As soon as they were out of Osgood's sight and hearing, Beth pulled herself free of Nash's gentle grip. Her eyes blazed with anger. "What was that all about?"
Nash studied her with pretended casualness. Her Bambilike eyes, usually so soft and friendly, were shooting gold sparks. Together with the tousled devil-may-care hairdo, the turned-up tip of her nose, the delicately pointed chin.... His body heated up. It was an enjoyable sensation, one that had been a stranger the past few years. He'd thought he'd outgrown raging hormones. The idea that he hadn't and that this woman invoked them excited him.
He smiled. "That was about me taking you on a tour. I was a sightseeing guide at Gettysburg one summer. I won't let you miss anything." He took a step forward but she didn't budge.
She waved her hand in agitation. "You just blew a perfectly good opportunity for me to get to know him better."
Before he could cork it, the question spurted out. "How well do you want to get to know him?"
"Damn it, Nash. I told you before. I don't care about him. I want his contract. Why won't you believe me?"
He felt his cheeks flush and the nerve in his jaw jump. He wanted to reach out to her soft cheek and soothe her anger away. The fire coursing through him whenever he looked at her made him want to take her to bed. Knowing her had become all important...compulsive. And he was afraid it was clouding his judgment.
But he felt he owed her an explanation. "Two years ago I worked my tail off for an Osgood project. I didn't get it because the other architect he chose was a woman who inveigled her way into Osgood's bed."
Beth appeared shocked for a moment but recovered quickly and glared at him. "You have a colossal ego! Maybe her work was better than yours. Is that so inconceivable?"
He kept his temper at a slow boil and wondered why it was so important for Beth to believe him. "I know better. She wasn't finished with her boards the day of the presentation. And after she was awarded the project, he had to bring in another architect to consult because she hadn't thought through the designs accurately."
He could see Beth was torn between the desire to defend her sex and the desire to believe him. "I don't lie, Beth. And I don't contribute to rumor. I'm giving you the facts. There's proof if you want that, too."
Her expression changed, becoming less accusing. "If that's true, your anger's justified. But I don't lie, either, Nash. I'm not interested in an entanglement with Osgood."
He wished he could search her heart because he longed to believe her, to believe she was incapable of ruthlessness and manipulation. "Then I guess you're here for the same reason I am."
She examined him closely. "If you mean I'm here to figure out Osgood's taste, you're right."
He checked out her mint green slacks, silk blouse, and flat shoes, convincing himself she was telling the truth. "Then let's walk the grounds. They're lovely."
After a long probing stare, she nodded and followed him through the back entrance into a grassy area with white birches interspersed with park benches. Trying to get back on an amiable footing, she commented on the restful atmosphere.
"Osgood treats his employees well. I guess he feels if they're happy, they're more productive."
They crossed a stone bridge stretching over a narrow stream and stood at its apex. Nash turned his back on the scenery to face Beth. He was about to do something incredibly smart, or incredibly stupid. He wasn't sure which. He simply knew he had to do it.
Watching the sun flicker on Beth's round gold earrings, he asked, "I suppose you're going to inspect Osgood's resort in the Poconos?"
She looked as if he'd guessed every card in her poker hand. He saw the debate going on inside her as she decided whether or not to tell him her plans. Finally, she sighed and admitted, "This weekend."
He was right on the mark. "So am I. Why don't we drive up together and save gas?"
****
Beth hung the strapless royal blue taffeta dress in the double width closet. She must be crazy! How did she end up in the Poconos with Nash Winchester? Couldn't she learn to be rational instead of impulsive? Apparently not.
Damn the man's smile. Damn his sexiness and warmth and especially his logic. The logic had snared her. She remembered his words. "We're going to be there from Saturday to Sunday. We might as well drive up together and meet for dinner."
Although her car hadn't left her stranded again, it now not only chugged in damp weather but whenever she let it idle. Riding here with Nash had seemed like a practical idea. But since when had practicality been one of her virtues? A dinner engagement hadn't seemed threatening...then. What had possessed her to buy this dress? It was the popular shorter style with a layered skirt. But now when she looked at it, it seemed...skimpy. Time enough to worry about that later.
She gave the sketch pad on the desk a longing stare. She and Nash had gone their separate ways in the morning after they'd arrived. As she canvassed the grounds, sketching and jotting down ideas, she'd come up with a wonderful plan. She'd noticed the different age groups swimming, walking, jogging, and participating in sports. What if she used the concept of playgrounds, one for each particular population?
She could envision a maze with corners and insets and arches and flowers where lovers could chase each other and kiss. There'd be a section for children with boulders to scramble over, ladders to climb, old fashioned swings made of tires, and a sunken sandbox. She could picture an area for athletes--an obstacle course surrounded by a track, a quiet garden with benches for seniors, hedge sculptures, a stream with a covered bridge. And finally, a nature trail that everyone could enjoy.
Picture after picture tumbled one over the other in her mind and her fingers itched to make preliminary drawings. But that would have to wait. There'd been a note on her door when she returned to the room. From Nash. "If you'd like to play tennis, meet me at 2:30 at the pro shop. We can rent racquets. Hope to see you there."
She'd told herself she was going because she needed the exercise, but her subconscious knew better. The strength of Nash's personality drew her, as did his honesty. Losing a project to a woman under the circumstances he'd explained had to be a professional blow, one a man might not easily admit. Nash could admit it and she admired that. She also wanted to tentatively explore the sexual feelings he aroused that were at the same time exciting and frightening.
She grabbed her room key from the dresser, stuffed it in her pocket, and locked her door. The sun played peek-a-boo with marshmallowlike clouds as she walked to the courts. The temperature in the Poconos was fifteen degrees cooler than in Lancaster. Seventy degrees was a welcome respite, a perfect day for tennis.
Nash was waiting on the court side of the shop, two racquets in hand. His hair-covered legs were bronze against white shorts. She felt as though she'd just run a marathon rather than walked the short distance from her room.
To give herself time to quiet her thudding pulse, she teased, "You were sure I was coming?"
He shrugged. "I was hoping. But if you didn't, I could have found a partner."
Beth's eyes migrated to a group of women seated at a round table under an umbrella. The thought of Nash playing tennis with one of them instead of her made her stomach tighten. "Blonde or brunette?" she asked flippantly.
He wrapped a strand of hair around his forefinger. "I'm partial to brown with sunlight shining in it."
Unnerved by the feel of his finger in her hair, she turned to the courts. "They're full."
Nash pointed to the far court on the left. "See that couple? They said if you showed, they'd like to play doubles. Are you game?"
When he smiled, a small dimple appeared on his cheek. The desire to touch it was strong enough to make her curl her fingers into her palm. "I might disgrace you. I haven't played tennis in a couple of years."
"You couldn't disgrace anyone."
Admiration shone in his eyes and she wondered if it would still be there if he knew about the scandal. "You don't know me, Nash."
"I want to remedy that."
He playfully chucked her chin. "Then let's go get 'em, tiger." When he hooked a strong, muscular arm around her shoulders, her knees felt like wet noodles. How was she going to play tennis?
Shaking hands with the couple and setting up a few guidelines put her mind on the game. From the first serve, playing tennis with Nash was exhilarating. She took the
net; he played back. His long, powerful volleys complemented her short, quick strokes. Their opponents played well, but Nash and Beth won the match.
After the spike that won them the final point, Nash rushed toward Beth and gave her a bear hug. "You were great."
Every nerve ending tingled; all her senses were fully alive. Enfolded in his arms she felt aroused, womanly...safe. She steadied the tremor in her voice. "You were no slouch, either."
He leaned back, sliding his large, hot hands down her shoulders to her elbows. "But I had a better view of you than you had of me."
She remembered stooping over for the ball, losing her balance, stretching into unladylike positions. "You want a rematch so I can take unfair advantage?"
"Would you do that to me?" He leered, obviously not thinking about tennis.
She waggled her finger at his chest. "You have a vivid imagination."
"Would you like me to tell you exactly how vivid it is?"
The question was teasing but his smoky voice was rife with sexual vibrations. Her pulse raced, her breathing turned shallow, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
She unplastered it, broke her gaze from his, and glanced
over his shoulder. "Our opponents want to congratulate us."
He looked disappointed the private moment was gone. With a wry grin, he dropped his arms. "We should buy them a drink."
This man could easily become addictive. She took the safe route. "I really should pass. I have ideas I'd like to get on paper before I forget them."
"Are you running again or are you telling me work comes first?"
She was a free agent. She didn't owe him any explanations, but she didn't want to be rude either. "Work comes first...sometimes. I work in spurts and spells. If I sit down and attempt to force ideas, I turn out trash." That was true. She worked best when her personal muse was on the job.
"And the running?"
Did he always cut to the heart and see through the camouflage? "Nash, you're imagining things. I'm having dinner with you, aren't I?"
His green eyes bored into hers. "You are."
Obviously, he was trying to interpret what she was
thinking and feeling. She ended the discussion. "What time should I meet you?"
"I'll pick you up at your door at eight."
She suspected when he took a women out he called the shots. She'd let him call this one...this time. "Eight it is."
****
Nash rapped on the door firmly and adjusted his tie. He thought he'd get to know Beth better this weekend, but she wasn't helping him out except for brief flashes when her guard was down. Although she'd chattered during the drive to the mountains, she hadn't revealed where she was born or where she grew up. She'd focused mainly on her college experiences and her life in Lancaster. Maybe he could discover more details over dinner. At this point, he didn't know if he wanted more information for business reasons or personal ones. His personal interest was stretching beyond usual bounds.
When she opened the door, Nash felt a rush of adrenaline speed through him. "Wow!"
She blushed and fingered the strand of pearls at her neck. Matching pearl studs adorned her ears, and two pearl combs anchored her hair away from her temples. Her eyes toured down Nash's charcoal suit and he felt his body respond.
Their gazes connected for a moment before she broke the tension. "Come on in. I just have to get my shawl. Is it cold out? I forgot the temperature here drops at night."
She was chattering again. There was no doubt in his mind that she felt the pull between them and was doing everything in her power to circumvent it. When she picked up her purse at the dresser, he took the black velvet shawl from the desk chair and held it around her arms. Seeing him in the mirror, she backed up so he could drop it over her shoulders. But he didn't drop it.
Nash couldn't help letting his fingers lift her ringlets in the back. They were as soft as a kitten's fur, silky, and he breathed in either her shampoo or perfume. Whatever it was, the scent was captivating, slightly floral yet mysterious. His fingertips lightly brushed the nape of her neck and he experienced a jolt of desire made more powerful because of her shiver. When he found her eyes in the mirror, he knew she wasn't repulsed or afraid. She was excited. Her guard had dropped.
Only for a moment. She crossed the ends of the shawl over her breasts and murmured, "Thank you." Angling wide around the corner of the king-sized bed, she stood at the door and waited.
In silence, they walked under the wisteria-covered
trellis to the dining room. The hostess guided them to a table for two. Before Nash could help, Beth removed her shawl, laid it over the back of her chair and sat down.
He swore to himself. He wanted to make her comfortable, not nervous. After the waiter took their order, Nash asked if she'd gotten much work done.
Her eyes sparkled as brilliantly as the hurricane lamps and the crystal chandeliers. "A good bit. I worked straight through and was almost late getting dressed."
Her passion for her work pleased him but distracted him, too. Was she equally as passionate when she made love? He turned off the fantasy. "You're serious about working when the mood hits."
She picked up the rose linen napkin and spread it on her lap. "Absolutely. Like my dad says, you've got to buy when there's a sale." At Nash's puzzled look, she explained, "His version of make hay while the sun shines."
Nash chuckled. "I see. But what do you do if it rains, the deadline's approaching, and you're blocked?"
"I do something to get unblocked. I jog and let my mind imagine one scene after another, I sort through my favorite landscaping books, I meditate."
"Meditate?"
"Sure. I think about my client and his needs, visualize colors, and let the terrain fill in."
This woman fascinated him. She was intelligent and sassy, with a stroke of innocence thrown in. "We work in totally different ways."
She laughed and tilted her head. "You didn't work this afternoon?"
He wondered if she knew how absolutely enchanting she could be. "I worked out in the gym."
"After a game of tennis?"
"That's usually what I do Saturday afternoons. I've found that a schedule helps life flow more smoothly."
She shook her head and her hair teased her neck. "Schedules are limiting."
"Schedules increase productivity."
"I'm very productive."
"Maybe you can teach me your secret." He'd always wanted to learn to be more flexible without letting anything suffer.
She bypassed his suggestion. "What do you do if you feel like going...shopping on a Saturday afternoon?" At his expression she said, "Sorry. Bad choice. What if you feel like...horseback riding?"
"I work out first."
Her foot tapped his shin as she crossed her legs. "I suppose your office hours are sacred?"
"I try to stick to them." He shrugged. "It helps to keep my life compartmentalized."
She looked disconcerted. "You plan Sundays, too?"
He felt as if he was taking an oral exam and failing. "I usually spend part of them with Shannon and her family."
She shook her head as if his method was either unbelievable or impractical. "Don't you get bored?"
His schedule kept him from getting lonely. He was too busy most of the time to notice it. Except lately. Especially since he'd met Beth and realized something was missing from his life. Joy and intimacy. "Boredom isn't one of my problems."
"How do you get your ideas?"
"I take notes, study specifications, analyze, and start sketching."
"What happens if you get blocked?" she persisted.
"I don't. I go back to my notes and work through it. If one sketch doesn't work, I begin another."
She frowned. "It seems a waste to me."
"I disagree. The ideas I discard, I can pull out of the file and use later."
"You are organized."
She made it sound as if organization was an albatross around his neck. "Is that a crime?"
Reflectively fingering the mum in the vase on the table, she admitted, "No. But my mom's tried to teach me to be like you all my life and it doesn't work for me. She can't understand that I'm organized in my own way. Now Pops understands."
Finally. She was going to give him some background. "That's your dad?"
"Um hm."
Keep it light. Don't sound too interested. "What's he do?"
She watched Nash very closely. "He owns a tavern."
Nash was aware her chin lifted as she dared him to make a condescending remark. "Does he tend bar too or just manage?"
"He tends bar some evenings," she said warily. "He likes people."
Nash wondered if her friends or acquaintances had put her or her father down because of his occupation. "Bartenders know how to listen. They give good advice too because they know human nature."
She seemed surprised by his understanding. "Do you hang around bars often? You seem to know what goes on there."
"I used to. Started when I was twelve." Why had he said that? To shock her? To get her interested in his life?
Beth hid any astonishment she might be feeling and asked, "Can you tell me why?"
"I knew all the bartenders in our section of town in case I needed to find our father." She was waiting for more. He shouldn't have started this; he'd only ever talked about it to Shannon. "Dad liked to rub elbows with his buddies in bars rather than working."
"That must have been hard on you."
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