Authors: Barbara Delinsky
Home Fires (6 page)
“But
what?
Say it all,” he ordered evenly. This cooler tone was something she hadn't heard from him before and Deanna realized abruptly how very much she didn't know about him. Feeling an instinctive urge to run, she turned toward the bathroom, but he captured her arm and kept her in reach.
what?
Say it all,” he ordered evenly. This cooler tone was something she hadn't heard from him before and Deanna realized abruptly how very much she didn't know about him. Feeling an instinctive urge to run, she turned toward the bathroom, but he captured her arm and kept her in reach.
“It's not important,” she whispered as she clasped her clothes in front of her. Fear erupted within her to join that other swarm of emotions. Could this man who had hitherto shown only gentleness be prone to violence as well? Would the pendulum swing that far?
The sight of her fear gentled him quickly. “It's important to me, Deanna. I've known passion before, but I've never in my life experienced anything like what we had a
little while ago. As a matter of fact, I've never experienced anything like what we've had with that whole damned dining room separating us! You've felt it I know you have. Are you going to turn tail and run from ⦠that?”
little while ago. As a matter of fact, I've never experienced anything like what we've had with that whole damned dining room separating us! You've felt it I know you have. Are you going to turn tail and run from ⦠that?”
The jolt of pain that seared her settled in her chest It took the greatest effort she had ever made to say the one word. “Yes.” When Mark looked at her in disbelief, she tried to explain. “I have to.”
“But why?”
If only he
had
been angry, even violent, it might have been easier for her to do what she had to do. But the total vulnerability she sensed, the raw anguish of loneliness, tore into her with a dozen spiked thorns. If this was one of the things she'd missed in lifeâthe power to hurtâshe'd rather remain in her cocoon.
had
been angry, even violent, it might have been easier for her to do what she had to do. But the total vulnerability she sensed, the raw anguish of loneliness, tore into her with a dozen spiked thorns. If this was one of the things she'd missed in lifeâthe power to hurtâshe'd rather remain in her cocoon.
With a deep breath she began shakily. “I am who I am, Mark. It's as simple as that ⦠and as final.” Turning away, she headed slowly toward the bathroom. “I'm Mrs. Lawrence Hunt. Certain things are ⦠expected of me.” On the threshold she glanced back over her shoulder. “This isn't one of them.” After shutting the door behind her, she leaned back against it for support, eyes closed, head back.
Mark had been astonished enough to let her go. But he soon came to life and strode across the carpet after her. With his hand on the doorknob he stopped. “But that isn't fair! You have a right to live.”
“I do live,” she answered in muffled tones.
The door blunted the full force of his sarcasm. “Oh, sure. You go through life in very neat progression.
They
expect ⦠and you do. But what about that passion, Deanna? Why do you have to deny it?”
They
expect ⦠and you do. But what about that passion, Deanna? Why do you have to deny it?”
Deanna started to dress. Her motions held apathy, a symbol of her need to detach herself from the situation. Mrs. Lawrence Hunt would never be putting on her
clothes in a strange man's bathroom. Mrs. Lawrence Hunt would never have taken them off in the first place! And as for what had taken place in betweenâ
clothes in a strange man's bathroom. Mrs. Lawrence Hunt would never have taken them off in the first place! And as for what had taken place in betweenâ
“Deanna! Answer me!” She heard a muffled oath as he moved away from the door and she sped up in anticipation. Sure enough, she had barely pulled her dress on when the door swung open. Mark had been insightful to the extent of pulling on his slacks, but his manner was in no other way conciliatory. “Okay, honey.” He propped his hands on his hips. “You can answer me face-to-face now. I want one goodâand I mean
good
âreason why you can't let yourself enjoy life like any other normal person.” His eyes glittered with determination. “And don't tell me that you do, because I won't believe it.”
good
âreason why you can't let yourself enjoy life like any other normal person.” His eyes glittered with determination. “And don't tell me that you do, because I won't believe it.”
With the donning of her clothes, Deanna had moved closer toward being that other woman again. Her poise had finally begun to return. “I'm sorry, Mark, but I can't help that,” she apologized softly.
“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
.”
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.”
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.”
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.”
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.”
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”âhis voice lowered â“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.
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”âhe arched a browâ“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.
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.”
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 posted on either side of the frame. “Please,” she begged. “It's very late. I'll be missed.”
from the mirror. But Mark filled the doorway, hand posted 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.
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