Rekindled (4 page)

As Ross’s large hands framed her face, she felt a special warmth steal through her, awakening senses from hibernation like the coming of spring. Her cheeks flushed with the heat. Her lips parted. She was entranced all over again.

He moved closer, his face lowering. When she closed her eyes it was to savor the feather touch of his mouth on hers. It seemed she had waited forever to know its sweetness again. And guilt? Guilt was light-years away, beyond a far horizon she hoped never to reach. It had been pervasive over the years, but was out of place now. She wanted more of Ross, if only to keep the past safely blotted from her mind.

Opening her eyes, she found Ross’s hot above her. His breath was unsteady, but he waited. She sensed he was giving her a chance to turn and run, but that was the last thing she wanted to do.

She met his kiss with an eagerness she hadn’t known for eleven years. All the power of her femininity that had been stored up and denied now burst forth. Ross’s lips were firm and knowing in response to her passion, dominating then submitting, teasing then yielding. They explored the ripe curve of her mouth with a thoroughness surpassed only when his tongue entered the act. And Chloe opened herself more with each darting flicker, with each exchange of breath.

She had come alive and was aflame. At some point her arms found his neck and coiled beyond, drawing her slender body firmly against his longer, harder one. His hands played over her back, caressing every inch from hip to neck with the devastating touch of those long fingers. And she was caught in the web they spun, neither able nor willing to move away.

Everything about Ross was utterly male, from the musky scent of his skin to the trim tapering of the hair at the top of his collar, to the lean line of his torso and the corded steel of his thighs. It was as though Chloe was innocent again, as though this was that first ecstatic night relived. She was intoxicated.

When he groaned and crushed her to him, she understood the feeling. It was a statement of a shared primal need. Ross held something for her that no other man had begun to offer. She was driven by instinct closer, closer to him.

At some point, soft bells of warning sounded. She didn’t know if it was when his hand slipped from her cheek to her throat, or when his fingers began to knead her breast, or when his palm turned to her nipple. She only knew of a tug between some relic of the past that clamored for recognition, and the quickly coiling knot of need deep inside.

She fought that past by nurturing the need. Hands locked at the back of his neck, she closed her eyes, let her head fall back, and sought the mindlessness of sensual pleasure. Her lips parted; her breathing was short. But she needed more. Against her better judgment, against those tiny warning bells, she grew bolder. Bowing her head, bracing it against his chin, she was curved now, offering him an entrance he hadn’t had before.

Small explosions of delight flared through her when he slid his hand into her dress. Surrounded, her breast was warm, full, and straining against his hand. His thumb and forefinger met at a nipple, driving her higher. Did reason exist? At that instant she knew of only one road to satisfaction.

“Come upstairs with me,” Ross said in a voice thick with need. “Let me love you. It’s been so long, princess.”

Princess. It struck her that he had done the same thing she hadformed an image and held it through the years. In his mind she was still one step removed from royalty. But not in hers.

She strained away from his hands. “Please stop, I can’t do this.”

Aroused still and upset with herself, she trembled.

“Can’t?” he challenged hoarsely.

“Won’t,” she amended as she clutched at threads of composure. Eleven years ago she hadn’t refused him. Her virginity had never had a chance. But things were different now. She was different.

“Why not, Chloe?”

She heard hurt, but it didn’t make her relent. “I wish I could explain.”

“Why can’t you? I’ve seen that pained look in your eyes. At those moments-at this moment-you do look unhappy. Is it something about me?

Something about what happened eleven years ago?”

For all of those eleven long years, Chloe had hidden a world of inner feelings from everyone around her. They were locked in tight. He could prod all he wanted, but they weren’t getting out.

He spoke more gently. “Here. Sit down. I’ll make us some coffee. You can talk.”

“I don’t want to talk. Some things are best left dead and buried.” She shuddered at her own choice of words.

“Sit.” He nudged her into the chair she had left, and she sat, if only because her legs were unsteady. He proceeded to clear the table, rinse everything, and perk a small pot of coffee. She watched almost incidentally, her thoughts far off in a world of what-it’s. What if Crystal had won that toss of the coin? What if Crystal had set out to seduce Ross and been seduced herself.? What if Crystal had died anyway? Would Chloe feel the same guilt now?

“How do you take it?” Ross asked, placing a steaming mug before her.

“Black. Thank you.”

After lacing his own with milk and sugar, he returned to his seat.

Chloe tried to control her thoughts by speaking first. “You’ve come a long way in the business world since I saw you last, Ross. How did you manage it?”

He smiled. “You mean, how did I manage the transformation from’far out’ to ‘far in’? The fact is, I never was all that ‘far out.’ I went my own way for a while. I avoided money. I grew a beard because there wasn’t modern plumbing where I was in Africa, and I didn’t want to have to shave at dawn by the riverside. I wore jeans because they were comfortable, same with loose shirts. I’d grown up in a world of rigid discipline. I wanted my freedom.”

““Rigid discipline’?” She realized again how little she knew of Ross.

He eyed her with something akin to amusement. “Y’know, considering you slept with the man the first time you met him…”

“That’s not fair,” she argued. “When we were together, I couldn’t think straight.”

“History repeats itself,” he drawled, referring to what had happened moments earlier with a mischievous grin.

Chloe didn’t like being ribbed. “You didn’t know any more about me that night.” But rather than turning the tables, she was more deeply incriminated.

“Neither of us did much talking, did we?” Ross asked, clearly enjoying himself She shook her head. The only talking they’d done had been in soft moans and caresses. The attraction between them had been overpowering. “I want you to know that I don’t do that as a rule. I mean, I don’t make a habit of-“

“-jumping into bed with every guy that comes along? I know that, Chloe.” He smiled gently. “I told you that we had something special. Do you think I sleep with every pretty woman I meet?”

“Of course not. I just wanted you to know not to expect something I can’t give.”

“Won’t give,” he corrected a second time. “The end result is the same. You understand, don’t you?”

“No, I hear you. I’m listening.” He was sober. “But I don’t understand. You haven’t given me a good reason to understand yet. Most women with your looks would have reached the point, at age twenty-nine, where they could recognize something deeper.”

Chloe felt stymied. “What do my looks have to do with anything?”

The amber gaze that touched her curves gave the answer even before he spoke. “You’re beautiful, Chloe. Beautiful women have options. You’ve never married?”

“No.”

“You must date often.”

“I have friends.”

“Male friends?”

“Some.”

“Serious male friends?”

When she shrugged, he looked at the ceiling. “What I’m trying to find out is whether you’re going with someone, living with someone, or engaged to someone.”

For an instant, Chloe imagined he was a frustrated suitor. She smiled at the thought. “No, Ross. I date here and there, but there’s no one special. I live alone.”

When he expelled a breath, she suspected it was for effect. “Thank you,” he added facetiously, then sobered. “Do you go home much?”

Chloe flinched. “No.” That was another topic better left alone. “What about you? What was that ‘rigid discipline’ you suffered through?”

“My father was heart-and-soul Army. A career man. Our house was run like a barracks. It was almost a treat when I was sent to military school.”

“Oh, my. It’s no wonder you freaked out.”

Ross laughed. “Freaked out? That’s one from the old days.”

Chloe smiled. “Sorry. It just slipped out. I can’t remember the last time I said that.”

“Maybe way back in the time of you and me?” He stared at her, then gazed pensively at the table. When he raised a hand and rubbed the muscles at the back of his neck, Chloe followed the movement. She half-wished she could do it for him, but dangerous was a mild word for that type of thing. Once, danger had been a challenge. Now she wanted no part of it.

Ross’s confession broke into her thoughts. “I may have been pretty antiestablishment, at that. There was a certain amount of rebellion in me against routine and schedules and expectations. I guess I wasn’t much different from the average flower child, except that I knew I’d be returning to the fold before long. I saw that period for what it was-a time in my life when I could stretch my legs.”

Chloe chuckled. Her smoky gaze fell to the floor, where a pair of wellshod feet, ankles crossed, extended well beyond her side of the table. “An awesome task.” She quirked a brow. “So how did you become a successful businessman? You obviously didn’t go into partnership with your dad. But you’ve come a long way in eleven years. President of the Hansen Corporation.” She shook her head in amazement.

“I had a mentor, like you did,” he explained. “I worked for him through business school, then after. The business did well. I gradually acquired stock. When Sherman died two years ago he left me shares enough to make me the majority holder.”

“Was the Rye Beach Complex your idea?”

“Actually, no. It was the baby of one of the other vice presidents. Sherman seemed to feel it had merit.”

“And you don’t?” Considering the force of his presentation that evening, she was startled.

“I do, with reservations.”

“Why did you come up tonight then, rather than the VP who feels more strongly about it?”

Ross shrugged. “He’s no longer with the corporation.” He didn’t look sorry. It struck Chloe that he might have fired the man, himself She sensed his power. A free spirit, he had called himself Now he ruled a prominent corporation. With an iron hand? Maybe. But he would use subtle methods to reach his goals.

“What do you plan to do about it?” she asked carefully.

“About what?”

“The complex. You mentioned some doubts. Tonight’s meeting must have raised others. Will you change your proposal?”

“No.”

“No? Building the complex as planned now would be environmentally dumb.”

““Dumb’?” he mocked with a grin.

She felt put down with that one echoed word. Exasperated, she threw her hands in the air. “I gave all the reasons in that auditorium. I won’t repeat them now. You’re being bullheaded. Do you go about all your building projects this way?”

“What do you know about my building projects?” he asked with a trace of lingering amusement.

“Nothing. I had only heard of the Hansen Corporation before tonight. But if it’s like most other businesses, it puts the dollar bill before every other consideration.”

“Not always.” His voice carried a warning now, but she sat straighter and barreled on.

“Then you acknowledge that profit is your raison d’etre?”

To her chagrin, Ross laughed. “I would never be where I am today if I didn’t have an eye out for profit!”

She felt oddly betrayed. “That’s really pathetic,” she said, recalling the tall, handsomely bearded man in jeans, boots, and a simple peasant shirt. “I’d have thought that, with what you stood for at one time, you might have minimized crass capitalism. You have sold out, which just goes to show how terribly wrong one person can be in the judging of another, or how necive.”

Ross had risen. His eyes were too dark to distinguish anger from hurt. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You didn’t know me then, and you certainly don’t know me now. When I returned from Africa that last time with my grungy denims, my dashiki, and my beard”-his eyes narrowed-“it took me all of a week to shuck them. And do you know why?”

He went on only when she shook her head. “Because I saw that there was more narrow-mindedness, more prejudice, coming from the mouths of the hippie generation than anywhere else. Because of my appearance, I was assumed to be one of them, until they discovered that I didn’t always think the way they did, that I had a mind of my own. The true sign of a liberal, Chloe, is accepting people for their differences, respecting their right to be different. Those others, the ones who prided themselves on being nonconformists, declared all-out war on the establishment. And what happened?”

Without waiting for her response he went on, his voice low but relentless, his gaze intense. He put his hands on the table. “When was the last time you saw a flower child? Hmm? They’ve vanished. Disbanded. Lost the war.” The pause he took was for a deep breath. “Well, I haven’t lost. I’m working from within to change things. Did that ever occur to you, Chloe? You’ve been so quick to label me first one way, then the other. Did it ever occur to you that your impression wasn’t even skin deep, that there’s a me under it all?”

It was a while before Chloe was able to speak. She certainly didn’t know Ross. This speech presented a new side of him. And he was right.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was wrong of me to do that. I’m not always that way.” She tried a smile in apology. To her relief, it seemed to work. His features relaxed.

“Only with me, eh?” He inhaled deeply and stood tall, holding his breath for a minute while his head fell back, then releasing it as his eyes met hers.

She felt suitably contrite and suddenly drained. “You have a knack for bringing out my extremes. I guess I’m just tired. It’s late.” A glance at the bold face of Ross’s watch told her exactly how late. “Oh, Lord! It’s two in the morning!” She caught her breath, looked at the ceiling, and whispered, “Do you think we’ve woken anyone up?”