Storm Over the Lake (9 page)

“Oh, did I forget…Adrian, I can still cut you a slice—” she began.

“It's just as well,” he replied, clicking off the light, “I'm heavy enough without it.”

Impishly, she put out a slender hand and touched the hard muscle of his stomach
above his belt. “You're big, not heavy,” she teased.

He caught her hair and tugged her face up with a firm, steady pressure, moving closer so that she could feel the warmth of his body, so that the scent of him filled her nostrils.

“Come here,” he murmured, and bent his head to touch his mouth very gently to hers in a kiss that brought the stars spinning down.

He drew away a heartbeat later, his face solemn, his eyes quiet. “Better than cake,” he whispered deeply, and a slow, wicked grin touched his mouth. “No calories.”

She managed to smile back and disengaged her hair from his hands. “Goodnight,” she said, turning away to hide the effect that brief kiss had on her pulse.

“Dana?”

“Yes?” she replied without turning, at the foot of the staircase.

“I want children very much.”

Stunned, she met his eyes, saw the dark gentle smile in them, and couldn't find
words to answer him. She only nodded and turned away, curiously breathless.

 

The next afternoon, Dana was sealing a letter when the phone rang and a familiar deep voice came over the line.

“What are you doing?” he asked lazily, as if he had all the time in the world to talk to her.

“Getting out a letter, to that textile equipment company you wrote to about the buttonhole machines,” she replied softly.

“Learning the textile business, are you? I'll have to take you through one of the plants. How about tomorrow? I'll take you to lunch first.”

“A…all right,” she murmured, taken aback at the invitation, at the caress in his deep voice. It was as if last night had lowered all the cold barriers between them.

“By the way,” he added, “call Fayre and tell her I won't be able to make it tonight. I've got to fly up to South Carolina for a meeting. And get me a reservation on the next flight to Greenville.”

“Yes, sir,” she said absently, jotting down notes.

“Dana…!” he threatened.

“I…I mean, yes, I will,” she replied quickly, omitting the “sir” this time.

“Behave, brat. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Yes…” She stopped again, just in time.

“Try ‘darling',” he suggested in that deep seductive tone he could use when he wanted something. “Later, honey.”

The line went dead, and she sat there holding the receiver as if it were a fragrant rose, just looking at it for a long time afterwards.

 

Fayre was stunned by the news that Adrian wasn't going to take her to the ballet, and Dana caught the full weight of her disappointment.

“I don't see why he couldn't fly back tonight,” she said icily. “We've had tickets for three months, it isn't as if he didn't know in time! What kind of meeting was it?”

“I don't know, Miss Braunns,” Dana explained patiently, toying with her pencil. “He didn't tell me, and I didn't ask.”

“Cute, aren't you? Did you make that appointment for him?” Fayre asked pointedly.

“To get him out of town, you mean?” Dana laughed shortly. “Miss Braunns, what he does is no business of mine except where my job is involved. I don't want to be here any more than I want to live in the Colombian jungles, but I don't have a choice. If you want to know why he isn't coming back tonight, you call him and ask him. For all I know, he may have two women…”

“How dare you?” Fayre spat. “Nobody talks to me like that!”

“Adrian does,” Dana replied calmly.

There was a long, burning silence on the other end of the line, and she could feel her ears burn. “You little tramp,” Fayre hissed. “I'll get you for that if it's the last thing I ever do. You're not cutting me out with Adrian…!”

Dana put the receiver down with a thud.
She found herself shaking with rage, with humiliation, with apprehension. This would just give Adrian another stick to beat her with. Why couldn't she keep her mouth shut? She sighed. Fayre would have irritated her anytime, anywhere—she was just naturally abrasive. But her relationship with Adrian made it worse. To think of that small, too-sweet face pressed against his dark, broad chest…

The phone rang. Hesitantly, she lifted the receiver, her heart thudding, expecting disaster in a deep, angry voice…

“Hello?” she murmured.

“Miss Meredith?” came the reply. “This is the Juliane Travel Service. I'm confirming your reservation on the flight to Greenville…”

She listened to the pleasant female voice with a tiny smile. Sometimes, heaven was kind.

 

The morning of her birthday started off backwards. She overslept and missed breakfast. The phone went wild the minute she walked into the office, and it was after ten a.m. when the rush finally stopped.

Lillian poked her head around the door. “I haven't been able to tell you—the Mister said Frank was to bring you to his office at eleven. Sorry, honey,” she smiled. “It's been a busy morning, hasn't it?”

Dana smiled. “Very. I know what it's all about—he's taking me on a tour of his plant, one of them, anyway.”

“Oh, is that it?” Lillian asked with a strange smile.

“Of course.” Dana stood up. “I'd better start getting ready, I guess.”

“Wear something pretty,” Lillian said with a wink.

 

Adrian was waiting for her when she got off the elevator and stepped out onto the carpeted floor of the Devereaux Textile Corporation offices.

His dark eyes went up and down the soft sleeveless beige jersey dress that clung to her slender figure like a second skin, narrowing to the upswept hairdo that lent quiet elegance to the simple lines of the dress.

“Nice,” he remarked quietly. “Are you hungry?”

She nodded. Her eyes darted around to the desks sitting outside the offices.

“I'll give you the two-dollar tour another time,” he said, and took her elbow to lead her back into the elevator, ignoring the intense, curious stares his employees were giving the slender young woman at his side. “Do you like crepes?”

“Crepes? You mean, like strawberry crepes?” she asked, all eyes as she looked up at him in the cozy confines of the elevator.

He studied her in silence, his dark eyes sketching the soft lines of her face. “Little taffy kitten,” he murmured gently.

She flushed, lowering her eyes to the deep polish of his shoes.

Soft, deep laughter drifted over her head. “Crepes can be a main course as well as a dessert, Meredith,” he told her. “I'm going to take you to a creperie at Lennox Square for lunch.”

“Lennox? But that's almost in Buck-head, have you the time…?” she exclaimed.

“The plant I'm taking you to see is on
the way,” he told her. The elevator stopped and he stood to one side to let her out. “Besides,” he added, “I have to pick up something at the jewelers.”

“Oh,” she murmured weakly. An apology present for the dragon, no doubt, for missing the ballet.

In the parking lot, he put her in the back seat of the sleek silver-gray Rolls and slid in beside her, leaving the traffic to Frank, who took it in stride.

Dana glanced at Adrian where he sat beside her, one big arm carelessly thrown over the back of the seat, his dark eyes watching her.

“Dana.”

“Yes?”

His dark fingers stretched to touch the silky bun at the back of her neck. “Take it down.”

“I…I thought it went well…with the dress,” she faltered, his nearness, the dark sensuous look in his eyes making her tremble.

His fingers touched her cheek, her soft
mouth. “Take it down, sweetheart,” he whispered.

The endearment made her pulse go wild. With shaking fingers she tugged out the hairpins and fumbled at the clasps, letting the long, silky length down around her shoulders. She dug a small brush out of her purse and trailed it through the taffy-colored strands. When she put the brush away, his fingers tangled gently in the loosened hair. “God, I love your hair,” he murmured deeply, his eyes meeting hers in an intense stare.

She couldn't say a word. He was too close, too overwhelming at this range, with his hard, dark face filling the world.

He moved away abruptly with a hard sigh, his attention going to Frank. “How about some music, Frank?” he asked gruffly. “It's been one hell of a morning. I could use a little soothing.”

“Nothing I caused, I hope?” she asked in a small voice, remembering Fayre.

He chuckled. “Fayre, you mean?” he asked with a knowing smile.

Blushing, she nodded.

“I can handle Fayre, little one. If she'd wanted to go to the damned ballet that much, she had the tickets and no shortage of prospective dates. I don't have any strings on her, and she doesn't have any on me.”

Dana stared down into her lap. “She's very beautiful.”

“Oh, Fayre's decorative. But it isn't for her looks that I keep her around, honey. You aren't that naive,” he added meaningfully.

“No,” she murmured, I'm not.”

“You don't approve?” he laughed softly. “Men are creatures of strong appetites, little innocent, and mine were never lukewarm.”

She felt her face going red and cleared her throat. “Uh…I like the music,” she said quickly, listening to snatches of the tape. “Isn't it Scherezade?”

“It is,” came the amused reply. “Frank, turn it up.”

“Yes, sir,” came the equally amused response from the front seat.

 

Adrian left Dana peering in store windows on the spacious mall while he strode purposefully into the jewelers. Her mind swept away by the gorgeous, ultra-chic outfits in the window displays, she was barely aware of time passing until he came up beside her.

“Ready? Or would you rather window shop some more?” he asked with a smile.

She shook her head. “I enjoy it, but I am a little hungry.”

He studied her face. “If you like, we'll come back another day and I'll buy you one of those ensembles.”

“Oh, no! No, thank you!” she said quickly, embarrassed. Did it look as if she wanted him to outfit her, had she given him the impression…!

“Stop it, for God's sake!” he said shortly. “My God, Dana, there isn't anyone who's less a golddigger than you…Don't you think I know you by now?”

“You don't know me at all.”

“No?” A wisp of a smile touched his chiseled mouth as he stood there, looking down at her, oblivious to the interested
glances of passing shoppers. “I know that you like to go barefoot on the carpet when you think no one's looking. You like books by Kahlil Gibran, and Debussy, and sunsets over Lake Lanier. You speak French, you don't approve of love affairs, you're twenty-three years old, and you love children. My God, Dana, what else do I need to know about you?”

She gaped at him, stunned by the scope of his knowledge. “You didn't add that I was a cheat, a liar, a loose woman…!” she cried, shaken.

His hand came up to stop the words as they formed on her lips. For a long time, his dark eyes stared straight down into hers, until her heart began to race and her knees threatened to melt under her.

“I know the truth now,” he said gently, “I know how very innocent you are, little taffy cat. Do you know, Dana, your eyes are the exact shade of chestnuts when they first break out of the hull? And that your mouth…” His eyes caressed it with an intensity that burned her. “God, if we
weren't surrounded by half of Atlanta, I'd kiss it now…!” he whispered huskily.

She ducked her head, her cold nervous hands resting momentarily against his gray suitcoat while she got her balance back.

He laughed softly, taking one of her soft hands in his big one to squeeze it. “Come on, little witch,” he murmured deeply. “I'm starving.”

She followed him into the cozy little creperie, with its wooden tables and benches and exquisite art prints on the walls, her hand still held tightly in his.

She tugged half-heartedly at the warm clasp, but he wouldn't let go.

“Adrian, what will people think?” she asked anxiously.

A short, harsh chuckle burst from his mouth as he seated her. “Probably,” he said with unmistakable bitterness, “that I'm taking my daughter to lunch.”

She met his cynical gaze squarely as he stood beside her, and the look on that dark face made her throw caution to the winds.

“I've never known a man I felt less daughterly toward,” she said softly.

He drew a sharp breath. As he sat down, his face hardened to stone, his eyes became fierce and blackly burning as they met hers. “God, what a place to pick to tell me about it!” he whispered in a voice thick with feeling. “Damn you…!”