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Authors: Barbara Delinsky

BOOK: Home Fires
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It was as though Deanna were being given one final glimpse of the heaven she'd sampled earlier. At her first timid touch Mark's lips began a sweet caress that blossomed to tantalize her with its honey. It coaxed and tasted, savored and revered until it had successfully extracted Deanna's unconscious sigh of capitulation.
Quite without knowing it, she slid her arms about his waist to the warm, vibrantly muscular span of his back
and returned his kiss with the same poignant need it had itself demonstrated. She knew only the mindless pleasure she felt—the comfort, the warmth, the delicious languor seeping slowly through her. When Mark finally dragged his head up and set her back, she was breathless.
“Well?” he croaked, breathing heavily himself. “
Did
it accomplish anything?” His brown eyes glowed as she knew hers must have done.
But she couldn't speak. Her throat was choked with emotions ranging from confusion, panic and despair to hope. Had this final kiss accomplished anything? Oh, yes, it certainly had. It had reminded her of how special Mark was, how unique their relationship, how very priceless that which they had shared. Hadn't he said it himself … that he could only offer her what money couldn't buy? Well, she reflected with mounting anguish, he had offered it to her. Now it was her duty to refuse the gift.
The shakiness of her limbs was no obstacle to what she knew to be her own responsibility. Drawing herself up straighter she devoured his handsome features for a last moment, then took a deep, sorrowful breath. “It's convinced me that I was wrong to have come here in the first place, Mark.” Before her aching gaze his face grew pained. “You have to understand that my life is … my life. I can't change it Not yet, at least. I'm not … ready. This is too new. There's too much to consider.”
“But you came here tonight—”
“It was a lapse!” she cried, finding a hidden reserve of strength to push past him and hurry through the suite.
“But it reflected a deep need!” He followed her, his voice rising, though well controlled.
“No!” She turned to him, then away. She realized that this forceful denial of his claim might be less than honest Ashamed and frightened, she couldn't look back again. “No! I'm fine.” She drew open the door of the suite, moved through and closed it behind herself without
knowing that Mark had stopped at the edge of the bedroom to watch her departure with rigidly enforced dignity.
“I'm fine,” she whispered softly, willing her tears not to fall as she mustered her own waning dignity and approached the elevator.
 
 
T
he tears could only be held back so long. Deanna remained dry-eyed and composed through the short trip to the fortieth floor. She calmly let herself into her suite, answered Irma's questions with the remarkably firm assurance that she'd had a pleasant evening, then retreated at last to the privacy of her own room. There she sank down onto the softness of the cushioned lounge and cried.
Even Larry's death hadn't prompted so anguished a flood of tears. Then she had known a grief bounded by the finality of death. What one couldn't change, one had to accept This situation was different
As the sleepless hours passed and her tears slowly dried, she tried to assimilate what had happened, tried to find a proper perspective with which to view it But she couldn't. Everywhere she looked she saw evidence of the life she'd lived for what seemed like forever. There in the
bedroom she'd shared with Larry she could find no room at all for fantasy.
She finally slept for several hours before awakening, groggy and unsure, to the buzz of her alarm. Though a hot bath eased the dismaying tautness in her thighs, nothing could ease the unsettled state of her mind. She was sure of only one thing: She had no desire to face Mark Birmingham in the hotel dining room that morning. Her feelings were far too raw and he read them far too accurately. It would take time for her to fully restore the veneer of composure that was such a vital part of her image.
Unfortunately, Mark had no intention of granting her that time. She was sitting at her dressing table, taking her frustration out on her thick mane of hair, when the muffled sound of the doorbell reached her. She knew who it was instantly. Putting her brush down slowly, she stared at her reflection until the soft knock on her door drew her gaze in that direction.
“Yes, Irma?”
The housekeeper timidly eased the door open. Her voice was quieter than usual and distinctly hesitant “Excuse me, Mrs. Hunt, but there's a Mr. Birmingham to see you. I've explained that you weren't up yet, but he's quite insistent. He says that you'd arranged to meet him for breakfast”
The rogue!
Deanna stiffened, but forced herself to hear Irma out without interrupting.
“He was worried when you were late.” Irma paused. “And so am I.” Her plea grew more personal. “Are you feeling all right?”
Deanna took a deep breath, only then making her decision. “I'm fine. Just tired. I thought I'd have some coffee here this morning.”
For a few seconds the two women eyed one another expectantly. Irma finally broke the ice. “And Mr. Birmingham?
Shall I tell him that you're unable to see him now?” Her own feelings on the matter were well hidden.
Deanna turned back to the mirror and gripped her brush fiercely. “No. Tell him I'll be right out” Before she could change her mind Irma had left to deliver the message. And it was just as well. Procrastination was only a stopgap measure. If the man was persistent enough to appear at her door, an immediate confrontation was called for. Cowardice had no place here. She refused to become a prisoner in her own hotel out of fear of bumping into Mark Birmingham!
With a bolstering surge of indignation Deanna tugged the tie of her silk robe more tightly, left the sanctuary of her room and made the silent journey down the hall toward the foyer. But Mark was already in the living room, his back to her, his eyes on the jagged skyline of Atlanta.
She stood for a bit watching him, calmly accepting his tall, lean form, dark-suited and very proper once more. She told herself that he really wasn't that much different from other men. But then he turned and shattered that wish.
He didn't say anything at first, simply stared at her across her exquisitely decorated living room. There weren't any people to separate them now or to ensure the propriety of their interchange. Even so, neither moved toward the other. Deanna wasn't the only one with a face full of emotion.
He looked tired. She thought she saw the same vulnerability, the same need and curiosity, but it was hard to tell through the very definite anger there. She knew a moment's fear at the fact that this man whom she barely knew could so easily betray her. She had given him the weapon herself. Would he use it?
“Deanna?” He hesitated. “Can we talk?”
He seemed so dark in contrast to the cream coloring of
the room that she felt momentarily strong. The fantasy was incongruous in this setting. He was out of his element. In this Hunt stronghold she was safe.
Nodding, she gestured politely toward the sofa. “Would you … like to sit down?” He was too imposing, stronghold or no. Setting an example for him to follow, she eased down into a corner of the couch, but Mark wasn't her usual guest and had no intention of following her polite courtesies. He chose to stand and, in so doing, only exaggerated the height discrepancy she'd sought to diminish.
Sighing, Deanna focused on her hands. Again there was a decision to be made. She could skirt the issue … or hit home. She chose the latter and faced him defiantly. “Irma said that you'd expected me for breakfast. You had no right to tell her that.”
“She looked so wary of me that I had to think up some reasonable excuse for appearing here so early. It was the first one that came to mind.” His gaze narrowed in speculation. “You really don't have many suitors, do you?”
She tipped her chin up a notch. “I'm not in the market for a companion.” The word was inappropriate and brought a sly grin to Mark's face.
“No, it certainly wasn't a companion you were looking for last night.” Was he mocking her?
“Mark … please …”
But her quiet warning went unheeded. The pleasantness in his tone couldn't deny his determination any more than the dark glitter in his eyes could. “You needed something and I gave it to you. I needed something and
you
gave it to
me.
It went far beyond … companionship.” He stood with his legs apart, his hands in his pants pockets. Had Deanna not been shrouded in her own emotional turmoil she might have been intimidated.
But she bolted from her seat to stand before him, matching his purposefulness with a will of her own. “What do you want, Mark?”
“You.”
“I'm not available.”
“I think you are.”
It was a standoff, and driven by desperation, Deanna wasn't about to back down first. “It doesn't matter what you think. There can't be any kind of relationship without two willing partners.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than she regretted them.
Mark seized on them quickly. “You were willing enough last night”
“I told you, that was a lapse,” she countered just as quickly, wanting only to lessen the humiliation she felt “It was a mistake. I shouldn't have gone with you. And you shouldn't be here.” She glared at him with her last bit of strength before retreating to the window. Atlanta was Lawrence Hunt's town. It seemed critical to remember that. But how could she concentrate when Mark approached? Even without turning, she felt his nearness.
“Look, Deanna,” he began, then halted abruptly enough that she looked around. To her dismay, Irma was calmly setting down a tray bearing juice, muffins and coffee—more than enough for two. Had the woman chanced a look at her mistress she might have felt the silent chastisement Deanna cast her way. But Irma had both a thick shell and a strong sense of purpose herself. She made her exit without a word being spoken.
“A-hah!” Mark crowed softly, drawing Deanna's crestfallen face toward him once more. “It's good to know that
someone
is looking out for my welfare this morning.” With a smile and an infuriatingly nonchalant step he crossed to the side table, poured two cups of coffee and handed one to Deanna, but only after he'd sternly pointed to the sofa and she'd meekly sat.
But her meekness was surface deep. “You mean to say that you didn't even eat breakfast while you were waiting downstairs?” she asked as she grasped at the last of her poise. Mark's nearness made things so difficult.
“I didn't even bother to take a table. Since I'd half suspected you'd skip out on me, I waited in the lobby for five or ten minutes before heading up here.”
“That was presumptuous of you,” she gritted. “I thought I'd made my feelings clear last night.”
“You did.” He grinned. “Perfectly.”
“That's not what I meant and you know it, Mark! We have no future. There was no sense in your coming here.”
Having sunk to the sofa, Mark very deliberately reached across her to the tray. He had to know that she felt his warmth, that her senses reacted instinctively to the tang of his after-shave and his manly freshness.
“Muffin?” he asked sweetly.
“No!”
His sidelong glance caught her blush. “You're sure? You have to be hungry …”
After last night?
“I'm not,” she snapped. “You do strange things to my appetite.”
“That's funny. I was thinking the same thing about you earlier. I can't begin to tell you what I ate for dinner last night.”
She'd had that experience herself and he knew it. With a loud sigh and the clatter of her coffee cup as she set it on the side table, Deanna acknowledged defeat. She wasn't skilled at this sparring. She'd never had to do it. Nothing in her life had prepared her for psychological warfare.
With her elbows on her knees and her fingertips against her brow, she spoke sadly. “Go away, Mark. Don't you see—I'm not up for this. What happened last
night shouldn't have! It can't happen again! I'm my husband's wife—”
“Widow! He's dead, Deanna!”
Her gaze shot up, her eyes filled with tears.
“Don't you think I know that?”
she cried loudly, bringing Irma scurrying from the kitchen. It was only Mark's upraised hand and faint headshake that held her off, then sent her away with the assurance that Deanna was all right
Oblivious to the near intrusion, Deanna had burrowed into the corner of the sofa. Though her tears remained unshed, her misery was evident
“Do you miss him badly?” Mark asked. His voice was suddenly much softer and so gentle that she couldn't resist him. Here was a glimpse of her soulmate again. He seemed to want to know her feelings as much as she needed to tell them. It had all been held in for so long.
Arms wrapped protectively around her middle, Deanna slowly perused the room. “Yes, I miss him. In so many ways he was my world. It revolved around him.”
“You depended on him.” The statement brought a frown to Deanna's face.
“Uh-huh,” she whispered. “I did.”
“How long has he been gone?”
She sighed, eyes glued to the pink folds of her silk robe. “Fourteen months now.”
“You can't still be in mourning?” When she looked up sharply to counter his criticism, he qualified it “Wait! That came out all wrong. I'm just trying to understand why you won't see me. You're a young woman. You can't bury yourself here forever.” He skimmed the suite before adding a low-murmured, “lovely as this place is.”
But Deanna had grown more fearful by the minute and was beyond noticing the compliment He was such an attractive man. Her senses sharpened even against her will. “What is it you want, Mark?” she asked, using
bluntness as a means of self-control. “Is it strictly a matter of a … bedmate?”
“You know it's not!” he exploded in a burst of frustration. “If it was simply a matter of sex I wouldn't be here now. No man likes to invite rejection.”
All too aware of his hurt, she softened. “Then what is it? Why
me?
” Perhaps her own ego needed boosting as well.
When she looked up beseechingly, Mark captured her gaze. His eyes held that vulnerability to which she was herself so vulnerable and the now-familiar warmth came to life. She knew his answer before he gave it, though his grudging admission took her by surprise. It was as though he resented the power that rendered him helpless, regardless of its source. He was a strong man. This confession was a difficult one.
“
You
, Deanna, because you're special. You have something that I've never found in another woman. What? I don't think I can put it into words yet, but I do know what I want … I
need
someone. Emotionally as well as physically. You need the same thing. I can tell.” She shook her head in denial, but her inner responses had already made a mockery of it. “I'm not sorry about what happened last night,” he continued, “only that it happened so quickly that it frightened you.” He paused to study her pale face, the haunted sheen of her eyes. “Can't we start over again? More slowly this time?”
It was a deep-seated fear, enigmatic but pure, that brought her from the sofa. “No, Mark. I can't. I told you last night—my life is already cut out for me. I can't change it” She inhaled and felt the shooting pain of regret

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