If Winter Comes (13 page)

“How about a check for
one hundred thousand dollars, made out to him, signed by James White?” he asked
smugly.

She felt her heart
stop, and for one long, insane instant she wondered if it would ever start
again. “For what?” she managed.

“His share of the
kickback, of course,” Brown replied. “Moreland, White and King are all in it
together. It was White’s land. He had his agent, King, propose it to Moreland
for the airport at a two-hundred percent profit, and Moreland buffaloed it over
the City Council. It was worth about one-third of what the city paid for it,
and one third is what the city got. The rest of it was split among the three
men. White got the city’s actual cost, plus a few thousand. The rest of it was
split between Moreland and King. I’ll bring you a photostat of the check, too.”

She twisted the
telephone cord round and round her finger. Her voice faltered when she found
it. “I’ll meet you at the coffee shop at ten-thirty.”

“I’ll be there.”

Seven

S he still didn’t want
to believe it. It didn’t sound like Bryan Moreland. He had money—at least,
she’d heard that he did, and the farm was big enough to be proof of some kind
of independent wealth. And he had integrity. She’d have staked her life on his
honesty, his forthrightness. Loving him had nothing to do with that opinion,
either. She’d have felt that way if they’d been bitter enemies. She smiled to
herself wistfully. After tonight, that might be the truth.

The doorbell sounded in
the stillness, and she sighed wearily as she went to answer it. It was probably
one of the neighbors….

She opened the door and
looked up into a dark, quiet face with lines she hadn’t seen before. He looked
absolutely worn out.

“Got a cup of coffee?”
he asked calmly.

She nodded, feeling her
heart shaking her with its sudden, insistent pounding.

She stood back to let
him in, pausing long enough to close the door before she led him into the
kitchen and poured him a mug of fresh, hot coffee.

He leaned back against
the counter to sip it, his dark eyes sliding up and down the caftan
appraisingly. “You look very exotic in that,” he remarked casually.

She shrugged. “It’s
kind of like walking around in a tent,” she replied.

He smiled fleetingly,
but the smile didn’t reach his solemn eyes. Abruptly he set the cup down and
reached for her, slamming her body against his, wrapping her up in his big,
warm arms, holding her as though he was afraid she might vanish any second. His
lips were against the side of her neck, pressing gently, softly.

She melted into him
with a muffled sob, feeling the warmth and strength of his big body with a
sense of wonder. Her arms stole inside his jacket and around him, her fingers
tracing the hard, rippling muscles of his broad back.

“Damn you,” he
whispered in a searing undertone. “I haven’t had a minute’s peace since I met
you.”

“Neither have I,” she
said miserably. “Oh, go away,Bryan …!”

“I can’t,” he said,
drawing back to look down at her with brooding, strange eyes. “You’ve cast a
spell on me.”

A little of her old
audacity came back. “That’s funny, you don’t look like a toad.”

“Don’t be funny,” he
said, and his face was as hard, as formidable as ever. “I don’t feel like
laughing right now.”

“What do you feel
like?” she asked without thinking.

His eyes narrowed,
glittering at her out of his leonine face. “Like picking you up and throwing
you down on the nearest bed,” he said harshly. “Not for one lousy night, but
every night for the rest of my life.”

She stared at him as if
she wasn’t sure she’d heard him. “What do you mean?” she asked softly, afraid
of the answer even as she asked the question.

“Don’t you know?” he
laughed mockingly.

She dropped her gaze to
his white shirt. “Bryan…”

He tipped her face up
to his descending mouth, and it bit into hers before she could even begin to
form a coherent thought. He was rough with her, as if he’d been holding back as
long as he could, and his control was wearing thin.

“Open your mouth,” he
whispered unsteadily, roughly, his hand tangling in her long, loosened hair, as
he pulled her head roughly back onto his shoulder. “Wide, Carla…” he said
huskily, his arm crushing her, his kiss deepening intimately, blotting out
thought, regret, sanity.

A moan broke from her
throat, and he pulled away just enough to search her drowsy, confused eyes.
“You see?” he asked in a voice that was deep and slow and not quite steady. “I
could make you submit. I don’t even have to work at it. I touch you, and your
body flares up against mine like a torch.” He brushed his open mouth against her
forehead. “You can talk about morality from now until hell freezes over, but if
I pressed you, you’d let me have you, Carla. Not because of an uncontrollable
desire, but beause you’re in love with me.”

She felt the shock run
through her body as if she’d touched a live wire. He knew! But how could he,
when she’d only just discovered it herself?

He felt the sudden
stiffening of her body in his arms and drew back to study her. “Don’t panic.”

She swallowed hard. It
was unnerving to meet that level, intense gaze. “I…I didn’t realize…it showed,”
she said weakly.

“You have a very
expressive face, little one. It was flashing like a neon sign tonight, even
through that burst of temper.” He locked his hands behind her back and swung
her lazily back and forth. “I walked around the block twice, muttering to
myself, until it suddenly occurred to me that the only reason you were so angry
was because you wanted me as much as I wanted you.” He smiled wryly. “Then it
stood to reason that you cared too much for a casual fling, and all the puzzle
pieces just fell into place. I came back to see if I was right.”

The embarrassment was
like a living thing. She felt weighed down by it. “I…it’s still an impasse,”
she said quietly. “I know you could force me, but I’d hate you.”

He shook his head.
“You’d love me,” he corrected. His eyes looked deep into hers. “It would be
everything either of us could want, for the rest of our lives.”

“But, desire isn’t
enough….” she protested weakly.

A corner of his
chiseled mouth went up. “Did I neglect to mention that I’m in love with you?”

Tears burned in her
eyes, hot and overflowing down onto her flushed cheeks in a tiny flood. He
blurred above her.

“Don’t,” he whispered.
His fingers lightly brushed away the tears.

“It’s like coming to
life all over again,” she murmured shakily, “after being dead inside.
Sunlight…”

“I know.” His lips
brushed her wet eyes. “You taste of wine,” he whispered at her mouth. “Trying
to drink me out of your system?”

“Umhum,” she murmured.
She smiled wistfully. “It didn’t work.”

“Liquor won’t do it,”
he whispered, kissing her softly, possessively. “But a few weeks behind closed
doors might. We’ll go on the way we have for a little while longer,” he added
seriously. “Until you’re very sure. But I don’t have a doubt in my mind how
it’s going to end.”

“Neither do I,” she
murmured. Her eyes studied the strong, hard lines of his face.

“What are you looking
at?” he asked.

“You never seem to
really relax, to let go,” she said gently. “I was wondering if you ever do,
even with a woman.”

He smiled gently at the
expression on her face. “Oh, I let go, all right,” he laughed softly. “Would
you like me to show you?”

She lowered her eyes
shyly. “I think you’d better go home.”

“I think so, too.” He
studied the caftan. “I can’t feel anything except skin under that flowing
thing, and I’m getting ideas right and left.”

“I wasn’t expecting
company.”

“But you were hoping,
weren’t you?” he asked perceptively.

“Yes,” she admitted,
her heart in her eyes. “Oh, yes, I was.”

He stopped the words
with his hard mouth, kissing her roughly, briefly. “Sleep well. Meet me at the
office around twelve, and I’ll take you to lunch.”

She blanched,
remembering her meeting with Brown, the accusations…but she put them all out of
her mind for the time being. She smiled. “I’ll be there.”

She didn’t sleep for a
long time, thinking about the night that had ended so unexpectedly. It was hard
to believe that a man like Bryan Moreland could actually be in love with her.
She had so little; he had so much. But between them, they seemed to have
everything.

Her mouth was still
bruised from the pressure of his, her ribs still ached from the embrace that
had seemed to crush her. A man couldn’t pretend that kind of emotion, she
thought dazedly. And to realize that a man she loved could feel that way in
return amazed her.

Brown’s words came back
to haunt her, tearing the delicate fabric of her dreams. Tomorrow, she’d go to
meet him, and maybe all his accusations would vanish like nightmares in the
daylight. She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—believe what he’d told her. Bryan Moreland
wasn’t a crook; she was sure of that. She fell asleep finally, with a picture
of Moreland’s leonine face in her soft eyes.

Daniel Brown was
waiting for her in the small coffee shop where she’d arranged to meet him, his
long pale fingers nervously clutching the fragile stem of the half-empty
wineglass that held what remained of a cup of coffee and a smear of whippped
cream. He looked up as she entered, and a relieved expression crossed his face.

She forced a smile she
didn’t feel and sat down in the chair he pulled out for her.

“Nippy out today, isn’t
it?” she asked, slipping out of her heavy black coat.

“A little.” He took a
quick sip of his coffee. “Can I order something for you?”

“Espresso,” she said.

He gave the waitress
her order and sat back down with a heavy sigh.

“Have you got it?” she
asked suddenly. Better to have the truth all at once, if it was the truth, than
to dig it out a sentence at a time.

But even as she hoped
he might not be able to produce that damning evidence, he reached in his pocket
and pushed a folded sheaf of photostat copies across the spotless white linen
tablecloth at her.

With a hard swallow,
she opened the papers with trembling fingers and looked at the first of the
copies. Her heart felt suddenly like an anchor in her chest. Her green eyes
closed momentarily. It was a check for one hundred thousand dollars, made out
to Bryan Moreland, signed by James White. Her gaze flashed to Daniel Brown’s
curious, wary face.

“I know what you’re
thinking,” he said unexpectedly. “Look at the second photostat before you say
it.”

Puzzled, she turned to
the second sheet, and saw what he meant. This photostat was the endorsed back
of the check, with Moreland’s unmistakable signature.