Heart of Hurricane (12 page)

"I take it you're no longer frightened," Ward said with a chuckle when she began to unwrap one of the sinfully gooey candy bars.

Althea flushed self-consciously. "Not as much, anyway," she admitted weakly. "I'm sorry if I got a little bent out of shape. I guess I never realized before just how dangerous these storms can be. The last time one came anywhere near Houston, I was too young to be frightened. Greg and I slept right thr . . ."

Suddenly she sucked in her breath, her eyes widening with fright as she scrambled to her feet. "Greg! Dear Lord, I forgot about Greg!"

"Take it easy, Althea. Greg's fine." In one fluid motion Ward surged to his feet and grasped her upper arms. His gaze locked intently on her wild eyes, not allowing her to look away. In a voice that was firm yet reassuring he said calmly, "The company keeps a very close watch on these storms, and at the first sign of trouble, everyone is evacuated. Greg is probably having himself a high old time in New Orleans right this moment."

The galloping thunder of Althea's heartbeat began to slow as she stared back at him. Ward's ruggedly male face was set in stern lines, but there was tenderness there, too, and honest concern. There was no doubt that he was telling the truth. Shoulders sagging, she gave a long sigh, closed her eyes and let her head sag forward.

"Thank God," she whispered with heartfelt relief, and when Ward pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her she didn't protest. Althea felt weak and shaky, and somehow the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, the warmth and security of his embrace, were oddly comforting.

Head tilted to one side, Ward rubbed his cheek against the top of her head, while his hands stroked a soothing pattern over her back. "You all right now?"

The words were a gentle rumble in his chest, vibrating against her cheek pleasantly, making Althea reluctantly aware of the intimacy of their embrace. She knew she should end this now, before it got out of hand, but she really didn't want to. It was so nice to have someone strong to lean on, so nice to bask in the warmth of his embrace, to feel cherished and loved, to indulge in a few harmless fantasies, if only for a little while. A soft sigh escaped her. It would be nice . . . but also very, very foolish.

Summoning her willpower, Althea stepped regretfully out of his arms and gave him a wan smile. "Yes, I'm fine."

For a few minutes she busied herself gathering up the empty cartons and cans and cellophane wrappings, depositing them in the trashcan beneath the receptionist's desk. When finished, she turned to find Ward sprawled comfortably on one of the cream-colored leather couches, watching her. Self-consciously, she walked back and curled into the opposite corner of the couch and tucked her stockinged feet beneath her.

The silence was suddenly overpowering. Keeping her eyes lowered, Althea began to fiddle with the skirt of her dress, alternately pleating and smoothing the silky fabric. She knew he was looking at her but she couldn't make herself meet his eyes. Awareness crackled in the air between them like an electrical charge.

"You worry about Greg a lot, don't you?" Ward questioned softly.

"Yes, of course I do. He's my brother."

"Your relationship is closer than that of most brothers and sisters, though, isn't it? Especially considering the difference in your ages."

Althea lifted her head and looked at him. Ward's eyes were drowsy and heavy-lidded, his expression one of mild curiosity, but she had a feeling there was nothing casual about his questions. "Why do you ask?" she countered suspiciously.

"No special reason. I just thought that talking might help pass the time. It will also let us get to know one another better." Ward smiled and settled back more comfortably against the couch, crossing his hands over his lean middle and angling his long legs toward her.

The top two buttons on his shirt were undone and Althea's helpless gaze fastened on the steady pulse beating at the base of his throat. Determinedly she lowered her eyes, only to become aware of his broad chest, his narrow hips, the beautifully shaped masculine hands with a smattering of dark hairs across their backs. Suddenly Althea felt her mouth go dry as a trembling excitement curled through her.

Talk. Yes, talk was what they needed, she told herself, frantically tearing her eyes away from Ward's indolently slouched body. Anything that would put a stop to the disturbing sensations coursing through her.

Althea cleared her throat. "Yes, well, I guess Greg and I are close because we have only each other."

"What about your uncle? The one who called the night I took you home?"

Startled, Althea darted him a quick look. Heavens! Didn't the man ever forget anything? "Bill Holland is my Aunt Edna's husband," she explained in a cool, controlled voice, unaware of the bitterness in her eyes. "After our parents' death, Greg and I lived with them until I graduated from college, but there have never been any particularly close family feelings between us."

"I see," Ward murmured, and Althea was very much afraid that he did. "I recall you said you worked your way through college. After that what?"

"I got myself a job at Barlow's, and at about the same time I inherited my grandmother's home, so I brought Greg to live with me." She shrugged and spread her hands wide. "The rest you know."

"I doubt that very seriously," Ward returned in a low, rumbling voice that raised gooseflesh along her arms.

Determinedly ignoring the warm look he was giving her, she smiled brightly and said, "It's your turn. I've told you the story of my life; now you have to tell yours."

To her surprise, Ward didn't seem in the least reluctant to comply. Smiling, he lifted his arms and laced his fingers behind his head. "I'm an only child. My father's a rancher and my mother is a professor at the University of Texas. They have a fair-sized spread just north of Austin. Naturally, I got my degree at U.T."

Fascinated, Althea sat back and listened as Ward told her about his childhood on the ranch and the early days when he was struggling to build his own company. His story was peppered with amusing anecdotes and personal observations that gave Althea a whole new perspective on this man she was trying so hard not to love. He revealed not only his successes but also his mistakes, and showed an unexpected ability to laugh at himself. By the time he had finished, Althea had the disquieting feeling the distance between them had lessened, that somehow, cleverly, he had torn down yet another barrier.

When the quiet descended once again, Ward stretched and yawned. "It's late. I suggest we start thinking about making ourselves comfortable for the night."

Althea glanced at her watch and was surprised to see that it was after eleven. She was amazed that the time had passed so quickly . . . and so comfortably. She rose to her feet, giving Ward an uncertain look, which he returned with a grin.

"You go ahead and take the candle into the ladies' room. I think I can manage by striking a few matches," he told her as he scooped up a handful of the folders and put them in his pocket.

Althea hesitated briefly, feeling guilty about leaving him in the dark; then, with a shrug, she picked up the candle and made her way down the hall to the ladies' rest room.

In the flickering light of the candle flame, the tiled room was cold and eerie and Althea rushed through her nightly ritual as quickly as possible. Using a paper towel and the liquid hand soap from the dispenser, she scrubbed the makeup from her face as best she could, then, to ease the dryness, slathered it with the hand cream she kept in her purse. She then put a tiny dot of soap on the tip of her forefinger and rubbed it over her teeth, trying hard not to gag. Afterward she rinsed repeatedly and chuckled at her reflection; she looked like she was foaming at the mouth. When she had done all she could do, Althea made her way back down the hall, moving slowly so as not to accidentally snuff out the candle.

When she reached the reception room it was empty. She placed the candle back on the low table in front of the couch and sat down. It was then she noticed that the door to her office was open. Curious, she crossed the room and peeked inside. "Ward?"

There was no answer. But she knew Ward had to be in there. The door couldn't have opened itself. "Ward, are you there?" she called again in a slightly louder voice. She stepped through the doorway, as far as the faint glow of light would reach, and peered into the darkness.

From the next office there was a sudden ear-splitting crash, followed instantly by a yelp of pain and a string of profanities.

"Ward!" Without giving it a thought, Althea raced into the black void toward the sound. "Ward, are you all right? Answer me!" A note of hysteria entered her voice as her flailing arms swept the darkness in front of her.

She ran smack into the door and groped frantically along its smooth surface for the knob. The instant she turned it, the door was snatched out of her hand and slammed back against the wall.

Althea staggered backward under the force of the wind that hit her head-on, plastering her clothes to her body and streaming her hair out behind her as though trying to tear it from her head. Something hard grazed her thigh and bounced off, hitting the wall with a crash.

"Ward!" This time her scream contained pure terror.

"Althea! What the hell are you doing in here?"

Hands grabbed her, and before she could say a word, she was being dragged across the room, straight into the wind. The candle in the reception room had been snuffed out and it was so dark Althea couldn't see her hand in front of her nose.

"We're going to have to shut this door. Do you understand?" Ward shouted above the howling storm as he shoved her against something hard and unyielding. "Put your shoulder to it and push. Push, dammit, push!"

Blindly Althea did as she was told, angling her body against the solid panel, her stockinged feet digging for purchase in the plush carpet. Beside her, Ward was doing the same. Inch by slow inch, straining every muscle in their bodies, they edged the door forward.

Althea's legs were quivering from the effort when it finally clicked shut.

"Here, quick, help me move your desk against the door," Ward ordered tersely, pulling her along behind him. Groping in the dark, they located the desk, and by alternately shoving and lifting, finally maneuvered it into position. Even above the howl of the wind and the rattle of the door, Althea could hear their labored breathing.

"Come on, let's get out of here." Once again Ward's hand found her and pulled her along through the darkness. The door between Althea's office and the reception room was closed with much less effort, and in the semi-quiet, Ward led her over to one of the couches.

"Sit here while I light the candle," he told her in a noticeably gentler tone.

Althea obeyed with alacrity, leaning her head back against the soft cushions and closing her eyes. She was so exhausted she didn't think she could move. The scrape of the match brought her lids up just as Ward bent to relight the candle. He straightened and looked down at her, smiling gently, and it was then she saw the blood streaming down the side of his face.