"Go on, Ross. Tell me about it."
His gaze narrowed. "I'm not giving up, Chloe. We'll get back to that
other conversation sooner or later. For now I'll humor you."
"I'm waiting," she sang brightly, making light of his threat. "The
exhibit?"
The evening passed more quickly than she could have dreamed. Not only
did they discuss Picasso, but they delved into politics, Wall Street,
and the National Football League as well. For Chloe, the Chiteaubriand
Bouquetre with B6arnaise Sauce was incidental, as was the mellow red
wine that flowed with the appearance of the beef. Her attention was on
Ross and Ross alone.
When was it that she had vowed indifference? That morning? What a fool
she had been to think she could remain indifferent to Ross for long. She
knew her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks flushed, and she couldn't
seem to stop smiling. Indifferent? Fat chance. Even aside from the
physical, she found him to be the most interesting, well-informed,
articulate man she had ever known. Though they didn't agree on
everything, he respected Chloe's right to her own opinion. It made
conversation free and relaxed, neither one fearful of offending the
other.
The blend of Ross and the wine put Chloe at ease. When he suggested that
they take dessert cheese home to eat with fruit overlooking the ocean,
she was all for it. Unfortunately, it was downright chilly when they
emerged from Farmington Court, and it began to drizzle during the drive
home.
"So much for a gentle evening breeze," Ross grumbled as he hustled Chloe
up the front steps to her door between increasingly large drops of rain.
"The living room will have to do."
"That'll be fine. I'm in the mood for Debussy anyway, and it would have
competed with the surf."
He smiled at her. "La Mer?"
"I had another of his works in mind." Once inside, she went straight to
the shelves below the stereo unit, where she kept a small but cherished
collection of works of the masters. With pride she pulled one CD from
the lot.
Ross's brow shot up. "L Aprds-midi dun faune?" Again his accent was
flawless. "I haven't listened to that in years!"
"I always called it Afternoon of a Faun. I like the way you say it,
though. It sounds so much more romantic."
"It is a romantic piece."
Ignoring the note of caution that sounded from somewhere in the back of
her mind, she took out the CD. The entire evening had been romantic, so
why not this? If she was enjoying herself, why stop?
Ross squatted to study her collection. His expression was all male and
distinctly wicked when he winked back over his shoulder. "You have
Ravel. Should I put that on?"
She had seen that video, too. "Debussy will be fine," she said without
batting an eyelash.
Richly pictorial chords filled the room. Chloe sank into a corner of the
sofa, put her head back, and closed her eyes. She was aware of movement
within the room, but concentrated on the music floating softly through
the air about her. She was dreaming, wakened only by the warm lips that
kissed her bare throat once. Her eyes flew open.
"Come sit with me and have some cheese." He took her hand and coaxed her
to the floor beside a plate of cheese and fruit. She slipped off her
high-heeled sandals.
They sat in front of the sofa and chairs, on the thick cream-colored
area rug that covered the hardwood floor. Chloe was the keeper of the
edibles, slicing fruit and cheese, stacking a piece of one on the other
to offer Ross. He lounged casually on an elbow, legs stretched and
crossed as he kept their wineglasses filled.
"Are you trying to get me drunk?" she teased.
"What fun would you be drunk?" He paused. "Are you sure you don't want
to listen to Ravel?"
"Don't you like Debussy?" she asked innocently. Ross simply topped off
her wineglass.
In the hours that followed they talked more. Chloe asked Ross about his
childhood and discovered that he had both a sister and a brother, that
he had studied the violin during one of his mother's culture binges, and
that he had been expelled from school for a day after tossing a water
bomb from a second-story building and soaking kids in the playground.
"A water bomb? Ross, how could you? That's the type of thing the girls
always hated!"
"That's why I did it."
"Come on," she chided, her eyes half closed, "a ladies' man like you?"
"Sure. I was eight at the time. It satisfied my need for machismo."
Chloe laughed at the idea of an eight-year-old Ross striving for
machismo. He certainly didn't need to strive now.
"You have three brothers, don't you?" Ross picked the perfect time to
turn the conversation. She was in a more relaxed, more open mood than
earlier. It didn't occur to her not to answer.
"Uh-huh. Allan, Chris, and Tim. They've gone into Daddy's business."
She frowned. "I haven't seen them in a while."
"Will you be going down for Thanksgiving next month?"
November was the last time of year she ever went to visit. "No. I think
Tim will be in New York then. I may meet him there. I'm not sure. I
haven't heard from him in a while."
"Do you call them?"
This time, she did smell the trap. "Oh, no, you don't, Ross Stephenson.
I'm not so tipsy that I can't see what you're doing. It won't work."
"You won't tell me about you?" he asked with such honest disappointment
that she almost gave in. Almost, but not quite. There was too much she
didn't want to face tonight. This was a night for the present. She shook
her head in silent insistence.
"Then sit closer." Before she could protest he had shifted so that she
leaned against him as he leaned against the sofa. "There." His voice was
pleasantly husky. "Comfortable?"
"Ummm." She was extremely so. In fact, she couldn't think of a place
where she would have been more comfortable. Ross's chest was broad under
her cheek, his arms were gentle around her, his heartbeat a pacifying
tattoo through her.
Time became an expendable entity; there was no need to move. They sat
quietly in one another's arms, lulled by the music that continued to
play. Debussy had long since given way to Grieg and Tehaikovsky.
Given the wine, the song, and the man, Chloe was mellow. So she had no
problem when Ross said, "You and Crystal were identical, weren't you?"
"Technically, but there were differences we could see."
His breath rustied the hair at her temple. "Were you inseparable as
kids?"
"Pretty much. Since the guys were a lot older than we were, there were
only the two of us around the house."
"You had a built-in playmate."
"Uh-huh. It was fun. She was the more adventurous. I was the more
conservative."
"But you were the one who approached me that night, not Crystal. I
always wondered why."
Chloe tipped her head back to look at him. "We argued about who you were
looking at. I thought it was me. Crystal said you wouldn't see the
difference." She paused. "Who were you looking at, Ross? Me, or
Crystal?"
His lips curved gently, tickling her nose for an instant. "You both
looked the same."
"We did not. Come on, which one was it?" Her teasing was gentle, but she
needed to know.
Ross raised his eyes. "Ah, let me think. There was one with dark hair
curled to the left, and one with dark hair curled to-"
She pinched his ribs. "I'm serious! Or were you just interested in any
pretty girl?"
He sobered then. "I wanted you, Chloe. I saw the difference. Your sister
was just as lovely, but you had something more. I can't quite explain
it."
He didn't have to. Knowing that he had chosen her was enough to ease
part of that guilt she had felt over the years.
He tightened his arms. "Okay, princess. Now you tell me. Why were you
the one who came forward?"
"I wanted you more."
When he sucked in a breath Chloe's hand slid lower on his abdomen. On
dangerous ground, she raised it to the point where his tie lay in a
loose knot, where the top two buttons of his shirt were released. His
chest beckoned. She touched it and found it wonderfully warm.
Ross's voice grew thicker. "You argued?"
"Not exactly."
"If Crystal was the more impulsive of the two, I can't believe she gave
up without a fight."
"I wouldn't call it a fight."
"Then what? What settled it?"
Chloe was suddenly unsure. What they had done sounded crass. But she had
come this far. "We, uh, we tossed a coin."
"Excuse me?"
"We tossed a coin."
"To see which one of you would get me?" At her nod he burst into a
laugh. "Chloe Macdaniel! I'm appalled! You mean to tell me that you let
the toss of a coin decide whether you or your sister would seduce me?
That's awful!"
She leaned closer, whispered, "It wasn't a fair toss." Tempted headily
by the male tang of his skin, she kissed his chest.
"Excuse me?"
She cleared her throat. "I knew I would win."
Ross held her back, staring in bemusement. "Explain, please."
"Crystal and I used to play tricks on one another. We each had our
strong points. She always beat me when it came to motivating herself.
She was the first to get behind the wheel of the car, the first to
choose the prettiest dress in the boutique, the first to snag the
telephone caller. I prided myself on being the clever one."
"And this coin toss?"
Chloe begged forgiveness with her eyes. "It was my coin. I called
heads."
Understanding slowly dawned on Ross's face. His grin was appreciative.
"And the coin had two heads?"
"It did."
Whatever he might have thought of her for having cheated, he was
undoubtedly pleased that "winning" him had meant so much to her. "That
deserves a kiss," he said and lowered his head.
Chloe met his lips without hesitation. She had waited for this all
evening. They had been building toward it from the second she had agreed
to dress up and go out to dinner with him. "Just this once," she had
told him then. Now the words echoed through her. Just this once she
would relax in Ross's arms. Just this once she would taste his love.
Just this once she would be free of the past.
She'd had too much wine. No doubt about that. Would she want this if her
head were clear? Maybe yes, maybe no, but it made no difference. Right
here, right now, she was where she wanted to be.
Ross appeared equally content, if the leisure of his kiss meant
anything. He tasted her again and again, seeming to find something new
each time. She sure did. Once it was the sweetness of wine on his lips,
another time the firmness of his mouth, another the heat. His kiss was a
heady brew, warm, moist, and intoxicating.
Seeking more, she spread her hands over his chest and discovered a
textured surface beneath the smoothness of his shirt. He was a man of
many layers to be explored, one by one. She was the explorer, on an
ocean of desire, clinging to him as to a raft on a rising sea of
sensation.
His tongue sought and caressed, sucking hers deeper, sparking greater
response, and she gave it unconditionally, opening to him in delight.
Soft sighs were breathed and swallowed, one mouth to the other.
The urgency built. Just when she needed it, he deepened the kiss. His
lips controlled hers now, as did the hands that framed her face.
His voice was thick against her mouth. "Do you have any idea what you do
to me?"
Her answer was a breathy, "I know what you do to me. It happens every
time."
"Does it? It's been a long time since you were with a man."
"By choice. By choice." Tipping her head back on his shoulder, she
studied his strong jaw, straight nose, amber eyes. "It was never a trial
for me before. I've never really wanted another man."
"Is it a trial now?" he whispered, momentarily cautious. "What do you
want, Chloe? Do you know?"
She answered by dipping her head and putting her lips to his throat.
Intoxicated by its musky scent, she freed the knot of his tie and
released the front buttons of his shirt. Her sigh warmed him when her
hands slid over his flesh, but his moan prevented her from going on.
He pushed his hands into her hair. "Look at me!" His eyes were hot with
desire. "Do you know what I want, Chloe? I want to feel you. I want to
know every inch of your body. Half measures never worked for me with
you. I need to be inside you. Can you accept that?" His gaze flickered
over her flushed features. "Will you hate yourself tomorrow?"
The question took her by surprise. She didn't want to think about
tomorrow. Her eyes filled with the tears of a deep, emotional yearning.
"I don't know what I'll feel tomorrow, but I know what I want now. I
know what I need."
"Why now?" It was another surprise question. "Eleven years ago it was
rebellion."
"Not rebellion."
"Then why?" he asked more gently.
She took a deep breath. The scent of his skin gave her strength. "Yes,
you were different. The other men we'd known had been handpicked. Our
brothers were as fussy as our parents. But there was more for me. You
were new. Refreshing."
"A challenge?"
"Maybe."
"Do I challenge you now?"
"Yes, but that's only part of it." Need loosened her tongue. "The pull
