Temptation (7 page)

“I haven't finished my hot dog. Have dinner with me.”

“I've had a hot dog already, thank you.”

“I'll make sure hot dogs aren't on the menu. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“We will not talk about it tomorrow.” It was anger that made her breathless, just as it was anger that made her unwise enough to turn toward him. “We will not talk about anything tomorrow.”

“Okay. We won't talk.” To show how reasonable he was, he bent down and closed the conversation, his mouth covering hers. He wasn't holding her, but it took her brain several long, lazy seconds before it accepted the order to back away.

“Don't you have any sense of propriety?” she managed in a strangled voice.

“Not much.” He made up his mind, looking down at her eyes, dazed and as blue as his lake, that he wasn't going to take no for an answer—to any question, “We'll make it about nine tomorrow morning at the entrance to the orchard.”

“Make what?”

“The tour.” He grinned and handed her his stick. “It'll be educational.”

Though she was in an open field, Eden felt her back press into a corner. “We have no intention of disrupting your routine.”

“No problem. I'll pass it on to your co-director before I go back. That way, you'll be sure to be coordinated.”

Eden took a long breath. “You think you're very clever, don't you?”

“Thorough, just thorough, Eden. By the way, your marshmallow's on fire.”

With his hands in his pockets, he strolled off while she blew furiously on the flaming ball.

***

She'd hoped for rain but was disappointed. The morning dawned warm and sunny. She'd hoped for support but was faced with Candy's enthusiasm for a field trip through one of the most prestigious apple orchards in the country. The girls were naturally delighted with any shift in schedule, so as they walked as a group the short distance to the Elliot farm, Eden found herself separated from the excitement.

“You could try not to look as though you're walking to the guillotine.” Candy plucked a scrawny blue flower from the side of the road and stuck it in her hair. “This is a wonderful opportunity—for the girls,” she added quickly.

“You managed to convince me of that, or else I wouldn't be here.”

“Grumpy.”

“I'm not grumpy,” Eden countered. “I'm annoyed at being manipulated.”

“Just a small piece of advice.” Picking another flower, Candy twirled it. “If I'd been manipulated by a man, I'd make certain he believed it was my idea in the first place. Don't you think it would throw him off if you walked up to the gates with a cheery smile and boundless enthusiasm?”

“Maybe.” Eden mulled the idea over until her lips began to curve. “Yes, maybe.”

“There now. With a little practice, you'll find out that deviousness is much better in some cases than dignity.”

“I wouldn't have needed either if you'd let me stay behind.”

“Darling, unless I miss my guess, a certain apple baron would have plucked you up from whatever corner you'd chosen to hide in, tossed you over his wonderfully broad shoulder and dragged you along on our little tour, like it or not.” Pausing, Candy let a sigh escape. “Now that I think about it, that would have been more exciting.”

Because she was well able to picture it herself, Eden's mood hardened again. “At least I thought I could count on support from my best friend.”

“And you can. Absolutely.” With easy affection, Candy draped an arm over Eden's shoulder. “Though why you think you need my support when you have a gorgeous man giving you smoldering kisses, I can't imagine.”

“That's just it!” Because several young heads turned when she raised her voice, Eden fought for calm again. “He had no business pulling something like that in front of everyone.”

“I suppose it is more fun in private.”

“Keep this up, and you may find that garter snake in your underwear yet.”

“Just ask him if he's got a brother, or a cousin. Even an uncle. Ah, here we are,” she continued before Eden could reply. “Now smile and be charming, just like you were taught.”

“You're going to pay for this,” Eden promised her in an undertone. “I don't know how, I don't know when, but you'll pay.”

They brought the group to a halt when the road forked. On the left were stone pillars topped with an arching wrought-iron sign that read ELLIOT. Sloping away from the pillars was a wall a foot thick and high as a man. It was old and sturdy, proving to Eden that the penchant for privacy hadn't begun with Chase.

The entrance road, smooth and well-maintained, ribboned back over the crest of a hill before it disappeared. Along the road were trees, not apple but oak, older and sturdier than the wall.

It was the continuity that drew her, the same symmetry she had seen and admired in the groves. The stone, the trees, even the road, had been there for generations. Looking, Eden understood his pride in them. She, too, had once had a legacy.

Then he strode from behind the wall and she fought back even that small sense of a common ground.

In a T-shirt and jeans, he looked lean and capable. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his arms that made her realize he'd already been working that morning. Drawn against her will, she dropped her gaze to his hands, hands that were hard and competent and unbearably gentle on a woman's skin.

“Morning, ladies.” He swung the gates open for them.

“Oh Lord, he's something,” Eden heard one of the counselors mumble. Remembering Candy's advice, she straightened her shoulders and fixed on her most cheerful smile.

“This is Mr. Elliot, girls. He owns the orchards we'll tour today. Thank you for inviting us, Mr. Elliot.”

“My pleasure—Miss Carlbough.”

The girlish murmurs of agreement became babbles of excitement as a dog sauntered to Chase's side. His fur was the color of apricots and glistened as though it had been polished in the sunlight. The big, sad eyes studied the group of girls before the dog pressed against Chase's leg. Eden had time to think that a smaller man might have been toppled. The dog was no less than three feet high at the shoulder. More of a young lion than a house pet, she thought. When he settled to sit at Chase's feet, Chase didn't have to bend to lay a hand on the dog's head.

“This is Squat. Believe it or not, he was the runt of his litter. He's a little shy.”

Candy gave a sigh of relief when she saw the enormous tail thump the ground. “But friendly, right?”

“Squat's a pushover for females.” His gaze circled the group. “Especially so many pretty ones. He was hoping he could join the tour.”

“He's neat.” Roberta made up her mind instantly. Walking forward, she gave the dog's head a casual pat. “I'll walk with you, Squat.”

Agreeable, the dog rose to lead the way.

There was more to the business of apples than Eden had imagined. It wasn't all trees and plump fruit to be plucked and piled into baskets for market. Harvesting wasn't limited to autumn with the variety of types that were planted. The season, Chase explained, had been extended into months, from early summer to late fall.

They weren't just used for eating and baking. Even cores and peelings were put to use for cider, or dried and shipped to Europe for certain champagnes. As they walked, the scent of ripening fruit filled the air, making more than one mouth water.

The Tree of Life, Eden thought as the scent tempted her. Forbidden fruit. She kept herself surrounded by girls and tried to remember that the tour was educational.

He explained that the quick-maturing trees were planted in the forty-foot spaces between the slow growers, then cut out when the space was needed. A practical business, she remembered, organized, with a high level of utility and little waste. Still, it had the romance of apple blossoms in spring.

Masses of laborers harvested the summer fruit. While they watched the men and machines at work, Chase answered questions.

“They don't look ripe,” Roberta commented.

“They're full-size.” Chase rested a hand on her shoulder as he chose an apple. “The changes that take place after the fruit's reached maturity are mainly chemical. It goes on without the tree. The fruit's hard, but the seeds are brown. Look.” Using a pocketknife with casual skill, he cut the fruit in half. “The apples we harvest now are superior to the ones that hang longer.” Reading Roberta's expression correctly, Chase tossed her half the fruit. The other half Squat took in one yawning bite.

“Maybe you'd like to pick some yourself.” The reaction was positive, and Chase reached up to demonstrate. “Twist the fruit off the stem. You don't want to break the twig and lose bearing wood.”

Before Eden could react, the girls had scattered to nearby trees. She was facing Chase. Perhaps it was the way his lips curved. Perhaps it was the way his eyes seemed so content to rest on hers, but her mind went instantly and completely blank.

“You have a fascinating business.” She could have kicked herself for the inanity of it.

“I like it.”

“I, ah . . .” There must be a question, an intelligent question, she could ask. “I suppose you ship the fruit quickly to avoid spoilage.”

He doubted that either of them gave two hoots about apples at the moment, but he was willing to play the game. “It's stored right after picking at thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. I like your hair pulled back like that. It makes me want to tug on the string and watch it fall all over your shoulders.”

Her pulse began to sing, but she pretended she hadn't heard. “I'm sure you have various tests to determine quality.”

“We look for richness.” Slowly, he turned the fruit over in his hand, but his gaze roamed to her mouth. “Flavor.” He watched her lips part as if to taste. “Firmness,” he murmured, as he circled her throat with his free hand. “Tenderness.”

Her breath seemed to concentrate, to sweeten into the sound of a sigh. It was almost too late when she bit it off. “It would be best if we stuck to the subject at hand.”

“Which subject?” His thumb traced along her jawline.

“Apples.”

“I'd like to make love with you in the orchards, Eden, with the sun warm on your face and the grass soft at your back.”

It terrified her that she could almost taste what it would be like, to be with him, alone. “If you'll excuse me.”

“Eden.” He took her hand, knowing he was pushing too hard, too fast, but unable to stop himself. “I want you. Maybe too much.”

Though his voice was low, hardly more than a whisper, she felt her nerves jangling. “You should know you can't say those things to me here, now. If the children—”

“Have dinner with me.”

“No.” On this, she told herself she would stand firm. She would not be manipulated. She would not be maneuvered. “I have a job, Chase, one that runs virtually twenty-four hours a day for the next few weeks. Even if I wanted to have dinner with you, which I don't, it would be impossible.”

He considered all this reasonable. But then, a great many smoke screens were. “Are you afraid to be alone with me? Really alone.”

The truth was plain and simple. She ignored it. “You flatter yourself.”

“I doubt a couple hours out of an evening would disrupt the camp's routine, or yours.”

“You don't know anything about the camp's routine.”

“I know that between your partner and the counselors, the girls are more than adequately supervised. And I know that your last riding lesson is at four o'clock.”

“How did you—”

“I asked Roberta,” he said easily. “She told me you have supper at six, then a planned activity or free time from seven to nine. Lights-out is at ten. You usually spend your time after supper with the horses. And sometimes you ride out at night when you think everyone's asleep.”

She opened her mouth, then shut it again, having no idea what to say. She had thought those rides exclusively hers, exclusively private.

“Why do you ride out alone at night, Eden?”

“Because I enjoy it.”

“Then tonight you can enjoy having dinner with me.”

She tried to remember there were girls beneath the trees around them. She tried to remember that a display of temper was most embarrassing for the person who lost control. “Perhaps you have some difficulty understanding a polite refusal. Why don't we try this? The last place I want to be tonight, or at any other time, is with you.”

He moved his shoulders before he took a step closer. “I guess we can just settle all this now. Here.”

“You wouldn't . . .” She didn't bother to finish the thought. By now she knew very well what he would dare. One quick look around showed her that Roberta and Marcie were leaning against the trunk of a tree, happily munching apples and enjoying the show. “All right, stop it.” So much for not being manipulated. “I have no idea why you insist on having dinner with someone who finds you so annoying.”

“Me, either. We'll discuss it tonight. Seven-thirty.” Tossing Eden the apple, he strolled over toward Roberta.

Eden hefted the fruit. She even went so far as to draw a mental bull's-eye on the back of his head. With a sound of disgust, she took a hefty bite instead.

Chapter 5

Vengefully, Eden dragged a brush through her hair. Despite the harsh treatment, it sprang back softly to wisp around her face and wave to her shoulders. She wouldn't go to any trouble as she had for other dates and dinners, but leave it loose and unstyled. Though he was undoubtedly too hardheaded to notice that sort of female subtlety.

She didn't bother with jewelry, except for the simple pearl studs she often wore around camp. In an effort to look cool, even prim, she wore a high-necked white blouse, regretting only the lace at the cuffs. Matching it with a white skirt, she tried for an icy look. The result was an innocent fragility she couldn't detect in the one small mirror on the wall.

Intending on making it plain that she had gone to no trouble for Chase's benefit, she almost ignored makeup. Grumbling to herself, Eden picked up her blusher. Basic feminine vanity, she admitted; then she added a touch of clear gloss to her lips. There was, after all, a giant step between not fussing and looking like a hag. She was reaching for her bottle of perfume before she stopped herself. No, that was definitely fussing. He would get soap, and soap only. She turned away from the mirror just as Candy swung through the cabin door.

“Wow.” Stopping in the doorway, Candy took a long, critical look. “You look terrific.”

“I do?” Brow creased, Eden turned back to the mirror. “Terrific wasn't exactly what I was shooting for. I wanted something along the lines of prim.”

“You couldn't look prim if you wore sackcloth and ashes, any more than I could look delicate even with lace at my wrists.”

With a sound of disgust, Eden tugged at the offending lace. “I knew it. I just knew it was a mistake. Maybe I can rip it off.”

“Don't you dare.” Laughing, Candy bounded into the room to stop Eden from destroying her blouse. “Besides, it isn't the clothes that are important. It's the attitude, right?”

Eden gave the lace a last tug. “Right. Candy, are you sure everything's going to be under control here? I could still make excuses.”

“Everything's already under control.” Candy flopped down on her bunk, then began to peel the banana she held. “In fact, things are great. I've just taken a five-minute break to see you off and stuff my face.” She took a big bite to prove her point. “Then,” she continued over a mouthful of banana, “we're getting together in the mess area to take an inventory of our record collection for the dance. The girls want some practice time before the big night.”

“You could probably use extra supervision.”

Candy waved her half-eaten banana. “Everyone's going to be in the same four walls for the next couple of hours. You go enjoy your dinner and stop worrying. Where are you going?”

“I don't know.” She stuffed some tissue in her bag. “And I really don't care.”

“Come on, after nearly six weeks of wholesome but god-awful boring food, aren't you just a little excited about the prospect of oysters Rockefeller or escargots?”

“No.” She began to clasp and unclasp her bag. “I'm only going because it was simpler than creating a scene.”

Candy broke off a last bite of banana. “Certainly knows how to get his own way, doesn't he?”

“That's about to end.” Eden closed her purse with a snap. “Tonight.”

At the sound of an approaching car, Candy propped herself up on an elbow. She noticed Eden nervously biting her lower lip, but she only gestured toward the door with her banana peel. “Well, good luck.”

Eden caught the grin and paused, her hand on the screen door. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Yours, Eden.” Candy stretched, and prepared to go rock and roll. “Always.”

“I'll be back early.”

Candy grinned, wisely saying nothing as the screen door slammed shut.

However hard Eden might have tried to look remote, icy, disinterested, the breath clogged up in Chase's lungs the moment she stepped outside. They were still an hour from twilight, and the sun's last rays shot through her hair. Her skirt swirled around bare legs honey-toned after long days outdoors. Her chin was lifted, perhaps in anger, perhaps in defiance. He could only see the elegant line of her throat.

The same slowly drumming need rose up inside him the moment she stepped onto the grass.

She'd expected him to look less . . . dangerous in more formal attire. Eden discovered she had underestimated him again. The muscles in his arms and shoulders weren't so much restricted as enhanced by the sports jacket. The shirt, either by design or good fortune, matched his eyes and was left open at the throat. Slowly and easily he smiled at her, and her lips curved in automatic response.

“I imagined you looking like this.” In truth, he hadn't been sure she would come, or what he might have done if she had locked herself away in one of the cabins and refused to see him. “I'm glad you didn't disappoint me.”

Feeling her resolve weaken, Eden made an effort to draw back. “I made a bargain,” she began, only to fall silent when he handed her a bunch of anemones freshly picked from the side of the road. He wasn't supposed to be sweet, she reminded herself. She wasn't supposed to be vulnerable to sweetness. Still, unable to resist, she buried her face in the flowers.

That was a picture he would carry with him forever, Chase realized. Eden, with wildflowers clutched in both hands; her eyes, touched with both pleasure and confusion, watching him over the petals.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Taking one of her hands, he brought it to his lips. She should have pulled away. She knew she should. Yet there was something so simple, so right in the moment—as if she recognized it from some long-ago dream. Bemused, Eden took a step closer, but the sound of giggling brought her out of the spell.

Immediately she tried to pull her hand away. “The girls.” She glanced around quickly enough to catch the fielder's cap as it disappeared around the corner of the building.

“Well, then, we wouldn't want to disappoint them?” Turning her hand over, Chase pressed a kiss to her palm. Eden felt the heat spread.

“You're being deliberately difficult.” But she closed her hand as if to capture the sensation and hold it.

“Yes.” He smiled, but resisted the impulse to draw her into his arms and enjoy the promise he'd seen so briefly in her eyes.

“If you'd let me go, I'd like to put the flowers in water.”

“I'll do it.” Candy left her post by the door and came outside. Even Eden's glare didn't wipe the smile from her face. “They're lovely, aren't they? Have a good time.”

“We'll do that.” Chase linked his fingers with Eden's and drew her toward his car. She told herself the sun had been in her eyes. Why else would she have missed the low-slung white Lamborghini parked beside the cabin. She settled herself in the passenger's seat with a warning to herself not to relax.

The moment the engine sprang to life, there was a chorus of goodbyes. Every girl and counselor had lined up to wave them off. Eden disguised a chuckle with a cough.

“It seems this is one of the camp's highlights this summer.”

Chase lifted a hand out of the open window to wave back. “Let's see if we can make it one of ours.”

Something in his tone made her glance over just long enough to catch that devil of a smile. Eden made up her mind then and there. No, she wouldn't relax, but she'd be damned if she'd be intimidated either. “All right.” She leaned back in her seat, prepared to make the best of a bad deal. “I haven't had a meal that wasn't served on a tray in weeks.”

“I'll cancel the trays.”

“I'd appreciate it.” She laughed, then assured herself that laughing wasn't really relaxing. “Stop me if I start stacking the silverware.” The breeze blowing in the open window was warm and as fresh as the flowers Chase had brought her. Eden allowed herself the pleasure of lifting her face to it. “This is nice, especially when I was expecting a pickup truck.”

“Even country bumpkins can appreciate a well-made machine.”

“That's not what I meant.” Ready with an apology, she turned, but saw he was smiling. “I suppose you wouldn't care if it was.”

“I know what I am, what I want and what I can do.” As he took a curve he slowed. His eyes met hers briefly. “But the opinions of certain people always matter. In any case, I prefer the mountains to traffic jams. What do you prefer, Eden?”

“I haven't decided.” That was true, she realized with a jolt. In a matter of weeks her priorities, and her hopes, had changed direction. Musing on that, she almost missed the arching ELLIOT sign when Chase turned between the columns. “Where are we going?”

“To dinner.”

“In the orchard?”

“In my house.” With that he changed gears and had the car cruising up the gravel drive.

Eden tried to ignore the little twist of apprehension she felt. True, this wasn't the crowded―and safe―restaurant she had imagined. She'd shared private dinners before, hadn't she? She'd been raised from the cradle to know how to handle any social situation. But the apprehension remained. Dinner alone with Chase wouldn't be, couldn't possibly be; like any other experience.

Even as she was working out a polite protest, the car crested the hill. The house rose into view.

It was stone. She couldn't know it was local stone, quarried from the mountains. She saw only that it was old, beautifully weathered. At first glance, it gave the appearance of being gray, but on a closer look colors glimmered through. Amber, russet, tints of green and umber. The sun was still high enough to make the chips of mica and quartz glisten. There were three stories, with the second overhanging the first by a skirting balcony. Eden could see flashes of red and buttercup yellow from the pots of geraniums and marigolds. She caught the scent of lavender even before she saw the rock garden.

A wide, sweeping stone stairway, worn slightly in the center, led to double glass doors of diamond panes. A redwood barrel was filled with pansies that nodded in the early evening breeze.

It was nothing like what she had expected, and yet . . . the house, and everything about it, was instantly recognizable.

His own nervousness caught Chase off guard. Eden said nothing when he stopped the car, still nothing when he got out to open her door. It mattered, more than he had ever imagined it could, what she thought, what she said, what she felt about his home.

She held her hand out for his in a gesture he knew was automatic. Then she stood beside him, looking at what was his, what had been his even before his birth. Tension lodged in the back of his neck.

“Oh, Chase, it's beautiful.” She lifted her free hand to shield her eyes from the sun behind the house. “No wonder you love it.”

“My great-grandfather built it.” The tension had dissolved without his being aware of it. “He even helped quarry the stone. He wanted something that would last and that would carry a piece of him as long as it did.”

She thought of the home that had been her family's for generations, feeling the too-familiar burning behind her eyes. She'd lost that. Sold it. The need to tell him was almost stronger than pride, because in that moment she thought he might understand.

He felt her change in mood even before he glanced down and saw the glint of tears in her eyes. “What is it, Eden?”

“Nothing.” No, she couldn't tell him. Some wounds were best left hidden. Private. “I was just thinking how important some traditions are.”

“You still miss your father.”

“Yes.” Her eyes were dry now, the moment past. “I'd love to see inside.”

He hesitated a moment, knowing there had been more and that she'd been close to sharing it with him. He could wait, Chase told himself, though his patience was beginning to fray. He would have to wait until she took that step toward him rather than away from him.

With her hand still in his, he climbed the steps to the door. On the other side lay a mountain of apricot fur known as Squat. Even after Chase opened the door, the mound continued to snore.

“Are you sure you should have such a vicious watchdog unchained?”

“My theory is most burglars wouldn't have the nerve to step over him.” Catching Eden around the waist, Chase lifted her up and over.

The stone insulated well against the heat, so the hall was cool and comfortable. High, beamed ceilings gave the illusion of unlimited space. A Monet landscape caught her eye, but before she could comment on it, Chase was leading her through a set of mahogany doors.

The room was cozily square, with window seats recessed into the east and west walls. Instantly Eden could imagine the charm of watching the sun rise or set. Comfort was the theme of the room, with its range of blues from the palest aqua to the deepest indigo. Handhooked rugs set off the American antiques. There were fresh flowers here, too, spilling out of a Revere Ware bowl. It was a touch she hadn't expected from a bachelor, particularly one who worked with his hands.

Thoughtful, she crossed the room to the west window. The slanting sun cast long shadows over the buildings he had taken them through that morning. She remembered the conveyor belts, the busy sorters and packers, the noise. Behind her was a small, elegant room with pewter bowls and wild roses.

Peace and challenge, she realized, and she sighed without knowing why. “I imagine it's lovely when the sun starts to drop.”

“It's my favorite view.” His voice came from directly behind her, but for once she didn't stiffen when he rested his hands on her shoulders. He tried to tell himself it was just coincidence that she had chosen to look out that window, but he could almost believe that his own need for her to see and understand had guided her there. It wouldn't be wise to forget who she was and how she chose to live. “There's no Symphony Hall or Rodin Museum.”

His fingers gently massaged the curve of her shoulders. But his voice wasn't as patient. Curious, she turned. His hands shifted to let her slide through, then settled on her shoulders again. “I don't imagine they're missed. If they were, you could visit, then come back to this.” Without thinking, she lifted her hand to brush the hair from his forehead. Even as she caught herself, his hand closed around her wrist. “Chase, I—”