by Janet Dailey
It was her turn to smile faintly. 'I doubt if it's any different. My childhood was very normal.'
But she sensed that it was words he wanted to hear to distract his thoughts from the pain of his knitting arm. He was hurting. She could tell by the stiffness of the smile he had given her a second ago. It had been an absent, almost indifferent movement of his mouth without the warmth it usually reflected.
'Begin at the beginning, then,' Mitch instructed, 'with your very normal entry into the world.'
'Well let's see.' Susan leaned back in the swing, staring into the night sky as Mitch was doing. 'The stork brought me the first year that Mom and Dad were married. Dad was still in college. He hadn't begun his postgraduate work in medical school yet. My unplanned arrival on the scene was a hardship for them, I know. But Mom said she never regretted having me. She said she didn't know what she would have done if I hadn't been around to keep her company when Dad was putting in those long hours of internship. She worked, of course, and the landlady, a Mrs. Gibson, took care of me. Greg arrived the year Dad started his own practice. Amy came four years later.'
His eyes were closed when she looked at him. Susan wondered if he was asleep or merely resting. Then Mitch spoke to fill the silent pause.
'I was certain I was going to hear about all the contests you won as a baby,' he mocked lightly without lifting the spiky fan of lashes. 'You had to have been teacher's pet at school.'
'Pet or pest?' Susan laughed softly.
Quietly she began to relate anecdotes of her childhood in school and at home. While she talked, she studied him. His closed eyes kept her inspection safe from discovery.
In repose, his face—minus crinkling laughter around his eyes and the dimpling lines in the smooth lean cheeks—was still extraordinarily handsome. The roguish air, associated with a playboy, was gone.
Indomitable strength was roughly and arrogantly carved in Warren's features. Mitch Braden possessed the same strength, but in him it was tempered with determination and consideration. Mitch did not overpower people with the force of his personality. He charmed them to his side.
Concluding a story about a pet rabbit she had received one Easter, Susan noticed his breathing had become quite even and how relaxed his posture had become.
'Mitch?' she murmured.
'Yes,' he answered in a clear, quiet voice.
'I thought my talk might have bored you into falling asleep,' she explained, directing the wryly amused tone of voice at herself.
Mitch opened his eyes, blue and jewel-bright, focusing his gaze unerringly on her face. Steadily he looked at her.
'I don't think there's anything about you that would bore me, Susan,' he replied quite seriously.
Unnerved by the smooth way he had countered her jesting comment with a disturbing compliment, Susan turned away. The atmosphere of moonlight and roses was too romantic for her to be completely untouched by his statement.
'It's your turn now to tell me about yourself,' she said, trying to change the subject.
'What do you want to know?' Mitch inquired curiously. 'Shall I tell you of all the snips and snails and puppydog tails I collected as a mischievous boy?'
Susan didn't want to know about his childhood. She was reluctant to hear about the personal details of his past life. It was better not to learn too much about him.
'Tell me about racing.' She chose a safer topic. 'Why do you do it?'
'That's like asking why a man climbs a mountain or why a matador enters the bullring,' he chuckled softly at her question. 'It's the constant challenge, I suppose.'
'What's it like to drive in a race?'
He considered her question for several seconds before answering. 'Your heart pounds to send adrenalin surging through your system and your senses are more alert than you can ever remember. It's the high level of energy that sustains you when the gravity force exerted on you in the turns tries to pull you apart. It keeps you going when you're so bone weary and exhausted that you want to drop. There's a crazy kind of peace and freedom you feel when you're out there on the track. I don't know where it comes from,' he mused thoughtfully. 'It isn't from the cheering of the crowd or the deafening roar of a powerful engine. It isn't even from being the first car over the finish line. It comes from inside, I guess. You are competing with yourself, driving yourself to the limit of what you can endure, then discovering you can go farther.'
'Aren't you ever frightened?' Susan asked, suddenly fascinated by the insight into a sport she had never really considered in such a philosophical way.
'A man would be a fool if he didn't admit to being aware of the danger and the risks,' Mitch smiled. 'But you don't have time to be frightened, not at the speed you are traveling. By the time your mind can concentrate on the thing that frightens you, whether it's a particularly steep bank or the car ahead of you that's gone out of control, you're already past it or the worst has happened.'
His calm acceptance of the hazards made Susan shiver. Her heart was in her throat just visualizing Mitch in a race. There was the instinctive knowledge that she would live with fear if she ever watched him race.
'I think it's time we went into the house,' Mitch announced. 'It's beginning to get cool, and you must be tired.'
Susan didn't correct his assumption that her shiver had been from the growing coolness of the night air. She accepted the hand he offered to help her out of the swing.
'How is your arm?' she asked. 'Is it still bothering you?' 'Hardly at all now.' A lazy smile spread across his features, crinkling the corners of his eyes. 'Thanks to you.'
Mitch didn't release her hand as they retraced their steps to the front of the house. The warmth of his grip was comforting as if he was silently assuring her not to worry about him.
Chapter Eight
INSIDE the house, Mitch released her hand and turned to lock the front door. Susan waited for him a few steps inside. She didn't know why except that it seemed the polite thing to do.
'Are you tired?' he glanced at her inquiringly.
'A little,' she admitted. 'Aren't you?'
'Unfortunately, no.' His shoulders lifted in a rueful gesture. 'Do you suppose your mother would object if I fixed myself some cocoa? I can't stand hot milk.'
'Of course she wouldn't mind.' Susan hesitated, then admitted, 'I'll fix it for you, if you like.'
There was a merry sparkle in his look. 'To tell you the truth, I was hoping you'd volunteer. I didn't like the idea of having to poke through the cupboards trying to find things. You'll join me, won't you?'
The boyish honesty and engaging smile were too much for Susan to combat. Besides, although she was tired, she wasn't ready for the evening to end. She didn't want to examine the reason for that thought too closely.
'Yes, I'll join you,' she agreed 'Do you want to have it in the kitchen or shall I bring it into the living room?'
'The kitchen is fine. We'll be less likely to disturb the others there.' Mitch started for the hallway leading to the kitchen. 'I'll give you a hand. Of course I only have one hand that I can use.'
In the kitchen, Susan put the milk on to heat and stirred in the cocoa and sugar. She pointed out the cupboard where Mitch could find the mugs and another one where the marshmallows were kept.
As the cocoa mixture began to simmer, Susan glanced over her shoulder at Mitch. He was walking toward her, carrying the two mugs by a finger curled through the handles.
'There are sugar cookies in the cookie jar if you want a snack,' she offered.
'No, thanks,' he refused, and watched as she carefully poured the hot chocolate into the mugs and floated a pair of marshmallows on the hot liquid in each mug.
They each carried their own cup to the narrow breakfast table in front of the glassed windows looking into the back yard. Mitch waited as Susan sat down in the chair at the head of the table, then he took the chair to her left.
'How long have you known Warren?' he asked casually.
'Why?' Susan tipped her head to one side, s
urprised by his unexpected question.
'Just curious,' Mitch shrugged.
Susan couldn't think of any reason not to answer his question. 'I was formally introduced to him when I went to work for the law firm in the secretarial pool. Two years ago I became his personal secretary when his previous one left to get married.'
'That's quite a long courtship, isn't it?' he grinned crookedly.
'Oh, no,' she hurried to explain. 'We didn't start dating until after the Christmas party last year.'
'Not until then?' he frowned in faint disbelief.
'Well, Warren didn't actually notice me as more than his secretary until then.' She sipped self-consciously at her steaming cocoa.
'The man must have been blind,' he laughed in short disbelief. 'What about you? Had you noticed him?'
Susan stirred the melting marshmallows into her hot chocolate. 'Secretaries are always in love with their bosses without their bosses being aware of it.' She tried to make it a joke, unable to meet the mocking glint in Mitch's eyes. 'I thought everybody knew that.'
'And after the Christmas party, it was a case of love at first and very late sight for Warren, is that it'? Mitch inquired with decided cynicism. 'I mean, you already believed you were half in love with him.'
'I guess it was like that,' Susan admitted nervously.
'Then how long have you been engaged?'
'Since April.'
'April Fools' Day?' he asked mockingly.
There was a defiant tilt of her chin. 'He gave me the ring over the Easter weekend, if you must know.'
'I would have thought you would have planned a traditional June wedding,' Mitch gazed thoughtfully at the cup in his hand, 'instead of waiting until August. But then I guess the idea to marry then wasn't yours.'
Warily Susan studied his bland expression, a thought just occurring to her and one that she probably should have had earlier.
'You were hiding somewhere listening to Warren and me tonight, weren't you?' she accused in a low, angry voice.
'Inadvertently,' he admitted without apology. 'I didn't intentionally eavesdrop. I heard the car drive in and assumed it was you. I wanted to be certain you didn't lock me out of the house. Warren usually doesn't walk you to the door, or at least he hasn't lately.'
Susan remembered suddenly that the guest bedroom that Mitch used had a clear view of the front door. He must have been spying on her ever since he had come.
'You could have let us know you were there,' she retorted bitterly trying to remember what she and Warren had said.
'The topic sounded very personal. I didn't think either of you would appreciate my opinion on the matter,' Mitch explained, the wicked glitter back in his blue eyes. 'Does he make love to you?'
The spoon clattered from her hand on to the table. Fire flashed in her eyes.
'If you're asking whether I sleep with him, then you're just going to have to wonder, because I have no intention of answering such an objectionable question!'
'Temper, temper, Susan!' He clicked his tongue at her in mock reproval. 'Obviously the man doesn't.'
'Obviously?' she echoed angrily. 'Why obviously?'
'There are several things that made me reach that conclusion,' Mitch answered lazily. 'You might have wanted to set the wedding date ahead because you were becoming frustrated sexually. And everything is so precise between the two of you. Certain nights you have dates. On the week nights he has you home at a certain hour. Everything fits into a prim pattern. Believe me, Warren isn't a man overcome with passion. He's doing everything by the book, including waiting until the wedding night.'
Trembling, Susan stared at him while he casually drank his cocoa. 'You sound as if that's something to be ashamed of!' she accused.
'Of course not,' Mitch denied with a deprecating laugh. 'But wouldn't you feel better if his control broke just once? Wouldn't it make him a little more human?'
'I don't know what you're talking about.' She looked away hastily, staring at the foamy residue clinging to the sides of her mug. 'Besides, Warren is in love with me, whether you want to believe it or not.'
'In his way, yes,' he nodded agreeably.
'What do you mean by that?' she asked with an irritated sigh.
'If I were a girl engaged to a man and that man held me in his arms and declared how very much he respected me, I would be insulted,' he answered simply.
'I see.' Her fingers drummed a war beat on the table top. 'What you're really saying is that you wouldn't respect the woman you married. Isn't that right, Mr. Braden?'
'Naturally I would respect her, or I wouldn't marry her.' Mitch met the angry glitter of her gaze with good-humored patience. 'But that certainly isn't the emotion I would want to feel when I held her in my arms.'
'No, I suppose you would feel lust,' Susan retorted sarcastically.
'Why not? I'm a lusty man.' Amusement touched his mouth, her barbs bouncing off without inflicting one prick.
'I think you're impossible!' she declared with a frustrated shake of her head as she looked away.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him rub the back of his neck, with a slight stretching motion of his shoulders. 'And because I would enjoy making love to the woman I want to marry, that makes me impossible?' he chided.
'You make it sound as if it's all your decision,' Susan replied. 'I should think the girl might have something to say about it.'
'If she loved me, she would be willing.' His hand moved to wearily rub his mouth and chin. Susan's stifled gasp of indignant outrage drew his gaze from the mug to her. 'You don't believe me, do you?'
'I think that statement smacks of conceit!'
'Maybe,' Mitch acknowledged nonchalantly. 'But if I were Warren and you professed to love me as much as you say you love him, and if I chose to take advantage of that love—which I admit is what I would be doing—then I could have you in bed with me within twenty minutes and you wouldn't have made a single word or gesture of protest.'
'Of all the—-' Susan sputtered.
But Mitch wasn't listening. His hand was covering a yawn that brought a watery brightness to his eyes. When it was over, he glanced at Susan, sending her a sheepishly rueful grin.
'That's a boastful statement to make, isn't it, for a man who's too tired to back it up,' he said with half a sigh. 'I guess the hot chocolate did the trick.'
Pushing the chair from the table, he rose to his feet and carried his empty coffee mug to the sink. Susan stared angrily at him for a few seconds, then picked up her own mug and followed him.
'Would you like me to help clean up?' Mitch offered when she shoved her mug in the sink and walked stiffly to the stove for the pan.
'No thanks,' she snapped.
He stood beside the sink, a hip leaning against the counter, and watched the suppressed anger in her movements. But Susan refused to meet his gaze.
'I upset you, Susan,' he said slowly. 'That wasn't my intention. I should have been thanking you for so considerately spending some time with me. Instead I started needling you about your engagement to Warren. I was jealous—I still am. I suppose that's why I was so brash. I'm sorry, truly.'
Susan stood in front of the sink, the pot nervously clutched in her hands. She was aware of his gaze studying her bent head. The sincerity in his voice had taken away most of her outraged anger. She swallowed down the lump in her throat.
Why did he constantly have to confuse her? One minute she was trembling with anger at his taunts and another she would be feeling the force of his attraction. Part of her liked the idea that Mitch was attracted to her and showed it, while the other half was indignant that she should feel that way when she was already engaged to marry another man.
'I accept your apology,' she said tightly, not ready to wholeheartedly forgive him for provoking her so. She glanced at the wall clock above the sink. 'It's a minute after two. You need some sleep.'
'Are you positive you don't want me to help with those dishes?' Mitch repeated his offer, still trying to catch he
r downcast gaze.
'I'm only going to stack them in the sink and wipe off the counter and stove. I can manage that on my own, thank you.' Her clipped voice was deliberately cool and indifferent.
His hand closed over her chin, his grip firm but not harsh. He turned her head so he could look into her face. Resentment still smoldered in her dark eyes as she met the patient blueness of his.
'I'm sorry for making you angry, Susan.'
'So you said.'
'And I want to thank you again for keeping me company tonight. I appreciate it,' Mitch finished in a level, serious tone. Then he leaned forward and lightly touched his lips to hers. 'Good night.'
Her chin was released and he was walking away before Susan could offer a protest at his action. When the kitchen door closed behind him, she touched a fingertip to her lips. They still tingled with the warmth of his light caress.
Jerkily she brushed the dark hair away from her temple and set about the task of cleaning up, a minor one that hardly took any time. All the time she kept wondering how long it would be before this physical chemistry between her and Mitch would fizzle out. For the sake of her peace of mind it couldn't be too soon.
Two minutes after Mitch had left the kitchen, Susan followed, making her way up the darkened stairs to the unlit hallway of the second floor. Unerringly she turned in the direction of the bathroom to clean off her makeup and brush her teeth before changing into night clothes. Her steps took her past the guest bedroom.
From inside came a stifled gasp of pain and a few savagely muttered oaths. Her eyes darted curiously to the strip of light beneath the door just as it swung open to catch her in full light.
Mitch's tall frame was in the center of the doorway, his navy blue long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned. He started to stride into the hallway, saw Susan and stopped, a dark frown on his forehead.
'Give me a hand, would you?' It was a crisp demand rather than a request as he pivoted around to reenter his room. 'I can't get my shirt off with this cast on my arm.'
Susan hesitated in the hallway, watching as Mitch impatiently tried to shrug his right arm out of the long sleeve. He glanced over his shoulder, the look in his eyes asking her what she was doing still standing in the hall.