September Morning

The house was quiet when they got home, and Maude let out a sigh of pure relief.

“So far, so good,” she said smiling at Kathryn and Phillip. “Now, if we can just sneak up the stairs…”

“Why are you sneaking around at all?” came a deep, irritated voice from the general direction of the study.

Kathryn felt all her new resolutions deserting her as she whirled and found herself staring straight into Blake's dark, angry eyes.

She dropped her gaze, and her heart thumped wildly in her chest as she dimly heard Maude explaining why the three of them were being so quiet.

“We knew you'd be tired, dear,” Maude told him gently.

“Tired, my foot,” he returned, lifting a glass of amber liquid in a shot glass to his hard, chiseled mouth. He glared at Kathryn over its rim. “You knew I'd had it out with Kate.”

“She's been gorging herself on the rum punch, Blake,” Phillip said with a grin. “Announcing her independence and preparing for holy revolution.”

“Oh, please, shut up,” Kathryn managed in a tortured whisper.

“But, darling, you were so brave at the Barringtons,” Phillip chided. “Don't you want to martyr yourself to the cause of freedom?”

“No, I want to be sick,” she corrected, swallowing hard. She glanced up at Blake's hard-set face. The harsh words all came back, and she wished fervently that she'd accepted Nan's invitation to spend the night.

Blake swirled the amber liquid in his glass absently. “Good night, Mother, Phil.”

Maude threw Kathryn an apologetic glance as she headed for the staircase with Phillip right behind.

“You wouldn't rather discuss the merger with the Banes Corporation?” Phillip grinned at Blake. “It would be a lot quieter.”

“Oh, don't desert me,” Kathryn called after them.

“You declared war, darling,” Phillip called back, “and I believe in a strict policy of non-interference.”

She locked her hands behind her, shivering in her warm sable coat despite the warmth of the house and the hot darkness of Blake's eyes.

“Well, go ahead,” she muttered, dropping her gaze to the open neck of his white silk shirt. “You've already taken one bite out of me, you might as well have an arm or two.”

He chuckled softly and, surprised, she jerked her face up to find amusement in his eyes.

“Come in here and talk to me,” he said, turning to lead the way back into his walnut-paneled study. His big Irish Setter, Hunter, rose and wagged his tail, and Blake ruffled his fur affectionately as he settled down in the wing armchair in front of the fireplace.

Kathryn took the chair across from his, absently darting a glance at the wood decoratively piled up in the hearth. “Daddy used to burn it,” she remarked, using the affectionate name she gave Blake's father, even though he was barely a distant cousin. He was like the father she'd lost.

“So do I, when I need to take the chill off. But it isn't cool enough tonight,” he replied.

She studied his big, husky body and wondered if he ever felt the cold. Warmth seemed to radiate from him at close range, as if fires burned under that darkly tanned skin.

He tossed off the rest of his drink and linked his hands behind his head. His dark eyes pinned Kathryn to her chair. “Why don't you get out of that coat and stop trying to look as if you're ten minutes late for an appointment somewhere?”

“I'm cold, Blake,” she murmured.

“Turn up the thermostat, then.”

“I won't be here that long, will I?” she asked hopefully.

His dark, quiet eyes traveled over the soft, pink skin revealed by her white dress, making her feel very young and uncomfortable.

“Must you stare at me like that?” she asked uneasily. She toyed with a wisp of chiffon.

He pulled his cigarette case from his pocket and took his time about lighting up. “What's this about a revolution?” he asked conversationally.

She blinked at him. “Oh, what Phil said?” she asked, belatedly comprehending. She swallowed hard. “Uh, I just…”

He laughed shortly. “Kathryn, I can't remember a conversation with you that didn't end in stammers.”

Her full lips pouted. “I wouldn't stammer if you wouldn't jump on me every time you get the chance.”

One heavy dark eyebrow went up. He looked completely relaxed, imperturbable. That composure rattled her, and she couldn't help wondering if anything ever made him lose it.

“Do I?” he asked.

“You know very well you do.” She studied the hard lines of his face, noting the faint tautness of fatigue that only a stranger would miss. “You're very tired, aren't you?” she asked suddenly, warming to him.

He took a draw from the cigarette. “Dead,” he admitted.

“Then why aren't you in bed?” she wanted to know.

He studied her quietly. “I didn't mean to ruin the party for you.”

The old, familiar tenderness in his voice brought an annoying mist to her eyes and she averted them. “It's all right.”

“No, it isn't.” He flicked ashes into the receptacle beside his chair, and a huge sigh lifted his chest. “Kate, I just broke off an affair. The silly woman's pestering me to death, and when you said what you did, I overreacted.” He shrugged. “My temper's a little on edge lately, or I'd have laughed it off.”

She smiled at him faintly. “Did you…love her?” she asked gently.

He burst out laughing. “What a child you are,” he chuckled. “Do I have to love a woman to take her into my bed?”

The flush went all the way down her throat. “I don't know,” she admitted.

“No,” he said, the smile fading, “I don't suppose you do. I believed in love, at your age.”

“Cynic,” she accused.

He crushed out the cigarette in his ashtray. “Guilty. I've learned that sex is better without emotional blinders.”

She dropped her eyes in mortification, trying not to see the unholy amusement on his dark face.

“Embarrassed, Kate?” he chided. “I thought that experience with Harris had matured you.”

Her green eyes flashed fire as they lifted to meet his. “Do we have to go through this again?” she asked.