Blithe Images

by Nora Roberts

  joining us later.”

  “Oh,” she replied inadequately, unsure whether she was relieved or disappointed.

  “I—the magazine, that is—will provide you with suitable snow gear. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty Friday morning. Be packed and ready.”

  “Yes, but—” Hillary stared at the dead receiver with a mixture of annoyance and trepidation. He had not given her the opportunity to ask questions or formulate a reasonable excuse to decline. Hanging up, she turned around, her face a study in bewilderment.

  “What was all that? You look positively stunned.” Lisa regarded her friend from the kitchen doorway.

  “I’m going to the mountains for the weekend,” she answered slowly, as if to herself.

  “The mountains?” Lisa repeated. “With the owner of that fascinating voice?”

  Hillary snapped back and attempted to sound casual. “It’s just an assignment. That was Bret Bardoff. There’ll be plenty of others along,” she added.

  Friday morning dawned clear and cloudless and cold. Hillary was packed and ready as instructed, sipping a second cup of tea, when the doorbell sounded.

  “Good morning, Hillary,” Bret said as she opened the door. “Ready to brave the uncharted wilderness?”

  He looked quite capable of doing just that in a hip-length sheepskin jacket, heavy corded jeans, and sturdy boots. Now he appeared rugged, not the cool, calculating businessman to whom she had grown accustomed. Gripping the doorknob tightly, she maintained a cool exterior and invited him in.

  Assuring him she was quite ready, she walked away to place the empty cup in the sink and fetch her coat. Slipping her coat over her sweater and jeans, she pulled a dark brown ski hat over her hair. Bret looked on silently.

  “I’m ready.” Suddenly aware of his intense regard, she moistened her lips nervously with her tongue. “Shall we go?”

  Inclining his head, he bent to pick up the case she had waiting beside the sofa, his movements coinciding with hers. Straightening with a jerk, she flushed awkwardly. His brow lifted with his smile as he captured her hand and led her to the door.

  They soon left the city as Bret directed the Mercedes north. He drove quickly and skillfully along the Hudson, keeping up a light conversation. Hillary found herself relaxing in the warm interior, forgetting her usual inhibition at being in close contact with the man who stirred her senses. As they began to pass through small towns and villages, she could hardly believe they were still in New York, her experience with the state having been limited exclusively to Manhattan and the surrounding area. Ingenuously, she voiced her thoughts, pulling off her hat and shaking out her rich fall of hair.

  “There’s more in New York than skyscrapers,” he informed her with a crooked smile. “Mountains, valleys, forests—it has a bit of everything. I suppose it’s time we changed your impression.”

  “I’ve never thought of it except as a place to work,” she admitted, shifting in her seat to face him more directly. “Noisy, busy, and undeniably exciting, but draining at times because it’s always moving and never seems to sleep. It always makes the sound of the silence at home that much more precious.”

  “And Kansas is still home, isn’t it?” He seemed to be thinking of something else as he asked, his expression brooding on the road ahead. Hillary frowned at his change of mood, then gave her attention to the scenery without answering.

  They continued northward, and she lost track of time, intoxicated by the newness and beauty of her surroundings. At her first glimpse of the Catskills, she let out a small cry of pleasure, spontaneously tugging on Bret’s arm and pointing. “Oh, look—mountains!”

  Turning her eyes from the view, she gave him her special smile. He returned the smile, and her heart did a series of acrobatics. She turned back to the scene out the window. “I suppose I must seem terribly foolish, but when you’ve only known acres of wheat and rolling hills, this is quite a revelation.”

  “Not foolish, Hillary.” His voice was gentle, and she turned to face him, surprised at the unfamiliar tone. “I find you utterly charming.”

  Picking up her hand, he turned it upward and kissed her palm, sending shooting arrows of flame up her arm and down to her stomach. Dealing with his mockery and amusement was one thing, she pondered dizzily, she was quite used to that by now. But these occasional gentle moods turned her inside out, making her spark like a lighted match. This man was dangerous, she concluded, very dangerous. Somehow she must build up an impregnable defense against him. But how? How could she fight both him and the part of herself that wanted only to surrender?

  “I could do with some coffee,” Bret said suddenly, bringing Hillary back from her self interrogation. “How about you?” He turned to her and smiled. “Want some tea?”

  “Sure,” she answered casually.

  The Mercedes rolled into the small village of Catskill and Bret parked in front of a café. He opened his door and stepped from the car, and she quickly followed suit before he circled the front and joined her on the curb. Her eyes were fixed on the overpowering encircling mountains.

  “They look higher than they are,” Bret commented. “Their bases are only a few hundred feet above sea level. I’d love to see the expression on that beautiful face of yours when you encounter the Rockies or the Alps.”

  Interlocking his hand with hers, he led her out of the cold and into the warmth of the café. When the small table was between them, Hillary shrugged out of the confines of her coat, concentrating on the view, attempting to erect a wall of defense between herself and Bret.

  “Coffee for me and tea for the lady. Are you hungry, Hillary?”

  “What? Oh, no … well, yes, actually a little.” She grinned, remembering the lack of breakfast that morning.

  “They serve an outstanding coffee cake here.” He ordered two slices before Hillary could protest.

  “I don’t usually eat that kind of thing.” She frowned, thinking of the half grapefruit she had had in mind.

  “Hillary, darling,” Bret broke in with exaggerated patience. “One slice of cake is hardly likely to affect your figure. In any case,” he added with irritating bluntness, “a few pounds wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “Really,” she retorted, chin rising with indignation. “I haven’t had any complaints so far.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t, and you’ll get none from me. I’ve become quite enchanted with tall, willowy women. Though,” he continued, reaching over to brush a loose strand of hair from her face, “the air of frailty is sometimes disconcerting.”

  Hillary decided to ignore both gesture and remark. “I don’t know when I’ve enjoyed a drive more,” she said, determined to remain casual. “How much farther do we have to go?”

  “We’re at the halfway point.” Bret added cream to his coffee. “We should arrive around noon.”

  “How is everyone else coming? I mean, are they driving together?”

  “Larry and June are coming up together.” He smiled and ate a forkful of cake. “I should say Larry and June are accompanying Larry’s equipment. I’m amazed he allowed her to travel in the same car with his precious cameras and lenses.”

  “Are you?” Hillary questioned, grinning into her tea.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t be,” he admitted wryly. “I have noticed our favorite photographer’s increasing preoccupation with my secretary. He seemed inordinately pleased to have her company on the drive.”

  “When I phoned him the other day, he was actually allowing her to sort out his photography magazines.” Hillary’s voice was tinged with disbelief. “That’s tantamount to a betrothal.” She gestured with her fork. “It might even be binding. I’m not sure of the law. I still can’t believe it.” She swallowed a piece of cake and looked at Bret in amazement. “Larry’s actually serious about a flesh-and-blood woman.”

  “It happens to the best of us, love,” Bret agreed gently.

  But would it ever to Bret? She could not meet his eyes.

  On the road once more,
Hillary contented herself with the scenery as Bret kept up a general conversation. The warmth of the Mercedes’ interior and its smooth, steady ride had lulled her into a state of deep relaxation, and leaning back, she closed her suddenly heavy lids as they crossed the Mohawk River. Bret’s deep voice increased her peaceful mood, and she murmured absently in response until she heard no more.

  Hillary stirred restlessly as the change in road surface disturbed her slumber. Her eyes blinked open, and after a moment’s blankness, reality returned. Her head was nestled against his shoulder, and, sitting up quickly, she turned sleep flushed face and heavy dark eyes to him.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I fall asleep?”

  “You might say that,” he said, glancing over as she pushed at tumbled hair. “You’ve been unconscious for an hour.”

  “Hour?” she repeated, attempting to clear the cobwebs. “Where are we?” she mumbled, gazing around her. “What did I miss?”

  “Everything from Schenectady on, and we’re on the road that leads to my lodge.”

  “Oh, it’s beautiful.” She came quickly awake as she focused on her surroundings.

  The narrow road they traveled was flanked with snow-covered trees and rugged outcroppings of rock. Snow draped the green needles of pine, and what would have been dark, empty branches glistened with icicles and pure, sparkling white. Dense and thick, they seemed to be everywhere, rising majestically from a brilliant virgin blanket.

  “They’re so many.” She scooted in her seat to experiment with the view from Bret’s window, her knees brushing his thigh.

  “The forest is full of them.”

  “Don’t make fun.” She punched his shoulder and continued to stare. “This is all new to me.”

  “I’m not making fun,” he said, rubbing his shoulder with exaggerated care. “I’m delighted with your enthusiasm.”

  The car halted, and Hillary turned from Bret to look out the front window of the car. With a cry of pleasure, she spotted the large A-frame dwelling nestled in a small clearing so much a part of the surroundings it might have grown there. Picture windows gleamed and glistened in the filtered sunlight.

  “Come get a closer look,” Bret invited, stepping from the car. He held his hand out to her, and she slipped hers into his grasp as they began to crunch through the untouched snow. An ice-crusted stream tumbled swiftly on the far side of the house and, like a child wishing to share a new toy, Hillary pulled Bret toward it.

  “How marvelous, how absolutely marvelous,” she proclaimed, watching water force its way over rocks, its harsh whisper the only disturbance of peace. “What a fabulous place.” She made a slow circle. “It’s so wild and powerful, so wonderfully untouched and primitive.”

  Bret’s eyes followed her survey before staring off through a dense outcropping of trees. “Sometimes I escape here, when my office begins to close in on me. There’s such blessed peace—no urgent meetings, no deadlines, no responsibilities.”

  Hillary regarded him in open amazement. She had never imagined his needing to escape from anything or seeking deliberate solitude in a place so far from the city and its comforts and pleasures. To her, Bret Bardoff had represented the epitome of the efficient businessman, with employees rushing to do his bidding at the snap of his imperious finger. Now, she began to see another aspect of his nature, and she found the knowledge brought her a swift rush of pleasure.

  He turned and encountered her stare, locking her eyes to his with a force that captured her breath. “It’s also quite isolated,” he added, in such a swift change of mood it took her a moment to react.

  Blue eyes deepened and widened and she looked away, staring at the trees and rocks. She was here in the middle of nowhere, she realized, unconsciously chewing on her lip. He had told her the others were coming, but there was only his word. She had not thought to check with Larry. What if he had made the whole thing up? She would be trapped with him, completely alone. What would she do if …

  “Keep calm, Hillary.” Bret laughed wryly. “I haven’t kidnapped you, the others will be along to protect you.” He had deliberately provoked her reaction, and Hillary whirled to tell him what she thought of him, but he went on before she could speak. “That is, if they can find the place,” he muttered, his brow creasing before his features settled in a wide smile. “It would be a shame if my directions were inadequate, wouldn’t it?” Taking her hand once more, he led a confused and uneasy Hillary toward the lodge.

  The interior was spacious, with wide, full windows bringing the mountains inside. The high ceiling with exposed beams added to the openness. Rough wooden stairs led to a balcony that ran the length of the living room. A stone fireplace commanded an entire wall, with furniture arranged strategically around it. Oval braided rugs graced the dark pine floor, their bright colors the perfect accent for the rustic, wood-dominated room.

  “It’s charming,” Hillary said with delight as she gazed about her. She walked over to the huge expanse of glass, “You can stand here and be inside and out at the same time.”

  “I’ve often felt that way myself,” Bret agreed, moving to join her and slipping her coat from her shoulders. “What is that scent you wear?” he murmured, his fingers massaging the back of her neck, their strength throbbing through her. “It’s always the same, very delicate and appealing.”

  “It’s, ah, it’s apple blossom.” She swallowed and kept her eyes glued to the window.

  “Mmm, you mustn’t change it, it suits you … I’m starving,” he announced suddenly, turning her to face him. “How about opening a can or something, and I’ll start the fire? The kitchen’s well stocked. You should be able to find something to ward off starvation.”

  “All right,” she agreed, smiling. “We wouldn’t want you to fade away. Where’s the kitchen?” He pointed, and leaving him still standing by the window, she set off in the direction he indicated.

  The kitchen was full of old-fashioned charm, with a small brick fireplace of its own and copper-bottomed pots hanging along the wall. The stove itself Hillary regarded doubtfully, thinking it resembled something her grandmother might have slaved over, until she observed that it had been adapted for modern use. The large pantry was well stocked, and she located enough cans for an adequate midday meal. Not precisely a gourmet feast, she reflected as she opened a can of soup, but it will have to do. She was spooning soup into a pan when she heard Bret’s footsteps behind her.

  “That was quick!” she exclaimed. “You must have been a terrific boy scout.”

  “It’s a habit of mine to set the fire before I leave,” he explained, standing behind her as she worked. “That way all I have to do is open the flue and light a match.”

  “How disgustingly organized,” Hillary observed with a sniff, and switched the flame under the soup.

  “Ah, ambrosia,” he proclaimed, slipping his arms around her waist. “Are you a good cook, Hillary?”

  The hard body pressed into her back was very distracting. She struggled to remain cool. “Anyone can open a can of soup.” The last word caught in her throat as his hand reached up to part the dark curtain of her hair, his lips warm as they brushed the back of her neck. “I’d better make some coffee.” She attempted to slip away, but his arms maintained possession, his mouth roaming over her vulnerable skin. “I thought you were hungry.” The words came out in a babbling rush as her knees melted, and she leaned back against him helplessly for support.

  “Oh, I am,” he whispered, his teeth nibbling at her ear. “Ravenous.”

  He buried his face in the curve of her neck, and the room swayed as his hands slid upward under her sweater.

  “Bret, don’t,” she moaned as a rush of desire swept over her, and she struggled to escape before she was lost.

  He muttered savagely and spun her around, roughly crushing her lips under his.

  Though he had kissed her before, demanding, arousing kisses, there had always been a measure of control in his lovemaking. Now it was as if the wildness of their surrounding
s had entered him. Like a man whose control has been too tightly bound, he assaulted her mouth, parting hers and taking possession. His hands pressed her hips against him, molding them together into one form. She was drowning in his explosion of passion, clinging to him as his hands roamed over her, seeking, demanding, receiving. The fire of his need ignited hers, and she gave herself without reservation, straining against him, wanting only to plunge deeper into the heat.

  The sound of a car pulling up outside brought a muffled curse from Bret. Lifting his mouth from hers, he rested his chin on top of her head and sighed.

  “They found us, Hillary. Better open another can.”

  Chapter Seven

  Voices drifted through the building, June’s laughter and Larry’s raised tones in some shared joke. Bret moved off to greet them, leaving Hillary battling to regain some small thread of composure. The urgent demand of Bret’s lovemaking had awakened a wild, primitive response in her. She was acutely aware that, had they been left undisturbed, he would not have held back, and she would not have protested. The need had been too vital, too consuming. The swift beginning and sudden end of the contact left her trembling and unsteady. Pressing hands to burning cheeks, she went back to the stove, to attend to soup and coffee, hoping the simple mechanical tasks would restore her equilibrium.

  “So, he’s got you slaving away already.” June entered the kitchen, arms ladened with a large paper bag. “Isn’t that just like a man?”

  “Hi.” Hillary turned around, showing a fairly normal countenance. “It appears we’ve both been put in our places. What’s in the bag?”

  “Supplies for the long, snowbound weekend.” Unpacking the bag,