her throat. She considered her image for a moment, mumbled “Oh, blast,” and splashed a smattering of perfume on the inside of each thigh. She combed her hair until it was a shining cloud of golden waves and applied eye-shadow over a heavy smudge of black liner. She carefully brushed on a liberal amount of black mascara. “Better,” she smirked at her reflection. She smoothed dark red glossy lipstick across her lips and pouted for effect. Yes, she decided, this should do it. She wrapped her velour robe around herself and with a fiendish grin set her alarm for two-fifteen. Ken Callahan needed a jolt. Something to get him thinking. He didn’t deserve to sleep soundly while she was in such agony.
There were no lights shining under Ken’s door. Chris listened for a moment but heard no sound. Carefully, she opened the door and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. Ken slept on his back, one bare arm thrown overhead, resting on his pillow, the other arm palm down at his side. There was no innocence to his sleeping form. Thick black lashes formed an arc against skin that seemed permanently tan. His mouth was soft and sensuous within the sinister close-cropped beard. Black hair spilled over his forehead to meet a slash of black brow. The strong column of his throat led to broad shoulders and a well-muscled chest that made Chris shiver with the knowledge of his latent power.
For a moment she quailed under his impact, frightened by the force of his virility. She dredged some of her previous anger to the surface. Don’t be a wimp, she told herself. Chin up. Bust out. Courage. She took a deep breath and closed the door behind her. Quietly she lit the candles in the wooden wall sconces and dropped her robe to the floor. She stood a foot from the bed. The curve of her breasts and thighs glowed golden under the flickering candlelight. “Ken,” she called softly. He stirred in his bed. His eyes opened lazily. She stood motionless, watching the drowse of sleep leave him. He held his arms out to her, as if this were expected and natural…as if she belonged in the warm comfort of his bed.
“I’ve come to seduce you,” she said huskily, moving toward him. And then I’m going to leave you hanging! she added silently. Revenge is a shabby emotion…and I’m going to enjoy every ignoble minute of it.
“Mmmm,” he murmured thickly. “I’m glad. It’s lonely in my bed without you. I fell asleep wanting you.”
Chris felt the anger being diffused with more gentle emotions. He always managed to say just the right thing in just the right tone. She sighed. And those trustingly vulnerable dark blue eyes were her undoing. Why had she ever thought she could pull this off? Sheets rustled as he sat up, revealing a lean naked torso that seemed bronzed by firelight. His fingertips touched hers, then moved to caress the length of silken thigh that had been placed so tantalizingly close. Chris heard his breath catch in his throat.
“Chris,” he whispered almost painfully. “You’re so beautiful.”
The world rocked around Chris at the touch of his lips. It didn’t matter who he was. He was the wind that rushed past her window on a moonlit night. He was the sun that burned its brand into her skin on a summer day. He could kiss a scraped knee and make it better. He could tell a terrible joke and make it seem funny. And he was passion. One heart. One soul. One need. They raised each other higher than any one being could ever go alone and hung suspended in time for a precious moment savoring the black, mindless ecstasy found only at the brink of sated desire.
Afterward, they clung together like two victims of a shipwreck, dazed at the joy of being alive and together on a peaceful beach. Ken held her close and brushed damp hair from her temple. “Wow,” he said, his voice shaky, still hoarse with emotion.
“Wow, yourself,” Chris giggled. “I don’t know how I’m going to get back to my bedroom. I don’t think my legs will support me.”
“Stay with me.”
“I can’t. I don’t want to set a bad example for Lucy.” She glanced at his clock. In four minutes her alarm would be going off! She leaped out of bed and struggled into her bathrobe. “I have to go. It’s been really nice,” she called over her shoulder as she rushed from the room, feeling like Cinderella about to turn into a pumpkin. She took the stairs two at a time, marveling at what reserves of strength she could muster in an emergency. She hurtled herself across her room and slapped her palm on the off button just seconds before the digital clock clicked to two-fifteen. She flopped onto her bed with her hand over her pounding heart, waiting for her breathing to normalize.
A tear slid down Chris’ cheek at the realization of what had just happened-at the realization of the depth of her love and the hopelessness of the relationship. A debilitating lethargy radiated from her chest. She wanted to sleep until the pain was all gone and Ken Callahan was a distant memory. But first she would have to put an end to the relationship. To let things continue wasn’t fair to anyone. And she didn’t like herself, anymore. She had no willpower. No scruples. No pride.
Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow I’ll find a way to end it.
Chapter 10
Ken sipped at his coffee and studied the financial section of the Post.
“Do all carpenters read the Dow-Jones so avidly?” Chris asked.
“I have a few stocks.” He laid the paper aside and buttered a waffle. “What does your schedule look like today? Do you have any time for some Saturday fun?”
“My first lesson is at two o’clock.” She chewed her toast thoughtfully. “I thought maybe we could take a ride out to Loudoun County and visit your monster dog. You could show me this place where you stay sometimes.”
There was a flicker of surprise behind the dark blue eyes. He raised his eyebrows at her in silent question, but-although she winced inwardly at the tightening of his mouth-she kept her face emotionless. She wondered if it was Kenneth Knight who studied her coolly then drained his coffee cup before answering.
“Good idea. It’s nine-thirty. If we leave now we’ll have plenty of time. Darby Hills is just outside of Middleburg.”
“Darby Hills?”
“Yeah. That’s the name of this place. People give their houses names out there.”
“Did you name it Darby Hills?”
“I told you it’s just a place I stay sometimes. It came with the name just like it came with the furniture and all the damn azaleas.”
Chris had to smile in spite of herself. “You don’t like azaleas?”
“I’m allergic to them.”
“Do you own this house?”
He nodded his head, yes, while he carried his dishes to the kitchen.
“Then why don’t you just get rid of the azaleas?”
He rolled his eyes. “We’re not talking a few azaleas. This place is packed with them. And besides I’d feel like a murderer.”
Chris helped him load the dishwasher. “Why on earth did you buy a place you so obviously dislike?”
“I don’t know. It just didn’t turn out to be what I’d expected.”
Boy, she thought, I can relate to that.
The ride to Middleburg was awkwardly quiet. Suburban towns of Fairfax and Chantilly gave way to frozen fields and spindle trees, their branches pressed against brilliant blue sky like fine French lace. The highway narrowed as it approached Middleburg, and Chris turned her attention to the venerable houses that lined the road. Chris liked Middleburg. It was a town that had absorbed civilization slowly. It had been spared the plastic tract houses and overdevelopment of its neighbor, Fairfax County, because it was too far from downtown D.C. to be a comfortable commute. The golden arches hadn’t found Middleburg. Its shops reflected the surrounding wealth. There were saddleries, and Williamsburg-style taverns, and tweedy clothing stores. A lone supermarket hunkered at the back of its parking lot, looking awkward in its bleak brick and glass facade. The small town ended abruptly. Ken followed the black road for a few miles and then turned northwest, giving Chris a view of the Appalachians. After living most of her life under the shadow of the Rockies, Chris wondered how these gently rolling hills could even be considered mountains. She watched grimly as the fields turned manicured; they were in hunt country now. Every now and then a huge estate could be glimpsed among stables and boxwoods, set far back from the road.
She had decided that she would be fair. Maybe the magazine had exaggerated. Maybe he really was a simple
