home there. Very small. Very private. Very quiet. There isn’t even a telephone.”

  Fascinated by the prospect of such a getaway, Laura exuded an unbridled glee that instantly justified Max’s having divulged the existence of his second home. “I love it! I love it!” she exclaimed gaily. “Do you go there often?”

  Pleased with her enthusiasm, he spoke freely. “Whenever I can, which, unfortunately, is not as often as I’d like. Lately”—his gaze narrowed in gentle accusation—“the Northampton Hilton seems to have become my home away from home.”

  Returning his tempered sarcasm, she confronted him, her blue eyes flaring in vivid contrast to her fair skin and dark hair. “There’s no need for you to come out here as often as you do.” Applied innocence coated the humor in her voice.

  Max’s brown eyes grew suddenly molten, searing her soul with its fiery bolt. “There are needs…and there are needs,” he hedged softly. When he took her hand in his, Laura felt the burning lava flow through her veins. “I’ll be going to Rockport next weekend, what with the long Washington’s Birthday holiday. Will you join me, Laura?”

  The lurch of excitement within her was tempered only by a lingering unsureness. The evening was divine. She felt warm, relaxed, and astoundingly happy. But a weekend with Max? It could be so wonderful…if she were ready for that kind of commitment.

  Sensing her qualms, Max pled his case. “I’d like it very much. It would give us a chance to relax before the trial.” His gaze held hers in its magnetic field as he crooned softly. “I won’t pressure you; being with you would be enough.” It was quite a concession for a reputed man-about-town, and Laura was as thrilled by it as she was grateful for it.

  “I’d like to, Max, very much. It’s just…” Her blue eyes clouded in the face of the conflict. For while the pulse within her thudded loudly, proclaiming her driving need to be with him, the last vestige of a principle—and a fear—prevented her unconditional acceptance.

  In a gesture that endeared him to her all the more, Max reached a hand out to finger the small gold heart at her throat, the warmth of his skin replacing that where the gem had rested. “I’ll call you at midweek. You have until then to decide.” His patience was commendable, though the tensing of his jaw betrayed the deeper tension that her indecision caused.

  Ironically, it was this very betrayal that decided the matter. At that moment Laura realized she would do anything to please Max, for in his pleasure was her own.

  A smile of resolution lit her face, erasing the doubt that had hovered so tentatively about her features. “There’s no need to call, Max,” she vowed, a warm glow spreading through her now. “I’d love to go. Just tell me what to bring and how to get there!”

  five

  AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT, THOUGH LAURA SUSPECTED that luck had little to do with it, Max was to meet with his client in Northampton on Friday afternoon, thereby allowing him to stop by for her at the end of the day and drive her the three hours east to Rockport, himself. Despite her skepticism, he also insisted that the drive back with her on Monday evening would enable him another meeting on Tuesday, and though she doubted the necessity of so many conferences—or was it the thoroughness with which he was approaching his case that disquieted her—she yielded to his determination and agreed to leave her car at home.

  In the office she went through the motions of work. To say that her mind was only half in it, however, was an understatement. With skillful deflection she parried the inquisitive looks and dubious eyes that caught her daydreaming or spending long lunch hours walking through the blustery downtown streets.

  Concentration seemed an elusive activity, at least where law was concerned. Helplessly, her mind dwelt on Maxwell Kraig—his compelling personality, his rugged profile, his powerful arms, his overpowering masculinity.

  The doubts she’d originally had about going to Rockport had been dismissed at the moment of her acceptance of Max’s invitation. At that moment she made the commitment; there was no desire to turn back. Rather, as the weekend approached, the excitement grew, until finally early Friday evening, when her doorbell rang, she floated down the stairs to answer it with a spirit soaring on the wings of delight.

  It was when she opened the door and set eyes on the boldly handsome face that smiled warmly down on her that Laura knew. She was in love with Max Kraig!

  The shock of the discovery hit her full force. Slender, burgundy-tipped fingers clutched at the doorknob as she struggled to conceal the depth of her feelings. And once her bag had been stowed in the trunk of the Mercedes and they had begun the drive, her thoughts whirled back to this profound revelation.

  The night was dark, the reflections of the headlights on the road and its wayside snowdrifts being the only source of illumination of Max’s manly features, as Laura threw him the occasional sidelong glance. There was so much to consider. Where should she begin?

  Her thoughts filtered back to the day she’d met him, struck by his compelling nature even in that crowded courtroom. Then later that day, he had held her spellbound, tantalizing her with a first kiss to surpass all other first kisses. From the very start she knew there was something very special about this man and his effect on her, but in her wildest dreams she never would have imagined the present developments. The level-headed, strong-willed, cool young woman she had been—and, she prayed, continued to be in other matters—she was no longer, on the matter of Max. Her emotions had managed to escape controls with which she had bound them for so long; when it came to Max, she was at the whim of a greater force.

  All too clearly she recalled her stalwart practice of separating work from home. With a twinge of guilt she wondered how she could have so utterly discarded the principle. Yet she was not sorry. For in Max’s company she had experienced a happiness she would have otherwise never known. Under Max’s subtle influence qualities within herself had blossomed. The idea of giving, of wanting to please another above and beyond one’s own feelings and needs—this she had sampled at earlier times, but never to the extent of commitment she now craved.

  A car whizzed by doing far better than the 55 miles per hour Max seemed so careful to adhere to, and was soon followed by a police cruiser, lights blinking in electrical turbulence as it escorted the offender to the side of the highway.

  A low-muttered “crazy driver” reached her ears as Laura’s mind sped into the future. Was she the crazy driver here, letting her emotions carry her away at a dangerous speed? Could she help herself? No! She wanted to be here. She adored Max. And she would somehow cope with the future as it unfolded. Yet even as she willed all conflict away, the nagging in the back of her mind refused to be stilled. Even as she looked forward to the next three days, she could not deny the eerie strain of foreboding that hung in some recessed niche.

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight,” the velvet-tongued icon of masculinity chided her gently, bringing her to the present.

  “Just thinking.” She gave an honest excuse, lest she be caught in a fib by the man who had a knack for doing just that.

  “Then tell me about your week. Are you set to try that armed robbery?”

  With an ease that was customary whenever she discussed law with Max, Laura outlined her preparations for the trial which was ten days hence. His questions were pointed, giving her a subtle suggestion here or there for her presentation. Often he made reference to one or the other of the cases he had tried himself; these stories Laura found to be both insightful and intriguing.

  Time flew by in discussion, as the car left the Turnpike and headed north on Route 128 toward Rockport. She was momentarily sorry when their arrival in the town center, some forty-five minutes later, cut short their conversation, until she pinched herself with the lovely thought that they would have the entire weekend to talk. And then she caught the charm of Rockport, and all thought of talk passed from her mind.

  Laura was no stranger to the North Shore, yet in its present context this oceanfront community too
k on an infinitely more exciting and romantic air. The streets were largely deserted on this winter’s evening, a switch from the bustling summer streets she had walked on previous visits. Many of the artists’ shops were closed for the winter for precisely this reason, the bulk of the tourists, the big spenders, vanishing by Columbus Day.

  Now, lit by streetlights and the occasional neon-lit restaurant or shop window, the narrow streets, as Max drove slowly in deference to Laura’s obvious fascination, had an ethereal quality. The snow, its frail blanket spread on lawns and curbs, was white still, an accomplishment rendered nearly obsolete by the nature and speed of traffic in most other towns. Here things moved slower. The houses, reconstructed in the style of the old fishing village, reflected the love for the quality of life that characterized the renowned artists’ colony.

  “This is delightful!” Laura exclaimed enthusiastically as Max pulled up to a small, quaint restaurant.

  Turning in his seat to face her, he explained, tongue-in-cheek, “This is one of the few places open at this hour during the winter. The town practically folds at eight.” Exaggeration that she knew it was, Laura grinned, though her reaction was more to his intense attention than to his quip. “Are you hungry?” The gleam in his eye sparkled through the darkness.

  Ostensibly ignoring the implication that sent invisible waves of excitement through her, she nodded, then quickly found herself being ushered into the small eating establishment and seated at a booth toward the rear. To her surprise the owners of the family-run restaurant, as well as the attractive, blond waitress who so solicitously served them, knew him by name, and first name at that.

  “Do you come here often?” Laura asked, skeptically eyeing the waitress whom Max had referred to as Gloria.

  If he had intercepted her inquisitive stare, he paid it no heed. “Whenever I come out this way I make it a point to stop in. Ben and Judy have owned the place for several years now. I did legal work for them once. They’re very down-to-earth, unpretentious people. I enjoy seeing them.” Having loosened his tie, he looked quite rakish—five-o’clock shadow, slightly mussed hair—as he sat facing her. Although he had not changed from his business suit before they left, Laura had worn a casual pair of slacks, wool, warm, and comfortable. The prim chignon was gone, her straight black hair now flowing about her shoulders, catching the sheen of the lights as she moved her head. The cowl neck of her sweater was loose, baring enough of her slender neck to reveal the delicate gold chain and its dangling heart that she now wore constantly. It was on this necklace that Max’s dazzling gaze alighted briefly, for then it followed the pink flush of pleasure that spread slowly upward from there to her cheeks.

  “I’m glad you’ve come.” His statement carried a unique force, totally different in tone from that of the sensuality his eyes conveyed. Laura could merely smile her agreement, so emotion-filled had she suddenly become. Yes, she was very glad to be here, too—even accepting that dull ache of foreboding that faintly disturbed her innermost peace.

  An hour later, when Max drove up the private lane and his house came into view, she was yet more pleased to have come. For the house and its setting were breathtaking! A Cape-style structure of gray fieldstone, it stood in profile as they entered the driveway, its large glass eyes staring fixedly down a snow-blotched lawn to the sea—the sea, in all its raging splendor, thrashing wildly against the dark rocks, spewing up its salt spray into geysers spearing the moonlit night. The sound could be felt even within the padded confines of the car, and as Max pulled directly into the garage beneath the house, Laura slowly exhaled the breath she’d unconsciously been holding.

  “This is magnificent!” she gasped, as the automatic door slid down behind them with finality.

  “Come on, let’s go in,” he suggested, climbing out of the car and appearing seconds later to help Laura. Laden with suitcases and briefcases, he let her unlock the doors, then directed her up a half flight of carpeted steps to a large open area which comprised the entire bottom floor of the house. Conventional it might have been on the outside, but the inside of this house was quite the opposite.

  Grinning with delight, Laura flipped the light on, then made a full turn. “There aren’t any walls. How terrific!”

  Watching her closely, her host’s eyes took on a gleam of satisfaction at her unbridled pleasure. “It’s pretty cold here,” he warned, depositing the bags by the side of the open stairs that led to the second floor. Then he headed for the thermostat. “There,” he murmured aloud, “I’ve got the heat turned on.” His dark head turned to Laura. “I’m going to build a fire. Why don’t you sit down.” A mischievous slash softened his lips. “I could use a cheering section.” His voice was deep and sensual, sending the usual ripple of awareness her way.

  He needed a cheering section like she needed a shot of adrenaline, she decided, confident that in building a blazing fire, as with all other things, he was expert. To the accompaniment of rustling newspaper, thudding logs and, finally, the gradual crackle of a nascent fire, Laura circled the entire ground level in exploration, admiring on one side of the stairway the living area with its sectional sofa in brown velvet forming a self-contained unit before the fireplace, and on the other side of the stairway the working area, desk and chairs, and the country kitchen and central eating area dominated by a heavy round pine table and four sturdy captain’s chairs. With the exception of the tiled kitchen, a plush, champagne-hued carpet lay in blatant invitation to the bare-feet enthusiast.

  The walls bordering the entire room bore the work of local artists. Each canvas was unique in its own way; each added to the overall feeling the room conveyed.

  As she stood by the front door and looked about her, Laura was supremely conscious of the warmth and coziness—and tasteful luxury—that characterized Max’s home. She wondered whether he had done the decorating himself, or whether a decorator, or some woman in his life had done it for him. Forcing the latter thought from her mind, she completed the circle, joining Max before the roaring fire as he broke from his own brooding trance to greet her.

  Instantly, his expression softened, but not before she caught a glimpse of the other, more disturbed one. Yet it was past, and it, too, she willed from consciousness. A strong arm settled about her shoulders, drawing her flush beside his lean lines. His voice was thick against the black silk of her hair when he asked softly, “Do you like it?”

  Mesmerized as much by the dancing flame before her as by the more predatory flame beside her, she answered his softness with her own. “You build a great fire.”

  Slowly, he turned her so that she faced him, his arms circling her waist, hands locking against her spine. Amusement flickered in the eyes that met hers, an amusement that curtained the more sensuous flame behind it. “Do I now?” he growled, the fingers at her back pressing her even closer against his hard body. “I’d like you to show me what kind of fire I build,” he drawled. And Laura suddenly caught his gist, retaliating with a gentle pinch at his rocklike rib cage.

  “That’s not what I meant!” she scolded, a grin of exasperation flirting about her lips.

  But Max was a step ahead of her. “And that’s not what I meant, either. It’s not the damned fire I’m talking about. Do you like the house?”

  An appealing blush signaled her understanding. Nodding, she gave him the answer she felt so sincerely. “I love it, just like I knew I would. It’s so…charming, inviting, well planned. I love it! If it were mine, I wouldn’t care to leave it at all. I’d just curl up into a ball on that sofa, lay up a supply of Asti and brie, keep the fire blazing, and stay here forever…or until I ran out of logs,” she added with a chuckle.

  The sound of the laughter that serenaded her was so sweet that Laura would have continued her glowing analysis of the house, had it not been for Max’s interjection. “You haven’t seen the upstairs yet. You may be disappointed. You will find walls up there,” he informed her, then went on more huskily. “But first, I’ve waited all evening for this.”

>   His lips met hers, eagerly and with the masterful persuasion which was his style. Her arms wound about his waist, her hands reveling in the rippling of muscles beneath her questing touch. For a moment he drew back, lifting bold hands to frame her face then drive the length of his fingers into her hair to hold her head immobile in its tilt toward his. “I like your hair loose like this. You look very…touchable.” His head lowered then and did touch it, his mouth covering hers with a hunger that drove all rational thought away. With reckless abandon she returned his kiss, giving herself up to the need within and the outright pleasure of the embrace.

  It was Max who broke the passionate prelude, clearing his throat hoarsely as he moved back. “I have to get one or two other things from the car. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, then I’ll give you the rest of the tour. You might want to see about putting on some coffee. Food will have to wait until we hit the supermarket tomorrow.” By the time he had disappeared back down the stairs, she finally swallowed the lump that lingered in her throat.

  The second story of the house, she discovered, was as exciting as the first. Here there were walls separating two large rooms and a bathroom. The first of the rooms, above the kitchen, was a bedroom, furnished simply but finely in shades of blue and gray to match the sea, which itself decorated practically an entire side of the room through heavy glass. The second of the rooms, that above the living room, was an airy and open studio, with a smattering of artists’ tools, easels, canvases, paint tubes, set against a background of comfortable chairs and sofas. Here, too, there was a large desk and a fireplace. Glass panels similar to those in the bedroom dominated the eastern exposure, large skylights capped the ceiling. Dark as it was, Laura could only imagine the communion with the sea, indeed, with nature as a whole, that the transparency allowed.

  Later, coffee cup in her hand, head resting against a sinewy shoulder, Laura was to recall her words of earlier that evening. She could stay here forever. There was a sense of peace, freedom, and warmth that permeated the house though how much of it was due to the presence of the man whose heartbeat throbbed not far from her ear, she did not know.