Heart of Hurricane Page 8

  Wearily Althea turned out the bathroom light and climbed into bed. Somehow, she'd just have to make Ward understand that she was not interested.

  No. That wasn't exactly true, Althea corrected herself bleakly as she stared into the darkness. She was interested, all right. Too interested. She simply wasn't willing to pay the price.

  If only Ward weren't so ... so forceful, so dynamic, so . . . volatile. Maybe then . . .

  Althea sighed as she realized the futility of her thoughts. Then Ward wouldn't be Ward, and you probably wouldn't give him a second thought. Why was it that, no matter how smart they were, people always craved the very thing that was bad for them? she wondered crossly as she snuggled her face down into the pillow and determinedly closed her eyes.

  After a nearly sleepless night, Althea was awakened the next morning by a sharp rap on her door.

  "Wake up, Althea," Ward ordered. "Breakfast is here."

  Disoriented, Althea sat up and blinked several times. Her brain felt fuzzy and her eyes ached.

  "Althea, do you hear me?"

  "Yes. Yes, I'll be right there. Just give me a few minutes to get dressed."

  "Forget that. Your eggs will get cold. Just put your robe on and come eat."

  Groaning, Althea threw back the covers and searched for her slippers. When Ward used that tone there was no arguing with him. She made a fast trip to the bathroom, then, with quick, agitated movements, fumbled into her blue silk robe, ran a brush through her hair and headed resignedly for the door.

  Ward was already seated at the table, industriously buttering a hot biscuit. "Well, don't just stand there," he growled. "Come sit down. I'm not going to bite your head off, you know."

  Silently Althea obeyed. For a few minutes she busied herself with pouring their coffee and buttering a biscuit, then picked up a fork and began stirring the scrambled eggs around on her plate. Periodically she cast furtive glances at Ward, but it was impossible to tell from his impassive face exactly what kind of mood he was in.

  "You can quit looking at me like that," he said suddenly, making Althea jump. "I'm not about to pounce on you." He noted the guilty flush that ran up over her face and shook his head wryly. "Don't worry. I'll admit it's been a long time since it's happened to me, but I do recognize rejection when I see it. I don't think I'd care to risk it happening again anytime soon, so you're quite safe." And with that he picked up his knife and fork and applied himself to the plate of steaming sausage and eggs.

  At first Althea could hardly believe she had gotten off so easily. She'd expected an argument, had braced herself for it, but evidently she had gotten her message across the night before. Ward showed no sign of wanting to continue his pursuit. Still, Althea continued to eye him warily for a few minutes, but when Ward propped the morning newspaper in front of him and began to read while he ate, she relaxed.

  Althea ate her own breakfast slowly, surreptitiously studying him through her lashes. Ward's silky wine-colored robe was belted loosely at the waist, the lapels gaping open to expose a wide expanse of bronzed, hair-covered chest. His face was shadowed with dark stubble, and his hair was tousled, as though he had merely raked it back with his fingers. Rumpled and drowsy-eyed, his sharply chiseled features still bearing the marks of slumber, he looked endearingly human and vulnerable. Helplessly Althea's eyes fastened on the pulse that beat at the base of his throat, and her heart began to pound as she recalled kissing that spot only a few hours ago. She could almost taste the slight salty tang of his skin.

  Stop it, Althea! she scolded herself silently, jerking her eyes away. This is perfectly stupid! You're supposed to be trying to discourage the man, not drooling over him.

  Ward continued to read his paper. Except for grunting his thanks when she refilled his coffee cup, he didn't say another word throughout the rest of the meal. Wistfully, almost sadly, it occurred to Althea that, dressed as they were in their robes, sharing breakfast in comfortable silence, to an outsider they would probably appear the picture of domesticity and contentment.

  After breakfast they dressed and packed before attending another lengthy meeting with the Litchfields. It was late that afternoon when they finally boarded the company jet for their return to Houston. During the short flight Ward studied some papers he had brought with him. Althea stared out the window and wondered what was causing the dull ache in her chest.

  When they arrived in Houston, Ward insisted on driving her home, and she was too tired to object. Either he sensed her mood or he didn't feel any more like talking than she did, for they no sooner got under way than he slipped a cassette of classical guitar music into the car stereo and turned the volume up. Grateful, Althea laid her head back on the seat and closed her eyes.

  When he braked to a stop in her drive, Althea climbed from the car and reached for her case, but Ward was there before her. "I'll carry it in for you," he said tersely, and after one look at his set face, Althea didn't argue.

  The small lamp that was always left burning in the foyer glowed through the frosted-glass oval in the front door as they climbed the porch steps. After a few fumbling attempts Althea managed to insert the key in the ornate brass lock. She stepped inside and turned to wish Ward good night, but any hope she had that he would just hand over her case and leave was quickly squashed when he motioned toward the stairs.

  "Lead the way," he instructed.

  Ward's expression dared her to argue, and Althea opted for discretion. She had the distinct feeling that he was spoiling for a fight. There had been no mention of last night's encounter since that morning-at breakfast, and Ward had been brisk and businesslike all day, yet Althea felt a prickly sensation run up her spine as she climbed the ornate old stairs.

  They had barely reached the top when her phone started ringing. Hurriedly she unlocked the door and rushed inside to answer it. Ward followed more slowly.

  "Hello."

  "Have you got it yet?" the masculine voice snapped harshly in her ear, and Althea's shoulders drooped. Why was it that Bill Holland always managed to catch her when her emotions were at low ebb?

  "No. No, I don't," she said with a weary sigh. "I told you it might be weeks before I could get it for you."

  From the corner of her eye Althea could see Ward roaming slowly around the room, methodically noting everything, the white wicker furniture with its yellow-and-blue upholstery, the ornate "turn-of-the-century" Victorian pieces, the intricately carved woodwork, the soft, mellow colors of the oriental carpets covering the oak-plank floor, the lace curtains at the windows, all the furnishings that gave the room, and the house, its old-world charm.

  "And I told you I need it now. So you either cough up the money, girlie, or we'll see you in court. It's up to you."

  "I don't have it!" Althea shrilled urgently. "You're just going to have to be patient!"

  Becoming suddenly aware of the hysterical note in her voice, Althea looked up to see Ward watching her with interest. He'd taken her case into her bedroom and now stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed intently on her pale face. Shakily Althea drew a deep breath and turned away, cradling the phone close to her mouth. When she spoke again her voice had dropped several notches.

  "Look, Uncle Bill, I can't talk right now. But I'll do the best I can, I promise. I'll call you in a few days." Without giving him a chance to reply, she quickly replaced the receiver.

  The air was heavy with tension. Althea could feel Ward's eyes on her back. Pasting a false smile on her face, she turned. "Thank you for the ride and for bringing my case up," she said with forced cordiality.

  "What's wrong, Althea?"

  The question caught her off guard, and panic flickered across her face for a moment, but she masked it quickly. "Wrong? Why, nothing. Nothing at all."

  "Don't give me that." Ward walked slowly forward, his eyes fixed on her face. Stopping directly in front of her, he jerked his head toward the phone. "That call upset you. And now you're so tense you look as though you're about to
snap in two. What is it? Is someone giving you a hard time?"

  "No, of course not," Althea denied quickly. "You're imagining things. That was just my uncle. We were discussing a family matter, that's all."

  Very gently Ward reached out and cupped her face in his hand. She was quivering with tension and suppressed emotion, and she knew that he could feel the tremors that rippled through her, but she forced herself to stand still and meet his steady gaze.

  "Why won't you trust me, Althea?" he asked softly. "Why won't you let me near you? What are you afraid of?" His thumb smoothed back and forth over the hollow below her cheekbone as he studied her thoughtfully. "You want me, but you're afraid to let me into your life. Why?"

  The gently whispered questions made Althea feel strangely weepy. The warmth of Ward's hand seemed to sear her face. This close she could feel his moist breath feathering over her skin, and she longed to fling herself into his arms and sob out her troubles, but she didn't dare. One dominating male was more than enough to deal with. She certainly didn't need another in her life. Wordlessly she looked back at him, her eyes wide and troubled.

  When it became obvious that she was not going to answer, Ward's face hardened, and for a moment Althea feared that his temper was about to erupt, but finally he heaved a resigned sigh. "Okay, I won't press you," he said grudgingly. "But I'm warning you, Althea, I'm not giving up." Before she could guess his intention, he dropped a swift, hard kiss on her mouth, then turned and strode to the door. "I'll see you in the morning," he snapped tersely as he let himself out.

  ❧

  "Greg, will you turn that racket down!'' Althea yelled over the din of pulsating rock music. She stood in the middle of her bedroom, dressed in only a thigh-length terrycloth robe, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.

  Greg poked his head inside her door and grinned. "Sure, sis. If it's bothering you, I'll just switch to my earphones." He eyed her tense stance and shook his head. "Boy. You sure are uptight. If going out on a blind date upsets you this much, why don't you just call Judy and tell her you've changed your mind?"

  "I am not upset!" Althea denied tightly.

  "Okay, okay." Greg raised his hands in surrender at her vehement tone and backed away. "I'll be in my room if you need me."

  Regret flickered in Althea's eyes as she watched him saunter down the hall. Poor kid. He'd only just returned from the rig the night before for his two weeks of R&R, and already she was yelling at him like a shrew.

  Sighing heavily, Althea sank down onto the padded bench in front of her dressing table and began to apply her makeup. He was right, though, her nerves were shot, but not because of her date. She'd been a wreck ever since that trip to Dallas three weeks ago.

  Since then they had made two more trips, one with Martin and the other without, and on both Ward had behaved perfectly. Too perfectly. That was what made her nervous.

  He was cordial and attentive and went out of his way to draw her into conversations. She was always included in business lunches and dinners and he treated her with respect and dignity, but at the same time let it be known that she was very special to him. He smiled at her frequently, that warm, tender smile that did strange things to her insides, and when he wasn't too distracted by the pressures of business, he even made an effort to issue his orders in a gentler tone. Every day Althea arrived at the office to find fresh flowers on her desk.

  And every afternoon, before she left, Ward asked her out to dinner or dancing or to a play.

  Althea realized that in his own rather forceful way Ward was courting her, and she could not help but be touched, though she was careful not to let him know it. She didn't trust Ward when he turned on the charm.

  Charm was not a natural part of his makeup. It was a skill he had acquired, a tool he used to get his own way. In any case, the facade cracked every now and then. Ward was simply too impatient, too intense, too ruthlessly honest to play the role for long. Sometimes, especially when she politely refused all his invitations or when she smiled at another man, his temper would flare and briefly she would feel the bite of his caustic tongue.

  At first his lapses had given her hope that he was giving up the chase—but no longer. Whenever she encountered those sleepy brown eyes, they seemed to burn with some deep emotion, and though she tried to ignore him, she was well aware that he watched her constantly.

  And she wasn't the only one who'd noticed. Only yesterday Martin had commented on Ward's strange behavior. Remembering that scene, Althea sighed.

  Martin had been perched on the corner of her desk, regaling her with a funny story that had her almost in stitches, when Ward walked in. Althea had looked up and met the dark glitter of his eyes and her laughter had stopped instantly.

  "Did someone declare a holiday that I don't know about?" he'd questioned sarcastically.

  Martin turned, smiling easily. "'Morning, Ward. I was just telling Althea a joke," he explained without a trace of defensiveness.

  Ward wasn't in the least mollified. "When the two of you have sufficiently recovered, I suggest that you attend to some serious business." Face set, he strode into his office and slammed the door behind him.

  Martin let out a long, low whistle. "Whew! His fuse is getting shorter and shorter. If I were you, honey, I'd put the guy out of his misery before he explodes. We could all be injured in the fallout, you know."

  Surprise jolted through Althea, but she quickly lowered her eyes and busied herself, needlessly straightening the papers on her desk. "I don't know what you're talking about," she replied stiffly.

  "I'm talking about the fact that the man is hooked on you, but good. He looks at you the way a starving man looks at a feast."

  Martin's words sent a chill through Althea but she stubbornly maintained her air of skepticism. "It's just a passing thing," she dismissed indifferently. "You and I both know that Ward never stays interested in any one woman for long."

  "Ordinarily I'd agree with you, but something tells me that this time is different. In the past, I've seen a few women try to gain Ward's attention by playing hard to get, but he merely shrugged and passed on to the next lovely." Leaning over the desk, Martin placed a finger beneath Althea's chin, lifting her head up so that she was forced to look at him. His expression was tender but his eyes were laughing. "I happen to know for a fact that Ward hasn't gone near another woman since the Masons' party, the night you discarded your disguise." Martin's slow grin was pure devilment. "I do believe the man's smitten."

  "That's nonsense!" Althea scoffed weakly.

  "Okay, whatever you say," Martin said with patent disbelief as he straightened and headed for the door. "But just to play it safe, I think I'll give the two of you a wide berth for a while. Ward is not the most docile of men. When his restraint snaps, I don't want to be anywhere around."

  ❧

  Martin was right, Althea conceded despairingly as she reached for the mascara wand. Ward reminded her of a seething volcano about to erupt. She knew it was only a matter of time before his limited supply of patience ran out, and when that happened there would be another explosive confrontation. Althea shuddered delicately, dread settling over her like a lead cloak. Dear heaven! How she abhorred those emotionally wrenching scenes. There had been so many—too many—in her past, which was precisely why she had been working so hard to revive her social life. She would get the message across to him one way or another. Surely even Ward would not persist if she developed a relationship with another man.

  With that goal in mind, Althea had called most of her former escorts and let them know she was back in circulation. Several times, due to her erratic work schedule and long hours, she had had to meet her date at the appointed place, and on a couple of evenings she'd had to cancel at the last minute, but at least she was getting out more. Judy, who had been complaining that Althea was fast becoming a workaholic, had endorsed the plan wholeheartedly, even to the point of arranging this date tonight with one of Dan's pilot friends.

  With quick, smoot
h strokes, Althea applied a dusty-pink lipstick. Tilting her head to one side, she inspected her handiwork and sighed. Discouraging Ward wasn't the only reason she had engaged in this dating marathon. That night in Dallas, after slamming the door in Ward's face, she had spent several long hours confronting her feelings, and what she discovered had frightened her silly. She was falling in love with Ward Kingman. Despite his volatile temper, despite his dominating personality, despite his impatience, his curtness, his playboy reputation, despite all the qualities that made him so unsuitable for her—her heart was slowly, surely, becoming ensnared.

  But that doesn't mean you can't do something about it, Althea told her reflection angrily. Somewhere there had to be a man for her, a suitable man, someone easygoing and tender, someone who didn't raise her blood pressure to the boiling point in either anger or passion, someone who wanted the same calm, secure life she craved. If she searched long enough she'd find him, Althea told herself firmly.

  With a sigh, she stood up, went to the closet and took a lavender crepe dress from its hanger. She was just stepping into it when the doorbell rang.

  "Oh, darn," Althea muttered under her breath as she shimmied the clinging gown up over her hips. "Trust Judy to be early."

  Hurriedly she slid the narrow straps up onto her shoulders and reached around for the zipper. She yanked it upward, but when it reached her waist it stuck firm. With an angry groan Althea backed up to the mirror and craned her head around to see while she tried again. She plucked at the snagged material, then tugged on the metal tab, but it wouldn't budge. The doorbell sounded again.

  Grinding her teeth, Althea stalked out of the room and headed for the front door. It was pointless to wait for Greg to answer it. With those earphones in his ears he couldn't hear a clap of thunder. Holding the bodice of her dress against her with one hand, she reached out and snatched the door open.