The Burning Point (6 page)

"You shouldn't be walking alone in this neighborhood." He glanced at her bare, goose-bumped arms. "Especially without a coat."

His words made her aware of how much the temperature had dropped in the last two hours. She told herself that it wasn't really cold, probably not much below forty degrees. "By the time I get to Ruxton, I'll be warm."

"Ruxton! All the way out in Baltimore County? You'll freeze to death."

"Then I'll hitchhike! Look, I appreciate your concern, but beat it. You've already gone above and beyond the call of duty. Go park a car or something."

He caught her wrist, his grip light but uncompromising. "Honest, this is not a good idea. A smart-ass cousin of mine used to hitch home from school every day, until she got raped. Go back inside and I'll call a taxi." He glanced at her empty hands. "And lend you the fare."

"I am not going back to that blasted ball!" An involuntary shiver went through her. "I'll take my chances with rape and pneumonia."

Exasperated, he unbuttoned his elaborate jacket and dropped it over her shoulders. "At least wear this."

The garment was warm with his body heat, and scented with some nice, piney aftershave. She slid her arms into the sleeves gratefully. The jacket fell halfway down her thighs. "Thanks. This will stave off deathly illness. Don't worry, I'm quite capable of walking to Ruxton."

"Not in those shoes," he said with a glance at her high-heeled satin slippers. "They're cute, but no good for hiking."

"I'll manage." She fastened the brass buttons on the jacket. "What's your address so I can send this back?"

Instead of giving it to her, he said, "I can't let you do this."

"I've had quite enough of men telling me what I can't do! I wouldn't take it from my father, and I darned well won't take it from a perfect stranger!"

"I'm not perfect." He gave a smile that invited her to join in. "And my name is Donovan, so I'm no longer a stranger."

Trying to resist the power of that smile, she asked, "Donovan what? Or rather, What Donovan?"

"Just Donovan." His smile faded. "Fighting with parents is a bitch. What did your old man do that was so bad?"

For a kid who looked like he'd be more at home in a bar brawl than at the cotillion, he had remarkably kind eyes. Needing to tell someone, she said, "All my life, I've wanted to go into the family business. It's the only thing I really want to do. And tonight...tonight..."--she blinked hard as she felt the blow again--"my father said that the only way I'd ever work in the company was over his dead body."

He pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. "That's rough."

"I've never been so furious in my life." The seething emotions settled into her stomach as a hard, aching knot. Kate didn't like being angry--but her whole life had just been turned upside down.

"How do you and your father usually get along?"

She wiped her eyes with one wrist. "Really well. In a way, that makes this worse. It's a...a kind of betrayal."

"I see." He rocked back on his heels as he considered. "Since you won't go back, I'll take you home myself, if you don't mind riding on a motorcycle."

She hesitated before deciding that she would be better off accepting his offer than risking the streets and the cold weather. He wouldn't be parking expensive cars at the Maryland Cotillion if he wasn't responsible. All her instincts said she'd be safe with him.

Or at least, as safe as she wanted to be. With a slow smile, she held out her hand. "It's a deal, Donovan."

He shook her hand, his clasp warm and strong around her ungloved fingers. She felt a surprising tingle, almost like an electrical shock. Telling herself that her imagination was working overtime, she released his hand and began walking back to the theater. "By the way, my name is Kate Corsi."

"Pleased to meet you. You're not what I expected in a debutante."

"I was faking it earlier."

In front of the hall, the two other parking valets were sheltering from the wind in the corner by the steps. Like her new escort, they were college age. Donovan said, "Sorry to cut out, but I have to take Miss Corsi home."

"Ms.," she corrected.

"Ms. Corsi," he agreed. "If anyone comes looking, tell 'em she's fine."

One of the other valets, a lean redhead, made a face. "With only two of us, it's going to be a zoo when everyone leaves, but you're right, we can't let her walk." He smiled winningly. "I can take you home, Ms. Corsi, and I have a car, not a bike."

She tugged the uniform jacket closer. "Thanks, but I've never ridden on a motorcycle before, much less in a ball gown. How can I pass up such a great offer?"

Donovan led Kate around the hall to the crowded parking lot behind the building. His bike, not new but well tended, was parked to one side. As he pulled his keys from his pocket, he cast a dubious glance at her gown. "Your dress might get wrecked."

She looked down at the froth of satin and lace, then shrugged. "This sort of gown is only meant to be worn once. After tonight, it's history."

He flipped up the kickstand with one heel. "I've only got one helmet with me. You wear it." He tried to hand the helmet to her.

She refused to take it. "You're the driver. You need it more."

"Maybe, but I don't like carrying passengers without helmets." He thought a moment. "I know--we can go by my aunt and uncle's place in Hampden. It's only a couple of miles, and in the right direction. I'll borrow Uncle Frankie's car to take you out to Ruxton. It'll be a lot more comfortable than the bike, especially if it starts snowing."

"Fine. This is turning into a real adventure."

He gave her a devastating grin as he slid off the rubber band that held his ponytail in place. Dark hair fell silkily to brush his shoulders. Then he straddled the motorcycle, turned the key, and hit the kick start pedal. Raising his voice over the roar, he said, "Make sure your skirt is tucked in--I don't want you to do an Isadora Duncan."

Where on earth had an East Baltimore guy picked that up? Laughing, she swung onto the saddle behind him and stuffed voluminous folds of fabric under her thighs and knees so her skirt wouldn't blow out of control.

She wrapped her arms around his lean waist. His shirt was a crisp white that crackled with starch and emphasized his broad shoulders. He radiated a male magnetism that would cause a riot in a nunnery. She wanted to rub her cheek between his shoulder blades like a cat.

He glanced back. "You're going to feel real exposed. Have faith in inertia, centrifugal force, and the sissy bar behind you."

"Yes, captain," she said meekly, more interested in the warm, solid feel of his body. No wonder motorcycles were so popular. This had to be the sexiest way of traveling since damsels rode pillion behind knights. And she was sharing the bike with a guy who knew about both Isadora Duncan and centrifugal force!

He pulled the helmet shield over his face, and took off. They went down the alley at a relatively sedate pace. Then he turned the bike into the street and hit the gas. She gasped and clutched Donovan's waist as her knees locked around the bike. He wasn't kidding that she would feel exposed! It felt as if the bike was going to shoot out from under her. They were probably only going about the speed limit, but it felt a lot faster.

She tensed when they whipped around a corner and the whole bike leaned. After a moment of panic, she remembered what he'd said about trusting inertia. This was just physics in action. Since Donovan was obviously in full control of his vehicle, she began to relax and enjoy the speed, the intimacy of the two of them slicing through the night.

As the wind whipped through her hair, she called over the roar of the engine, "What a terrific way to travel!"

"Except when it's raining," he yelled back. "Or in a cicada year!"

As the wind destroyed her elaborate hairstyle, she threw back her head and laughed with giddy delight. Her legs were freezing from the knee down, but who cared? She was doing something outrageous with the most gorgeous guy she'd ever met.

Her distress about the fight with her father began to fade. In her bones, she was sure that someday she would work at PDI. She could
see
herself there. If she couldn't go in the front door, she'd sneak in the back. For now she'd lie low and study architecture. After she graduated from college, she would just show up at the office and work wherever help was needed. Sam might never publicly retract his opposition, but he'd get used to having her around. Eventually, she'd become part of the company.

Feeling better, she gave herself up to starry night and icy wind and warm embrace.

Chapter 5

∗ ∗ ∗

To Kate's regret, it wasn't long until they slowed to enter a rowhouse neighborhood with parked cars lining every street. Donovan turned right, then left, before coasting to the curb between two cars. He turned off the engine and lowered the kickstand in the sudden silence. "A great thing about bikes is that there's almost always parking space where you want it."

Kate surveyed the brick rowhouse. The owners were the first on the block to put up their Christmas decorations, and cheerful multicolored lights outlined the roof, windows, front door, and the iron railing that ran up the steps. The bushes hadn't been neglected, either. In fact, she saw with delight, there was a shrine to Mary in the corner of the yard and the Blessed Mother wore a crown of sparkling white lights. "Shall I go in, or would you rather I skulked out here?"

"Too cold for skulking." He hesitated. "I'd better warn you, my relatives can be pretty...overwhelming."

"I'm not easily whelmed," she assured him.

A smile tugged at his lips as he took off his helmet. "Don't say I didn't warn you." He shook out his hair, and she wanted to touch it.

As she swung her leg over the saddle, her skirt slid up to mid-thigh. His gaze locked on her bared leg with laser-like intensity. It was worth half freezing to see that expression in his eyes. She shook her skirts out, then finger-combed her wind-tangled hair in a vain attempt to make it behave. "I must look like the wicked witch of the west."

"Nope. Glinda the Good Witch after a Kansas cyclone."

Helmet under one arm, he guided her up the walk with a hand at the small of her back. His touch was light, but it left her quivering with awareness. She felt...cared for. Though Donovan couldn't be more than a year or two older than she, he seemed more mature than anyone else she had dated. More man than boy, despite his sexy delinquent appearance. She asked, "Where did you go to school?"

"Poly."

"Aha! An engineer. I'll bet you took the Poly A Course."

"My Uncle Frankie says that Baltimore is the only place he knows where people in nursing homes are still asking each other where they went to school, and they always mean high school."

"Of course. It's a great way to figure out a person's neighborhood, social class, and mutual acquaintances." Donovan was a perfect example of that kind of analysis. His accent and appearance said blue collar. The Poly A course said that he was very bright, and hardworking. Her father had graduated from the Poly A course. "The next step is for me to think of anyone I know who went to Poly, then ask you about him. In a matter of minutes, we'll have established some connection. It's the Baltimore way."

He sorted through his keys, chuckling. "So where did you go to school, Ms. Corsi? Bryn Mawr? Garrison Forrest? I've heard every girl there is blond."

"Could be, but not all blondes go to Garrison. I went to Friends."

He found the right key and unlocked the door. "Educated by Quakers. Earnest. Socially committed."

She grinned. "Close enough. What are you doing now?"

"I'm a sophomore in engineering at Loyola." He opened the door for her. "And you?"

"I'm a freshman in architecture at Maryland."

They stepped inside to be greeted by a tall, balding man. "Donovan, you're back early. Who's your friend?"

"This is Kate Corsi," Donovan said. "She needs a ride out to Baltimore County. I hoped you'd let me borrow your car. Kate, meet my uncle, Frank Russo."

She gave the older man her best smile. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Russo."

"Call me Frank," he said in a booming baritone as he waved her into the house. His face showed a faint but unmistakable resemblance to Donovan.

Kate guessed that his sister had been Donovan's mother, which explained why Donovan's complexion was a little darker than his mostly Irish appearance suggested. Probably he was an Irish-Italian blend; Baltimore was full of kids born to mixed ethnic marriages. Russian married Greek, Lithuanian married Irish. Sometimes, even, WASP married Italian.

Frank raised his voice. "Connie, come meet Donovan's friend."

A cheerful alto replied from the kitchen, "He's brought home a girl?"

"Did I say it was a girl?" Frank said with mock surprise.

"You wouldn't have called me if it was a boy." A round, attractive woman with salt and pepper hair appeared and scanned Kate's smudged satin pumps, white evening gown, and borrowed jacket. Not even blinking, she remarked, "This one's even prettier than that German shepherd that followed you home last year, Donovan."