Window on Today

by Joan Hohl

  She had to make a decision!

  Bolting from her chair, Karla prowled around the tastefully decorated room, looking at everything, seeing nothing, until her restless glance collided with the elegant phone on the desk in one corner.

  Find his number and call him, she ordered herself urgently. Tell him thanks, but no thanks—for his invitation to dinner, and his services as a guide, and most emphatically for his blatant insistence on the inevitability of an affair between them in the very near future.

  Acting on the impulse, Karla strode purposefully to the desk. With every intention of calling Jared to advise him to turn his considerable charm to the seduction of some other, more gullible female, she reached for the phone. Her hand paused an inch from the receiver, arrested by the breath-reducing Technicolor image of him that filled her mind and weakened her knees—as well as her determination.

  Fighting the thrill of remembered sensations, Karla could hear his beguiling voice, murmuring dark, exciting words of enticement. Her lips burned, her body ached, her senses urged her to recall the taste of him, the feel of him, and to forget everything she had heard that day.

  Damn Jared Cradowg! she thought. And damn this attraction that drew her to him!

  The silent cry shuddered through Karla’s body. The inner battle was lost. Her hand fell away from the receiver, and as it fell Karla glanced at her watch. Jared would be arriving in less than half an hour!

  At that moment, Karla wanted nothing so much as to run fast and far. Pride and simple economics kept her rooted to the floor. She had run away from one man; she’d be damned if she’d repeat the experience. Her pride would not allow retreat. Economically, she was bound to the gallery, and unless she physically removed herself from the scene, there was no possible way she could avoid contact with Jared. He was an artist, and not just any artist but a rather famous one at that. Karla knew that running was an option she couldn’t afford.

  She was back to square one, worrying the question and biting her lip as she raked her mind for an answer. She was prodded into action by another glance at her watch. Spinning away from the desk, she strode from the living room to her bedroom. She made her decision midway between rooms. She would have dinner with him—nothing more.

  Karla conceived a plan of procedure while standing under a senses-cooling shower, and committed herself to it while dressing and applying a light makeup with practiced swiftness.

  She was vulnerable to Jared, more so than to any other man she had ever met, including the only man she had ever been intimate with. That vulnerability had to be protected.

  Not being able to run from Jared did not mean that Karla could not hide. After years of withdrawing deep within herself, she was expert at hiding—her feelings, her emotions, her frustrations. Activating her defense mechanism, she attired her body in a soft, clingy apricot wool dress and cloaked her vulnerability in the armor of steely composure.

  Recalling Jared’s stated desire to see her hair unbound, Karla deftly coiled the long dark mass into a sleek twist at the nape of her neck. She was anchoring the last hairpin when the doorbell rang. She froze for an instant, nerves twanging. Then, raising her chin, she consciously brought her emotions under control by delivering a silent lecture.

  She was not some quivering Victorian miss, subject to the whims of the superior male. She was an intelligent, well-educated woman of the twenty-first century, independent and as “today” as the morning television news.

  The doorbell rang again, a short, impatient summons that seemed to echo the whims of the superior male. At the imperious sound, Karla’s lips formed a small, cool smile. Deciding that with the powerful incentive she now had, she should have no difficulty at all maintaining her composure, Karla scooped up her purse, left the bedroom, and calmly walked to the door and swung it open.

  The sight of him tested Karla’s resolve. Jared looked lean and sexy in brushed denims, a cable-knit pullover, and a suede jacket. Fortunately, he reinforced her determination with the first words out of his mouth: “I wanted you to let your hair down.”

  “Did you?” Karla arched her eyebrows and gave him a wry look. “I prefer it up.”

  His gaze sharpened as he examined her expression. “Are you angry about something?”

  “Angry? No, I’m not angry.” Try wary, she thought, turning to retrieve her cape from the chair on which she’d tossed it on entering the apartment.

  “Something’s wrong,” he insisted, moving to take the garment from her and hold it for her. “Was there a problem at the gallery today?”

  Besides you?

  Keeping the retort to herself, Karla shook her head. “No, no problem at the gallery,” she answered ambiguously, “Actually, it was a very good day, for sales.”

  Though Jared frowned, he didn’t question the slight emphasis she’d placed on the crucial word “sales.” Anxious not to give him the opportunity to read between the lines, or to become amorous, Karla offered him a prodding smile. “I’m ready.”

  Jared relaxed and smiled back at her, too slowly, too sexily. “What for?” he asked softly.

  Karla sent a silent command to cease and desist to pulses fluttering on the brink of rampant excitement. “Dinner,” she said succinctly. “I’m famished.” To her complete surprise, she realized she was telling the truth. But then, she hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and it had been a long, trying day, what with one thing and another.

  He grinned and indicated the door with a flourish. “After you. I hope you like hot things.”

  Karla stiffened and stared at him warily. “Like what?”

  “Like Mexican food.” His grin grew positively wicked. “And me.”

  Determined not to allow him to rattle her, Karla maintained her cool. “I love Mexican food,” she said. But as she swept past him she added, “I’m reserving judgment on you.”

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  “You’ve changed your mind, haven’t you?”

  Karla shivered. The chill feathering her arms, raising goose bumps, had nothing to do with the outside temperature, or the fact that she was standing mere inches from the window that took up most of one wall in the living room of Jared’s fantastic house. And fantastic was the only way to describe the house, which appeared to teeter on the very edge of a bluff. Of course, it was too dark for Karla to see what lay beneath the cliff, but Jared had told her the house overlooked Oak Creek and the valley beyond.

  Karla could see inside of the house, though, and immediately liked what she saw. The house was open, airy, thoroughly southwestern in design. The walls were smooth, stark white plaster. The exposed ceiling beams were stained a dark walnut. The furniture was casual, comfortable, covered in natural fabrics with bright splashes of earth tones—greens and browns and the occasional dash of pumpkin.

  In an odd, inexplicable way, Karla had felt at ease and at home from the minute she’d crossed the threshold. Afraid to question the feeling, she had pushed it to the back of her mind and let her senses absorb the ambience.

  Surprisingly, although she had anticipated nervousness, Karla had relaxed and enjoyed both the atmosphere and Jared’s interesting, if slightly strained, conversation. And at his suggestion after they’d finished dinner that they leave the cleaning-up till later, Karla had cradled her delicate wineglass in her hands and strolled to the window, drawn by the darkness beyond. She had been staring into that darkness for some minutes, raking her mind for yet another safe topic of discussion. The abruptness of his question banished her sense of ease, creating tension not only in Karla but in the spacious room that suddenly seemed too small to contain the two of them.

  She hadn’t heard Jared come up behind her. She hadn’t seen him, either. Focusing on the wide window, she took note of his reflection; it was so clear she could even read his expression.

  Jared was confused, impatient, and beginning to get a little angry.

  She had given him reason for the emotions. After her unbridled response to him that morning, K
arla could well imagine his expectations for this evening. She had thrown him a curve by acting aloof from the moment she’d opened her door to him, and now Jared was getting ragged around the edges. She couldn’t blame him, but...

  Karla’s gaze drifted to her own reflection. She sighed with relief at the lack of expression on her pale face. She had played the role of impersonal but interested guest for over an hour, ever since they’d arrived at his house. Acting the part was starting to tear at her nerves. So was Jared’s behavior. Her eyes skimmed back to his shadowy image in the glass.

  Though watching her narrowly, Jared had gone along with her play, giving her the kid-glove treatment ever since she’d whipped by him to exit her apartment. The gloves were wearing a bit thin. Karla recognized the signs. She could feel the confrontation coming. In an attempt to delay the brewing argument, she tried to divert him.

  “I can imagine the spectacular view you have from here,” she said, sweeping her hand along the window.

  “Yeah, it’s terrific.” Jared’s abrupt response dismissed the subject. He moved closer to her, not yet touching, but too close. “Answer my question.”

  Her spine went rigid. Karla could feel his body heat, scent the tantalizing aroma of aftershave and male. Her fingers clutched the delicate stem of the glass she held in one hand, and she slowly inhaled a deep, composing breath. Despite her ploys to forestall it, the moment had come; she couldn’t dodge the issue any longer. She had filled the taut silences with compliments on his hilltop house. She had praised the delicious Mexican dinner. She had raved with sincerity about the depth and realistic appeal of the canyon painting hung to advantage above the wide natural-stone fireplace. But she had reached the end of her inconsequential “impersonal guest” chatter rope. Willing defiance into her eyes, Karla met his reflected gaze in the window.

  “Yes, I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Why?”

  Karla felt slightly proud of herself for not flinching at the soft sting in his low voice. She even managed to execute a careless-looking shrug. “I’ve ... ah, decided that I really can’t spare two weeks away from the gallery to flit around sight-seeing.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Though she wouldn’t have thought it possible, Karla’s spine stiffened even more. “Are you calling me a liar?” she asked in a deceptively calm tone.

  “Yes.”

  She shrugged again; this time it didn’t look quite as careless. “Believe what you like.”

  “I always do.”

  Jared’s voice was pitched very low, and yet she heard each individual syllable distinctly, heard and ... Karla’s thoughts fragmented. She’d felt the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck! Her skin prickled, sending responsive quivers down her rigid spine. A sharp sense of warning urged Karla to move, put some distance between them before he—

  Too late! The pad of his finger touched down lightly on the spot his breath and sensitized. Karla’s stomach muscles contracted against the teasing, arousing sensation caused by the slow movement of his finger, feathering erotically down the curve of her exposed neck.

  This was ridiculous! Karla shivered with the thought. He was barely touching her—and she felt as if she were balancing on the edge of a precipice!

  Move away from him, dammit!

  The order came from the command center deep within her consciousness. Karla wanted to obey, but, as if the lines of communication were snarled somewhere between her head and her feet, her legs refused to work. Testing, she opened her mouth to see if her voice was still operational.

  “Jared”—Karla’s voice cracked as his roving finger flicked at the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck. “Please, I wish you wouldn’t—” She gasped as his finger flicked again. “Don’t do that!” She was unsuccessful at repressing a shiver of response.

  “I enjoy touching you,” he murmured, slowly lowering his head. “Your skin is so soft, like satin warmed by an open fire.” His lips drew near to her tension-taut neck; his warm breath increased her quivering response. “And I know you enjoy it, too.”

  “No!” Her denial lacked conviction. Karla parted her lips to reinforce her demur, but gasped as the tip of his tongue gently probed the spot his breath had warmed. He flicked his tongue once, twice, with tormenting effect.

  “Another lie.” There was an underlying harshness in his voice that hinted at growing impatience. “You enjoyed my touch this morning, more than enjoyed it.”

  Karla shook her head, both in denial and in the hope of discouraging the mind-blanking caress of his mouth. Her action proved fruitless.

  “Yes,” Jared breathed, tasting her at a maddening, leisurely pace. “I could have taken you right there in your office.” His teeth nipped, wrenching a low moan from her compressed lips. “I could have made you mine, anywhere, on your desk, on the floor, even standing upright, against the wall,” he insisted softly, deeply.

  No... No... Oh, Lord, no! Unable to shut down her rioting senses, or her hearing, Karta closed her eyes, helpless against the waves of humiliation washing over her. Jared had been deliberately crude. He had hurt her, but the truth in his crudeness hurt her more.

  “Stop, Jared ... Don’t ...” Karla’s throat closed, clogged by the tears choking her, tears of shame, tears of remorse, and most bitter, tears caused by a growing fear, not of him, but of her own weakening resistance.

  “I must, I want to, I will,” he growled, giving proof of Anne’s accusation of ruthlessness. His tongue danced in moist swirls, inflicting delicious torture on her skin and sensibilities. “Something happened to change you between the time I left you this morning and the time I came for you this evening.” To augment his attack, Jared brushed the tips of his fingers down the length of her arms, causing a tingle from her shoulders to her cuticles. “I don’t like the change,” he said in a grating whisper. “I want to know what caused it.”

  Incredibly, Karla felt trapped, ensnared by his tormenting lips trailing over the curve of her neck and the tips of his fingers skimming along her arms. She couldn’t move; she couldn’t think. Every nerve, every cell in her body shivered in readiness for his command.

  He is using you!

  The inner scream of warning fought its way from the depths of her instinct for self-preservation, jarring Karla’s consciousness awake, activating her defenses.

  Concentrating, concentrating, she regulated her breathing process, cooling the heat of desire that was flowing through her veins and melting her will. Karla swallowed, then swallowed again, dislodging the choking tears, allowing a chill to permeate her voice.

  “I haven’t changed.”

  “You have.” His lips nudged the neckline of her dress aside, then laid claim to her shoulder. “The night of the gallery opening, you were cold and angry. Last night you were cool and contained. This morning you were hot... for me.” His tongue drew dainty circles on her collarbone. “But tonight... tonight you’re afraid of me. Why?”

  “I’m not afraid of you!” Karla denied, shuddering as his tongue lashed her with silky strokes. “I ... I am not afraid.” Her voice was barely there at all.

  Jared laughed. Softly ... so softly.

  The sensuous sound wrapped itself around her, enfolding her in darkness, like a sultry night. Then it pierced her; Karla ached everywhere—in her bones, her skin, her teeth. Her breathing grew shallow. Warm pain spread through her, filled her, releasing her imagination. As if Jared’s body had pierced hers, she felt the heat of his possession. The sensation was erotic, glorious ... and terrifying.

  Her resolve liquefying, held captive by his tantalizing mouth and teasing fingertips, Karla stood mute and resistant as Jared removed the wineglass from her limp hand and set is aside. Her eyelids lowered as he trailed his fingers up her arms and gently turned her around to face him.

  “What is it?” he demanded in a soft, rasping tone. “Why are you now so afraid?”

  “I’m not afraid,” Karla insisted, “I... I’ve explained my reason for changing my
mind.” She was careful to keep her gaze lowered for fear he’d read the lie in her eyes.

  Jared didn’t need to see into her eyes; he heard the lie in her voice. His fingers curled around the soft flesh of her upper arms. “If nothing occurred to help you change your mind,” he began, slowly drawing her quaking body close to his own, “then prove it by agreeing to go with me.”

  It was a silly challenge; kid stuff, perhaps. Yet, engaged in an inner war between her senses and her common sense, and slightly panicked by the yearning response of her body toward the raw strength of his, Karla was tempted to accept, if only to prove her strength of will to him—and to herself. She was mentally dismissing the temptation as a fool’s response, when Jared heaped fuel on the challenge fire.

  “You’re going to cave in to whatever caused this fear in you,” he said, his tone heavy with regret. “You disappoint me. I believed you were made of stronger stuff.”

  Pride snapped Karla’s head up. Anger gave her the momentum she needed to wrench herself from his grasp. Defiance blazed in the eyes she directed at him. “Made of stronger stuff than whom?” she asked with scathing sweetness. “Am I being compared to and judged against one or all of your other”—she smiled unpleasantly—”shall I say, lady friends?”

  “Ahh, hah!”

  Shaking with an emotion too closely resembling jealousy to be tolerated, Karla lifted her chin and stared at him with cold hauteur. “What, precisely, does ‘Ahh, hah!’ mean?” she demanded in an ice-coated tone.

  “It’s an expression conveying understanding,” he explained, much too smoothly.

  Karla gritted her teeth. “Indeed?”

  “Umm.”

  Fighting an urge to step back, to put some distance between her itching palm and his cynically twisted mouth, Karla inhaled a composure-gathering breath. “May one ask what you now feel you understand?” she asked with hard-found patience.

  Jared’s reply was blunt and pointed. “You’ve been listening to the cackle of the gossip hens,” he accused. “Was the squawk so lurid in detail, was the scratching so deep, that it either frightened you or filled you with feminine envy of those ... shall I say, lady friends?”