by Janet Dailey
"We won't talk about Mitzi or her money," Slade vowed. "We'll forget all about it. It'll just be you and me together."
The temptation to accept was almost irresistible. To have one day with Slade — to be just a man and a woman together — was a tantalizing thought.
"No!" The denial came in a tortured whisper, trembling with regret,
"You crazy, stubborn woman," he snapped in irritation. "You were human enough to cry last night. Can't you see that whether I like it or not, I'm falling in love with you?"
Lisa breathed in sharply, her head jerking up to stare dazedly into his face. His compelling features were set in grim, forbidding lines of determination. "You can't mean it," she breathed.
His mouth twisted wryly. "Do you think it was easy for me to admit or accept?
"I don't know." She wavered. "You can't love me," she protested uncertainly.
"That's what I've been saying ever since I left the house last night," Slade admitted, a rueful smile tugging cynically at the corners of his mouth. "But I know the worst about you, Lisa. Today I'd like to find out the best."
Yes, it was true for her, too. She knew the worst about Slade — that he was dishonest, an embezzler — but it didn't change the way she felt about him. The difference between Lisa and Slade was that she was afraid to pin the label of love on the emotion she felt. In her heart she was certain, but her mind refused to accept the verdict.
"It wouldn't change anything. It would only make it worse." She couldn't bring herself to accept his invitation.
"I don't know." He lifted an expressive brow in challenge. "I might find your company boring without any arguments to add spice."
Lisa held her breath for an instant, then released it in a long sigh. "No, I can't go."
"Why?" Slade demanded a reason.
"It's — it's too risky," she offered lamely.
"Why? Because you might find out you're in love with me?" he guessed astutely. "Is there a chance of that?"
Moistening her lips nervously, Lisa finally admitted, "Yes."
The smoldering light that leaped into his dark eyes took her breath away. "If there's a chance of that," he said tightly, "we can find out right here and now."
Her lips parted to protest, but his mouth opened over hers to silence her voice, devouring her lips with a savage hunger that brought sweet pain. Lisa surrendered instantly to the fierce ecstasy of his kiss. Her arms slid around his neck inside his shirt collar, feeling the flexing of his muscles as he crushed her against his length.
The erotic stimulation in the molding caress of his hands drove out all questions about the wisdom of loving him. There was only here and now and the wonder of his arms around her. Her heart was singing a pagan song to accompany the primitive fires racing through her veins. The sensual probe of his lips as they explored hers had her quivering in eager response, needing to know him as intimately as he was discovering her.
His weight pressed her backward until the rough bark of the tree was rasping her shoulder blades and the bare skin exposed by the sleeveless tank top. A muscular leg was forced between hers as Slade pinned her arching body against the trunk. His hands slipped under the hem of her top, finding the heat of her bare skin and evoking a pleasure so piercing it was near torment.
Her breast seemed to swell in delight when his hand curved over the lacy cup of her bra. Lisa yearned to feel the nakedness of his hard flesh beneath her fingers. Lacking his expertise, her fingers fumbled with the few remaining buttons of his shirt, in her awkward attempt, she scraped her elbow against the rough bark and gasped at the sharp pain shooting up her arm.
Slade immediately straightened, pulling her with him away from the tree. "This is a hell of a place to make love to you," he laughed raggedly near her ear, nuzzling its lobe before dragging his mouth away.
Weakly Lisa rested her head against his chest, still quivering with a need that could only be satisfied in the consummation of their love. Unknowingly she whispered his name.
"Love me?" Slade roughly demanded an answer.
"Yes." And she closed her eyes at the frightening truth.
"And you'll spend the day with me?
Lisa trembled. "Yes."
His arms tightened around her. "Do you have any idea how much I want you?"
"I think so," she nodded against his chest, her fingers spreading across his hard flesh in an unconscious caress. She knew how much she wanted him.
"It's so soon, though," Slade declared in agitation, rubbing his chin over the top of her head. Lisa could hear the frown in his voice. "Is there ever a right time and a right place?"
"I doubt it."
He captured her chin and lifted her head so he could study her face, his eyes darkened in seriousness. "Lisa, I want to spend the afternoon getting to know you — I don't mean physically, there's time enough for that later. I want to know about your family and friends, what you like and what you don't like."
"Yes." She seemed destined to agree with anything he said, but it wouldn't last forever. Maybe that was why she was clinging so tenaciously to those few moments they would share.
He gave her a hard, swift kiss. "It's not going to be easy to keep my hands off of you when you're in such a delectable mood, but I'll try," he promised in lazy arrogance. "As long as you don't provoke me." Clasping her wrists, he held her away from him. "Run into the house and let Mildred know you're coming with me. I'll have you back in time for dinner tonight."
"Should I change? I mean —" Lisa glanced down at the rumpled tank top and snug-fitting Levis.
"You're fine as you are," he assured her.
"All right," she nodded tightly. "Just give me five minutes to comb my hair and put on some lipstick."
"No." His grip tightened when she would have pulled free of his light hold to go to the house. Lisa looked back into his disturbing intent gaze. "No comb and no lipstick. I want you looking just the way you are — as if you'd just been kissed very thoroughly by me."
"Slade, what will people think?" She was faintly embarrassed yet thrilled by the possessive ring in his voice.
"They'll think we're in love," he informed her with more than a trace of arrogant satisfaction, "and that I've made mad, passionate love to you. I haven't, but I will."
"Oh, really?" Lisa had to challenge him. She had been much too agreeable.
"Yes, really." For an instant, he drew her against his chest as if to establish his mastery over her. "And if you don't hurry into the house with that message, I'll change the order in which I want to get to know you better." Then he released her.
"Damn you, Slade!" she breathed, standing motionless, loving him and hating him with equal desperation. "The first thing you should learn about me is that I don't like being told what to do."
"Very well." Amusement deepened the corners of his mouth. "I won't tell you what to do any more. I'll show you."
Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her around and pointed her toward the house. With a shove and a playful slap on her rump, he sent her on her way.
Entering the house through the back door, Lisa went in search of Mitzi. In the foyer, she heard the clicking keys of the typewriter in the study. Hesitating, Lisa decided not to disturb her aunt and began looking for the housekeeper.
After going through all the rooms but the study on the ground floor, Lisa continued her search upstairs. She found Mildred in her bedroom, polishing the chest of drawers.
"Here you are, Mildred." She was slightly out of breath. "I've been looking for you."
"I always polish the furniture upstairs first," Mildred informed her. "I don't know why I bother. Nobody hardly ever comes up here. I'm just wasting my time." She pulled out a drawer and ran a cloth around the edges and sides. "But it has to be done. So I do it first. That way I leave the downstairs till last and I have to do that. I can't put it off because somebody is always running in and out."
Lisa wasn't really interested in hearing Mildred's psychological methods of keeping house. "Slade is h
ere and— "
"Yes, I know. I answered the door when he rang the bell. As if I haven't got anything better to do than run up and down stairs seeing who is at the door," she grumbled.
"Yes, well, I came to tell you that he's asked me to spend the day with him." Not even the housekeeper's grouchiness could diminish the happiness Lisa felt at the prospect of spending an entire day with Slade. "I'll be back in time for dinner tonight."
"And I've got a casserole in the oven for lunch," Mildred grumped and opened another drawer. In alarm, she stepped away from it with surprising swiftness. "What is that thing in there?" she demanded. "It looks like some furry animal."
Lisa realized which drawer Mildred had opened and went white. "It isn't an animal," she started to explain but Mildred was already reaching a tentative hand into the drawer to touch it.
"It's hair!" she exclaimed in a mixture of bewilderment and irritation.
"It's a wig," Lisa identified it.
"A wig?" The housekeeper took it out of the drawer to examine it more closely. "You didn't have a wig when I unpacked your things. What would you want with a wig? And a red one, at that?"
The woman's attitude made Lisa feel as guilty as if she'd stolen it. "I … I bought it to play a joke on somebody." It was difficult to look the housekeeper in the eye and lie. "And I guess I always wondered what I'd look like in red hair."
"It's a waste of money if you ask me." Mildred sniffed in disapproval as she stuffed the wig back in the drawer.
Lisa inched toward the door. She didn't want to think about Ann Eldridge or anything about the reason she had come to Charleston, not today.
"You will tell Mitzi where I've gone?" she reminded the housekeeper that she was leaving.
"I'll tell her." The woman reached for the bottle of furniture polish, but it was empty. "Now I've got to make another trip downstairs. This just isn't my day," she complained aloud.
"Slade is waiting for me. I have to go." Lisa turned to leave the room, and Mildred was right behind her.
At the bottom of the stairs, Mildred spoke up. "I still don't understand why you'd want to buy a red wig when you have such beautiful hair."
"I told you I just did it for the fun of it," Lisa retorted impatiently, anxious to have the subject dropped before it infringed on her happiness.
"It's nothing to me how you spend your money," Mildred shrugged her slouching shoulders and turned down the hallway to the kitchen.
At that moment Slade rounded the corner, his dark gaze lighting on Lisa. "Your five minutes are up. Are you coming?"
"Yes." She almost dashed past Mildred to reach him and get him out of the house before the woman said any more about what she'd found in Lisa's drawer.
If Slade had appeared only a few minutes sooner, he would have discovered all about her deception. Lisa dreaded the moment when he would find out, not because she hadn't obtained the evidence she wanted, but because of what it would mean personally.
Outside, Slade helped her into the passenger side of the car. "I almost wish your answer had been no, you weren't coming," he said, pausing beside the car before he closed her door.
"Why?" She held her breath, her expression inscrutable.
"Because then I could have persuaded you to change your mind all over again," A half smile curved the hard, male line of his mouth.
Lisa released the breath in silent relief as he closed her door and walked around to the driver's side. A little voice inside her head said she was being a fool, but she ignored it.
Chapter Eight
THE REST OF THE MORNING and afternoon was spent driving. As Slade put it, if he had to keep his concentration on the road, he would be less tempted to take back his statement that they would just talk.
They traversed the whole Low Country area of South Carolina located around Charleston, stopping at noon to lunch in a crowded restaurant and again in mid afternoon for a cold drink.
Lisa didn't remember the last time she had told anyone so much about herself. But then they had both talked a great deal. The subjects had ranged from their childhood, their family and friends, to their work and hobbies, the kind of musing they liked and the books they read. Yet they both carefully avoided the subject of Mitzi Talmadge.
Myrtle Beach and the Golden Strand were far behind them now. Each rotation of the tires was taking them closer to Charleston. It was inevitable that the afternoon had to end. Staring at the Highway 17 sign at the side of the road, Lisa realized it and wished they were sixty miles from Charleston instead of six. Unconsciously she sighed in regret.
"What's wrong?" Perceptively Slade had caught the small sound and let his gaze be distracted briefly from the highway.
"Nothing," Lisa insisted, but she knew he would persist if she didn't divert his attention. "There must be a boom in baskets. I've never seen so many stands along the road selling them. Just look at them!"
"Surely you've seen them before?" he frowned.
"No, I haven't."
"But you had to come this way to get to Brookgreen Gardens." He was eyeing her curiously.
"Oh," she laughed serf-consciously, "I guess we were talking so much we never noticed any roadstands. You know how it is when a bunch of girls get together. Peg, Susan and I are no different."
Slade nodded and Lisa knew she had covered her fabrication story of having been to Brookgreen Gardens and how she had missed seeing these stands.
"You mustn't have heard about our Low Country coil baskets." He slowed the car and turned off the road, stopping in front of one of the stands. "Coil basketry is an African art brought over here by the slaves. The skill and designs have been passed down from one generation to another, sometimes with new designs by new artists being introduced along the way. Come on and we'll take a look. We can't have your education neglected," he mocked gently.
With Slade at her side, Lisa inspected the roadside display. The baskets came in all shapes and sizes, some intricate in their designs, some plain, some with lids and some open.
An aging black woman sat in a chair to one side of the stand, a sweater around her shoulders. Her nimble fingers were busy creating the coiled base of another basket, but not too busy that she was unaware of Slade and Lisa looking over her display.
"Generally women make the show baskets," Slade explained, "and men make the sturdier work baskets that were, and in some cases still are, used for agricultural purposes."
He pointed out a large, very shallow basket, called a "fanner basket," used to winnow rice, which was once the main crop of the large plantations around Charleston because of the high water table of the Low Country. Lisa picked up a smaller basket to study it more closely.
"The craftsmanship is superb," she murmured more to herself than to Slade. "How do they make them? What do they use?"
"The show baskets use sweet grass sewn together with the split leaf of the palmetto palm. The dark stripes in some of the baskets are decorations made by long needles of pine straw." He showed her the stitches of the palmetto leaf that seemed to radiate out in a straight line from the center of the coil basket. "The work baskets use bulrushes and split white oak or split palmetto butt for more strength."
"The materials are found locally?"
"Once they were in great abundance, but that isn't as true today. Large tracts of land where the sweet grass and palmetto palm grew have been developed into housing or resort areas. It's becoming more difficult for the basket artists to find natural materials for their work because of it." He glanced at the basket in her hand. "Would you like to have that?"
"Yes, it's beautiful, but —" Lisa started to point out that she had no money with her.
"My first gift to you." Slade didn't let her finish as he gently pried the basket from her fingers and walked over to the elderly artist to pay for it.
A few minutes later they were back on the road heading toward Charleston. Lisa held the small coil basket in her lap. Her first gift from Slade. He had said it as if it would be the first of many.
Neither of them spoke in the last half dozen miles to Mitzi's house. Lisa gazed absently out of the window, lost in her melancholy thoughts, and Slade had to concentrate on the traffic that got heavier as they entered the city limits of Charleston.
The scrolled wrought-iron gates were open to admit them to the driveway of Mitzi's house. Slade stopped the car in front of the portico and switched off the motor. Without a word, he climbed out of the car and walked around to Lisa's door.
"We're here," he announced unnecessarily as he opened it.
"Yes." Her reply was as instant as his comment.
They both seemed caught in the web of tension between them. Walking to the carved entrance doors of the house, Lisa attempted to brush it away.
"Did I bore you this afternoon?" She tried to be light and teasing, but there was an anxious note in the question.
"I don't know when I've been so — bored with a woman in my life," Slade mocked.
Lisa glanced away, a painful tightness in her throat. "Don't make jokes, Slade."
"Don't ask stupid questions, Lisa," he returned.
At the door she turned, her hand poised on the knob, straining for composure and wishing she didn't feel as if she was leaving him for good.
"Will you come in for a few minutes?"
"No." Slade leaned an arm against the jamb, effectively blocking her from entering the house immediately.
His dark head bent toward her and Lisa moved forward to meet him. The delicate violence in his kiss told her how great his restraint had been all day as he released the passion he had controlled. His desire wasn't satiated by the assault on her lips nor the feel of her pliant body arching to mold itself against the hard contours of his.
"I've been wanting to do that all day," he said, dragging his hard mouth from her lips to nuzzle the lobe of her ear. "That and more."
Her one free hand was exploring the rough texture of his face while the other still crazily held on to the basket. Eyes closed against the sweet torment of loving him and not knowing the culmination of that love, Lisa pressed herself closer to his length. She quivered with longing as he explored the base of her neck and the hollow of her throat, finding her pleasure points with seductive ease.