"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?"
Ross's chiding was gentle. "No need to whisper now. If our yelling
didn't wake 'em, nothing will." He took the two empty coffee cups and
brought them to the sink.
Chloe wiped off the table. "If it hadn't been for that battery, I'd have
been back home in bed by now."
"Instead," he teased, "we've had a chance to get reacquainted. Urn,
acquainted."
Chloe stopped wiping and straightened. Getting acquainted was one thing,
but where did they go from there? The physical attraction that had been
rekindled with a vengeance earlier, weighed heavily on her now.
"Uh-uh, Chloe." He came up behind her. "Just relax." She looked back,
wondering how he knew. "I can feel it in the air-that whatever-it is
that disturbs you." He took the cloth from her and tossed it into the
sink. "I won't pounce. I'll just walk you to your room."
That was exactly what he did. He halted on the threshold. "The manager
said he'd leave plenty of towels. I wish I could offer you something
else. You seem to be without those ... things that most women can't live
without."
She smiled. "I don't need anything."
"A shirt? Would you like a fresh shirt of mine in place of a ... a..
"Negligee?" Her smile widened. "No, thanks, Ross. If the sheets are
clean, they'll be covering enough. But I have to get an early start in
the morning."
He nodded. "I called the garage while you were making our dinner.
They'll be at your car no later than eight. Is that too early?"
"Lord, no! I have to call Lee, my partner, anyway. There's a small
matter of an appointment at nine."
"Will she fill in for you?"
"No. He has work of his own to do." She grinned at Ross's startled look.
"He'll cancel and explain for me. I'll reschedule when I get back."
Ross nodded, but he was gnawing on his lower lip. There was obviously
more that he wanted to say, but Chloe wasn't inviting him in. That would
be dangerous. Very dangerous. But when he turned and headed down the
stairs to his own room, she felt disappointed. Part of her wondered if
flirting with danger could end on a happy note this time.
The night manager hadn't only left extra towels, but he'd also left a
package of goodies tailor-made for the stranded motorist. There was a
toothbrush, toothpaste, a comb, soap, and, luxury of luxuries, an
envelope of bubble-bath powder.
Chloe smiled. She'd had her share of tension today; now she would
release it. The devil could take the hour; she would take a long, hot
bath!
Several deft flicks of her wrist sent a full stream of hot water into
the long porcelain tub, which stood, in keeping with the vintage aura of
the inn itself, on four clawed feet. Feeling scandalous, she sprinkled
the entire contents of the envelope beneath the steaming flow.
Moments later she was immersed to her neck in bubbles. Draping her hair
over the lip of the tub, she closed her eyes and gave in to pleasure.
Was it true what they said about the subconscious urge to return to the
womb? Was this all-enveloping warmth, this light floating what it had
been like?
The womb, however, was not where she wished most to be at that moment.
Rather, she thought of the arms that had held her earlier, the lips that
had kissed her, the strong body that had supported her. Buoyed by a
sense of euphoria, she allowed herself to think back on the full story
of that night eleven years ago.
It had been the holiday recess. She and Crystal had returned from their
first semester at the university to spend Thanksgiving with the family.
The boys were gathered: AJLAN from Denver, Chris from Chicago, Tim from
St. Louis-from their respective subdivisions of the Macdaniel domain.
They had spent a typically revel-filled Thanksgiving Day, complete with
gargantuan offerings of turkey, stuffing, salads and vegetables and
fruit molds, pies and cakes and other goodies, not to mention the
company of aunts and uncles and cousins galore. Later that night, she
and Crystal had dropped in at Sandra's house, where a party had been in
progress.
Sandra had been their best friend through carefree high school years.
They hadn't seen her since September when she had left to go to college
in New York, where her older brother lived.
Ross was that brother's friend. From the moment Chloe set foot into the
Brownings' living room her eye was drawn to him. He had seemed to
represent all the things she had never knowrmonconformity, independence,
singularity. Even in a crowd, he stood out. Sandra had said he was in
the Peace Corps, stationed in Africa. He was tall and breathtakingly
attractive in a wholly new and exciting way for Chloe. "Gorgeous, isn't
he?" Crystal had whispered in the ear of her twin.
"I'll say. What do you think he's doing here?"
"That's a dumb question. He's visiting the Brownings like we are."
They stood with their heads together, both pairs of eyes glued to Ross.
Chloe asked, "Do you think he has a girl?"
"A guy like that? Girls, plural. He's oozing virility-or hadn't you
noticed?"
"I noticed," Chloe drawled. "Think he'll notice us?"
"Why not? We're rich and beautiful and sexy-"
" -and young."
Crystal bristled. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"If he's Sammy's friend, Crystal, he's ten years older than we are. You
don't really think he'd be interested, do you?"
"God, Chloe, you are a stick-in-the-mud. Of course he'll be interested.
Men like freshness. And we are rich and beauti-"
"I know, I know," Chloe interrupted the litany, feeling a sudden
surprising disdain for her sister's arrogance. So often the arrogance
was shared. As the babies of the family-and twins, at that-they'd been
reared like royalty. For the first time, however, Chloe wondered whether
men like this stranger were attracted to royalty. Was being rich and
beautiful and sexy all that mattered? Something told her that this
divine-looking man would seek more, something in his gaze as he slowly
turned it their way.
"Wow," Crystal whispered. "I'm going after him."
"Oh, no. It's my turn," Chloe whispered back with matching
determination. "You got Roger. This one's mine."
"He won't want a stick-in-the-mud. You think we're too young for him."
"I've changed my mind. Besides, he's looking at me, not you."
Crystal snorted. "Arbitrary choice. We look exactly alike."
"All of a sudden we look exactly alike?" Chloe choked. "What about that
'added bit of spice' you claim to have? What about your last-born 'glow
of vulnerability'?"
Crystal crinkled her nose. "He can't see all that at this distance."
But Chloe was vehement. "I have a feeling about him."
"You always have feelings about people. I'm the doer. Remember?"
"Not this time."
"Chloe ..." Crystal warned in a singsong murmur.
"Crystal ..." Chloe warned right back. "We'll toss a coin. Heads, I
win."
Crystal's eyes narrowed. "I'll do the tossing. You always seem to win."
It was true. While Crystal, with her heightened impishness and
propensity for instigating trouble, was often at the fore in their
mischief-making, Chloe invariably won the toss of the coin. And with
good reason. As the more levelheaded of the two, she was expected to be
the one to produce the coin. It came from a secret fold in her wallet
and served no other purpose than this. It would never have passed for
currency. It had two heads. But Crystal never knew that, not even when
she did the tossing herself.
And so, with the keenest of amber eyes pulling her forward, Chloe had
approached the mysterious man of the love generation. Initial silence
had given way to the exchange of smiles, then names. There was brief
small talk, amid a riot of steamy looks. The party had paled. Forgetting
their friends, they had wandered onto the patio, then taken refuge by
the pool. Later they had moved on to the sloping lawn of Sandra's
parents' estate.
Chloe shifted slowly in the tub. The heat of the water had dissipated,
but was replaced by the heat of her body as she remembered. It had been
warm that night. The crescent moon had been brilliant, repeated in the
white smile that split Ross's dark beard when he looked down at her.
"You're a vision, Chloe," he whispered, sharing her fascination. "Are
you real?"
"I'm real," she whispered back and was suddenly, uncharacteristically
tongue-tied.
But further words were unnecessary. The guest house where Ross was
staying was on a far corner of the estate. He took her there, pausing
along the way to kiss her, to assure her with a protective embrace that
he wouldn't hurt her, and he hadn't. He had been a masterful lover, so
very gentle undressing her, so very subtle baring his potentially
frightening body, so very patient as he coaxed her to heights of desire,
then tender when he took her virginity. When tenderness gave way to
driving passion, she rose with him, reveling in an ecstasy she had never
known before.
Ross's lovemaking had been a magical experience. She would always
cherish it.
She stirred in the tub, suspended between the world of memories and the
present. In a final indulgence, she submerged her hand and touched the
skin Ross had touched, traced the curves he had traced. Thoughts of him
were fresh and near. She sighed in delight.
Then her back slipped on the porcelain. With a jerk, she sat up, but not
before her hair got wet. Hissing her annoyance, she reached for a towel
