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Authors: Barbara Delinsky

BOOK: Don't Tempt Me
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The fist at her mouth bore the brunt of teeth which dug mercilessly into it in a vain attempt to staunch the tears. Slowly, she removed it. “It's strange,” she began falteringly. “I feel as though I'm leaving old friends … .”
“You could see them again …” His words died with the suggestion of the future. Breath caught in her throat, she waited for him to finish.
If you marry me.
Wasn't that the logical conclusion? But she couldn't marry him. She wouldn't marry him. And she would never see James and Constance Harper again.
Sloane did not finish the thought. Rather, he took her hand in his and held it for long moments—silently, with neither apology nor explanation—before finally releasing it to sort through some papers.
Exhausted by the accumulation of excitement, apprehension, and pure work that had preceded this trip, Justine slept most of the way to St. Louis. It was, therefore, no wonder that sleep eluded her for much of the night. Nor did it help that Sloane had taken adjacent rooms at the hotel—adjacent and
connecting
rooms. Through much of the night her eye held the door to that room,
his
room. Her mind conjured images of his walking boldly through the door, forcing her to come to terms with the overwhelming attraction that existed between them. But the doorknob was still, with nary a turn. What would she have
done had he chosen to enter, she asked herself? All reason dictated a physical distance throughout the trip. After all, their relationship had nowhere to go, she mused, given the stalemate on the issue of marriage. And what if he detected some minute change in her body and suspected that she might be carrying his child? That in itself was reason enough to avoid intimacy.
Yet, her eyes lingered on the wide wooden door that separated her body from his. She imagined his limbs, strong and muscled as she knew them to be, flexed in repose atop the king-sized bed. His flesh would be firm, much of it lightly covered by the dark hair that had never failed to thrill her with its overwhelmingly masculine texture. His face would be peaceful, his features at rest. And the thick thatch of silver-sheened hair would fall across his forehead, just waiting for slender fingers to smooth it aside.
Such were the dreams by which her night was disturbed. They were dreams filled with beauty, desire, ecstasy—as they were nightmares of anguish, frustration, torment. And, all the while, her owl-eyes watched, waiting and wondering, hoping and fearing, planning and imagining—and filled with no small amount of self-reproach at her susceptibility.
The next morning saw the private jet airborne once more, headed for Juneau and the start of the Alaskan expedition. Though Justine had read background material on the state, its topography, and its economy, she was unprepared for the sense of adventure which surged through her at the sight of the landscape below, as the gradual descent over the southeastern section of the state began. Forgotten were the moments of dismay, disbelief, and apprehension which had preceded the trip. The only reality now was the exhilaration of travel, the joy of visiting new worlds, the excitement of the legal challenge before her.
Alaska—the last frontier of America. Gasping sharply as she looked beyond the steel-bodied jet, she knew it to be true. For, far below, spread with awesome strength over dark, cold bays and inlets and their steep-banked forests of rich green trees were huge, white fingers of ice, gripping the land tenaciously as they had for eons, declaring for all to see that there was, indeed, a greater force than man.
Juneau, the state capital, was a mere breath away from these glacier fields, as every major population center in the state was merely an outskirt of the wilderness. “There are no roads connecting the towns and cities, here,” Sloane explained, leaning over to point at the myriad of islands which dotted the coastal approach to Juneau. “Transportation is by ferry—or, of course, by air. This is one of the situations we will be discussing with legislators and labor leaders.” His cheek moved against her hair as he moved back, then he straightened and went forward to consult with the pilot, leaving Justine to admire the panorama of jagged mountaintops slashed in turn by picturesque fjords which grew more and more distinct as the plane descended. Then, with a slowing, a landing, and a light but abrupt stop, they arrived.
So began the adventure. Yet it was unlike anything she had steeled herself to expect. It was as though, with their change of clothes from the light cottons of the New York summer to the heavier wools and denims of the Alaskan fall, they shed the identity of those they had been back east. In truth, there was simply no time to recall those other times, those other heartaches, that very love which had blossomed so quickly that spring.
Rather, Justine found herself thrust into the center of a whirlwind of activity. If she had worried that Sloane's presence would be a torment to her, her fears were unfounded. There was simply no time for torment, with each day crammed from morning to night with meetings and tours, tours and meetings, in endless repetition.
It began in Juneau with several days of meetings with state legislators and representatives of the governor's office, which was sponsoring the project. Transportation was, indeed, an issue to be worked over, with illustrative ferry tours through the labyrinth of islands. Justine saw firsthand the massive glacial walls of blue and white, heard first hand the moaning and grumbling as the ice shifted, trembled first hand as a glacier calved, sending a monstrous chunk of ice with thundering echo into the ice-cold water. Sloane's hand was warm on her shoulder, his arm absorbing her mirroring tremors. Yet the sight of nature before her held her spellbound.
The group from CORE International visited fishing villages along the coast, inspected large catches of shrimp, trout, salmon, king crab, and halibut, sat sequestered for long hours with fishermen whose fear of oil spill damage, potentially devastating to their livelihood, had reached epidemic proportion.
They surveyed the lumbering country, where mountainous stands of Sitka spruce, western hemlock, and yellow cedar promised a renewable source of revenue with appropriate planning. They walked through meadows decked with wild flowers, bordering on the glaciers, and spoke with the natives, admiring a culture that demanded preservation.
They boated through bays in the Gulf of Alaska, where Justine was awed by the free soundings of the humpback whales, the lively play of the porpoises, the leisurely romp of the sea lions. She craned her neck to see the eagle, wild and free, soaring to safe haven along the tree-lined coast. And the beauty of the land was brought home to her, laying the groundwork on which the rest of the trip would elaborate. Through it all Sloane was engrossed in deep thought, as was she—their common purpose uniting them, their ultimate goal becoming preservation of the land and its people.
Anchorage came as a surprise to her, fast on the heels of the ruggedness of this southeasterly coast of Alaska. For it was a burgeoning metropolis, the trade center for nearly two-thirds of the state's meager population. With Sloane beside her, she was led down streets bearing signposts identical to many she had seen in New York—on a modified scale, perhaps, but cosmopolitan nonetheless. Bordered on three sides by mountains, the skyline of the city stretched ever upward in futile competition with the grandeur of the wilderness. It was here that Sloane and his crew met with civic leaders in discussions on utilization of the natural resources of coal, lumber, and fresh water to provide a long-range source of work and improved services to the residents of Alaska. As had become her pattern, Justine scrawled notes on her pad during these daytime meetings, then rewrote her thoughts in far greater detail at night in the privacy of her room in the few moments left to her before exhaustion took over, rendering her helplessly and speedily asleep.
From Anchorage the group moved west to the Alaskan peninsula, touring the predominantly mountainous and treeless islands before spending several days on one of the largest, Kodiak Island. Once again the fishing industry became their primary focus, as they interviewed seamen of both Russian and Scandinavian descent as well as the many native Aleuts who worked out of the bustling harbor. The fears were all the same—the harsh and moody waters of the Gulf of Alaska, the ever-present possibility of natural disaster such as earthquake or volcano, and, with the more recent advent of the trans-Alaska pipeline, the chance of oil spill and its resultant havoc. But there was ever hope and an open ear for new commercial ventures—such as fish canneries and oceanographic farming —to stabilize the economy which, though booming now, was sure to plunge in time.
The lack of the most basic services and dire need of even
the most primitive of facilities was never more clear, however, than when they left the milder climate behind and ventured farther north toward the arctic circle and the scattered villages which struggled for survival in a climate at best a challenge, at worst grossly hostile. Justine pulled her down parka in closer to her ears as the tour took them down streets of villages such as Nome, Barrow, and Wainwright. The wind painted bright red burns on her cheeks; her toes threatened to chill forever despite her heavy wool socks and sturdy insulated boots. Yet the Eskimo children ran warmly about, oblivious to the absence of acceptable facilities for which their parents now fought. Plumbing, electricity, telecommunications, medical facilities, stores, schools—all were on the list. To these natives Justine's heart went out. Her hand penned note after note of program possibilities and the legislation that would be necessary to set it all in motion.
And then they visited Prudhoe Bay, site of the start of the oil pipeline and, similarly, the boon to Alaska's coffers. The tundra was golden-red with the arctic fall, its wildlife activity in marked contrast to the static mechanical monstrosity of the oil-filled tunnels themselves. Lemmings and ground squirrels scurried about, dwarfed by the caribou which seemed to have accepted the pipeline with characteristic grace. It was a contradictory scene, in Justine's eyes, one which puzzled her throughout the flight back south to Fairbanks.
“Now you understand the fine line we tread in all of this.” Sloane spoke softly with her as the plane winged high over mountains unnamed and unscaled. “There is nature … and there is
human
nature. The former is precious and should not be disrupted; the latter must push on to survive. The oil pipeline has, aside from its overall appearance, managed to satisfy both elements, though its effect on the environment is a long-range and very tenuous thing.”
As he talked on, Justine admired his dedication, the innate intelligence she had seen in action during each and every stop they had made. Now, as they headed for their last, with little over a week left of the trip, he showed no sign of the fatigue which, when she permitted herself to recognize it, had built and compounded itself within her. Perhaps it was a blessing—this all-pervading exhaustion that hit her every night. There had not been a repeat of that soul-destroying craving that had rendered her sleepless that first night in St. Louis. And Sloane had been there, no more than a door or two down the hall each night. Silent congratulations were given and received on the strength of her willpower in steeling herself against him as a man. She prayed it would continue.
Fairbanks was quite different from the other stops on their itinerary. There was a ruggedness about it, a feeling of frontier reality that, even amid her exhaustion, Justine appreciated. Set at the heart of the great Alaska interior, it was a land of extremes—of heat in summer and cold in winter, of majestic mountain peaks and deep-hollowed valleys. It was a land of the white spruce, the American aspen, the paper birch, and the mountain alder, now painting an early fall splash of copper, gold, and red across the wide, rolling uplands. It was here that the four from CORE International met with representatives of the space communication center, the military, and a delegation from the university, whose environmental studies had veered toward developing industry in agriculture and aquaculture. Again Sloane led the discussions with the utmost of ease and ability, listening for stretches, then directing questions to one member of the hosting group or another. Again Justine admired his command, of himself and of others; again she filled her legal pad with notes regarding the appropriate legal channels for one project or another. She was, above all, determined to do her best, inspired as she was by her leader.
It was following three days of meetings and local expeditions that Justine felt she could go no further. Her mind was saturated with a glut of ideas; her body was plainly drained of energy.
“I've got to get some rest.” She took Sloane aside late in the afternoon. “I'm exhausted. Would you mind if I skipped dinner and stayed in my room?”
It had become a common habit for the four to discuss the day's outing over the evening meal, then continue further discussions, some of which lasted for several hours, over coffee. On this particular evening she could barely hold her head up. Faithfully, she had taken the vitamin pills prescribed by her doctor; carefully, she had chosen her diet for the greatest nutritional value. Yet she had been on the go steadily, with no break, for over three weeks.
Sloane studied her weary eyes closely. “Do you think you're coming down with something?” he asked, frowning.
“No. I really need a good night's rest. That's all. Will it be a problem?”
“Of course not. But you should eat. Would you like me to bring you something? Better still,” he went on without giving her time to respond, “why don't you go up now. I'll bring something—I'll surprise you—later.”

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