After the teddy-bear picnic, rehearsals became a cat and mouse game for Hunter and Mattie. They took turns being the cat, each bold in pursuit. Sometimes Mattie, dressed in clothes that would have vamped old Ebenezer Scrooge, would pop into Hunter's dressing room, drape herself on the edge of his dressing table, and play the coquette.
Hunter didn't care what her motives were; he was always delighted and amused.
"Hunter," she said on one of those occasions, "if I were a brazen woman, I'd kidnap you and take you far, far away."
"Why, Mattie?"
"I'd use you for my amusement."
"Are we talking fun and games?"
"No. Puppet shows. I especially adore your bear scenes."
"I'm willing to do a bare scene with you any time. Your place or mine?"
"It's no challenge if you're willing. The chase is more fun than the catch."
"If you think that, Mattie, then it's been too long since you've seen my catch."
The cat had hastened from the mouse's dressing room.
Then there were the times when Hunter did the stalking. He would stop in the middle of a puppet show, pull Mattie onto the stage, and catch her up in the magical, fanciful world of puppeteering.
Or he would slip up behind her during a rehearsal break, turn her around, and kiss her passionately. Then he'd release her and say, "Just getting my day's quota of loving."
The rest of the benefit cast became accustomed to their scandalous antics. Some of them were amused, others were tolerant, and still others made bets about who would do the chasing at the next rehearsal.
Mattie kept telling herself that she believed in Hunter's treachery, but each time she saw him, she believed more and more in his integrity. He was always totally honest with her. He made public declarations of his intent. He never pretended to be anything except the fun-loving, carefree rake that he was. And in spite of his tarnished reputation, she learned to trust him. She knew to expect the unexpected from him, though in serious matters such as the benefit, he was dedicated, enthusiastic, and hard-working. In spite of the game he played with her, he put together a professional quality puppet show.
There was also the matter of his dream. She knew what it was like to dream. She also knew that too few people have the courage to pursue their dreams. Both she and Hunter had worked hard to make their career dreams come true. She admired him for that.
Still, she denied she was falling in love again. She told herself that her plan was working, that she could go back to Paris after the benefit, all her old scores settled, Hunter and the past finally put to rest.
Hunter knew better. Day by day he could sense the change in Mattie. He gauged her response to his kisses; he watched a blossoming of trust; he sensed the beginnings of forgiveness. Their time was coming. Soon.
Never one to sit back and wait, Hunter boldly carried out his campaign to win her. Every move he made was calculated. He knew when to be passionate and when to be tender. He knew when to be excessive and when to be steadfast. Mattie was the unfinished part of his dream, and nothing could stop him from fulfilling that dream.
o0o
Two days before the benefit concert. Hunter called Jackson, Mississippi.
"Hello." The voice at the other end of the line was lilting, cheerful, and every bit as beautiful as the woman it belonged to – Jessie Wentworth, heiress to the Wentworth Department stores, one of the biggest suppliers for Chadwick Toys.
"Jessie, this is your favorite toy maker."
"Hunter! You sound wonderful! What are you doing? When are you coming to see us?"
He grinned at his childhood friend's excited chatter. "Us? Does that mean you're still married to that psychology professor?"
"Absolutely. You want to hear a secret. Hunter?"
"We've always shared secrets, Jessie."
"Blake's still magic."
Hunter's laughter was pure joy. If love could triumph for those two, he decided, it could certainly be as kind to him and Mattie. "How are the children?"
"Perfect angels. Baby Jess said her first word yesterday. Dada. The way Blake acted, you'd have thought she'd quoted the Gettysburg Address. Your namesake is more like you every day. A little friend of his at nursery school called himself a daredevil, and Chad declared that he was the 'mos' devil.' We'd love to see you. Hunter."
"You will. Pack a bag, Jessie. I want you and Blake to fly out to Dallas. There's somebody I want you to meet."
"Is it a woman? Has the most eligible bachelor in all of Dallas finally been caught?"
"It's a woman. Mattie Houston."
"The jazz pianist?"
"The same."
"Hunter! You've been holding out on me."
"I'm going to marry her, Jessie. I gave my blessing to you and Blake. Now I want yours. Mattie and I are in a benefit concert Friday night. Can you come?"
"We’ll be on a plane tomorrow."
o0o
Mattie heard the music even before she opened her dressing room door. There was no mistaking the sound. She knew she would find music boxes. With her arms full of costumes and makeup, she nudged the door open with her hip and backed straight into Hunter.
He pulled her close. "If you keep this up, the concert will have to go on without its star."
She laughed. Nothing could daunt her tonight. She felt as if champagne were bubbling through her veins. Performances always did that to her. "If you don't let go, the star will have to perform in blue jeans. You're squashing my bugle beads."
He gave her one last squeeze, then let go. "Is that what they're called now?"
"You're crazy." She turned to hang up her clothes, and found herself surrounded by gardenias. They were everywhere—in baskets hanging from the ceiling, in vases on the dressing table, in cellophane wrappers on the floor. And among the gardenias, the carrousel music boxes spun round and round, tinkling their magic tunes.
The smile started in her heart and spread to her lips. She lifted her eyes to Hunter's face. "You did this."
"Yes."
"For old time's sake, Hunter?"
"No." He cupped her face. "For love's sake, Mattie. I love you."
He kissed her swiftly. It was over before she had time to gather her scattered wits.
"Break a leg, Mattie," he said. Then he was gone.
She stared at the closed door without really seeing it. Hunter filled her vision, arrogant, bold, witty, charming, and impossibly handsome in his tuxedo. His words echoed in her mind. I love you, I love you, I love you.
She sank down on her knees and buried her face in a bouquet of gardenias. "It can't be true," she whispered. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way."
The sweet perfume of the flowers filled her senses, and Hunter filled her heart. All of her carefully laid plans came crashing down, and she knew she'd been caught in the web of her own deceit. She'd flirted with him, thrown herself at him, until she finally got what she wanted. He'd fallen in love.
She lifted her head, fighting back the tears. What a fine scheme it had been. She'd have her revenge by breaking his heart. But she hadn't figured on her own emotions. She hadn't allowed for the irresistible pull of first love. And now not one heart would be broken, but two. The first time around she'd given her love to a reckless young dreamer, and the second time around she'd given it to a faithless womanizer.
Life was full of small ironies.
The tap on her door brought her out of her reverie. "Twenty minutes to curtain, Mattie," Jo Ann called.
With the self-control befitting her position as queen of jazz, Mattie put her problems aside and readied herself for the concert. She swept her hair into an elegant French twist, made up her face with expert swiftness, and zipped into a tight-fitting, champagne-colored beaded evening gown.
She sparkled when she walked onstage. Even before she hit the first note, the audience was enthralled. As the glorious sounds of Mattie's jazz filled the auditorium, not a single person knew the struggle that was going on in her heart.
o0o
After the concert, Mattie signed autographs until Jo Ann rescued her.
"You were brilliant, Mattie." Jo Ann deftly cut a path through the crush of people. "But we have one more show to go. I don't want you exhausted before tomorrow's matinee."
They finally escaped the crowd and entered the dimly lit hallway backstage. Mattie stopped outside her dressing room door.
"Don't worry, Jo Ann," she said. "I’ll be in fine form tomorrow."
Jo Ann nodded and hurried off.
A deep voice spoke from the shadows. "You always are in fine form, Mattie. I'm especially fond of your form in that dress. "
Hunter was leaning against the doorway to his dressing room. As he walked toward her Mattie thought she'd never seen a man wear a tuxedo with such flamboyance and style. She was so mesmerized by him that she didn't notice the man and woman with him.
She covered her attraction by resorting to game playing. "You're not so bad yourself. You look good enough to eat, as a matter of fact." She put her hand on the doorknob and smiled at him over her shoulder. "And I plan to."
"Promises, promises, Mattie."
"Have we come at a bad time, Hunter?" The voice was beautiful, musical, and definitely feminine.
Mattie whirled around. The woman standing beside Hunter had to be a model. Those cheekbones and that black silk hair made her eyes look like sparkling green gems. A savage burst of jealousy ripped through Mattie. Why did he have to flaunt his women in her face? Especially after that recent declaration of love. He was as insincere as a cat in a bird sanctuary. And just as dangerous.
She opened her mouth to vent her rage. Fortunately, a man with golden hair stepped out of the shadows and put his arms around the all-too gorgeous woman.
"My wife and I loved your music, Miss Houston," the blond man said. "Hunter had told us about you, of course, and we've heard some of your recordings. But nothing had prepared us for your performance. You were electrifying."
Mattie barely heard a word he said after "wife." She would be forever grateful to him for speaking. Otherwise she might have committed murder right there on the spot.
She said, "Thank you." Or at least she thought she did. Hunter's grin was so wide and her legs were so weak with relief that she wasn't sure what she said.
"Mattie." Hunter said, "I want you to meet my dear friend, Jessie Wentworth, and her husband, Dr. Blake Montgomery."
Smiling, the stunning Jessie leaned toward Mattie. "Hunter grouched for a year because I kept my maiden name, but I've finally educated him in the ways of modern marriage. Fortunately, my husband wasn't so hard to convince. He knew from the beginning he was marrying a willful woman."
Mattie felt an immediate kinship with the woman she'd so recently wanted to murder. She glanced from Jessie to Blake Montgomery. Judging from the expression on his face, Mattie guessed he would have approved of anything his wife wanted.
"I'm delighted to meet both of you," she said. "Won't you come into my dressing room? It's a bit crowded, but it's better than standing in this dark hall."
"You don't know what you're asking, Mattie," Hunter said. "If Jessie ever gets you cornered in there, she'll spend three hours talking about her children."
Jessie laughed. "I've heard you wax eloquent on the subject, Hunter. Especially about your namesake."
"Blake Chadwick Montgomery. Now, there's a kid who's worth talking about." He grinned. "Remind me to tell you about him sometime, Mattie. He has the finest pitching arm east of the Mississippi. Besides that, he has my brilliance and my good looks. He even has my charm."
"And your modesty," Blake added. "Don't mind these two, Miss Houston. When they get together, they're irrepressible."
"Call me Mattie." She liked these people. Immensely. She liked their friendliness and their warmth, and she admired the obvious love they had for each other. But she liked them most for the way Hunter was with them, smiling and relaxed and perfectly content to talk about children. No, not just content, she corrected herself. Eager. Proud. That streak of domesticity surprised her, especially in view of his playboy's reputation. The last ten years he certainly hadn't behaved like a man interested in having a family. There had even been a scandal, a paternity suit. She'd always wondered whether the child was his.
Jessie linked her arm through Mattie's. "I'll go in and help you change. Hunter has planned a late dinner for all of us, and if we don't hurry I’ll soon be eating the hall carpet. Being pregnant does that to me."
Hunter let out a whoop and scooped Jessie into his arms. "You're pregnant? Why didn't you two tell me?" He whirled Jessie before setting her back on her feet, then he clapped Blake on the back. "I envy you, old man."
Jessie patted Hunter's cheek. "Your time will come, friend," she said softly. Then she whisked Mattie into the dressing room.
“Now, tell me how you met Hunter, and don’t leave out a single detail.”
Retelling the story, Mattie could almost believe that her feelings for him had never changed.
o0o
Dinner was a lovely affair. Dallas was spread out below them, neon billboards flashing, street lights stretching for miles, gaudy and bright and beckoning, pulsing with a kind of raw excitement that only Texas can generate. Inside the restaurant, the foursome discovered how much they had in common. They laughed at Hunter's wit and argued good-naturedly about Blake's philosophy. They talked of music and art and toys and happiness. They discussed merchandising and politics and travel.
And all the while, Hunter and Mattie watched their two companions. Mattie saw the tender glances Blake gave his wife, and she felt envy. Hunter watched the way Jessie's hand kept stealing across the table to nestle in Blake's, and he felt deprivation. Mattie noticed how Blake's eyes lit up every time he looked at Jessie, and she longed to feel that loved. Hunter saw that Jessie glowed with contentment, and he was determined to put that same glow on the face of his Mattie.
o0o
After they had gone their separate ways—Mattie to her house, Hunter and his guests to his—her feeling persisted that something precious was missing from her life.
She tiptoed into Papa's bedroom and gazed at the sleeping man. He looked so fragile in his sleep, his hair beginning to thin and his hands networked with delicate blue veins. He was all she had. And he was so old.
She suddenly had a vision of her future, a vista of empty years stretching out before her, endless and lonely, with nothing but her music to stand between her and a sometimes cruel world.
Bitterness rose in her. "Why did you do this to us, Hunter?"
She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until Papa stirred.
"Mattie? Is that you, honey?"
She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. "It's me, Papa. I didn't mean to wake you."
He sat up and propped himself against the headboard. Awake, he was once more the vital grandfather Mattie adored.
"Didn't mean to fall asleep. How was the concert?"
"It was marvelous. You're going to enjoy the matinee."
"I know I will. Are you going to play my favorite song, Our Love Is Here to Stay?"
"Yes. Why do you love that song so much, Papa?"
"It expresses what your grandmother and I had. I wish you could have known her. My Mattie was something special. You're a lot like her, you know. Independent and spicy and beautiful. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. And I still miss her."
"I wish I could have known her, too, Papa. I wish I could have seen the two of you together. Daddy and Mother never expressed their love openly. I sometimes wonder if they even loved each other."
"William worshiped your mother. You, too. You were the child of that love, and don't you forget it, Mattie."
"And my mother..." She left the sentence hanging. She felt guilty for probing. Her mother had been a special kind of woman, intense and high-strung and totally dedicated to her profession. But she had also been gay and lively and charming. Especially charming. Love welled up in her as she remembered her mother's charisma. Beside that glamorous appeal, Victoria's casual flirtations seemed insignificant, harmless manifestations of her exuberant spirit. Her aversion to loving touches, small hugs, and little pats on the cheek paled to nothingness. Mattie was lucky to have had such a wonderful mother.
"Your mother was. . . different, Mattie. People have various ways of showing how they feel." He squeezed her hand. "You're not like her. Not even remotely. Be yourself, Mattie."
"Thanks." She leaned over and kissed him. "Good night, Papa."
After she left, Phillip Houston lay in the darkness and cursed Victoria Houston.
o0o
Phillip Houston and Mickey Langston sat in the front row of the concert hall. Mattie s rendition of Our Love Is Here to Stay sent chills up the spines of the crowd.
"That's my granddaughter." Phillip's loud whisper carried three rows back.
Several people loudly shushed him.
"Wait'll you get a gander at my great nephew." Uncle Mickey's whisper was equally as indiscreet.
More people hissed at him to be quiet.
"He's fine, all right," Phillip answered. "He's nearly good enough for my Mattie." His proud whisper rose another decibel.
Again, he was impatiently shushed.
"Bunch of sourpusses," Uncle Mickey declared.
"They obviously don't know who we are," Phillip Houston said.
After the concert was over, everybody knew who they were. They proclaimed it loud and long, to anyone who would listen. By the time Mattie and Hunter had made their way back to the front of the hall, the lively gentlemen were signing autographs.
"They're having so much fun, I almost hate to interrupt them," Hunter said. "Maybe we should sneak into our dressing rooms and let them have their moment of glory."
"Don't you dare, Hunter Chadwick. This is Papa's big moment. Watch." She strolled through the crowd until she was standing directly in front of Phillip, then she gave him a huge bear hug. "Papa! I'm so glad you came."
Phillip beamed at the crowd. "See. I told you she's my granddaughter."
Hunter joined them while the crowd laughed and vied for a place near the great jazz pianist. Some of them came close enough to touch her, others stood back and gazed in open-mouthed awe, and still others tried to satisfy their curiosity with questions.
"How long will you be in Dallas, Miss Houston? I've heard you're moving here."
"I'm going home to Paris day after tomorrow," Mattie said. The thought made her sad.
"Are you really engaged to that Russian prince?"
"Not yet," she said. She supposed a little white lie wouldn't hurt.
"Do you dye your hair?"
"No." She laughed at that one.
"I've heard you're in love with a Texan. Is that true?"
Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to Hunter's. "I don't have time for love," she said.
The crowd gradually dispersed. Mattie said good-bye to Papa and Uncle Mickey, then escaped to her dressing room. She leaned against the door, thankful to be away from the curious crowd and even more thankful to be away from Hunter's probing eyes.
Slowly she took the pins from her hair, then raked her fingers through the tumbled mass. She felt drained of energy, sapped of strength. It was just the usual letdown after a performance, she told herself. Certainly one man with sexy black eyes and a sometime-teddy-bear personality couldn't be the cause. She wondered if she'd made a mistake after dinner last night, agreeing to join Hunter at his lakeshore condominium for a little rest and relaxation after the performance today. How could an afternoon and evening with Hunter be restful and relaxing?
Someone tapped on her door just as she was reaching for the zipper on her dress.
"Come in," she called.
"I'll help you with that." Hunter was through the door and already unzipping her beaded gown before she could protest. "I think I’ll take this as a permanent job."
He slowly slid the zipper down, running his hands along her bare back, making an erotic experience of the simple task. Mattie studied their reflections in the dressing table mirror. They looked like any ordinary romantic couple, young, attractive, almost made for each other. It was a pity she couldn't believe the mirror, but it showed only the facade.
Hunter's lips nuzzled her neck as he slid the dress down her shoulders. She caught it before her breasts were exposed.
"Thanks, Hunter. I can take it from here."
He ignored her. "As I said, this is going to be a permanent job. I plan to make your bugle beads my personal business." His eyes devoured her as he brushed her hands aside and lowered the gown to her waist. "And I don't plan to share them with anybody. Especially not that damn Russian prince."
"That Russian prince story was blown out of proportion by the newspapers.” Somehow it seemed necessary to set the record straight. At least about that particular man. "We were never more than good friends."
Hunter gripped her shoulders. "Is that true, Mattie? It's important to me."
"It's true."
They stood silently, their eyes locked, watching and waiting for some sign, a signal that would have bridged the gap between them. In that moment of truth they might have crossed the chasm of misunderstanding, but Hunter made a fatal mistake: He revealed his private hell.
"One down and at least fifteen to go." he said.
His words were the red flag, and Mattie became the bull. Her head snapped back.
"How dare you!" She jerked herself free. Her hands shook as she pulled her gown over her bare breasts. "You're a fine one to talk about numbers. You've been in and out of every bed in Dallas. How dare you keep count of my lovers!"
"Mattie, I'm sorry." He moved toward her.
"Stop right there."
He kept coming. One more step and she was back in his arms. He held her so tightly, she could barely breathe.
"I admit to being a hypocrite. I admit to having double standards. But is that so wrong? A part of me still wants you to be the sweet innocent I fell in love with." He pulled her head down onto his shoulder and buried his face in her hair. "I love you, Mattie, just the way you are. I want you. No matter what."
Mattie fought against her feelings of tenderness. She denied her feelings of love. With great determination she held on to her rage. And out of that rage came the courage finally to settle her old score.
She lifted her head and looked up at him. "So you want me in spite of my fifteen lovers, do you? How would you like to be number sixteen?"
Gazing into her ice-green eyes, Hunter cursed himself. He'd have given anything in the world to take back his words, but it was no use. They'd already been said. The wedge had been driven between them once more. The trust that had been blossoming between them was crushed under the harsh blow of reality. Once more he was forced to take Mattie on her terms.
"You're on," he said grimly. "But be damned sure you mean it, because this time there won't be any back trouble to bail you out. Be ready to leave in fifteen minutes."
He stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
"I mean it, Hunter," she said to the closed door. "You'll rue the day you ever laid eyes on Mattie Houston."
She jerked off her beaded gown and quickly dressed in peach-colored linen slacks and a matching silk blouse. She crammed her gown and makeup into her bag and left. Her heels tapped an angry staccato as she marched down the hall to Hunter's dressing room. Without knocking, she shoved open the door.
"How does ten minutes suit you, Hunter?"
He was wearing nothing except his tuxedo pants. "Fine, Mattie. Have a seat. The suspenders and cummerbund take longer than your dress." He unzipped his pants and stepped out of them.
She pretended not to be impressed by him in his jockey shorts, but her eyes kept straying. And darned the luck, he would have to notice.
"See anything you like, Mattie?"
She licked her lips, certain he’d noticed that, too.
"I never did trust a man who wore jockey shorts," she said.
"It doesn't matter. Trust seems to be in short supply between us."
"We have lust. That will suffice."
"For the time being."
She decided to let that remark pass.
He finished dressing and took her arm. "Let's go."
He marched her resolutely down the hall and into the parking lot. There he threw their bags into the trunk of his car, then pulled out onto the street. Mattie stared straight ahead, staunchly maintaining her attitude of not caring. Her chest was tight, and she felt as if there were no air left in the world to breathe.
The late afternoon sun burned down on Dallas, scorching the asphalt streets until the heat seemed to rise up and smother the travelers. Even the air conditioning in the car couldn't dispel the suffocating sensation.
Mattie longed for Paris. She longed for the Champs Elysees and the Arc de Triomphe. She longed for the fountains and flowers and bustle of busy people who didn't care whether she'd had fifteen lovers or none.
Slanting her eyes toward Hunter, she stole a look at him. He might have been one of the stone statues in the Place de la Concorde, remote and cold. His expression froze her heart, and she shivered.
"Cold, Mattie? I’ll turn on the heat."
She was surprised he'd noticed. "Save the heat for the bedroom."
His jaw tightened. Handling the car as if it were an angry stallion, he whipped down an exit ramp. Mattie saw that they were headed east, toward Ray Hubbard Lake and Hunter's condominium, just as they'd planned the night before.
She wanted to yell, Stop the car and let me out. She wanted to scream, I take it all back. But it was too late. The car ate up the miles as Hunter ignored speed limits in his single-minded determination to reach his destination.
In grim silence they arrived at his condominium on the lake.
"This is it," he said. "If you can restrain yourself that long, I’ll unload the bags and we can get a bite to eat."
She clenched her fists. "Fine. Making you number sixteen is not at the top of my list of my favorite things to do."
Some small voice of sanity seemed to penetrate his consciousness.
"Then why are you doing it?" he asked.
She saw the change in him, noticed the softening of his face. It was almost as if he were offering her a way out. Almost, but not quite.
"It's been a long time since Paris," she said, "and I'm a woman with an appetite." She got out of the car and slammed the door. Looking at him across the top of the Maserati, she added, "Lead on, Hunter."
He stomped around to the back of the car and took out the luggage. He wanted to tell her to stop it, but couldn't. All this was his fault anyway. He was the one who had ruined a perfectly good weekend by bringing up the subject of her lovers. He had planned this weekend so carefully. He had meant it to be a time of love and healing. One careless remark had changed it into another of their pitched battles.
Neither of them noticed the elegance of his apartment, all open spaces and gleaming glass and chrome tables and plush modern furniture. Nor did they notice the way the sun seemed to beam a benediction through the enormous skylight and the bank of windows facing the lake. They were too busy going through their separate hells.
Hunter dumped the bags in one of the bedrooms, then went to the kitchen. Mattie sat stiffly on the sofa while he threw together peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When he was finished he leaned across the bar to call her.
The sight of her sitting there, looking so stiff and remote and somehow vulnerable, ripped at his gut. He wanted to call the whole thing off and start over, but it was too late.
"Food's ready, Mattie."
She walked toward him, moving as if she might break at every step. Holding her back very straight, she sat on the edge of her chair and bit into a sandwich. Hunter watched every move she made.
"Aren't you going to eat, too?" she asked.
"No."
She was acutely aware that he wasn't going to make this easy for her. She thought of all the narrow escapes she'd had, all the windows she climbed out of, all the apartments she had fled in the middle of the night. This time, though, there would be no escape. Hunter was the kind of man who got exactly what he wanted.
The silence thundered around them.
"I hate peanut butter." The sound of her own voice was small comfort in the agony of defeat that surrounded her. At this point it didn't matter that she would sleep in Hunter's bed and then leave for Paris. It didn't matter that she might leave him with a broken heart again. It didn't matter that she might make him pay for the past. What mattered was the crushing defeat of coming so close to building something beautiful on the ashes of the past, only to have it torn away by a few angry words.
They were careless people after all, she and Hunter. Love was such a fragile thing, and they didn't know how to treat it with care. She had the frightening realization that she was reliving Victoria's life. Now she was the one seeking to find meaning through casual liaisons. Except that Hunter wasn't casual. He was so much a part of her that she felt as if she were lacerating herself.
She put her half-eaten sandwich on the plate. Now was not the time for regrets. Hunter was watching her with that look of pure sex in his eyes, and she had the rest of the day and tomorrow before she returned to Paris. She stood up.
"Which bedroom, Hunter?"
"This way." He took her elbow and led her down the hall.
In the bedroom she turned her back to him, stripped off her blouse, and threw it across a chair. She felt his eyes on her back. Turning around, she gave him a cold stare. He was leaning against the doorframe.
"Aren't you coming in?" she asked.
"You've done nothing to make me want to come in, Mattie. For a practiced hoyden, your style lacks finesse."
She flew across the room and struck his chest with her fists. He caught her wrists. "I thought this was what you wanted."
She kicked his shin. "Let go of me."
He held her fast. "Are you trying to tell me you've changed your mind? Are you trying to say this is not the way you want us to be, cold and calculating and vengeful?"
"Turn me loose." She felt her breath whoosh out as he scooped her into his arms and held her tightly against his chest. He kicked the door shut, then stalked across the room and dumped her unceremoniously onto the bed. Then she was crushed beneath his weight.
"I don't intend to let you go, Mattie. I've already told you that. We can have this any way you want it—your way or mine."
"And what is yours, Hunter? To get some helpless woman pregnant and deny the child?"
His eyes went as black as doom. "You know about the paternity suit." It was not a question.
"It was headline news."
"Trumped-up garbage always is." He shifted himself off her, rolling onto his side and pinning her down with his legs.
She struggled to rise.
"You're not going anywhere until you hear the truth, Mattie. I think it's high time there was truth between us."
"Save your breath, Hunter. You lied to me ten years ago. I have no reason to believe anything you say is the truth."
"We’ll let the past go for now. It's the present I want to set straight. Let's level with each other about our reputations."
"My fifteen lovers, you mean?"
"Dammit! Forget that remark. I don't care if you've had fifteen lovers or fifteen hundred. I'm still going to marry you."
"I won't be another of your playthings, Hunter."
"Do you want to know how many lovers I've had in the last ten years, Mattie?"
She covered her ears and shut her eyes. "No!"
"You're going to hear the truth whether you want to or not." He peeled her hands away from her ears. "I've had two. In all the years you've been gone, I've found solace with only two women. And they were damned poor substitutes for you."
In spite of herself, she was interested. "I saw pictures in the society pages, Hunter. Do you deny all those others?"
"Yes. They were merely social climbers I kept happy with a kiss on the lips and a pat on the butt."
"And what about the child, Hunter? Do you also deny your own child?"
"I have no child. When Andrea brought the paternity suit against me, I almost wished it were mine. But it wasn't true. We'd been lovers, all right. For six months. But Dad's investigators were thorough. They discovered that Andrea hadn't been faithful. She had a little something going on the side. A night club manager. He'd moved in the month I was away on business. The time of conception wasn't right for me to have been the father. Also, there have been advances made in methods of testing for paternity. The blood tests proved beyond a doubt that he was the father. Andrea and Wayne both knew that. They saw opportunity in the form of the Chadwick bank account."
Hunter caught her face between his hands. "Open your eyes and look at me, Mattie."
She opened one eye, then shut it. "I don't care, Hunter."
"Yes, you do." His hands became gentle as he caressed her face. "Your skin is clammy, Mattie. There's no need to be afraid."
"I'm not afraid."
"I think you are. Why?"
Her eyes flew open. "Because I don't want you to be fine and good and noble. I want you to be a callous rake so I can hate you."
"You don't hate me, do you, Mattie?"
"No," she whispered. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Heaven help me. Hunter, I've fallen in love with you again."
The sunshine of his smile lit up the room.
"That's all I need to know, Mattie. That you love me."
She bit her lip as indecision ripped at her. "I'm not ready for this, Hunter. In spite of what you've said, I can't let go of my old feelings so easily."
"I won't hurt you. I’ll never hurt you again." His expression was unbearably tender as he looked down at her. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead, stroked her cheeks, traced her lips. "There will be no more games between us." He sat up, pulling her with him. "Put on your blouse, Mattie."
"Why?"
"I'm taking you out for a proper dinner. Candlelight and violins and waiters who fall in the soup trying to be helpful. And while we're there you can talk of anything you please. Or not talk at all, if that pleases you."
"And afterward?"
"We’ll come back here and start all over again. Only this time, there'll be nothing between us except the truth."