Occasionally his glance did stray to Stephanie, but he made no attempt to flirt with her. She was glad, because it would have made a mockery of the business discussion with her brother if he had.
After the dinner plates were removed, the waiter wheeled the dessert cart to the table. "Aren't you going to have something, Brock?" Helen protested when everyone ordered something except him.
"No." He gave her a lazy smile that remained in his expression when he glanced around the table. "I'll have my dessert later." His gaze lingered for a fraction of a second on Stephanie.
Her recall was instant and vivid, remembering that he had mentioned saving her for dessert. There was a wild fluttering in her stomach as she quickly dropped her gaze to the bowl of sweetened fresh fruit in front of her.
She was constantly off-balance with him. Just when she had become used to being ignored, he had reminded her of that intimate remark. Somehow she had to learn to keep both feet solidly on the ground whenever she was around him. It was the only way she would survive this tumultuous interlude.
"The dining room closes at ten, Mr. Canfield," Stephanie remarked. "If you want dessert, perhaps you should have it now."
"Now?" His mouth twitched with a smile as his gaze dared her to repeat that challenge. "I'd rather have it later. If it happens to be after ten, and the craving is too great, I'll simply raid the refrigerator."
"If you'd like, I can arrange to have a selection sent up to your suite," Perry suggested, and Stephanie nearly choked on a strawberry.
"Can you?" There was a wealth of understated meaning to Brock's droll response. "I'll try to remember that." The waiter was at his elbow with the silver coffee pot. "Yes, black, please."
While they finished their coffee and dessert, it was decided that Perry would contact the architect and arrange a meeting early on Saturday morning. Brock had changes he wanted made in the plans before he gave his final approval. Stephanie knew her brother's sense of achievement at Brook's acceptance of his idea and felt proud for him.
"I'm beginning to get the feeling your talents are not being fully utilized at the inn," Brock remarked, studying Perry with a narrowed look. "Is this your ambition? To be in charge of a place like this?"
Perry hesitated, darting Stephanie a quick look. His uncertainty was obvious. "I wouldn't say it's my sole ambition, but I find it challenging, always different."
"That's a diplomatic answer. Now, what's the truth?" Brock challenged.
"That's the truth," Perry laughed, but insincerely.
"The truth is, Mr. Canfield, that Perry has always wanted to be a lawyer," Stephanie inserted, disregarding the silencing look her brother sent.
"What stopped you? I've seen your college transcripts."
"My father had a skiing accident. I was needed at home," her brother explained simply and immediately changed the subject. "The long-range forecast for the winter calls for a lot of snow. It's predicted the area will have its best ski season to date."
"The reservations show it." Stephanie followed his lead, her way of apologizing for bringing up the education he had been forced to abandon. "We're booked solid all the way to March."
"I noticed." Brock went along with the new topic.
"Excuse me." The brittle words were issued by Helen as she pushed away from the table to stand. "I'm going to the powder room to freshen my lipstick."
Brock caught at her hand. "We'll meet you in the lounge. Don't be long."
The sullen look was immediately replaced by a bright smile. "I won't," the blonde promised and hurried away with a provocative sway of her hips.
"We should be going home," Stephanie murmured to her brother.
"Yes, it is late," he agreed, with a glance at his watch.
"Have one drink with us," Brock insisted. "We haven't toasted your new plan. It was a brilliant idea of yours, Perry, to utilize an existing building for the sauna, especially since it's virtually unused. It makes an already attractive package both practical and economical."
"I'm glad you think so, Brock," her brother replied modestly. "But I'm certain you would have come up with the plan if I'd suggested building an entirely new building."
"I hope so." Again there was that wide smile, all lazy charm. "How about that drink? Will you join us?"
After exchanging a glance with Stephanie, Perry agreed. "Just one. We don't want to intrude any further on your evening."
"Just one," Brock nodded. He was at her chair when Stephanie rose. His hand seemed to find its way to her waist to guide her to the side door leading to the lounge. His touch was lightly possessive, impersonal yet warm. She could feel the imprint of his fingers through the material of her dress. The sensation seemed to brand her as his property.
The lounge was crowded, as it generally was on the weekends. A dance combo was playing, sprayed by a rotating rainbow of lights in the otherwise dark room. During the off-season, the inn only had live entertainment on the weekends. In the winter, when the White Mountains were filled with skiers, they had a group seven nights a week.
Brock found an empty booth in a far corner of the room. By the time they had ordered a round of drinks, Helen arrived. She ignored his invitation to join them and instead coaxed Brock onto the dance floor. Stephanie watched the blonde become the sultry enchantress, weaving her web around Brock, and knew she could never compete with such tactics.
"Would you like to dance?" Perry suggested.
Stephanie glanced up to refuse, but one look at the challenging gleam in his eyes made her realize how dispirited she had become in the span of a few minutes. A faintly chagrined smile curved her mouth as she nodded acceptance of his invitation.
Once on the dance floor, the swinging music soon made its upbeat rhythm felt. Concentrating on the dance steps distracted her from the sight of Helen with Brock. Also there was the knowledge that she and Perry danced well together, their steps always matching, but he had also been the one who taught her how.
When the song ended, she was breathless and laughing. "Feel better?" Perry smiled as he guided her off the dance floor.
"Much better," she agreed, glancing over her shoulders to smile at him. "Thanks."
The lights were dimmed to a single blue color for a slow number. Her eyes didn't adjust immediately to the change of light, and she had to stop for a minute to keep from running into a table or chair in the semidarkness.
Her gaze saw Brock and Helen on a course parallel with theirs. He bent his head to murmur something to the blonde, who didn't look pleased by his statement. Then he was leaving Helen to make her way back to the booth alone, and crossing to intercept Stephanie.
"You don't object if I have this dance with your sister before you leave, do you, Perry?" Brock asked, although Stephanie didn't know why. He had already taken hold of her arm to direct her back to the dance floor.
She was certain Perry answered him, but she didn't hear what was said. Almost the instant they reached the cleared area, Brock was turning her into his arms. As usual, there were more couples on the floor to dance to the slow tunes, so it became less a matter of dancing and more a matter of avoiding others. They were soon swallowed into the center of the group.
He folded her arm against his chest while his hand slid up her spine to force her closer. Stephanie could feel her heart thudding against her ribs as they swayed together, moving their feet without going anywhere. Ultimately she became conscious of the hard wall of his chest, the flatness of his stomach and the leg shifting between hers in rhythm with the music.
When he released her hand to leave it against the lapel of his jacket, Brock seemed to give up all pretense of dancing. Both arms were around her, his fingers spread as they roamed over her shoulders, ribs and spine, slowly caressing and molding her to him.
Stephanie could barely breathe. This was what she had wanted all evening, yet she couldn't relax. She felt like a child who had-been given a giant lollipop and was afraid to enjoy it too much, because she knew it was going to be taken away from
her.
His chin rubbed against her temple, his breath stirring her hair. A silent whimper of suppressed delight sighed through her when he turned his mouth against her, investigating the corner of her eye and the curve of her cheekbone.
"I could develop a sweet tooth for dessert." Finding her ear, he nuzzled aside the silken chestnut hair covering it to let his moist lips nibble at the lobe, shattering her equilibrium.
In another second she was going to melt like a piece of sugar on his tongue. "You already have." Her voice wasn't all that strong, the words coming out in a thin, taut whisper.
"Is that right?" His mouth curved against the skin of her cheek.
All she had to do was lift her head and Brock would find her lips, but she lowered her chin a fraction of an inch. Her eyes were closed by the feathery brush of his mouth across her lashes.
"Any member of the opposite sex would satisfy you when you're in an amorous mood," she insisted, because she knew it was true. Brock was pursuing her because she was new, not because he thought she was special. It was a fact she acknowledged without bitterness. "You have such a healthy appetite that you bring your nighttime treats along with you."
"But you're the one in my arms. Why don't you satisfy me?" he challenged softly.
Her heart ran away with itself at the thought of satisfying him and being satisfied by him. His virility was a potent force that left her weak. She could imagine the devastation his practiced skill could wreak if she let herself become carried away by it. Someone jostled her shoulder in the melee of dancing couples and her head lifted in faint surprise.
In the next second, she was immobilized by the touch of his mouth against the corner of her lips. Then she was turning to seek the completeness of it, mindless of the others around them. It was a devouring kiss, hard and demanding, ending within seconds after it had begun. It hadn't seemed to help that she had both feet on the floor. Discretion had been swept aside so easily.
"Do you do this with all your women? Make love to them on the dance floor? First Helen, now me." She found the strength to mock him, although her voice was a little shaky.
Her head was still tipped back, enabling her to look into his eyes. The dim interior of the lounge had enlarged the black pupils, leaving a thin silver ring around them. They were smiling at her, with an inner satisfaction and supreme confidence, certain of his ability to seduce her.
Stephanie supposed she was transparent. Her pride was injured that she was such an easy conquest for him. But was there a woman born who could deny his attraction for long?
"I've aroused you, despite that cool and composed expression you're wearing," Brock stated. Cool? Composed? Her? It seemed impossible. His hand moved to caress her neck, stopping when it found her pulse point. She could feel it and hear it hammering against his fingertip. "Your pulse is racing. Feel what you're doing to me."
Taking her fingers, he carried them to his neck and pressed them to the throbbing vein. She felt its wild beat, not so far behind the swift tempo of her own. Had she disturbed him? Or was it only desire? She had felt safer with the jacket beneath her fingers rather than the vital warmth of his skin.
"Your hand feels cool," he murmured.
That seemed impossible when she felt hot all over. When she tried to withdraw her fingers from his grasp, it tightened. He lifted her hand to his mouth and sensually kissed the center of her palm.
"I want you, Stephanie," he said as the last note of the song faded and the rainbow of lights came on.
The sudden murmur of voices shattered the intimacy of the moment. Stephanie didn't have to find an answer to that heady comment as the exiting dancers forced them apart. He retained his hold of her hand while she let the crowd lead her off the floor.
Fixing her gaze on Perry in the far booth, she weaved her way through the tables. Before she reached it, she gave a little tug to free her hand from Brock's grip. He let it go without protest. She didn't squarely meet the look her brother gave her when she slid onto the booth seat beside him. Her glance darted across the table to Helen, whose bored and impatient expression spoke volumes.
"I hope you've finally fulfilled all your obligations for the evening, Brock," Helen voiced her irritation at being left to her own devices for so much of the evening.
"Stop bitching, Helen." As he sat down, he stretched his arm across the backrest behind the blonde and picked up his drink. "I warned you this would be a business trip." It was a lazy reminder, a steel edge cloaked in velvet tones.
Over the rim of his glass, his gaze locked with Stephanie's. She read his message of dissatisfaction and desire, schooled with patience. She took a sip of her own drink, but the ice had melted, diluting it and leaving it flat and tasteless. She set it down and pushed it aside to glance at her brother.
"It's getting late, Perry. We should be going." Knowing he would agree, she rose and moved aside so he could slide out.
"I'll see you in the morning, Brock." He shook hands with Brock, who was also standing.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Collins." Stephanie nodded at the blonde, not caring that it was only a polite phrase she offered. Her only response was an indifferent glance. Then she addressed Brock. "You're leaving on Sunday, aren't you?"
"Yes, late in the afternoon," he acknowledged with a slight narrowing of his gaze.
"I doubt if I'll see you again before you leave, so I hope you have a safe trip." She placed her hand in his.
Brock held on to it when she would have withdrawn it. "Aren't you working tomorrow?"
"No." Conscious of Perry at her side, she sent him a sideways glance, smiling. "I have a great boss. He gives me the weekends off so I can do his laundry and clean the house."
He released her hand somewhat absently and smiled at her brother. "Good night. I'll meet you in the morning around eight."
Before they had taken a step away from the booth, Brock was sitting down and turning his attention to Helen, who was suddenly all smiles. Stephanie tried desperately not to remember that only moments before he had been holding her in his arms. Now someone else was going to satisfy him. She didn't do a very good job of convincing herself that she was the lucky one to be walking away relatively unscathed.
They stopped at the coat check for Stephanie's jacket and Perry's overcoat. Both were silent as they walked outside into the crisp autumn night to the station wagon.
The only thing that was said during the drive home came when Perry remarked, "I hope you know what you're doing, Stephanie."
"So do I," she sighed.
Chapter Four
THE DIRTY breakfast dishes were stacked in the sink. Stephanie paused at the counter to drink the last swallow of coffee from her cup. Her gaze automatically wandered out of the window above the sink to the foothills emblazoned with the reds and golds of autumn.
In the back of the old farmhouse, a brook rushed through the rolling acreage, complete with a romantic stone bridge crossing it. Cords of firewood were stacked near the back door of the house—fuel for the cold New England winter.
Sighing, she turned away from the beauty of the clear autumn morning and set her cup with the rest of the dishes. She'd wash them later. Right now she wanted the hot water for the first load of clothes.
The back porch doubled as the washroom; a washer and dryer were ensconced in one corner. The small floor space was littered with baskets and piles of dirty clothes that Stephanie set about separating into individual loads, tossing the white clothes directly into the washing machine.
It was a nice enough day that she could hang the clothes on the line to dry. Besides, the clothes always smelled so much cleaner and fresher that way.
She pushed the sleeves of the old gray sweat shirt up to her elbows. It was one of Perry's, which meant it was several sizes too large for her, but it was comfortable to work in and it didn't matter if she spilled bleach on it. Her blue jeans were faded and shrunk from numerous washings and snugly hugged her slender hips and thighs, but the denim material was
soft like a second skin.
Her hair was pulled away from her face into a ridiculously short ponytail, secured with a piece of blue yarn. She hadn't bothered with makeup. By the time she washed the clothes, dusted the furniture and swept the floors of the two-story farmhouse, there wouldn't be any trace of it left, anyway. Besides, the only one who came on Saturday mornings was Mrs. Hammermill with fresh eggs for the week.
When there was a knock at the front door, Stephanie didn't hesitate over who it might be. "Come in!" she shouted, and continued separating the clothes. At the sound of the door opening, then closing, she added, "I'm in the kitchen, Mrs. Hammermill," which was close enough to her location. "You can put the eggs on the counter. If you have an extra dozen, I'll take them. Perry mentioned he'd like an angel food cake. I thought I'd try my hand at making one from scratch this afternoon."
There was a movement in the doorway to the porch, but Stephanie didn't glance up. She was busy examining the white shirt in her hand that Perry had somehow managed to mark up the front of with ball-point ink.
"You don't happen to know what I can use to get this ink out of Perry's shirt, do you?" she frowned. "I've tried just about everything at one time or another and…When she looked up, she saw Brock leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb, his arms crossed. She froze at the sight of him. "Brock!" His name was startled from her.
"Try hairspray. My secretary swears by it," he suggested with a trace of teasing amusement in his droll voice. His corduroy pants were desert brown, the same shade as the heavy sweater with the stag's head design on the chest.
Her gaze flew past him to the cat clock on the kitchen wall with its switching tail for a pendulum. It was a few minutes before half-past eight.
"What are you doing here?" she asked in confusion, still clutching the shirt and standing amid the piles of dirty clothes. "I thought you were—"
"The egg lady? Yes, I know." He finished the sentence for her and uncrossed his arms to stand up straight. "The answer to your question should be obvious. I came to see you."
Heart of Stone Page 4