"Uncle Vester told me I would find you here." Dirk's voice shattered the stillness of the night.
She jerked her head around and saw him silhouetted against the evening sky. His powerful body was erect on Uncle Vester's old broken-down mule, Annie, but he seemed to be ill at ease with the bridle.
He was the last person in the world that she wanted to see, but she had to laugh at the way he looked on that mule. "You don't look like a man who rode in the Preakness," she said.
"I didn't. Horses and I don't speak the same language." He slid off Annie's back and tugged on the bridle.
Annie had been turned out to pasture fifteen years ago and she obviously had had all the nonsense she was going to take for one night. She dug her feet into the earth and refused to move.
Dirk cast a helpless look at Ellen. "How do I get her to move?"
"Like this." Ellen rose from her tree-root seat and took the bridle. Annie followed her like a lamb.
"How did you do that?"
"I speak her language."
"You certainly do. Stubborn."
"I won't be baited," she told him quietly.
He dropped to the ground and stretched out under the oak tree. "I'm not here to bait you, love."
"Why are you here?"
"That's what I hope to find out." He patted the ground beside him. "Join me, Ellen. It's lonesome down here."
She eased down beside him, being careful to put enough distance between them so that they weren't touching. She had already learned that touching this man was risky. Her fingers closed over a small twig and she picked it up. What was there about Dirk, she wondered, that always made her restless?
"Is Dirk really your name?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Caldwell?"
"No."
"What is your real name?"
He took the twig from her hand and snapped it in two. "My real name doesn't matter." He traced her jaw with the tips of his fingers. "Yours is a face that could launch a thousand ships," he said softly. She felt a tremor run through his fingers as they lingered on her face. "It's a face that could make a man forget."
She sat very still, hoping that the little flames he had set off inside her would go away. "What are you trying to forget? Tell me about yourself, Dirk."
He removed his hand. Ignoring the part about what he was trying to forget, he said, "I like dogs and cats and gorillas, but I don't get along with horses."
"How about cars?"
"The story I told Aunt Fronie?"
"Yes."
"It's true. I did drive in the Grand Prix. Once."
She let out a deep breath. So it was true. She thought back to the other things he had mentioned—Bengal tigers and Paris and being an orphan. How much of it was true? Who was he, this man who had come uninvited into the lonesome places of her heart? "Are you a man on the run?"
"You might say that."
"Are you dangerous?"
"Not to you." He reached across the small space that separated them and cupped her face with his hands. "Never to you."
They looked deep into each other's eyes, and the night seemed to embrace them with its velvet blackness. Ever so slowly she lowered her head until her lips were only a hairbreadth away from his. "I can't seem to fight it," she murmured.
"Nor can I." And knowing that he shouldn't, knowing that it would soon be impossible for him to turn and walk away, he embraced her, pulling her down beside him.
His lips brushed across her forehead, roamed down the side of her face, under her chin, and came to rest in the hollow of her throat. They lingered there, feeling the erratic beat of her pulse.
She arched against him, straining close, hungrily fitting herself to the hard lines of his body. Her hands were caught in the dark tangle of his hair as his lips moved down her throat and seared the cleft of her upthrust breasts. He nudged her shirt button open and his tongue traced the soft, curving outline of her breasts.
The heat of a thousand ancient love-fires raced through her. She impatiently brushed aside the restraining bit of lace and freed her taut nipples. Dirk moaned low in his throat as he captured the dusky rose treasure in his mouth and began to suckle her. One of his legs moved across her hips and pulled her tight against his throbbing manhood.
She freed her mind of everything except the beauty of the night and the exquisite pleasure of the moment. Yesterday was a forgotten dream and tomorrow might never come. But for now, she had Dirk. Her body pressed against his as his tongue plied its magic. The sensuousness of his touch turned her loins to molten lava, and her mind soared up among the stars as he took her breast deep into his mouth.
She worked open the buttons of his shirt and slid her hands around to caress his back. She was still for an instant when she felt the ridges of the diagonal scar across his shoulder, then she succumbed to her drugged senses. Her fingers dug into his bare skin, marking it with her nails as his tongue and teeth pulled at her heavy, love-filled breasts. She felt his massive hardness straining against her clothes, and she moved against him in frantic rhythm.
Like a drunken sailor, he reeled up from her breasts and covered her mouth. His tongue plunged into her waiting warmth and engaged hers in a frenzied duel. Colored lights exploded inside her as she felt the moistness of her release. Her body went slack, and her tongue languorously explored his mouth.
She felt his hand move to the waistband of her jeans. "Yes," she murmured as he popped open the snap. The small sound seemed to explode in the tense night air. "Oh, yes." Her hands moved to find his belt buckle.
"No," he whispered harshly. Shaking his head like a man coming out of anesthesia, he raised up on his elbow and looked down at her.
"Dirk?" She reached up to caress his face, puzzled.
He covered her hand and held it there against his face. She was very still, watching him. She saw the pain flicker in his eyes, felt the clenching of his jaw.
"Why?" she asked.
He brought her hand around to his mouth and tenderly kissed her palm. "I've discovered a lot of things about myself since I've been your fiancé. " He separated her fingers, pausing to kiss their tips, one by one, as he talked. "I've discovered that I have feelings. And scruples. And a code of honor, warped as it may be."
"I've known from the beginning that you are a man of honor." She sat up and pulled her blouse closed, waiting for him to continue.
"There are other things you don't know about me, Ellen. Things I can't tell you."
"Can't or won't?"
"Can't. I won't involve you in—" He stopped. He had almost said, "My work." His jaw tightened.
Damn his work
, he raged inwardly.
Damn the danger and the need for secrecy.
The very things that had drawn him to the CIA were now millstones around his neck. Fifteen years ago he had never dreamed that one day a woman would become this important to him.
He stood up abruptly. The only way to do this was quickly. There would be less pain that way. "I won't involve you in a summer affair, Ellen. You're too important to me." He watched her face as he talked. It remained calm and untroubled. If she felt any anger, any turmoil, it didn't show. Lord, she's incredible, he thought.
Ellen wanted to reach out and take him in her arms. She wanted to pull him down under the oak tree and make him forget scruples. She wanted to tell him that she was a big girl, that she could handle a summer affair. She wanted to scream.
She did none of those things. She gave him a radiant smile. At least she hoped it was radiant. To her it felt slightly ragged around the edges. "Can you find your way back to the house?"
"Yes."
"I'll leave you, then." She untied White Fire, sprang into the saddle, and looked down at him. "With your warped code of honor." She dug her heels into the horse's flanks, and they were gone.
Dirk thought she looked magnificent in the moonlight, all fire and passion, like a beautiful avenging goddess. He watched the white stallion leap away, and strained his eyes until he could see nothing except the red halo of her hair and a distant speck of white. "Fool," he said, chiding himself. "All that could have been yours."
He walked to the bank of the creek and sat down. "It's just me and you, Annie," he said to his sagging mount.
The old mule lifted her head and brayed her condolences.
o0o
Ellen rode hard and fast. Her hair whipped about her head and the night wind stung her cheeks. The thundering rhythm of White Fire's hooves echoed in her head, but they could not drown out her tumultuous thoughts.
A summer affair
, he had said. That was what she wanted, wasn't it? A brief pleasure, a fling that would end when the leaves turned gold. A fleeting passion that wouldn't interfere with her work.
Who was she kidding? She wanted more. She wanted to know the man. Not just his body, but the whole man. His thoughts. His habits. What made him laugh. What made him cry. Her disjointed thoughts kept pace with the staccato hoofbeats in the sultry, summer night.
As the barn loomed into sight she decided that she should be grateful to Dirk. He had saved her from herself. She guided White Fire through the doors and unsaddled him. After rubbing him down and feeding him, she went back to the farmhouse. It was quiet except for the sounds of Aunt Lollie’s snoring.
She ascended the staircase and dressed quickly for bed, trying not to think about the rest of the night. The soft featherbed beckoned to her, but she walked to the closet and took down the quilts. She had created this charade, she thought resolutely. From now on she would stick by the rules. It was her turn to sleep on the floor.
She lay down, expecting to toss and turn, but the long day took its toll. She was asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
o0o
Dirk had no idea what time it was. He had come so under the spell of this sleepy little Southern town where hours melted and ran together that he had not worn his watch today. He crept silently up the stairs, his years of experience in caution coming to his aid. Like a shadow he slipped through the bedroom door and stood still until his eyes had adjusted to the darkness.
Ellen was lying on her back on the floor, the covers kicked down to reveal her long, lovely legs. He shook his head, smiling. Stubborn, he thought, just like that old mule he had finally coaxed back to the barn. He should have known that she would be on the floor. After his dismissal of her beside the creek, he had known that she would become all business again, that this would be a charade, and he would be a hired fiancé. He felt as if a stone had been laid on his heart.
Bending down, he gathered Ellen into his arms and lifted her off the pallet. She sighed softly in her sleep and snuggled against his chest. He looked at her face and the stone in his heart became a boulder. "I should get a medal for this," he muttered as he walked across the room and gently deposited her on the bed.
Quickly, before he could change his mind, he took the car keys out of her purse. He knew that escape was the only answer for him tonight. Turning in the doorway, he gave her one last look. "Good night, my darling," he said, and then closed the door behind him.
When Ellen woke up and saw that she was on the featherbed, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She glanced quickly around the room, but there was no sign of Dirk. She stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She felt tired, as if she had been running all night and had come in dead last. It wouldn't do for Aunt Lollie to see her like this. Her aunt would prescribe the ham and egg cure.
Ellen took a leisurely bath and dressed with care. By the time she got downstairs, she looked as serene as sunshine on a summer day. "Good morning, Aunt Lollie." She kissed her aunt's plump cheek.
"Good morning, dear." Aunt Lollie turned from the chocolate pound cake she was making. If her forced cheerful tone hadn't alerted Ellen that something was amiss, the sight of her flour- spattered apron would have. Aunt Lollie never spilled a drop of flour when she cooked unless she was disturbed about something. "I kept your pancakes warm."
"Thanks, Aunt Lollie." Ellen went straight to the old-fashioned stove. She had once offered to buy her aunt a microwave open, but Lollie had refused on the grounds that microwaves turned out rubber food and were dangerous to boot. The oven door felt warm to Ellen's touch, and there were enough pancakes inside to feed a camp of loggers. She forked two of them onto a plate and sat down at the kitchen table.
Aunt Lollie left the cake batter half mixed and joined her. Ellen put down the maple syrup she had been pouring over her pancakes and studied her aunt's face. When Aunt Lollie left her cooking, something serious was afoot. A cold fear gripped Ellen as she remembered how thin her uncle was.
"Has something happened to Uncle Vester?"
"Vester?" Aunt Lollie laughed. "Don't you worry about your uncle." She patted Ellen's hand. "That darlin' old poop will still be around when I'm turning up daisies." She tried to draw her mouth into a severe line, but it didn't work. Aunt Lollie's mouth was made for laughter. "If he can stay out all night playing cards at Huck Henry's barn, he’ll last long enough to dandle your babies upon his knee."