Storm Over the Lake (12 page)

The look in his eyes made her head for the stairs. “I thought that required a little cooperation,” she said over her shoulder with forced bravado.

“Dana.”

She turned and met his eyes, saw the confidence, the patience in them.

“After the first thirty seconds,” he said very quietly, “you wouldn't be fighting me.”

She swallowed down the fear. “I call that conceit.”

He smiled, a sensuous smile that made her pulse race. “Little girl, if you think I've gone through my entire routine with you, you're even less sophisticated than I gave you credit for.” The smile deepened.
“I think, very soon, I'm going to fill in some of the gaps in your education.”

“Oh, no, you're not!” she returned.

His eyes went up and down her slender figure, lingering on the deep cut of the bodice. “A challenge like that can be a subtle invitation, did you know?”

“No, but I'll bet the dragon does,” she said without thinking.

Both dark brows went up together and knitted. “The dragon?”

In too deep to back out, she lifted her face proudly. “Miss Braunns,” she said carelessly.

A tiny smile curved his mouth. “Jealous, honey?” he asked insolently.

She flushed angrily. “I don't envy her in your bed, if that's what you mean!” she flashed.

“How would you know, little cat,” he asked in a low, soft tone, “since you've yet to share my bed in that respect? Not forgetting,” he added wickedly, “that you've slept in my arms.”

“That was…that was entirely…innocent!” she faltered.

“On your part,” he corrected. He paused to light a cigarette. “I learned the tortures of the damned before I finally got to sleep,” he said quietly.

She gaped at him, her eyes curious as they met the deep hunger in his.

“If you don't stop looking at me like that…” he warned in a tight, husky voice.

The hint was enough. She turned and ran up the stairs.

I
t wasn't until she and Pat were pulling into the small remodeled Alpine village of Helen that Dana began to wonder why Adrian had been waiting for her the night before.

As they wandered through the Bavarian-style shops and merged with the crush of tourists, it played on her mind. Could it be possible that he was jealous of her? For just an instant, she was on top of the world—until she remembered that he'd
been out with Fayre. Probably he'd only just got in himself and was on his way upstairs when he heard her arrive. Her heart fell.

“Hey, why the long face?” Pat teased, and pulled her arm through his as they walked back toward the car. “There's a short order place across the street. Let's get a few hot dogs and some fries and go picnic on the Chattahoochee. Would you like that?”

Her face lit up. “Oh, yes! Could we go to that little roadside park in Roberts-town?” she asked.

“I thought I was showing you someplace new,” he teased.

She shook her head with a smile. “I used to work for a small weekly a few miles away. I know this part of the state like the back of my hand.”

“We live and learn,” Pat said with a wry shake of his head.

It was like finding a tiny spot of heaven, the little roadside park with its towering oaks leaning out over the wide, bubbling river and its stone tables and benches.
Dana barely took time to eat before she clambered down the bank, holding on to the exposed roots of a huge sycamore, and walked barefooted into the cold water.

“Careful you don't fall in,” Pat called to her from the safety of the bank.

“I'm a river rat,” she called back. “I've been all the way down to Helen in this river in an inner tube, and I've got the scars to prove it.”

“Crazy woman,” Pat sighed. “Typical reporter. Why do we take risks like that, hmm?”

She gazed at the fast running water as it slipped over the huge boulders made smooth by years of watery friction, at the low hanging branches, with their emerald green leaves, at the shady, watery peace of the river.

“Pat, would life really be worth living without a little danger?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged. “I'm not sure.”

She closed her eyes and listened to the water as it whispered noisily in its banks, wondering vaguely at the peace it gave her. The sound of running water once had
fostered nightmares. Now, when she thought about it, all she seemed to remember was a pair of hard arms holding her, rocking her, and the sound of a deep voice murmuring against her hair. She sighed with a tiny smile.

“I hate to break up what looks like a lifelong love affair,” Pat called, “but it's getting late, and it is a two hour drive back.”

She waded back to shore and pulled herself up on the bank. Her face was alight with pleasure as she smiled up at Pat.

“Thank you for today,” she told him. “It's been delicious.”

He chuckled. “I couldn't have put it better myself. I enjoyed it too, and I wish we could stay longer. But sometimes the job goes home with me, and this is one of those weekends. Thanks,” he added darkly, “to our mutual boss.”

“I don't understand,” she said, following him to the car.

“Call it homework,” he said with a wry grin.

She grimaced. “Spite would be a better adjective.”

“You told me he didn't have any claim on you,” he said as he cranked the car and pulled out into traffic.

“We had an argument about the time I was supposed to get in last night,” she replied quietly. “One of many small disagreements that keep cropping up. It's me he's really after, not you, even though it may seem like it.”

“In that case,” Pat grinned, “maybe you could get him to give
you
overtime work instead of me.”

“Patrick my friend, for you I'll try,” she laughed.

But she didn't. Because for the next few days, Adrian Devereaux was as remote and cold as one of the outer planets. He barely spoke to her except on business, and each time Patrick called for her at night to take her out, he shut himself up in his den and didn't even speak to the young man. It came as something of a shock when he came home early Friday afternoon and told her to start packing.

“We're going to the lake for the weekend,” he said shortly.

“We?” she echoed.

“You and Lillian and I,” he growled, “who the hell did you think I meant?”

She flinched at the tone. “I thought…I mean, Miss Braunns called this morning and said that you were taking her to the cabin….”

“Did she?” he asked darkly.

“Yes.” What an inadequate word, she thought, to describe what Fayre had really said—the venom in her voice as she told Dana how “affectionate” Adrian had been lately, and how she was looking forward to an uninterrupted weekend with him, and how Dana had damned sure better guarantee that they weren't disturbed. But she didn't tell him that. She only said, “Yes.”

“Do you swim?” he asked suddenly.

“No, sir,” she replied without thinking.

He turned on her, his eyes black, his face heavily lined and tired. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me sir?”

She swallowed nervously. “I'm sorry,”
she met his threatening gaze levelly. “Must I go?” she added softly. “I had planned…”

“He's in Chicago,” he told her with narrowed eyes.

Both eyebrows went up. “Pat? But we were going…”

“Were is right. You're coming to the lake with me. You've got exactly thirty minutes to pack.” He turned back to his desk, thumbing through papers.

She opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it. She sighed as she went out the door. Talk about homework, she thought miserably, it looked like this was going to be a honey of a working weekend. He'd probably saved up every bit of correspondence for her. With a grimace she went to her room to pack.

Leaving Frank behind, Adrian drove the Mercedes, with Dana in front and Lillian comfortably relaxed in the back seat. They reached Gainesville in no time, and he stopped at a big chain supermarket.

“Sir,” Lillian protested, “the freezer's full, and the cabinet's stocked…”

He grinned as he got out of the small car. “Not with what I want. Come on!”

The years had fallen away. He seemed younger, more relaxed—almost carefree. And the charm he was turning full force on Dana was devastating.

He pushed the grocery cart himself. “Lillian,” he told the older woman, “get me some lettuce and tomatoes and onions from the produce counter.”

She frowned. “You going to make a salad?” she asked.

“I'm going to make a scene if you don't get going,” he threatened, not even breaking stride as he headed for the dairy counter.

Lillian went, shaking her head, and Dana followed her boss. He was picking up some flat meal cakes.

“Get me a carton of sour cream,” he told her, nodding toward the nearby section of yogurt and creams.

With a puzzled glance, she picked up a large one and brought it back, handing it to him.

“Now,” he said. “Ground beef.”

“Think we can get it without mortgaging one of your cars?” Dana asked cheekily.

He looked down at her with quiet amusement in his eyes. “For that,” he said, “you can help me cook supper. We're giving Lillian the night off in the kitchen. What do you want for dessert?”

She caught her breath, aglow at the possibilities. “How about,” she murmured thoughtfully, “some of those frozen eclairs? Do you like chocolate?”

“Go get it,” he told her, “and anything else that you want.”

She darted off to the frozen goods section, her mind whirling with the possibilities. The grocery store had always been someplace to go with a very tight list of necessities. To be able to choose a dessert without looking at the price and sacrificing something else for it was new and exciting.

She grabbed up the eclairs and forced herself not to look at the price tag. He was waiting for her at the meat counter.

“Is that all you wanted?” he asked incredulously.

She shrugged with a tiny smile. “I don't have very expensive tastes,” she told him.

He met her eyes with a strange tenderness. “No, honey, you don't. It makes a man want to spoil the hell out of you.”

She turned red as a beet, and was grateful for Lillian's sudden reappearance with the vegetables. “Here you are, Mr. Devereaux, but what are you going to do with them?”

“Dana and I are going to make tacos,” he told her, “and you're going to sit down and put your feet up.”

The older woman stood there looking as if she'd won the Irish Sweepstakes, her eyes wider than saucers. Tears began to mist in them, and she turned away quickly.

“Cut it out,” Adrian said darkly. “You'll make me blush.”

Lillian managed a short laugh. “That'll be the day. Here, you'll need some cheese, won't you? I'll get it.”

Dana looked up at him with everything
she felt in her soft brown eyes. “You're a nice man,” she told him.

He smiled. “It grates, little one. It grates.”

 

Back at the cabin, Dana shredded lettuce and cheese while Adrian stood over the stove where the ground beef was sizzling away. Lillian, banished from the spacious kitchen overlooking the lake, was curled up on the living room sofa with a magazine.

“I hope you don't mind if the cheese is pink,” she remarked idly.

“What?” he asked, half turning toward her with a question in his eyes. In the red sports shirt and white slacks, he was a devastating study in masculine beauty, his darkness complimented by the clothes he was wearing.

“Pink cheese,” she repeated, holding a nipped finger to her lips. “I never grate anything at home because I'm so clumsy—I get more of me in what I'm grating than the stuff I'm preparing.”

“Well, it isn't every day that the cook
gives her life's blood to her work,” he teased gently.

She smiled back at him, and the room seemed to disappear around them.

The smell of burning beef finally caught his attention, and with a muffled curse, he turned back to the stove. “Damn it, woman, don't distract me like that,” he growled softly. “I don't like my beef black and crunchy.”

“I don't see why not,” she laughed, delighted by the change in him, “it's the latest thing.”

“Shred the damned lettuce and shut up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And don't call me sir!”

“No, sir.”

“Dana…!” he growled, making a threat out of her name.

She grinned down at the cheese as she drew it against the grater. He could be so much fun to be with. He made a simple adventure of cooking a meal. She sighed wistfully. If only it was her instead of Fayre that stirred that possessive nature of
his. But it wasn't. And even if it had been, physical hungers didn't make up for the luxurious wonder that was love. That was what she wanted from Adrian, and he'd already admitted that when he married he hadn't known what it was.

 

Supper was delicious. They ate tacos and nibbled on pieces of tomato and cheese until Lillian threatened to burst with her next bite. She ignored the eclairs, shaking her head while Dana and Adrian finished the last one between them.

“Well, I'll clean up…” Lillian began, rising.

“I said you were having the night off,” Adrian told her. “Dana and I will wash up.”

Lillian smiled, shaking her head. “If you're sure. I did have my heart set on a movie in my room—they're showing a rerun of that comedy about gunfighters…”

“Go to it,” Adrian grinned at her. “Come on, Dana, let's get it done.”

Lillian was gone, and Dana started stacking the plates while Adrian ran water
in the sink and searched for washrags and drying cloths.

“I used to do this with Daddy years ago,” Dana recalled with a smile, as she reached past Adrian to set her dishes in the warm, soapy water.

His hands made contact with hers under the surface of the water. His eyes caught hers and held them. “Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked softly.

She couldn't look away. She couldn't answer him. Those dark, warm eyes were making chills up and down her spine, the closeness of that big, warm body made her hungry.

“Oh, Adrian,” she breathed unsteadily, yielding to a sweetness that made her face glow in the soft kitchen light.

He drew her hands out of the sink and lifted them up around his neck, oblivious to their wetness, to the suds that reached to her tanned forearms.

“I'm wet…” she whispered shakily as his own arms went around her slender body, coaxing it against the hard warmth of his own.