Cross My Heart (12 page)

She breathed a little sigh. "Oh, Paul, you're an angel."

He made a face. "It's obvious you haven't been listening
to Clint's analysis of my character.
Angel
is
definitely not one of his adjectives."

"Then he doesn't know you as well as I do," she said
gently. "You won't mention this to Liz, will you? She doesn't know
about it."

Paul grinned. "Don't underestimate her, sweetie. She's
complained that you've been on edge lately. But I won't say anything."
He stood and offered her his hand. "Come on now. Pull yourself
together. I hear Liz coming downstairs."

It was two days before she heard from Paul again.
Meanwhile she'd managed to calm down sufficiently to stop snapping at
everybody and her hands were again steady enough to paint faces on her
doll heads.

Although Liz often spent the weekends with Paul in his
Sacramento apartment, on this Friday night in early May she had to
chaperon the senior ball and Paul was immersed in his studies as the
time for the bar exams drew near.

Elyse was loading the dinner dishes in the dishwasher,
when the phone rang. She picked it up in the kitchen. It was Paul.
"Elyse, Alice, Clint's housekeeper, just called. She says he got back
from L.A. late this afternoon and is now home and plans to stay there
all night. He even referred all his calls to his answering service so
he wouldn't be bothered. Good luck, sweetie, and don't worry. The poor
idiot adores you."

Elyse wished she was as sure of that as Paul seemed to be,
but she wasn't going to think about her doubts. She'd been making plans
while she waited, and now she dialed Janey's favorite baby-sitter and
was assured that the girl would be at the house within half an hour.

Next she went upstairs and told Liz, who was dressing for
the dance, that she was going out and not to worry if she wasn't home
by the time Liz returned. Her sister looked curious but managed to
refrain from asking questions when it was obvious Elyse didn't want to
answer.

By the time she got to her own room she was having second
thoughts but she refused to let them sway her. She marched resolutely
to the closet and pulled out a small red overnight case and opened it
on her bed.

Again her hands shook as she began to pack; lacy
underwear, a gossamer nightgown and peignoir in a delicate shade of
lemon, matching satin slippers, toilet articles.

When she finished she quickly stripped off her clothes and
stepped into the shower.

Elyse had just finished dressing in cream pleated slacks
and a matching lightweight oversize sweater, when she heard the
doorbell ring and Liz admit the baby-sitter. She picked up her purse
and the small suitcase and walked out of the room.

Liz's eyes widened as she saw Elyse coming down the stairs
with the overnight bag, and when Elyse reached the bottom Liz said, "I
assume you aren't planning to come home tonight?" It was part question,
part statement.

Elyse faltered. "I…I don't know. I hope not,
but…"

Liz reached out and stroked her sister's cheek with her
hand. "Be careful, baby. Don't let yourself be hurt."

The love in Liz's expression brought a lump to Elyse's
throat and tears brimmed in her eyes. "I'll try not to," she said
through a swallowed sob, "but I've found that nothing is free in this
life. If you want something badly enough you have to go out and get it.
So wish me luck." The two women embraced, then Elyse called Janey,
kissed her goodbye and hurried out of the house.

Clint leaned back in the leather recliner and closed his
eyes. God, but he was tired. Not only had work accelerated at the
Capitol, but the last few weeks of the campaign were always hectic,
even though his nearest rival was well behind him in the polls.

If only he could sleep once he finally did get to bed, it
would help. He was used to long hours and late-night meetings, but he
wasn't getting any younger. He could no longer function as efficiently
as he used to without adequate rest. He hadn't slept worth a damn since
Elyse…

He opened his eyes and swallowed the rest of the drink he
held in his hand. No, he wasn't going to think about Elyse. He was
lucky he'd found out about her problem before he'd gotten any more
deeply involved emotionally. Not that he'd been in any danger of
falling in love with her. But she had gotten under his skin. She'd
apparently also short-circuited his judgment, because he never would
have believed she was the type to tease a man and then indignantly
withdraw when he was half-crazy with desire.

He shivered as the memory tore through him, then stood and
took his empty glass to the kitchen. Four years ago when Dinah had left
him he'd sworn he'd never again agonize or lose sleep over a woman. He
wasn't about to break that vow now.

He ran water in the glass, then turned it upside down in
the sink. Who did he think he was kidding? He'd already broken it. He'd
been running himself ragged all week trying to escape the touch, the
taste and the feel of Elyse. She'd imprinted herself on his libido.

He turned out the kitchen light and headed across the
mammoth great room—the heart of the rambling ranch house,
with its Douglas fir cathedral ceiling and its stone fireplace. The
house faced west and was constructed with two separate wings extending
from either side of the great room. The rooms opened onto the patio,
swimming pool and gardens at the rear.

Clint continued to the bedroom wing and the master bedroom
suite. It was only nine o'clock, but Alice and Grover had left after
dinner to drive up to Lake Tahoe with friends for a vacation weekend of
gambling and shows at the casinos, so he was alone. He might as well
take a shower and go to bed early. It was quiet, and just maybe he
would be able to sleep.

He stood for a long time under the hot stinging spray,
letting it massage his aching muscles and relax his tense nerves. When
he finally turned it off and walked nude into the bedroom, he heard the
dogs barking and the doorbell ringing.

Damn! Who could that be? No one knew he was back from Los
Angeles.

He debated ignoring the sound, but it wasn't likely anyone
would make the trip all the way out here at this time of night unless
it was important. He grabbed a pair of jeans from the dresser drawer
and pulled them on as he headed toward the front door.

It had taken Elyse a long time to find the Sterling home
in the sprawling area of Cameron Park. The lots were measured in acres
here, instead of feet, and the large affluent homes were set well off
the roads at the ends of long narrow lanes. Stands of shade trees and
flowering bushes afforded a maximum of privacy.

Finally she'd stopped at a gas station and asked for
directions. The helpful attendant had drawn her a map, and she'd
started her quest over again. When she finally found the large ranch
house, she discovered it was built on the bank of a small stream and
she had to park in a private parking area and walk across a bridge to
reach the front door.

To make matters worse there were only two dim lamps
illuminating the shrubbery near the porch steps. The rest of the house
as well as the grounds were dark except for widely placed streetlights
on the main road.

At that point she'd been tempted to give up and turn back;
it didn't look as if there were anybody home. But Paul had insisted
Clint would be there. She couldn't leave without making sure.

She'd reached for the small piece of luggage on the seat
beside her, but hadn't immediately picked it up, torn between her
innate distaste for appearing uninvited on a man's doorstep, overnight
case in hand, and her need to convince Clint she was ready to make love
if he wanted to.

Now she'd been standing on his porch for the past several
minutes, her finger pressed to the doorbell. So far all she'd managed
to raise were several fierce-sounding dogs who were apparently
contained somewhere on the other side of the house. Anyone in there
couldn't help but hear the racket.

She took her finger off the button, but the dogs continued
to bark. Now what was she going to do? Undoubtedly Paul had been
misinformed. There didn't seem to be anybody home, not even the
housekeeper he'd mentioned.

She turned around and looked back toward the main road.
There weren't any cars going by. It was dark, spooky and deserted, and
those dogs were sure to tear down whatever was holding them any minute.

She shivered, resisting the urge to run back to the car
and escape. With a last surge of determination she stabbed at the
doorbell again and held it down.

Just then a light went on inside the house, and seconds
later the whole outside front of the house and grounds was lit. Elyse
jumped and pulled her finger away as the massive carved wooden door
opened and Clint, wearing only faded jeans, stood blinking at her.
"Elyse. What are you doing here? Is something wrong?" He pulled the
door wide and stood back. "Come in."

She stared, caught totally off balance by the large
expanse of bare muscular chest. She'd never seen him less than fully
dressed, and the sight was intoxicating.

Now that she had his undivided attention she wasn't sure
she was doing the right thing, after all. He didn't look very pleased
to see her. His features were stiff with surprise, and she was sure she
saw annoyance there, too.

As she hesitated on the porch he reached out to take her
arm and pull her gently but firmly into the wide foyer. "Elyse, are you
all right? Come in, for heaven's sake."

He shut the door and his gaze roamed over her, stopping
when it came to the suitcase in her hand.

A hot wave of shyness and humiliation swept over her, and
she ducked her head in hopes he wouldn't notice her flaming face. It
was then she noted he was barefoot, and her startled glance flew upward
to his disheveled hair.

He looked as if she'd gotten him out of bed.

Dear Lord, had she interrupted something? Her eyes widened
with distress. Did he have a woman here? Surely he wouldn't be going to
bed alone this early.

A strangled moan forced its way past her throat, and she
wished the floor would open up and swallow her. "I…I'm
sorry," she wailed. "I should have called. I didn't think—"
She turned and raced to the door, desperate to get away.

Clint caught her easily. "Hey, wait a minute. Where are
you going? What in hell is the matter with you?" He whirled her around
and held her by the shoulders. "Now calm down and tell me why you're
here." Again his gaze was drawn to her overnight bag as he took her arm
and urged her forward. "Let me take that," he said, and removed the
case from her hand.

Elyse dug in her heels and refused to move. "Are you
alone?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes, of course I'm alone. Who else did you think would be
here?" There was a tinge of impatience in his tone.

"I…well, nobody," she stammered. "But
you…" She couldn't seem to lift her gaze from his chest.

His glance followed hers, and he seemed to realize for the
first time his state of undress. He frowned, and his grip tightened on
her arm. "For God's sake, Elyse, I'm not going to attack you, but if
it'll make you feel safer I'll get fully dressed."

"No, please, it's not that." Oh, why on earth had she ever
come here late at night, unannounced and uninvited? "I thought you
might have… uh… company."

She saw as well as heard his sharp intake of breath. "You
mean you thought I was entertaining a woman in my bed." It was a
statement, not a question. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you caught
me in the shower,
alone
." He sounded not only
bitter but hurt.

She felt the sharp pain of remorse. Why couldn't she make
herself understood? She'd never had this problem before. Actually,
she'd always been good at communicating with people, so why now that it
was so important was she tongue-tied and slow-witted? If only she dared
put her arms around him and nuzzle her face in his bare chest. If she
could tell him how much she loved him… But that would just
make him uncomfortable and complicate matters even more.

She took a deep breath and prayed for strength. "Clint,
that wasn't what I meant at all."

She was amazed to find her voice was strong and clear. "I
came here tonight because I've been trying to reach you by telephone
all week, but I always just missed you. Paul told me you were planning
to be at home all evening, so I hurried over, but I got lost, and then
it looked like no one was home, and it was dark—"

She stopped abruptly and put her hands over her mouth. She
was rambling again. Good Lord, would she ever be able to talk to this
man without sounding like an idiot?

His hold on her arm loosened and his voice softened. "Why
did you want to reach me?"

She tipped her head back and looked straight into his dark
green eyes. "I want to apologize for the way I behaved Sunday and to
explain what happened."

She saw the flash of pain before he blinked it away.
"That's not necessary. I was out of line. You had every right to say
no. I only wish you'd said it sooner."

She could no longer resist the need to touch him, and she
put her hand on his bare shoulder. The feel of his warm damp flesh sent
tingles up her arm. "Please, Clint, just listen to me. It won't take
long, and then I'll leave."

For a moment his shoulder seemed to settle against her
palm, but then he carefully but firmly moved away from it and led her
into the room beyond. It was huge—the largest room she'd ever
seen in a private home—and featured a mammoth stone
fireplace, that thrust right through the high, beamed ceiling.

They walked across the thick beige carpet to an oversized
chair and ottoman upholstered in a tightly woven Indian design in
shades of turquoise, beige and brown. "Sit down and wait for me," he
said. "I'll put some clothes on and be right back." His eyes searched
her face. "It won't do any good to try to run away. You need a key to
unlock the door."