Temptation (6 page)

Was romance white knights and pure maidens? Was it Chopin and soft lights? Was it the top of the Ferris wheel? Maybe she'd prefer the last after all. With a quiet laugh, Eden wrapped her arms around herself and held her face up to the stars.

“You should do that more often.”

She whirled, one hand pressing against her throat. Chase stood a few feet away at the edge of the trees, the edge of the shadows. It flashed through her mind that this was the third time she had seen him and the third time he had taken her by surprise. It was a habit she wanted to break.

“Do you practice startling people, or is it a natural gift?”

“I can't remember it happening much before you.”

The fact was, he hadn't come up on her, but she on him. He'd been walking since dusk, and had stopped on the banks of the lake to watch the water and to think of her. “You've been getting some sun.” Her hair seemed lighter, more fragile against the honeyed tone of her skin. He wanted to touch it, to see if it was still as soft and fragrant.

“Most of the work is outdoors.” It amazed her that she had to fight the urge to turn and run. There was something mystical, even fanciful, about meeting him here in the moonlight, by the water. Almost as if it had been fated.

“You should wear a hat.” He said it absently, distracted by the pounding of his own heart. She might have been an illusion, long slender arms and legs gleaming in the moonlight, her hair loose and drenched with it. She wore white. Even the simple shorts and shirt seemed to glimmer. “I'd wondered if you walked here.”

He stepped out of the shadows. The monotonous song of the crickets seemed to reach a crescendo. “I thought it might be cooler.”

“Some.” He moved closer. “I've always been fond of hot nights.”

“The cabins tend to get stuffy.” Uneasy, she glanced back and discovered she had walked farther than she'd intended. The camp, with its comforting lights and company, was very far away. “I didn't realize I'd crossed over onto your property.”

“I'm only a tyrant about my trees.” She was less of an illusion up close, more of a woman. “You were laughing before. What were you thinking of?”

Her mouth was dry. Even as she backed away, he seemed to be closer. “Ferris wheels.”

“Ferris wheels? Do you like the drop?” Satisfying his own need, he reached for her hair. “Or the climb?”

At his touch, her stomach shot down to her knees. “I have to get back.”

“Let's walk.”

To walk with you in the moonlight
. Eden thought of his words, and of fate. “No, I can't. It's late.”

“Must be all of nine-thirty.” Amused, he took her hand, then immediately turned it over. There was a hardening ridge of calluses on the pad beneath her fingers. “You've been working.”

“Some people make a living that way.”

“Don't get testy.” He turned her hand back to run a thumb over her knuckles. Was it a talent of his, Eden wondered, to touch a woman in the most casual of ways and send her blood pounding? “You could wear gloves,” Chase went on, “and keep your Philadelphia hands.”

“I'm not in Philadelphia.” She drew her hand away. Chase simply took her other one. “And since I'm pitching hay rather than serving tea, it hardly seems to matter.”

“You'll be serving tea again.” He could see her, seated in some fussy parlor, wearing pink silk and holding a china pot. But, for the moment, her hand was warm in his. “The moon's on the water. Look.”

Compelled, she turned her head. There were such things as moonbeams. They gilded the dark water of the lake and silvered the trees. She remembered some old legend about three women, the moonspinners, who spun the moon on spindles. More romance. But even the new, practical Eden couldn't resist.

“It's lovely. The moon seems so close.”

“Some things aren't as close as they seem; others aren't so far away.”

He began to walk. Because he still had her hand, and because he intrigued her, Eden walked with him. “I suppose you've always lived here.” Just small talk, she told herself. She didn't really care.

“For the most part. This has always been headquarters for the business.” He turned to look down at her. “The house is over a hundred years old. You might find it interesting.”

She thought of her home and of the generations of Carlboughs who had lived there. And of the strangers who lived there now. “I like old houses.”

“Are things going well at camp?”

She wouldn't think of the books. “The girls keep us busy.” Her laugh came again, low and easy. “That's an understatement. We'll just say their energy level is amazing.”

“How's Roberta?”

“Incorrigible.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“Last night she painted one of the girls while the girl was asleep.”

“Painted?”

Eden's laugh came again, low and easy. “The little darling must have copped a couple of pots of paint from the art area. When Marcie woke up, she looked like an Indian preparing to attack a wagon train.”

“Our Roberta's inventive.”

“To say the least. She told me she thought it might be interesting to be the first woman chief justice.”

He smiled at that. Imagination and ambition were the qualities he most admired. “She'll probably do it.”

“I know. It's terrifying.”

“Let's sit. You can see the stars better.”

Stars? She'd nearly forgotten who she was with and why she had wanted to avoid being with him. “I don't think I—” Before she'd gotten the sentence out, he'd tugged her down on a soft, grassy rise. “One wonders why you bother to ask.”

“Manners,” he said easily as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Even as she stiffened, he relaxed. “Look at the sky. How often do you notice it in the city?”

Unable to resist, she tilted her face up. The sky was an inky black backdrop for countless pinpoints of lights. They spread, winking, shivering overhead with a glory that made Eden's throat ache just in the looking. “It isn't the same sky that's over the city.”

“Same sky, Eden. It's people who change.” He stretched out on his back, crossing his legs. “There's Cassiopeia.”

“Where?” Curious, Eden searched, but saw only stars without pattern.

“You can see her better from here.” He pulled her closer to him, and before she could protest, he was pointing. “There she is. Looks like a
W
this time of year.”

“Yes!” Delighted, she reached for his wrist and outlined the constellation herself. “I've never been able to find anything in the sky.”

“You have to look first. There's Pegasus.” Chase shifted his arm. “He has a hundred and sixty-six stars you can view with the naked eye. See? He's flying straight up.”

Eyes narrowed, she concentrated on finding the pattern. Moonlight splashed on her face. “Oh yes, I see.” She shifted a bit closer to guide his hand again. “I named my first pony Pegasus. Sometimes I'd imagine he sprouted wings and flew. Show me another.”

He was looking at her, at the way the stars reflected in her eyes, at the way her mouth softened so generously with a smile. “Orion,” he murmured.

“Where?”

“He stands with his sword behind him and his shield lifted in front. And a red star, thousands of times brighter than the sun, is the shoulder of his sword arm.”

“Where is he? I—” Eden turned her head and looked directly into Chase's eyes. She forgot the stars and the moonlight and the soft, sweet grass beneath her. The hand on his wrist tightened until the rhythm of his pulse was the rhythm of hers.

Her muscles contracted and held as she braced for the kiss. But his lips merely brushed against her temple. Warmth spread through her as softly as the scent of honeysuckle spread through the air. She heard an owl call out to the night, to the stars, or to a lover.

“What are we doing here?” she managed.

“Enjoying each other.” Without rushing, his lips moved over her face.

Enjoying? That was much too mild a word for what was burning through her. No one had ever made her feel like this, so weak and hot, so strong and desperate. His lips were soft, the hand that rested on the side of her face was hard. Beneath his, her heart began to gallop uncontrolled. Eden's fingers slipped off the reins.

She turned her head with a moan and found his mouth with hers. Her arms went around him, holding him close as her lips parted in demand. In all her life she had never known true hunger, not until now. This was breathless, painful, glorious.

He'd never expected such unchecked passion. He'd been prepared to go slowly, gently, as the innocence he'd felt in her required. Now she was moving under him, her fingers pressing and kneading the muscles of his back, her mouth hot and willing on his. The patience that was so much a part of him drowned in need.

Such new, such exciting sensations. Her body gave as his pressed hard against it. Gods and goddesses of the sky guarded them. He smelled of the grass and the earth, and he tasted of fire. Night sounds roared in her head, and her own sigh was only a dim echo when his lips slid down to her throat.

Murmuring his name, Eden combed her fingers through his hair. He wanted to touch her, all of her. He wanted to take her now. When her hand came to rest on his face, he covered it with his own and felt the smooth stone of her ring.

There was so much more he needed to know. So little he was sure of. Desire, for the moment, couldn't be enough. Who was she? He lifted his head to look down at her. Who the hell was she, and why was she driving him mad?

Pulling himself back, he tried to find solid ground. “You're full of surprises, Eden Carlbough of the Philadelphia Carlboughs.”

For a moment, she could only stare. She'd had her ride on the Ferris wheel, a wild, dizzying ride. Somewhere along the line, she'd been tossed off to spiral madly in the air. Now she'd hit the ground, hard. “Let me up.”

“I can't figure you, Eden.”

“You aren't required to.” She wanted to weep, to curl up into a ball and weep, but she couldn't focus on the reason. Anger was clearer. “I asked you to let me up.”

He rose, holding out a hand to help her. Ignoring it, Eden got to her feet. “I've always felt it was more constructive to shout when you're angry.”

She shot him one glittering look. Humiliation. It was something she'd sworn she would never feel again. “I'm sure you do. If you'll excuse me.”

“Damn it.” He caught her arm and swung her back to face him. “Something was happening here tonight. I'm not fool enough to deny that, but I want to know what I'm getting into.”

“We were enjoying each other. Wasn't that your term?” Nothing more, Eden repeated over and over in her head. Nothing more than a moment's enjoyment. “We've finished now, so good night.”

“We're far from finished. That's what worries me.”

“I'd say that's your problem, Chase.” But a ripple of fear—of anticipation—raced through her, because she knew he was right.

“Yeah, it's my problem.” My God, how had he passed so quickly from curiosity to attraction to blazing need? “And because it is, I've got a question. I want to know why Eden Carlbough is playing at camp for the summer rather than cruising the Greek Isles. I want to know why she's cleaning out stables instead of matching silver patterns and planning dinner parties as Mrs. Eric Keeton.”

“My business.” Her voice rose. The new Eden wasn't as good as the old one at controlling emotion. “But if you're so curious, why don't you call one of your family connections? I'm sure any of them would be delighted to give you all the details.”

“I'm asking you.”

“I don't owe you any explanations.” She jerked her arm away and stood trembling with rage. “I don't owe you a damn thing.”

“Maybe not.” His temper had cooled his passion and cleared his head. “But I want to know who I'm making love with.”

“That won't be an issue, I promise you.”

“We're going to finish what we started here, Eden.” Without stepping closer, he had her arm again. The touch was far from gentle, far from patient. “That I promise you.”

“Consider it finished.”

To her surprise and fury, he only smiled. His hand eased on her arm to one lingering caress. Helpless against her response, she shivered. “We both know better than that.” He touched a finger to her lips, as if reminding her the tastes he'd left there. “Think of me.”

He slipped back into the shadows.

Chapter 4

It was a perfect night for a bonfire. Only a few wispy clouds dragged across the moon, shadowing it, then freeing it. The heat of the day eased with sunset, and the air was balmy, freshened by a calm, steady breeze.

The pile of twigs and sticks that had been gathered throughout the day had been stacked, tepeelike, in a field to the east of the main compound. In the clearing, it rose from a wide base to the height of a man. Every one of the girls had contributed to the making of it, just as every one of them circled around the bonfire now, waiting for the fire to catch and blaze. An army of hot dogs and marshmallows was laid out on a picnic table. Stacked like swords were dozens of cleaned and sharpened sticks. Nearby was the garden hose with a tub full of water, for safety's sake.

Candy held up a long kitchen match, drawing out the drama as the girls began to cheer. “The first annual bonfire at Camp Liberty is about to begin. Secure your hot dogs to your sticks, ladies, and prepare to roast.”

Amid the giggles and gasps, Candy struck the match, then held it to the dry kindling at the base. Wood crackled. Flames licked, searched for more fuel, and spread around and around, following the circle of starter fluid. As they watched, fire began its journey up and up. Eden applauded with the rest.

“Fabulous!” Even as she watched, smoke began to billow. Its scent was the scent of autumn, and that was still a summer away. “I was terrified we wouldn't get it started.”

“You're looking at an expert.” Catching her tongue between her teeth, Candy speared a hot dog with a sharpened stick. Behind her, the bonfire glowed red at the center. “The only thing I was worried about was rain. But just look at those stars. It's perfect.”

Eden tilted her head back. Without effort, without thought, she found Pegasus. He was riding the night sky just as he'd been riding it twenty-four hours before. One day, one night. How could so much have happened? Standing with her face lifted to the breeze and her hands growing warm from the fire, she wondered if she had really experienced that wild, turbulent moment with Chase.

She had. The memories were too ripe, too real for dreams. The moment had happened, and all the feelings and sensations that had grown from it. Deliberately she turned her gaze to a riot of patternless stars.

It didn't change what she remembered, or what she still felt. The moment had happened, she thought again, and it had passed. Yet, somehow, she wasn't certain it was over.

“Why does everything seem different here, Candy?”

“Everything is different here.” Candy took a deep breath, drawing in the scents of smoke, drying grass and roasting meat. “Isn't it marvelous? No stuffy parlors, no boring dinner parties, no endless piano recitals. Want a hot dog?”

Because her mouth was watering, Eden accepted the partially blackened wiener. “You simplify things, Candy.” Eden ran a thin line of ketchup along the meat and stuck it in a bun. “I wish I could.”

“You will once you stop thinking you're letting down the Carlbough name by enjoying a hot dog by a bonfire.” When Eden's mouth dropped open, Candy gave her a friendly pat. “You ought to try the marshmallows,” she advised before she wandered off to find another stick.

Is that what she was doing? Eden wondered, chewing automatically. Maybe, in a way that wasn't quite as basic as Candy had said, it was. After all, she had been the one who had sold the house that had been in the family for four generations. In the end, it had been she who had inventoried the silver and china, the paintings and the jewelry for auction. So, in the end, it had been she who had liquidated the Carlbough tradition to pay off debts and to start a new life.

Necessary. No matter how the practical Eden accepted the necessity, the grieving Eden still felt the loss, and the guilt.

With a sigh, Eden stepped back. The scene that played out in front of her was like a memory from her own childhood. She could see the column of gray smoke rising toward the sky, twirling and curling. At the core of the tower of wood, the fire was fiercely gold and greedy. The smell of outdoor cooking was strong and summery, as it had been during her own weeks at Camp Forden for Girls. For a moment, there was regret that she couldn't step back into those memories of a time when life was simple and problems were things for parents to fix.

“Miss Carlbough.”

Brought out of a half-formed dream, Eden glanced down at Roberta. “Hello, Roberta. Are you having fun?”

“It's super!” Roberta's enthusiasm was evident from the smear of ketchup on her chin. “Don't you like bonfires?”

“Yes, I do.” Smiling, she looked back at the crackling wood, one hand dropping automatically to Roberta's shoulder. “I like them a lot.”

“I thought you looked sort of sad, so I made you a marshmallow.”

The offering dripped, black and shriveled, from the end of a stick. Eden felt her throat close up the same way it had when another girl had offered her a clutch of wildflowers. “Thanks, Roberta. I wasn't sad really, I was just remembering.” Gingerly, Eden pulled the melted, mangled marshmallow from the stick. Half of it plopped to the ground on the way to her mouth.

“They're tricky,” Roberta observed. “I'll make you another one.”

Left with the charred outer hull, Eden swallowed valiantly. “You don't have to bother, Roberta.”

“Oh, I don't mind.” She looked up at Eden with a glowing, generous grin. Somehow, all her past crimes didn't seem so important. “I like to do it. I thought camp was going to be boring, but it's not. Especially the horses. Miss Carlbough . . .” Roberta looked down at the ground and seemed to draw her courage out of her toes. “I guess I'm not as good as Linda with the horses, but I wondered if maybe you could—well, if I could spend some more time at the stables.”

“Of course you can, Roberta.” Eden rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, trying fruitlessly to rid herself of the goo. “And you don't even have to bribe me with marshmallows.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Attracted despite herself, Eden ruffled Roberta's hair. “Miss Bartholomew and I will work it into your schedule.”

“Gee, thanks, Miss Carlbough.”

“But you'll have to work on your posting.”

Roberta's nose wrinkled only a little. “Okay. But I wish we could do stuff like barrel racing. I've seen it on TV.”

“Well, I don't know about that, but you might progress to small jumps before the end of camp.”

Eden had the pleasure of seeing Roberta's eyes saucer with pleasure. “No fooling?”

“No fooling. As long as you work on your posting.”

“I will. And I'll be better than Linda, too. Wow, jumps.” She spun in an awkward pirouette. “Thanks a lot, Miss Carlbough. Thanks a lot.”

She was off in a streak, undoubtedly to spread the word. If Eden knew Roberta, and she was beginning to, she was certain the girl would soon have talked herself into a gold medal for equestrian prowess at the next Olympic Games.

But, as she watched Roberta spin from group to group, Eden realized she wasn't thinking of the past any longer; nor was she regretting. She was smiling. As one of the counselors began to strum a guitar, Eden licked marshmallow goop from her fingers.

“Need some help with that?”

With her fingers still in her mouth, Eden turned. She should have known he'd come. Perhaps, in her secret thoughts, she had hoped he would. Now she found herself thrusting her still-sticky fingers behind her back.

He wondered if she knew how lovely she looked, with the fire at her back and her hair loose on her shoulders. There was a frown on her face now, but he hadn't missed that one quick flash of pleasure. If he kissed her now, would he taste that sweet, sugary flavor she had been licking from her fingers? Through it would he find that simmering, waiting heat he'd tasted once before? The muscles in his stomach tightened, even as he dipped his thumbs into his pockets and looked away from her toward the fire.

“Nice night for a bonfire.”

“Candy claims she arranged it that way.” Confident there was enough distance between them, and that there were enough people around them, Eden allowed herself to relax. “We weren't expecting any company.”

“I spotted your smoke.”

That made her glance up and realize how far the smoke might travel. “I hope it didn't worry you. We notified the fire department.” Three girls streaked by behind them. Chase glanced their way and had them lapsing into giggles. Eden caught her tongue in her cheek. “How long did it take you to perfect it?”

With a half smile, Chase turned back to her. “What?”

“The deadly charm that has females crumpling at your feet?”

“Oh, that.” He grinned at her. “I was born with it.”

The laugh came out before she could stop it. To cover her lapse, Eden crossed her arms and took a step backward. “It's getting warm.”

“We used to have a bonfire on the farm every Halloween. My father would carve the biggest pumpkin in the patch and stuff some overalls and a flannel shirt with straw. One year he dressed himself up as the Headless Horseman and gave every kid in the neighborhood a thrill.” Watching the fire, he remembered and wondered why until tonight he hadn't thought of continuing the tradition. “My mother would give each of the kids a caramel apple, then we'd sit around the fire and tell ghost stories until we'd scared ourselves silly. Looking back, I think my father got a bigger kick out of it than any of us kids.”

She could see it, just as he described, and had to smile again. For her, Halloween had been tidy costume parties where she'd dressed as a princess or ballerina. Though the memories were still lovely, she couldn't help wishing she'd seen one of the bonfires and the Headless Horseman.

“When we were planning tonight, I was as excited as any of the girls. I guess that sounds foolish.”

“No, it sounds promising.” He put a hand to her cheek, turning her slightly toward him. Though she stiffened, her skin was warm and soft. “Did you think of me?”

There it was again—that feeling of drowning, of floating, of going under for the third time. “I've been busy.” She told herself to move away, but her legs didn't respond. The sound of singing and strumming seemed to be coming from off in the distance, with melody and lyrics she couldn't quite remember. The only thing that was close and real was his hand on her cheek.

“I-it was nice of you to drop by,” she began, struggling to find solid ground again.

“Am I being dismissed?” He moved his hand casually from her cheek to her hair.

“I'm sure you have better things to do.” His fingertip skimmed the back of her neck and set every nerve end trembling. “Stop.”

The smoke billowed up over her head. Light and shadow created by the fire danced over her face and in her eyes. He'd thought of her, Chase reminded himself. Too much. Now he could only think what it would be like to make love with her near the heat of the fire, with the scent of smoke, and night closing in.

“You haven't walked by the lake.”

“I told you, I've been busy.” Why couldn't she make her voice firm and cool? “I have a responsibility to the girls, and the camp, and—”

“Yourself?” How badly he wanted to walk with her again, to study the stars and talk. How badly he wanted to taste that passion and that innocence again. “I'm a very patient man, Eden. You can only avoid me for so long.”

“Longer than you think,” she murmured, letting out a sigh of relief as she spotted Roberta making a beeline for them.

“Hi!” Delighted with the quick fluttering of her heart, Roberta beamed up at Chase.

“Hi, Roberta,” he said. She was thrilled that he'd remembered her name. He gave her a smile, and his attention, without releasing Eden's hair. “You're taking better care of your cap, I see.”

She laughed and pushed up the brim. “Miss Carlbough said if I wandered into your orchard again, she'd hold my cap for ransom. But if you invited us to come on a tour, that would be educational, wouldn't it?”

“Roberta.” Why was it the child was always one step ahead of everyone else? Eden lifted her brow in a quelling look.

“Well, Miss Bartholomew said we should think of interesting things.” Roberta put her most innocent look to good use. “And I think the apple trees are interesting.”

“Thanks.” Chase thought he heard Eden's teeth clench. “We'll give it some thought.”

“Okay.” Satisfied, Roberta stuck out a wrinkled black tube. “I made you a hot dog. You have to have a hot dog at a bonfire.”

“Looks terrific.” Accepting it, he pleased Roberta by taking a generous bite. “Thanks.” Only Chase and his stomach knew that the meat was still cold on the inside.

“I got some marshmallows and sticks, too.” She handed them over. “It's more fun to do it yourself, I guess.” Because she was on the border between childhood and womanhood, Roberta picked up easily on the vibrations around her. “If you two want to be alone, you know, to kiss and stuff, no one's in the stables.”

“Roberta!” Eden pulled out her best camp director's voice. “That will do.”

“Well, my parents like to be alone sometimes.” Undaunted, she grinned at Chase. “Maybe I'll see you around.”

“You can count on it, kid.” As Roberta danced off toward a group of girls, Chase turned back. The moment he took a step toward her, Eden extended her skewered marshmallow toward the fire. “Want to go kiss and stuff?”

It was the heat of the fire that stung her cheeks with color, Eden assured herself. “I suppose you think it would be terribly amusing for Roberta to go home and report that one of the camp directors spent her time in the stables with a man. That would do a lot for Camp Liberty's reputation.”

“You're right. You should come to my place.”

“Go away, Chase.”