Temptation (3 page)

He stood with his hands on his hips, narrow, lean, spare. A faded denim workshirt was rolled up past the elbows to show tan and muscle. Warily, Eden brought her eyes to his face. It was tanned like his arms, with the skin drawn tight over bone. His nose was long and not quite straight, his mouth full and firm and frowning. Jet-black and unruly, his hair fell over his brow and curled just beyond the collar of his shirt. Pale, almost translucent green eyes scowled up at her.

An apple, Eden, and now the serpent. The idea ran through her head before she drew herself back.

Wonderful, she thought. She'd been caught pinching apples by the foreman. Since disappearing wasn't an option, she opened her mouth to start a plausible explanation.

“Young lady, do you belong at the camp next door?”

The tone brought on a frown. She might be penniless, she might be scrambling to make a living, but she was still a Carlbough. And a Carlbough could certainly handle an apple foreman. “Yes, that's right. I'd like to—”

“Are you aware that this is private property, and that you're trespassing?”

The color of her eyes deepened, the only outward sign of her embarrassed fury. “Yes, but I—”

“These trees weren't planted for little girls to climb.”

“I hardly think—”

“Come down.” There was absolute command in his tone. “I'll have to take you back to the camp director.”

The temper she had always gently controlled bubbled up until she gave serious consideration to throwing what was left of the apple down on his head. No one, absolutely no one, gave her orders. “That won't be necessary.”

“I'll decide what's necessary. Come down here.”

She'd come down all right, Eden thought. Then, with a few well-chosen words, he'd be put precisely in his place. Annoyance carried her from branch to branch, leaving no room for thoughts of height or inexperience. The two scrapes she picked up on the trip were hardly felt. Her back was to him as she lowered herself into a vee of the trunk. The pleasure of demolishing him with icy manners would be well worth the embarrassment of having been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. She imagined him cringing and babbling an incoherent apology.

Then her foot slipped, and her frantic grab for a limb was an inch short of the mark. With a shriek that was equal parts surprise and dismay, she fell backward into space.

The breath whooshed back out of her as she connected with something solid. The tanned, muscled arms she'd seen from above wrapped around her. Momentum carried them both to the ground and, like the apple, they rolled. When the world stopped spinning, Eden found herself beneath a very firm, very long body.

Roberta's cap had flown off and Eden's face, no longer shadowed by the brim, was left unguarded in the sunlight. Chase stared down at her and felt soft breasts yield under him.

“You're not twelve years old,” he murmured.

“Certainly not.”

Amused now, he shifted his weight, but didn't remove it. “I didn't get a good look at you when you were in the tree.” He had time to make up for that now, he decided, and he looked his fill. “You're quite a windfall.” Carelessly, he brushed stray strands of hair away from her face. His fingertips were as rough against her skin as the bark had been to her palms. “What are you doing in a girls' summer camp?”

“Running it,” she said coldly. It wasn't a complete lie. Because it would have bruised her dignity even more to squirm, she settled on sending him an icy look. “Would you mind?”

“Running it?” Since she had dropped out of one of his trees, he had no qualms about ignoring her request. “I met someone. Bartholomew—red hair, appealing face.” He scanned Eden's classic features. “You're not her.”

“Obviously not.” Because his body was too warm, too male, and too close, she sacrificed some dignity by putting her hands to his shoulders. He didn't budge. “I'm her partner. Eden Carlbough.”

“Ah, of the Philadelphia Carlboughs.”

The humor in his voice was another blow to her pride. Eden combated it with a withering stare. “That's correct.”

Intriguing little package, he thought. All manners and breeding. “A pleasure, Miss Carlbough. I'm Chase Elliot of the South Mountain Elliots.”

Chapter 2

Perfect, just perfect, Eden thought as she stared up at him. Not the foreman, but the bloody owner. Caught stealing apples by, falling out of trees on and pinned to the ground under, the owner. She took a deep breath.

“How do you do, Mr. Elliot.”

She might have been in the front parlor pouring tea, Chase thought; he had to admire her. Then he burst out laughing. “I do just fine, Miss Carlbough. And you?”

He was laughing at her. Even after the scandal and shame she had faced, no one had dared laugh at her. Not to her face. Her lips trembled once before she managed to control them. She wouldn't give the oaf the pleasure of knowing how much he infuriated her.

“I'm quite well, thank you, or will be when you let me up.”

City manners, he thought. Socially correct and absolutely meaningless. His own were a bit cruder, but more honest. “In a minute. I'm finding this conversation fascinating.”

“Then perhaps we could continue it standing up.”

“I'm very comfortable.” That wasn't precisely true. The soft, slender lines of her body were causing him some problems. Rather than alleviate them, Chase decided to enjoy them. And her. “So, how are you finding life in the rough?”

He was still laughing at her, without troubling to pretend otherwise. Eden tasted the fury bubbling up in her throat. She swallowed it. “Mr. Elliot—”

“Chase,” he interrupted. “I think, under the circumstances, we should dispense with formalities.”

Control teetered long enough for her to shove against his shoulders again. It was like pushing rock. “This is ridiculous. You
have
to let me up.”

“I rarely have to do anything.” His voice was a drawl now, and insolent, but no less imposing than the bellow that had first greeted her. “I've heard a lot about you, Eden Carlbough.” And he'd seen the newspaper pictures that he now realized had been just shy of the mark. It was difficult to capture that cool sexuality in two dimensions. “I never expected a Carlbough of Philadelphia to fall out of one of my trees.”

Her breathing became unsteady. All the training, the years she'd spent being taught how to coat every emotion with politeness, began to crack. “It was hardly my intention to fall out of one of your trees.”

“Wouldn't have fallen out if you hadn't climbed up.” He smiled, realizing how glad he was that he'd decided to check this section of the orchard himself.

This couldn't be happening. Eden closed her eyes a moment and waited for things to fall back into their proper places. She couldn't be lying flat on her back under a stranger. “Mr. Elliot.” Her voice was calm and reasonable when she tried it again. “I'd be more than happy to give you a complete explanation if you'd let me up.”

“Explanation first.”

Her mouth quite simply fell open. “You are the most unbelievably rude and boorish man I have ever met.”

“My property” he said simply. “My rules. Let's hear your explanation.”

She almost shuddered with the effort to hold back the torrent of abuse that leaped to her tongue. Because of her position, she had to squint up at him. Already a headache was collecting behind her eyes. “Three of my girls wandered away from camp. Unfortunately, they climbed over the fence and onto your property. I found them, ordered them down and sent them back to the camp, where they are being properly disciplined.”

“Tar and feathers?”

“I'm sure you'd prefer that, but we settled on extra kitchen detail.”

“Seems fair. But that doesn't explain you falling out of my tree and into my arms. Though I've about decided not to complain about that. You smell like Paris.” To Eden's amazement, he leaned down and buried his face in her hair. “Wicked nights in Paris.”

“Stop it.” Now her voice wasn't calm, wasn't disciplined.

Chase felt her heart begin to thud against his own. It ran through his mind that he wanted to do more than sample her scent. But when he lifted his head, her eyes were wide. Along with the awareness in them was a trace of fear.

“Explanation,” he said lightly. “That's all I intend to take at the moment.”

She could hear her own pulse hammering in her throat. Of its own accord, her gaze fell upon his mouth. Was she mad, or could she almost taste the surge of masculine flavor that would certainly be on his lips? She felt her muscles softening, then instantly stiffened. She might very well be mad. If an explanation was what it took, she'd give it to him and get away. Far away.

“One of the girls . . .” Her mind veered vengefully to Roberta. “One of them left her cap in the tree.”

“So you went up after it.” He nodded, accepting her explanation. “That doesn't explain why you were helping yourself to one of my apples.”

“It was mealy.”

Grinning again, he ran a hand along her jawline. “I doubt that. I'd imagine it was hard and tart and delicious. I had my share of stomachaches from green apples years ago. The pleasure's usually worth the pain.”

Something uncomfortably like need was spreading through her. The fear of it chilled both her eyes and voice. “You have your explanation, and your apology.”

“I never heard an apology.”

She'd be damned, she'd be twice damned if she'd give him one now. Glaring at him, she nearly managed to look regal. “I want you to let me up this instant. You're perfectly free to prosecute if you feel the need for compensation for a couple of worm-filled apples, but for now, I'm tired of your ridiculous backwoods arrogance.”

His apples were the best in the state, the best in the country. But at the moment, he relished the idea of her sinking her pretty white teeth into a worm. “You haven't had a taste of backwoods arrogance yet. Maybe you should.”

“You wouldn't dare,” she began, only to have the last word muffled by his mouth.

The kiss caught her completely off guard. It was rough and demanding and as tart as the apple had been. Forbidden fruit. To a woman accustomed to coaxing, to requesting, the hard demand left her limp, unable to respond or protest. Then his hands were on her face, his thumbs tracing her jawline. Like the kiss, his palms were hard and thrilling.

He didn't regret it. Though he wasn't a man used to taking from a woman what wasn't offered, he didn't regret it. Not when the fruit was this sweet. Even though she lay very still, he could taste the panicked excitement on her lips. Yes, very sweet, he thought. Very innocent. Very dangerous. He lifted his head the moment she began to struggle.

“Easy,” he murmured, still stroking her chin with his thumb. Her eyes were more frantic than furious. “It seems you're not the woman of the world you're reputed to be.”

“Let me up.” Her voice was shaking now, but she was beyond caring.

Getting to his feet, Chase brought her with him. “Want some help brushing off?”

“You are the most offensive man I've ever met.”

“I can believe it. A pity you've been spoiled and pampered for so long.” She started to turn away, but he caught her shoulders for one last look. “It should be interesting to see how long you last here without the basics—like hairdressers and butlers.”

He's just like everyone else, she thought; she coated her hurt and doubt with disdain. “I'm very late for my next class, Mr. Elliot. If you'll excuse me?”

He lifted his hands from her shoulders, holding the palms out a moment before dropping them. “Try to keep the kids out of the trees,” he warned. “A fall can be dangerous.”

His smile had insults trembling on her lips. Clamping her tongue between her teeth, Eden scrambled over the fence.

He watched her, enjoying the view until she was swallowed up by the aspens. Glimpsing the cap at his feet, he bent down for it. As good as a calling card, he decided, tucking it into his back pocket.

***

Eden went through the rest of the day struggling not to think. About anything. She had deliberately avoided telling Candy about her meeting with Chase. In telling of it, she would have to think about it.

The humiliation of being caught up a tree was hard enough to swallow. Still, under other circumstances, she and Candy might have shared a laugh over it. Under any other circumstances.

But more than the humiliation, even more than the anger, were the sensations. She wasn't sure what they were, but each separate sensation she had experienced in the orchard remained fresh and vibrant throughout the day. She couldn't shake them off or cover them over, and she certainly couldn't ignore them. If she understood anything, she understood how important it was for her to close off her feelings before they could grow.

Ridiculous. Eden interrupted her own thoughts. She didn't know Chase Elliot. Moreover, she didn't want to know him. It was true that she couldn't block out what had happened, but she could certainly see that it never happened again.

Over the past year, she had taken control of the reins for the first time in her life. She knew what it was to fumble, what it was to fail, but she also knew she would never fully release those reins again. Disillusionment had toughened her. Perhaps that was the one snatch of silver lining in the cloud.

Because of it, she recognized Chase Elliot as a man who held his own reins, and tightly. She had found him rude and overbearing, but she had also seen his power and authority. She'd had her fill of dominating men. Rough-edged or polished, they were all the same underneath. Since her experience with Eric, Eden's opinion of men in general had reached a low ebb. Her encounter with Chase had done nothing to raise it.

It was annoying that she had to remind herself continually to forget about him.

Learning the camp's routine was enough to occupy her mind. Since she didn't have Candy's years of training and experience in counseling, her responsibilities were relatively few and often mundane, but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing she was more than a spectator. Ambition had become a new vice. If her role as apprentice meant she mucked out stalls and groomed horses, then Eden was determined to have the cleanest stables and the glossiest horses in Pennsylvania. She considered her first blister a badge of accomplishment.

The rush after the dinner bell still intimidated Eden. Twenty-seven girls aged ten to fourteen swarmed the cafeteria. It was one of Eden's new duties to help keep order. Voices were raised on topics that usually ranged from boys to rock stars, then back to boys. With a little luck, there was no jostling or shoving in line. But luck usually required an eagle eye.

Camp Liberty's glossy brochures had promised wholesome food. Tonight's menu included crispy chicken, whipped potatoes and steamed broccoli. Flatware rattled on trays as the girls shuffled, cafeteria-style, down the serving line.

“It's been a good day.” Candy stood beside Eden, her eyes shifting back and forth, as she managed to watch the entire room at once.

“And nearly over.” Even as she said it, Eden realized her back didn't ache quite as much as it had the first couple of days. “I've got two girls in the morning riding session who show real promise. I was hoping I could give them a little extra time a couple of days a week.”

“Great, we'll check the schedule.” Candy watched one of the counselors convince a camper to put a stem of broccoli on her plate. “I wanted to tell you that you handled Roberta and company beautifully. Kitchen detail was an inspiration.”

“Thanks.” Eden realized how low her pride had fallen when such a small thing made her glow. “I did have a twinge of guilt about dumping them on Mrs. Petrie.”

“The report is they behaved like troopers.”

“Roberta?”

“I know.” Candy's smile was wry. Both women turned to see the girl in question, already seated and eating daintily. “It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop. Eden, do you remember Marcia Delacroix from Camp Forden?”

“How could I forget?” With the bulk of the campers seated, Eden and Candy joined the line. “She was the one who put the garter snake in Miss Forden's lingerie drawer.”

“Yeah.” She turned to give Roberta another look. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

With a laugh, Eden accepted a scoop of potatoes. “Let's just say I'll be checking my underwear.” Hefting the tray, she started forward. “You know, Candy, I—” She saw it as if in slow motion. Roberta, the devil's own gleam in her eyes, held her fork vertically, a thick blob of potatoes clinging to the tines. Aim was taken as Roberta pulled back the business end of the fork with an expert flick. Even as Eden opened her mouth, Roberta sent the blob sailing into the hair of the girl across from her. Pandemonium.

Globs of potatoes flew. Girls screamed. More retaliated. In a matter of seconds, floors, tables, chairs and adolescents were coated in a messy layer of white. Like a general leading the way into battle, Candy stepped into the chaos and lifted her whistle. Before she had the chance to blow it, she was hit, right between the eyes.

A shocked silence fell.

With her tray still in her hands, Eden stood, afraid to breathe. One breath, one little breath, she thought, and she would dissolve into helpless laughter. She felt the pressure of a giggle in her lungs as Candy slowly wiped the dollop of potato from the bridge of her nose.

“Young ladies.” The two words, delivered in Candy's most ferocious voice, had Eden's breath catching in her throat. “You will finish your meal in silence. Absolute silence. As you finish, you will line up against this wall. When the dinner hour is over, you will be issued rags, mops and buckets. The mess area will shine tonight.”

“Yes, Miss Bartholomew.” The acknowledgment came in murmured unison. Only Roberta, her hands folded neatly, her face a picture of innocence, responded in clear tones.

After a long ten seconds of silent staring, Candy walked back to Eden and picked up her tray. “If you laugh,” she said in an undertone, “I'll tie your tongue into a square knot.”