“I just had the most wonderful idea!” Edna exclaimed the next morning as they sat at breakfast.
“What’s that, honey?” B. J. asked, biting into a biscuit.
“Kathleen should take Erik to the Crescent Hotel for dinner.”
Kathleen’s fork clattered to her plate and she jerked her head up to see the amusement glimmering in Erik’s blue eyes.
“What’s the Crescent?” he asked the Harrisons without relieving Kathleen of his stare.
“Erik, you’d love it. It’s a hotel in Eureka Springs that was built in the 1880s and has been restored to its original Victorian elegance. Their dining room is sumptuous!”
“I don’t—” Kathleen started.
“How far is Eureka Springs?” Erik interrupted.
“About thirty miles, though it takes about an hour to get there. We don’t have super interstate highways up here.” B.J. laughed. “You really ought to go see the town. We call it the Switzerland of America. Eureka Springs is built right on top of the mountains. The houses and buildings are quaint, usually several stories. One floor might be level with the street, while the back of the house is supported by stilts thirty feet tall.”
“You talked me into it,” Erik said enthusiastically. “I’ve heard of Eureka Springs, but I’ve never been there.”
“Good. Then it’s all settled,” Edna said.
“Wait!” Kathleen fairly shouted, then flushed hotly when three pairs of eyes turned toward her. “I can’t just go off like that. I mean… the children… tonight… it’s against the rules.”
“You’re a board member. You can’t break the rules.” Edna smiled. “We need to give Erik a break. He’s not accustomed to being isolated from civilization the way we are.”
Kathleen looked at Edna suspiciously. What the older woman said had merit, and it was possible that Edna truly did want to relieve Erik of one night in the noisy dining hall, but Kathleen also thought that Edna was dabbling in some good old-fashioned matchmaking. There was no gracious way to decline the offer of a free night, so Kathleen swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and said softly, “I suppose it would be nice to get away for a while.”
“You can leave as soon as you bring the kids back this afternoon,” Edna said with the briskness of one who had accomplished a mission. “Erik, the Crescent also has a lovely, secluded club with a dance floor in the basement.”
“It’s sounding better all the time,” he said to the Harrisons, then turned his back on them and winked at Kathleen.
Oh, God, she groaned to herself. It had taken all the courage she could muster to enter the mess hall for breakfast this morning after her behavior the evening before. What had come over her? She must have taken leave of her senses. She had stopped him just in time, but still he had gone further with her than any man had ever been allowed to go. And she had known him only two days! Her ready reactions to him were frightening.
But, self-righteously, she absolved herself of guilt. The way his hands had roamed her body with easy familiarity was an accomplished technique. His mouth, the heat of his embrace, were all too practiced. He’d detected in her a susceptibility and had capitalized on it. He had told her a poignant story about his assignment in Ethiopia, and she had fallen for the emotional blackmail like a pioneer housewife at a medicine man’s show. How many times had he used that same story to break down barriers with a woman? The tale might not even be true!
Kathleen held herself in too high a regard to dally with casual affairs that led nowhere, relationships that did nothing to enrich one’s life but fed on self-deception, disillusionment and pain until one was left with only a feeling of emptiness. Hadn’t she fought David Ross like a tiger?
Before she had finally fallen into a restless sleep, Kathleen had resolved that the next time Erik made any sexual overtures, she would inform him in terms that left no room for doubt that she wasn’t interested in a romantic entanglement.
Now, Edna had arranged a date for them! A date that would take hours if they drove all the way to Eureka Springs on the two-lane state highway that ribboned its way through the mountains.
It was with mingled relief and regret that she learned Erik had chosen to accompany Mike Simpson’s group today as they went on a horseback trip to the other side of the mountain. It would be an all-day event. How Erik was going to carry his camera, Kathleen didn’t know, but she was sure he would manage. He is a man of rare talent, she thought sarcastically as she watched him striding across the compound with his equipment and several of the inquisitive children in tow.
The hours of the day were easily filled, and Kathleen’s group was trudging up the hill to the compound just as Mike’s group was returning. Secretly, she hoped that Erik would be tired and saddle sore, anything to prevent him from wanting to keep their date. But he was smiling and exuberant when he hailed her from across the wide yard.
“Hey, Kathleen, wait up.” He said a few words to Mike, ruffled the hair of one adoring little boy and cuffed a little girl under her chin before he jogged up to Kathleen.
His white knit shirt was soaked with perspiration, and his hair clung damply to his forehead, but he had never looked more appealing as his eyes squinted into a smile.
“How was your day?” he asked.
“Fine. The children missed you.” And so did I, dammit, she added to herself. “How was the riding?”
“I was rusty for a while, but I finally worked the kinks out.” He seemed admirably humble.
Knowing she looked about twelve years old with her pigtails and shorts and tennis shoes, she shifted uncomfortably under his perusal. Did he remember last night? No sooner had the question entered her mind than his eyes lit on her lips and lingered there. Yes, he remembered, and she felt herself blushing under her deep tan.
“How did you haul your camera?” she asked, with a curiosity she couldn’t restrain.
He smiled, his teeth creating a white slash in his dark face. “It rode in front of me on the saddle.”
“Very ingenious,” she said dryly.
“I’ve learned to improvise.” He smiled deeply again. Was that a dimple under his mustache? “When can you be ready?” he asked suddenly.
“Do you still want to go?” she demurred. “We don’t have to, you know.”
“I know. But I want to,” he leaned down and whispered conspiratorially. “Why do you think I volunteered for that damn packing trip? I didn’t think I could be with you all day, anticipating tonight, and keep my hands off you. I don’t think sex education is included in the curriculum, is it?”
What had happened to all those carefully chosen words she had rehearsed all day? Where, in her befuddled brain, were all those epithets hiding? The sound logic she had pieced together had fled, being replaced by titillating possibilities. Her tongue couldn’t function at all, much less deliver the blistering refusals she had memorized.
She couldn’t meet his gaze. It was too unsettling, too disturbing, and too hypnotic. She darted her green eyes at the trees, the flagpole where the flag hung limply in the still afternoon, and toward the straggling campers and counselors who were wending their way tiredly to their cabins. “About an hour?”
He took a tendril of hair between two of his long, slender fingers. He tugged on it gently before tucking it behind her ear. “Fifty-five minutes,” he said huskily, before he turned on his heel and strode off in the direction of his cabin.
Her thoughts were running rampant as she hastened to her own cabin. What could she wear? She didn’t have anything appropriate! With longing, she thought of her closet at home in Atlanta, where she had designer dresses, gorgeous shoes and racks of accessories, all of which she could buy at whole-sale prices because of her job.
Now, she stared bleakly at the one metal rod in the narrow closet and bemoaned the meagerness of her wardrobe at hand. The cotton print shirtwaist or the voile sundress? She gnawed the inside of her cheek. The print was soft, simple and sweet. And safe. The sundress was soft, simple and sexy. Not so safe. After her shower, she was still debating with herself.
With an impatient shrug at her own silliness, she took her sundress off the hanger. The voile felt like a cloud settling over her flesh. The bodice was cut like a camisole. Lace trimmed straps about an inch wide spanned her bare shoulders. She was saved from total immodesty because the front was tucked and pleated on either side of a row of pearl buttons that stopped at her waist. That provided two layers of the sheer fabric over her breasts. The skirt was full, but she wore flesh-toned panties and a half-slip as meager protection from its sheerness. The sea-green color accentuated her own vivid eyes and highlighted the honey-apricot tone of her skin.
She slid her bare feet into the only pair of high-heeled sandals she had brought with her. She disdained panty hose in the sweltering heat, but had shaved her legs to glossy smoothness and applied a rich lotion that made them silky to the touch.
She twisted her hair up into a knot on the top of her head and secured it with a long gold clip decorated with a nautilus shell. Small gold loops were inserted into her pierced ears. She dabbed herself liberally with Mitsouko just as Erik knocked on her door.
Instinctively, her fluttering hand flew to the base of her throat where she could feel the pounding of her pulse. Stop this! Kathleen ordered herself to no avail. She was far more nervous now than she had been on her first date when the young man had picked her up at the orphanage.
Somehow she forced her reluctant legs across the room toward the screened door. Erik’s silhouette filled the twilight tinted opening.
“Hi,” she said with affected casualness.
He made no pretense of his feelings. His mouth hung open at a ridiculous angle as he toured her body with his wide, stupefied eyes. “Are you the same girl who was in pigtails a mere hour ago?”
“Fifty-five minutes,” she corrected teasingly. His face then returned to normal and he smiled that dazzling smile that always left her feeling dizzy. She had never seen him dressed in anything but jeans. The swimsuit hardly counted as clothing. His appearance left her breathless and lightheaded. His blue shirt fitted his torso to perfection. The camel-colored slacks hugged his hips and thighs like a second skin, the straight legs broke with tailored preciseness on the vamp of polished loafers. The navy blazer was stretched over bunched shoulder muscles as he placed his hands on his hips and eyed her appraisingly.
“You, Ms. Haley, are amazing. Out there,” Erik indicated the camp with a backward jerk of his head, “you look like someone’s beautiful kid sister. Now you look like someone’s beautiful… uh…”
“What?”
“Never mind,” he growled. “What I had in mind to say could get me in trouble. Let’s go.”
He ushered her out the door and toward the Blazer, parked a few yards from her cabin. “I hope you know the way, because I drove here with one eye on the road and one on an obsolete map.”
Kathleen laughed as she slid into the passenger side of the truck. “I do, but only after coming here for years. Only the natives truly know their way around up here.”
“I believe it,” he said. “Which way?”
She gave him directions to get them underway and then settled against the back of the seat, which was still warm from the truck having been closed up all day. A soft flow of air from the air-conditioning vents soon remedied that. “You don’t seem like the Blazer type to me,” she said musingly.
Erik laughed easily and reached for the dial of the radio. “What type am I?” he asked, amused. He found a congenial radio station, and his arm extended across the backs of the seats until his fingers brushed her bare shoulder, making her tremble on the inside.
“Oh, you know,” she said smoothly. “The Miata type. Or maybe a Corvette.”
He laughed again, deeper this time. His laugh was so natural, so easy, so masculine. It literally rumbled from his chest. “How about a Dodge van?”
“You’re kidding!”
“No. This car belongs to the television station. Actually, when I’m at home, I drive a Dodge van. Nothing fancy. No fur-covered mattresses, no quadraphonic CD systems, no murals on the outside. But very functional for hauling all my equipment.”
“I can’t believe it,” Kathleen said honestly. Then, raising her knee to the seat and turning toward him slightly, she asked, “You live in St. Louis, don’t you?” The Harrisons had told her that much about him.
“Yes. Have you ever heard the term ‘O and O’?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
“Well, actually you wouldn’t unless you worked in the television industry. ‘O and O’ stands for owned and operated. And that applies to television stations that are actually owned by the networks. According to FCC regulations, each network can own five VHF television stations. UBC has one in St. Louis. Really it’s only an address for me. They send me anywhere they need me.”
“That’s intriguing. I’m afraid I don’t know very much about the television industry.”
“I’m afraid I don’t either,” he said, smiling. “All I know about is my camera and how to use it. I aspire to doing much more creative things than network news stories. I really consider my affiliation with them as an apprenticeship. One day, I’d like to have my own production company and produce commercials, industrial films, things like that. Unfortunately, a setup like that costs a lot of money.”
“Surely the network pays a valuable employee like you well.”
“Well, but not extravagantly. The glory guys are the ones in front of the cameras, not the ones behind them.” His index finger tapped the end of her nose. “Now it’s your turn. I know nothing about the ‘rag trade.’ ”
Kathleen laughed and launched into a brief outline of her work, but to her surprise, he was genuinely interested and asked intelligent questions until she found herself talking animatedly. “I attend several fashion markets a year, not only in Atlanta, but in Chicago and Dallas as well. I go to New York every few months.”
“That sounds glamorous,” he said, obviously impressed.
“Not so much so.” She laughed. “I must often placate the alterations seamstress when a garment proves unalterable. And there’s always a wealthy customer who must have a dress by the night of the country club dance. She places me at the mercy of a shipping clerk in a warehouse who has a heart of stone. Salesladies are constantly running out of goods that manufacturers swear are no longer available.” She paused and drew a deep breath. “Had enough?”
He laughed. “But you’ll be eager to return in the fall.”
Suddenly reminded that she had nothing to return to, she looked away quickly. “Yes,” she answered vaguely. She didn’t want to discuss her resignation from Mason’s or the reason for it.
Sensing her withdrawal, Erik shifted his attention away from the road and peered closely at her through slitted eyes.
Kathleen adroitly avoided pursuing this line of conversation by saying, “Slow down a little. You need to make a left-hand turn up here at the crossroads.”
* * *
The Crescent Hotel stood sentinel over the township of Eureka Springs. Looking very European with its gray brick walls, blue roof and red chimneys, it depicted the period in which it was built. Broad verandas on each floor ran the length of the building where guests could sit in rocking chairs and enjoy the mountainous panorama. The corners of the building were square and topped with pyramid-shaped roofs.
Erik parked the car and helped Kathleen out with a hand under her elbow. He was impressed with the old hotel, but Kathleen was slightly embarrassed that Edna had made so much of it to a man who had been all over the world. Nevertheless, his comments were appreciative.
The lobby had white Grecian columns connecting the Persian rug-scattered hardwood floor to the high molded ceiling above. An open white marble fireplace was free-standing in the room, and one could enjoy the fire from four sides. Of course, on this hot summer night, the logs were stacked, but no fire was burning. Instead, patrons sat on the Victorian furniture in air-conditioned comfort.
The dining room looked like a room out of The Unsinkable Molly Brown. The walls were covered with red and gold flocked paper. The oaken floors gleamed with the patina that only age and careful maintenance can produce. The tablecloths were also red, showing off the china, crystal and silver. One corner of the room was dominated by a grand piano, where a man in a black tuxedo was playing softly.
On their behalf, Edna had made the reservation. They were shown to their table by the maître d’, who held Kathleen’s chair for her with an old-world flourish. He took their drink orders and then discreetly withdrew.
“What in the hell is a spritzer?” Erik asked.
“It’s white wine and club soda on the rocks with a twist of lemon.”
“Whatever happened to healthy, substantial drinks like scotch and water?” He leaned his elbows on the table and propped his chin on his fists as he teased her.
“I don’t like anything that tastes alcoholic. I like things that taste like punch or are very tart or made with ice cream.”
He grimaced. “What do you do when you need a good swift kick in the butt?”
“I take a vitamin pill.”
He laughed and saluted her with his highball glass, which had just arrived. After they had sipped their drinks, he said, “I’ve got to taste a spritzer. No one should go through life without having done that.”
He took the frosted wineglass out of her hand and deliberately turned it around to place his lips on the lipstick-smudged place hers had been. He watched her over the glass as he took a small drink. When he handed it back to her, he said softly, “Delicious.”
Kathleen’s stomach did a somersault, but she was unable to tear her eyes away from the power of his. He hadn’t been referring to the drink when he had made that one succinct description. He was reminding her that he had tasted her mouth thoroughly, knew it, recognized it and liked it.
She could have hugged the waiter when he returned to the table with the menus. “What will I have tonight?” She feigned interest in the bill of fare. Actually, she didn’t think she’d be able to eat a thing. Her heart seemed to have swollen in her chest and compressed her lungs until her breathing was little more than light panting.
“I already know,” Erik said, closing the menu decisively.
“What?” She laughed.
“Fried chicken. Only in the South can you get real fried chicken.”
“You should come to Atlanta sometime. I think it must be the fried chicken capital of the world.”
He watched her mouth as she spoke, and then raised his eyes to meet hers. “I will.” It was a promise, and again her heart did that erratic dance that she now knew from memory.
“What are you having?” he asked when the waiter came back with a pen poised over his tablet.
“The trout. Broiled, please. And I’d like some extra lemon wedges,” she said to the waiter.
After he left, Erik leaned across the table toward her once again. “Would you like another spritzer?”
“No, thank you. But order yourself another drink if you like.”
“No. I’m drunk enough as it is.” He reached for her hand, encircled her wrist with his strong fingers and brought it to his lips to press a fervent kiss against her pulse. “Mitsouko. Do you always smell so good?” His mouth mumbled the words against the back of her hand as his thumb stroked the sensitive palm in heart-melting rhythm. The question was rhetorical and needed no answer, so none was offered. “Tell me about you, Kathleen.”
“What do you want to know?” she asked breathlessly.
“Everything. Was it tough on you when you lost your parents?”
She hadn’t intended to, hadn’t even thought of it, but she reached out with her other hand and covered the masculine one that was holding hers. She stared at the clasped hands for a long while before she spoke.
“I wanted to die, too. I was angry. How could God do this to me? I had always been obedient, a good student, eaten all my vegetables, you know, the kind of things a kid thinks are exemplary.” She sighed. “I was spending the night with a friend because I had had a cold and Mother didn’t want me out in the boat. I didn’t even find out about the accident until the next morning, when my friend’s mother heard about it on the radio.”
Closing her eyes, she relived all the pain she had felt on that day. “I am almost twenty-six years old. I only lived with Mamma and Daddy half of my life, yet they are still so much a part of me,” she said softly. “Memories of them are more vivid than things that happened subsequent to their deaths.”
“You were put in an orphanage.”
“Yes.” She smiled gently. “I remember being angry at my parents’ friends, who said they were worried about me but wouldn’t ask me to live with them. They were all very kind. I realize that now. But then, I was bitter about the rotten deal I was getting out of life. I wasn’t too charitable toward anyone.”
“You were entitled to a little bitterness, I think.” He raised her hand and kissed it quickly, then asked, “Where did you go to school?”
“At the orphanage. It was a church-supported institution—how I hate that word! They had classes through the ninth grade. Then I went to public high school. That helped prepare me for living ‘on the outside.’ ”
“And college?”
“I had good enough grades to be offered a scholarship by benefactors of the orphanage, but I also worked in a dress shop near the campus to subsidize the scholarship.”
He smiled knowingly. “You don’t fool me, Ms. Haley. You worked so it wouldn’t look like you were taking charity.”
“Perhaps that was part of it,” she conceded shyly.
“Go on.”
“You know the rest. Or virtually all of it. After I graduated, I worked as a salesgirl in retail stores, gradually being promoted until I applied for the position at Mason’s two years ago.” Hurriedly, Kathleen switched the subject away from the job she had so recently given up. “What about your family? By your name, I take it you are of Scandinavian descent.”
“Yes, my father was Danish. He was first-generation American. His parents came over from Denmark when he was an infant. My grandfather was a watchsmith. My grandmother never even learned English. All I remember about her is her white hair pulled back into a tight bun and her home-baked cookies, which were the best I’ve yet to taste.”
“Maybe that’s because you were young,” Kathleen suggested with a smile.
“Maybe.”
“Your parents? What did your father do?”
“He was a hard man, determined. He worked his way through college, served in the war, and then came home and married my mother. He worked for Boeing in Seattle, where I grew up. He was a big, brawny guy, with a fierce temper. But I’ve seen him weep over a sentimental movie.”
“You speak of him in the past tense,” she commented gently.
“Yes. He died ten years ago. Mother, who is as petite and soft and timid as Dad was boisterous, still lives in the Northwest.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their food. Kathleen was surprised that she was able to eat, after all, and did unladylike justice to her plate. The dining room at the Crescent was reputed to combine good country cooking with elegant service. Erik complimented them on achieving that as he dunked yeast rolls into the rich natural gravy of his fried chicken, which he declared surpassed any other.
Kathleen declined his offer of dessert, but was persuaded to eat one of the remaining rolls dripping with rich, thick honey as they sipped their after-dinner coffee.
When Erik was presented with the bill, her suggestion that she pay for her half was met with a glowering look.
“But it was Edna’s idea that we come.”
“Ms. Haley, I’m all for equality between the sexes—to a point. Buying a lady her dinner is one of those points. I’ll pay the bill.”
She could tell by the strong set of his jaw and his firm tone of voice that the issue was closed.
“Where is the lounge with the dance floor?” Erik asked as they left the dining room and traversed the lobby.
“We don’t have to go there,” Kathleen protested quickly.
“Oh, yes, we do. Edna will want a full report, and I’m afraid I’d lose favor if I didn’t dance with you at least once.”
By the determined look on his face, Kathleen knew it was pointless to argue, so she said, “It’s downstairs.”
He ushered her down the broad staircase with the carved banister to the basement, where a quiet cocktail lounge had been hollowed out. It was an unsophisticated room, barely more than a tavern. Behind the bar, animated neon signs flashed the names of various beers. Few people were in the lounge on this weeknight, but there was a three-piece ensemble playing music in front of a tiny dance floor shrouded in darkness.
Unaffected by the small crowd and the fact that no one else was dancing, Erik took Kathleen’s hand and led her onto the floor, drawing her into the circle of his arms.
The group played slow ballads. They danced twice in the traditional way, though Erik’s arm around her back held her to him possessively.
On the third song, he raised her hands and placed them around his neck, putting both his arms around her waist. He dipped his head close to hers and whispered into her ear, “I like it better this way. It’s like making love to music.”
Kathleen’s breath was suspended for a moment when he drew her closer. His readiness to make love was apparent as he pressed against her. He nuzzled her hair with his nose, treating it to the sweet scent. His mouth brushed across her ear as he whispered her name. Then it came to rest on her lips, parted them and kissed her tenderly. “You feel so good against me. I love the way your body moves with mine. I love the way you look, and smell and taste.” His tongue made quick, darting forays into her mouth that made her cling to him in desperation, wanting more.
It was several long seconds before she realized the music had stopped and the trio was putting down its instruments to take a break. Kathleen pushed away from Erik shyly.
“You’d better get that hot little number home quick, buddy Looks to me like she’s primed and ready.”
The stranger’s intrusive words abruptly brought them back to earth.