“Can't?” He was on his feet, towering before her, suddenly less patient “That's absurd! You can do whatever you want! You ⦠of
all
people! You're a free woman!”
“Freedom is relative. I have freedomâ”
“Within limits. Is that it?” he asked, echoing her own soul-searching. “But what about you? Forget the Hunt Corporation. Forget the Hunt Foundation. Forget the world Lawrence Hunt bequeathed you. What about
you?
What about
your
freedom?”
She had no answers and trembled under the strain. “I think you ought to leave.”
Mark stepped closer. “Not until you agree to see me again.”
Her eye fell to the pulse throbbing at his neck and her own accelerated. “I won't I told you ⦠I'm not ready!”
“Oh, you're ready.” He moved closer, until he was only a breath away.
Deanna couldn't move. There was nothing of the fantasy in this room that was so thoroughly Hunt, so completely reality. Yet she was frozen in place, immobilized by the same physical force that had possessed her the night before. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head slowly. “No ⦔
The word was meant as much for herself as for him and had no effect on either of them. When he reached out to touch her lips she ached to respond. It had been so sweet before. Would it be as much so a second time?
“Try,” he murmured, reading her thoughts. Then he dipped his head to taste her lips in a string of feather-light kisses that tormented her with maddening evasion.
Closing her eyes to blot out reality, she welcomed fantasy with the parting of her lips. But it was to be a game. Mark's teasing mouth captured hers, then darted away before she could claim satisfaction. When she could stand no more she cried aloud, a small cry representing an anguish far greater than the physical frustration she felt. The unexpected sound startled her. Her eyes flew open and reality returned.
Her cry this time was more akin to despair. Jerking
back as though burned by fire rather than desire, she clamped a fist to her mouth, stared at Mark in horror for a last minute, then fled down the hall in confusion.
Somehow she knew he wouldn't follow. Even he wouldn't be so crass as to invade the bedroom she'd shared for so many years with Larry. But her mind was not on Larry as she collapsed onto the lounge and hugged her knees to her chest. What was she going to do with Mark?
Not for a minute did she believe that this would be the end of it. The light in his eyes had been far too intense. It was simply a question of when he would next make a move. She couldn't stay in the sanctuary of her bedroom forever.
As she dressed to go to the club she struggled to sort through her thoughts, but her emotions were diverse and in conflict with one another. She felt shame at her abandonment of the night before amid a lingering excitement She felt guilt at her indulgence even as her insides cried for more. She felt a fear she didn't understand and a mourning for that passing fantasy. And, against her better judgment, she was still curious. Who
was
Mark Birmingham and why was he in Atlanta?
Â
It was Thursday. She'd held herself to her routine as a means of self-preservation, even daring to breakfast in the dining room that morning. But even without looking toward the window, she knew that Mark wasn't there. She would have felt his presence. Instead she felt the emptiness of a fantasy gone awry and she couldn't help but acknowledge a mild regret Mark had been rightâthat she knew. She
did
need somethingâsomeoneâin her life. What they'd shared the other nightâits beauty, its exhilaration, its marvelous sense of fulfillmentâhad convinced her of that. Yet she was frightened and
confused and so very, very unsure that she could only be grateful for the time without him.
That afternoon, however, she had no more than set foot into Bob Warner's office when she sensed something new.
“How are you, Deanna?” Bob had risen from his desk to greet her before she'd had time to cross the room herself.
“Fine, Bob. How are things here?”
“Not bad.” He grinned, a trifle too smugly for her comfort
“Uh-oh. Something's up.”
Bob took her elbow. “Come on. Let's take a walk. I want you to see the plans.”
“The plans? For the hospital?” She perked up, temporarily willing to ignore the prickling under her skin as she fell into step beside him.
“That's right.”
“But I thought we were still getting bids ⦠.”
“No, ma'am. We're still trying to figure out how to raise the rest of the money, but the decision on the firm was made last week.”
Deanna eyed him sharply. “Why wasn't I told?”
Unfazed by her disturbance, he seemed happy to treat it as he would a child's show of temper. “A surprise, Deanna.” He grinned again. “Come on. I've purposely waited until there was something for you to see.”
Turning a corner, he propelled her toward one of the smaller conference rooms, opened its door, then stood back to let her enter. The instant she saw the tall figure she knew. The pieces of the puzzleâsome of them, at leastâsuddenly fit together. He stood at one side of the long conference table, bending over it to make notations on one of the many blueprints spread before him. His jacket was off, his shirt-sleeves rolled to the elbow. He
looked devilishly handsome even before his dark head swung up to acknowledge the intrusion.
“I hope we're not disturbing you, Mark.” Bob's voice came from directly behind Deanna to snap her from her paralysis as his hand guided her forward. “Deanna, I'd like you to meet Mark Birmingham. His architectural firm has just completed the preliminary design for the hospital. Mark ⦠Deanna Hunt”
For a brief moment Deanna knew an awesome terror. It shimmered in her eyes, which never left Mark's. Would he betray her? Would he hint at their relationship? Would he embarrass her in front of Bob? Thanks to her foolishness he had the tool ⦠.
But his expression was one of absolute composure. It held neither gloating nor smugness. As his gaze shifted slowly from Bob to her, he smiled so innocently that he might have been meeting her for the first time. “Mrs. Hunt” He straightened and stepped forward to extend his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”
Weak-kneed with relief, she returned the smile and offered her hand in return. Though his touch sizzled through her skin and into her bloodstream, she clutched at his show of silence as a timely salvation.
“Mr. Birmingham ⦔ She nodded her head, rising to the occasion with studied poise. “Congratulations on having won the hospital contract. And welcome to the Hunt Foundation.” How she managed to remain as cool as she did, she'd never know. But she accepted his nod of response graciously.
“Mark is with the firm ofâ”
“Birmingham and Swift, I believe,” Deanna interrupted, startling both herself and Bob with her forwardness. “You're headquartered in Savannah, aren't you, Mr. Birmingham?”
The eyes before her suddenly danced. “That's right. But it's âMark.' Please.”
As she donned her most charming smile she determined that this demon would not get the best of her. Two could play at this game as well as one. And though she resented Bob for having excluded her from the decision-making process, it was a
fait accompli
. Mark Birmingham would be designing her hospital! It would take some getting used to, having him here ⦠but it seemed she had no choice.
“Tell me, Mr. Birminghamâuh, Mark,” she corrected herself, “have you ever done anything on this scale before? I've heard of your firm”âthough she didn't say where or whenâ“but I know nothing about your work.”
Bob's voice was a subtle reminder that she and Mark weren't alone. As Deanna tore her gaze from Mark's she realized that she'd been staring. It was one of the things she'd have to watch.
“Mark's firm established itself doing business complexes and shopping malls. Lately he's done more work for educational institutions. He designed the state university's new library last year and I understand that the art museum of his in West Virginia has brought in raves. This is your first hospital though, isn't it, Mark?”
Mark leaned back against the edge of the table and folded his arms across his chest. “First one.” At his grin, Deanna reacted on impulse.
“You seem pretty pleased with yourself.” She stood on tiptoe and tried to steal a glance at the prints behind him. “Is that why you're hiding your blueprints from me?” she teased.
He dropped his complacency with a thoroughly endearing abruptness. “Oh! That's right. Here, take a look and tell me what you think.”
If she thought she'd caught him off guard, Deanna had underestimated the opposition. He knew precisely what he was doing as he stood aside to let her examine the tableful of prints. She looked carefully from one sheet to
the other, searching for something of meaning to her among the myriad lines and figures. After her show of savvy in naming Mark's firm, she felt particularly stupid now. Worse, Mark was enjoying her discomfort.
“Well?” he prodded. “Are you impressed?”
“Very,” she replied with a wry twist to her lips. “You must be brilliant to have drawn up these papers. But they're meaningless to me.” She dared to look up. “Perhaps you'd tell me what I'm looking at?”
If Bob was aware of her soft sarcasm or the silent current coursing between Mark and herself, he ignored it. Mark, on the other hand, was impressed with her forthrightness and took instant pity on her.
“Here.” He reached forward to extract several large sheets from the bottom of the pile. “I think these are more along the line of what you'd expected.”
They were ⦠and they weren't. Before her were a series of ink sketches of the proposed design, drawings of what the finished hospital would look like. This Deanna could appreciate. What she hadn't anticipated was the stunning effect Mark had created by taking traditional structural elements and giving them excitingly modern interpretations. It was indeed a hospital, but like no other she'd ever seen.
“Well ⦠?” This time his urging was sober and earnest; he was obviously on edge with anticipation.
But before Deanna could respond the telephone buzzed. Had she not been positively enchanted by the sketches before her she might have lent an ear to Bob's low conversation and been better prepared for his departure, even ready with an excuse to leave with him. Being left alone in the room with Mark was not what she wanted. Unfortunately, she was left with no option.
Bob turned to them on his way toward the door. “You'll have to excuse me for a few minutes. I've been
waiting for this overseas call too long to ignore it. I'll be back.” Then he was gone, leaving the door ajar.
Mark sauntered over and closed it without pretense. Then he turned to Deanna, leaned back against the door, put his hands in his pockets and smiled. “Well. Here we are.”
All else was temporarily forgotten but the two of them. Deanna had known how to handle herself skillfully moments earlier; now she was breaking new ground. “You knew all along, didn't you, Mark?”
He arched one brow. “That I'd be designing your hospital? Not until last Friday when I got Bob's call. But I didn't learn who
you
were until Tuesday morning. Quite a coincidence, I'd say.”
“I'm sure you would,” she muttered, turning away in impotence. She felt so helpless and she was tired of it
“You're not angry, are you?” He had approached to stand by her side, looking down at her.
“At you?” She glanced up to meet his gaze. “No. At the situation ⦠yes.”
He cocked his head toward the door. “Does he walk out and leave you to the wolves like this often?”
Deanna snickered at his interpretation of her words. “He has this way of conveniently unloading me on whomever he can corral to keep me busy. But you've received the supreme compliment. He must trust you.”
“And you?” His lids lowered heavily. “Do you trust me?”
Deanna had no wish to answer his question. With a deep breath she turned back to the table. “As an architect, you're unbelievable. These sketches are magnificent!”
She felt the warmth of his breath against her cheek as he leaned over her shoulder to share the view. “I'm glad you like them,” he whispered, then kissed her neck so
softly that she might have believed she'd imagined it, had not his tongue offered an erotic follow-up that in turn made her shiver.
“Mark!” she gasped, jumping away. “No, I don't trust you! Alone in a room ⦠not for a minute!” Nor did she trust herself; the deep internal ache had begun again. She didn't know whether to swallow her pride and flee or try to fend him off until Bob returned. “You know, you're as bad as Bob is.”