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Authors: Barbara Delinsky

BOOK: Home Fires
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Mark frowned. “How so?”
“You might have told me about this”—she gestured broadly toward the table—“the other night.”
“As I recall, you didn't want to know anything about me. I offered.” He had indeed, she had to admit
“But this was something I
should
have known about.”
“Before … or after?”
“Either!”
“Would it have made a difference?” he asked, beginning to gather the plans into a large pile. “Would you
not
have come upstairs with me had you known beforehand that I'd be doing work for your foundation?”
Instead of answering, Deanna wandered to the far end of the table and eased down into the black leather chair at its head. With her arms propped on its wooden ones, she crossed her legs and tried to feel comfortable. It was impossible. The whir of her emotions continued to disturb her.
“Tell me, Deanna, would you have done differently had you known?”
He had come to stand directly before her and she had to tip her head back to meet his gaze. “Yes. I would never have gone with you.”
A low breath passed his lips. “You're pretty sure about that. How about the reason behind it?”
She looked down, hesitant. Her reasoning was clear to her, but could she express it to another? “I don't know,
Mark.” She sighed. “What happened between us was … unreal. Had I identified you with the foundation I couldn't have gone through with it. I would have been … frightened.”
“Of scandal?”
He hit the mark. “I suppose you could call it that.”
“Are you afraid now?” he asked gently, tilting her chin up with his finger.
Deanna had only to look at him for a minute to feel a surge of desire. “Yes,” she whispered. Her lower lip trembled; her eyes glowed with a need she wanted to ignore.
Releasing her chin with a caress, he leaned over to place an arm on either side of hers, bringing his head down close by her face. “Can you tell me about it, Deanna? Tell me what frightens you.”
“You're asking a lot.”
“You've done well so far. Why not keep trying?”
He was so different, she mused. No one had ever coaxed her to reveal herself like this. He was special. She wanted nothing more than to touch him. Instead she clenched her fists and averted her gaze, but he seemed to be everywhere … large, clean, strong. His pale blue shirt covered broad muscles; his gray slacks stretched across unending legs. She found herself wondering what color briefs were beneath those slacks, then stifled a gasp.
His nearness had stripped her of her protective veneer until her words held only the truth. “I'm frightened of so many things—things that I don't understand. Yes, scandal has to be one. I wouldn't want to do anything to hurt the foundation or its work.”
“Do you think that
I
would?” he asked in a murmur.
Deanna shrugged. “I don't know.”
“I didn't let on anything to Warner, did I?”
“No.”
“See? Don't you think that merits some degree of
trust?” His voice did wild things to her insides; his closeness did even more wicked things to her senses.
There was desperation in her gaze when she raised it to his. “I want to trust you, Mark. But I don't know you.”
“And that's what I'm trying to change,” he vowed, but she barely heard him because his lips were far too near for rational thought. She was mesmerized and stared at them until they moved to breathe her name. “Deanna …” Then they lowered to kiss her and reason began to recede.
All sense of place and purpose was lost in the silent cry that echoed between them. Mark's lips parted hers with a gentleness that melted her resistance with a single taste. She was once more yielding to passion's fantasy and it was as mind-bending as before.
“Oh, Mark.” She sighed when he released her lips to draw her from the chair and into his full embrace. His body was tall, sturdy and beckoning. When he leaned against the edge of the table he tucked her between his thighs. Then he kissed her again.
Deanna couldn't imagine anything as beautiful as the sense of participation, of giving, she felt at the movement of her lips on his and the slow circling of her arms to his neck. Her body fitted against him perfectly as her hands molded the vibrancy of his sinewed shoulders.
“See what we've got,” he whispered against her neck. “It's so natural and real.”
But it wasn't. Not in Deanna's mind. She was once more transported by fantasy, willing every bit of worry and confusion into oblivion. He could do this to her—drive everything from mind but the need to satisfy him. And she found her body craving more.
With a breathy moan she tipped her head to the side. Mark's lips warmed her neck as she murmured his name. Restlessness possessed her and she moved against him. It seemed that her only true fulfillment was in this man's
arms. He made her something unique. She'd never felt as needed as when he pressed her closer and poignantly outlined his rising desire.
When he framed her face once more he concentrated on her lips, consuming their sweet offering with a growing hunger. Her own hunger was no less. The hands that had fallen to his thighs for support now found another purpose. Her fingers splayed there broadly, gliding upward over his tautness. She felt him stiffen further and gloried in her power.
“Feel good?” He nibbled at her lips.
“Mmmmmm.” She sighed. “You always feel good. How do you do it?”
“I'm a man. Made for you. Just as you're made for me.”
She looked up at him then and her body ached. He must have read her pain, because he let his hands trail from her neck to her shoulders, then down to her breasts. She breathed in deeply and swelled to his touch, but she wanted more, so much more.
Her smooth silk blouse and the sheer bra beneath were no barrier to his questing fingers, which found her nipples unerringly and caressed them until he felt them peak. She could only moan and close her eyes as she wondered if the delicious torment would ever end. She desperately wanted it to … but only if it led to more intimate caresses.
“See what you've done to me?” she cried softly and he hugged her tightly in response.
“Tell me.”
“You've made me want you so badly that I can't think straight.”
“That's only fair, considering what
you've
done to
me
.”
“And what's that?” she whispered against his chest, hearing the jagged leap of his heart, a herald of his
confession. But his voice was so suddenly sober that she pulled back to look at him. His eyes were the richest shade of brown she'd ever seen.
“You've made everything else seem insignificant. The work that means so much to me suddenly doesn't. It's behind me on this table and I couldn't care less. All I care about at this minute is holding you, kissing you, making love to you … .”
Deanna shared the feeling. Though she couldn't bring herself to say them, her eyes echoed his words.
Mark grew suddenly troubled and set her gently away from him. “The worst of it is that I forget myself, Deanna. This is Hunt territory. What we're doing here will only complicate your worries. Not that I agree with them, mind you. You have nothing to fear from me. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize your position. But you're worried about something, aren't you?”
Slowly recovering from the passionate high she'd been on moments earlier, Deanna stared at Mark, then looked away. With this return of reality had come a spate of worries, but they weren't at all those she'd expected. Distracted, she turned and wandered the length of the conference table, finally stopping just beyond the sketches of the proposed hospital.
“It's really beautiful, Mark,” she complimented him softly. “I'm glad you're doing this for us.”
He opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind when a sound at the door drew their attention.
“Sorry about that!” Bob burst through the door, totally oblivious to what he'd missed. “It took longer than I'd thought.” Pausing, he looked expectantly from Deanna to Mark and back. “Well, Deanna? Do we have your approval?”
Did you ever really need it?
she asked silently, but forced an outward return to character. “It's perfect, Bob.
You chose the architect well. Our hospital will be the pride of Atlanta.”
“I knew you'd think so! But now PR is waiting for you. Shall we go?”
With a docile nod Deanna started for the door. Then she paused. “I know the way, Bob. Surely you have something more urgent … ?”
Bob managed to cover his surprise with a downward glance at his watch. “I do have an appointment at Emory regarding those fellowships,” he mused aloud, then looked up. “Are you all set here, Mark?”
Mark swung his head toward the stack of blueprints. “I'd like to go over these once more before I leave. Do you mind if I use this room a little longer?”
“Of course not Take your time. You'll be back on Tuesday?”
Deanna's ears perked up. So he was returning to Savannah and would be away over the weekend. That must have been his pattern the week before too.
Mark saw her comprehension before he answered Bob. “That's right. Next week should do it on the preliminaries.”
Only Bob seemed pleased. “Good work! Then it will be up to us to finish raising the money. Think we can do it, Deanna?”
It took her a minute to ingest his question. “Uh, I think so. We'll certainly try.” She hesitated, wanting … not wanting. “Well, I'd better get downstairs.”
“And I'd better be on my way. Deanna, I'll talk with you tomorrow. Mark, see you Tuesday.”
As she stood by and watched the two men shake hands, she felt suspended, waiting for a final word she had no right to. Then, with a soft-spoken “Mark …” and a parting nod, she left the conference room. Her steps were unusually slow and lingering, while Bob
Warner went in the opposite direction at a more businesslike clip.
Head down she waited … wondering. When she stopped and dared to look back, the hall was empty … except for Mark's tall frame propped against the doorway of the room she'd just left. In that split second, as her hopes took flight, Deanna knew that she had crossed a threshold of sorts. It only remained to determine exactly where she'd go from there.
 
 
S
he stood still, watching him silently. When he made no move to step forward she understood that the decision was hers. Trying to ignore the knots that had suddenly bunched in her stomach, she retraced her steps until she faced him.
But words failed her. She had no idea what she wanted to say, given the overwhelming confusion she felt Mark waited patiently, reading the war of emotions in her troubled gaze. Finally, feeling dreadfully inadequate, she forced herself to speak. The best she could do was a soft and faltering murmur. “Mark … I don't know what to say … uh … I'm not really sure …”
His finger touched her lips to still her. “Shhhh. Listen and answer. We have to do something, but I've got a four-thirty-five flight to catch. I can get back here Monday night. Dinner then?”
“I don't know …”
“I do. There's a nice quiet place not far from the hotel. We'll be able to talk. How about it?”
“Mark …” She was torn every which way at once.
“Come on, Deanna,” he whispered urgently. “We've got something to resolve and we can't do it here.” He paused, absorbed both the silence and Deanna's inner turmoil, then went on with even greater conviction. “I'll be in the lobby of the hotel at seven. If you haven't come by seven-fifteen I'll know your answer.” Grasping her shoulder, he turned her from him. “Now go! You have a decision to make and I won't be the one to help you.”
He was as determined as she was unsure. But his nudge was enough to set her in motion and she continued down the hall without looking back. He was right. It was her decision and hers alone. Somehow, though, she sensed that all the deliberation in the world was academic. She could agonize all weekend and the fact would remain that she wanted to see Mark Birmingham again, plain and simply.
 
It was barely five past seven when the elevator delivered her to the Hunt International lobby on Monday night Stepping out, she moved partway to where Mark stood with his back to her, then watched as he felt her presence and turned. Their awareness of each other was uncanny, but she had come to accept it fully. What she couldn't quite accept were the pounding of her pulse and the profusion of second thoughts as to the wisdom of what she was doing. She'd come this far, yet her feet suddenly refused to move.
Mark accommodated her with a spring in his step that she could only understand when he neared. In his pleasure was a fair share of relief. Had he really doubted that she'd come? Certainly he had to know the power he wielded. Yet the touch of uncertainty that gentled his
features was as endearing as everything else about the man.
“Hi,” he greeted her softly, breaking into a broad white smile that did nothing for her runaway pulse. “I was beginning to worry.”
Her own smile was more guarded only in deference to the numerous other pairs of eyes she knew to be watching. “You shouldn't have. It's been only five minutes.”
“Five minutes of hell,” he growled against her ear, accurately describing her own feelings during those last-minute jitters upstairs. “It wasn't some sort of revenge, was it?”
Deanna grimaced nervously. “If only I'd thought of that. You almost deserve it.”
“Almost … but not quite. You still came.” Putting a hand to her waist, he guided her into the air of a warm September night “Do you mind walking? We could take a cab if you'd rather.”
She sensed she'd be all right once they left the hotel behind. As Mrs. Lawrence Hunt, seeing this handsome man socially, she felt inordinately self-conscious. “The walk will be fine. Nice actually. I don't get to do it very often.”
As they started down the street Mark released her and tucked his hands in his pockets. Had Deanna not already known it to be a favorite stance of his she might have been worried; instead she was grateful. Not only did she not want undue attention drawn to them as a couple, but she most definitely didn't need the added stimulation.
It was exciting enough just looking at him. His thick auburn hair waved casually in the light breeze and seemed to have grown longer in the few days since she'd seen him last. Despite his traditional blazer and slacks, shirt and tie, he had the look of the freethinker, the
independent, the individualist. Just the opposite of herself …
“How was your weekend?” he asked, cutting into her thoughts at a time when she most needed it.
“Very nice.”
“Do anything exciting?”
“Exciting?” She laughed. “Not exactly.” She didn't usually associate that word with her life. “It was quiet. Pleasant.” Not considering, of course, those hours of soul-searching.
“What did you do … exactly?”
She felt strangely uncomfortable. “Oh, nothing really. You'd think it very boring.” To say the least
“Try me.” He wasn't going to let her off the hook.
Deanna sighed, then yielded. “I had my usual Saturday-morning appointments.” She prayed he wouldn't pry. Hairdresser … manicurist … He'd know how pampered she was. Did she need those weekly dates? “Then I did some shopping. Met some friends for dinner. Yesterday there was a theater benefit for the Heart Association. It was nice.”
“But not exciting?” He was obviously quoting her, but she heard no derision in his tone and was grateful.
“Not quite.”
“What
would
you consider to be exciting?”
“What would I consider exciting?” She repeated his question, cocking her head to the side in contemplation. A mischievous smile played at the corners of her lips as she shrugged off caution and blurted out her thoughts. “Exciting would be doing something totally impromptu, totally spontaneous. It would be doing something purely for the sake of fun.”
“Haven't you ever done that?”
“Me?” She laughed again, this time at her own expense. “You happen to be looking at a model of convention.”
“Not always.”
“Always!” she rejoined on impulse, then realized her error. “Well … almost.” The events of the last Tuesday night had defied every convention she'd ever known.
Fortunately Mark wasn't the gloating type and refrained from exploiting her embarrassment. Additionally, their destination loomed immediately ahead.
“Here we are,” he said softly, ushering her inside with the faintest touch of his hand to her back.
Those few moments during which they were greeted and seated were precious ones for Deanna. Her composure seemed such a tentative thing when this man was around. Very, very slowly her sheepish blush ebbed.
“Comfortable?” he asked when he'd finally lowered himself into the seat opposite hers.
“Uh-huh. This is lovely. I've never been here before.”
“Never? You're kidding. I would have thought you'd made the rounds.”
She shook her head. “There's a quaintness here that's delightful. And you're right. It's quiet”
Just right for talking.” He paused, watching her closely.”That was interesting—what you said about excitement. Most people would think your life the epitome of excitement. You know—glamour, luxury.”
The sadness in Deanna's eyes was unmistakable and sincere. “The grass is always greener,” she murmured. “It's too bad. I
do
like my life and I'm grateful for everything I've got.” She frowned as she tried to express her sentiment. “And I feel guilty at not being one-hundred-percent content But there are times … times when I wonder what it would be like to be self-sufficient. You know”—she looked up, almost shy—“to be able to take care of myself. To be independent.”
Mark sat back more comfortably. “It has its rewards.”
She suddenly saw how neatly he had directed his inquiries. And she was astonished at how easily she had
opened up to him. But she was curious as well. It was one of the many reasons behind her decision to come out with him. “Tell me about you, Mark. Do I take it that you're a self-made man?”
“Self-sufficiency isn't limited to the self-made man,” he chided her gently. “You could be self-sufficient if you wanted to be.” His gaze shifted to the newly arrived waiter and all conversation was momentarily tabled to allow them to order a selection of the northern-Italian offerings in which the small restaurant specialized.
The break in the conversation gave Deanna time to ponder his words. She
couldn't
be self-sufficient, could she? All her life she'd depended on others to provide services for which she was more than willing and able to pay. She simply didn't know
how
to do half the things that other women did as a matter of course. And it bothered her.
“Why so serious?” Mark asked, leaning forward and taking her hand. Quite unknowingly she curled her fingers tightly around his, needing the reassurance of their warmth.
“I don't know. I guess we all brood now and then.”
Misinterpreting the cause of her anxiety, he took a different tack, one that was no less contemplative. “You're not upset at being with me, are you?”
“Oh, no! I wanted to come. I may be a fool for having done it, but I
did
want to come.”
“And the other night—have you resolved that in your mind?”
She had no doubt to which night he referred. When she tried to extricate her hand he tightened his around it “No,” she admitted in a more subdued voice. “I'm still having trouble there.”
“Cart before the horse, eh?” He grinned and her heart flipflopped dangerously. Yet she couldn't resist a smile.
“Since we seem to be into cliches, yes. You could say
that. We're doing it backwards, aren't we?” she asked softly.
“It depends how you want to see it. There are many different kinds of relationships. There's the physical. There's the emotional. There's the superficial … and the profound. Look at it this way. What we did was spontaneous, not to mention physically profound. If that wasn't exciting enough for you, I give up.”
“Now you're making fun of me,” she teased him back, unable to sustain discomfort in the face of his good humor. If only he were more resistible, she mused, appreciating afresh the blatant quality of his masculinity. Even the dim lighting in the restaurant couldn't hide his eyes' spirited gleam.
“No, just making a point. But I won't dwell on it” He slanted her a look of suspicion. “You probably did that all weekend anyway … between those, uh, pleasant events you found so unexciting.”
“You're perceptive.” To say the least. “But what about you? How was your weekend?”
“Busy. A lot of running around. And I did a lot of work. Drafting type of thing.”
“You often spend the weekend working?”
“When I'm doing something I enjoy as much as last weekend's work.”
Had Deanna's mind not been stalled in one particular vein, she might have questioned him about that work. Instead she smiled almost timidly. “No … wild date?”
His gaze leveled. “No. I had all I could handle thinking about tonight.”
“And … if I hadn't shown up?”
“I'd have been crushed.”
“You're either very honest or … slightly off balance,” she joked; either way she felt disturbed herself. Reluctant to open that discussion again, she shot him a scolding glance and veered off in a different direction. “I meant
what I said about the hospital plans. They're wonderful.” He dipped his head in silent thanks and said nothing. Deanna had the strange sensation that there was a method behind his silence. “Will you tell me more about your work?” she prodded quietly, mindful of his earlier evasion.
Mark's smile was crooked, knowing. “You're not afraid of learning about me now?”
She hesitated, then feigned a scowl in admission of defeat. “It looks like I'm stuck with you, seeing as you've been chosen to design the hospital. Call it a business interest.”
His eyes said he didn't believe her for a minute, yet his words were almost accommodating. Almost. “I have to admit that I was surprised that you knew nothing of my involvement before last Thursday. Does Warner make every decision himself?”
“He has a board of directors.”
“And you? What's your role in it all?”
“I suppose I'm the most powerful … and the least. If I want to disagree with any decision, I have veto power. I'm the head of the foundation—nominally, at least. More practically speaking, Bob is in a better position to be able to make decisions. My knowledge of business is limited and I'm not even sure that I want to be that involved with the everyday workings of the whole thing. Bob assumes that I'll see things his way.”

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