Against All Odds. Gwynne Forster

walked into Adam’s office the following morning with his new office manager, a forty-six-year-old man who had impeccable references. She entered his suite with her head high and defiance blazing across her face.

      “Good morning, Mr. Roundtree. I’ve got the perfect person for you. Adam Roundtree, this is Lester Harper.” Adam narrowed his eyes and glared at her for what seemed an interminable minute. Abruptly he extended his hand in a welcome to Lester.

      “Have a seat, and tell me about yourself.”

      “Well, Miss Grant said I’m just what you need, so I thought—”

      Adam interrupted, pulling rank, Melissa thought.

      “We’ll see about that,” Adam said, spreading his hands in exasperation. His lips tightened as he ground his teeth and looked Melissa in the eye. “If you’ll excuse us, please.”

      Her triumph dissolved into remorse as she realized that he’d practically ordered her to leave them alone. Shivers sprinted along her nerves when his twinkling eyes delivered an icy rebuke. She was teasing a tiger, she realized belatedly, and his whole demeanor told her that he wouldn’t be soothed until he got proper recompense. His gaze held her, refused to release her even when she struggled to look away. And she had no doubt of their message: retribution is mine was their promise.

      The day passed too slowly. He had to let her know what he thought of her smart trick, bringing him a man when she knew he would have preferred a woman or anyone less officious than Lester Harper. The man was bound to try lording it over Olivia, and Jason had winced at the sight of him. Clever, was she? Well, he’d see about that! He sighed heavily. She infuriated him—but, heaven help him, he wanted her.

      * * *

      She answered her door uneasily around seven thirty that evening, knowing intuitively that her caller was Adam. What had possessed her to toy with him, she asked herself, as she slipped the lock.

      “You aren’t surprised to see me?”

      “Not very.” Why tell him she’d known he’d come after her? When he stepped inside the door without waiting for an invitation, she wouldn’t let him see her eager anticipation of his next move, nor her erotic response to the danger and excitement that his determined look promised her. Goose bumps popped up on her arms, and she rubbed them frantically. He didn’t give her time to regroup.

      “Come here to me,” he growled as if he’d waited long enough. She thought she didn’t move, but she was in his arms, his fiery mouth moving over hers, possessively, unbelievably seductive. Her hands moved up to push at his chest, but instead they wound themselves around his strong, corded neck. She felt him growing against her just as he stepped back, though he didn’t release her.

      So he was holding back, was he? He’d fire her up, but he wouldn’t let her know how she affected him. Darn him, he wouldn’t play with her and do it with impunity. She pulled him to her and held him so tightly that he could release himself only if he hurt her. And she knew he wouldn’t consider doing that. She felt him then, all of him, and she gloried in his male strength, his heat and energy until his fire threatened to overwhelm her. Now it was he who wouldn’t let go, he who groaned while he spun her around in a vortex of passion, he who held the loving cup and tempted her to drink from it. And how she wanted that sip. But she couldn’t take the chance—there was so much at stake. And he didn’t intend to commit to her, he’d all but said it. It wasn’t Gilbert Lewis whom she was facing; that relationship had been child’s play. Adam’s gaze warned her that he intended to go all the way, and even with her nearsightedness, she couldn’t mistake the storm raging in his eyes.

      “I think we’re being reckless.” She spoke softly as if she could barely release the words. “Adam, there would be the devil to pay back home if my family knew what we’re doing.” She hoped her words didn’t make her appear as foolish to him as she did to herself.

      “We’re of age, Melissa.” He didn’t sound convincing, she noticed, sensing that his folks would also be furious. “And why do they have to know?” She moved back, farther away from him.

      “I refuse to have a secret, back door affair with you or any other man, Adam, and I’m surprised you’d want something like that. I wouldn’t have thought it your style.”

      His right index finger moved back and forth along his square jaw, a sure sign of frustration. “You’re right. I don’t want it. My one brief experience with a secret affair, if you could even call it an affair, was disastrous. But then I was only fifteen.” Her eyebrows shot up. He’d started early. When she was fifteen, she hardly knew what boys were for.

      They hadn’t moved from her foyer. “Come on in.” He followed as she glided into the living room.

      “Melissa, I’m relocating for a couple of months. That may cool things down between us, and if it does, I expect it will be for the best.” She couldn’t argue with that, nor could she understand why it pleased her that his heated look belied his words.

      “You’re right again,” she said. “It would be for the best. I think we ought to avoid each other so we don’t reopen those old family wounds, because I don’t want to stir up that mess.”

      “Neither do I.” He walked a few paces, turned around, and let her see the desire in his eyes. “But I want you.” A note of finality laced his tone.

      His words sent tremors racing through her, but she maintained her composure. “And you always get what you want?” she goaded.

      He shrugged. “Why should I want something and not get it if all that’s required is effort on my part? I go after what I want, Melissa. I work hard—I leave nothing to chance, and I get what I go after.”

      “This time you may get what you don’t want,” she told him, seeing in her mind’s eye the ugliness on their horizon.

      * * *

      Adam walked home oblivious to the light misty rain. The minute Melissa had opened her door, she had guessed his reason for being there, and her demeanor had become that of a defenseless person at the mercy of a Goliath. Not that he’d been taken in by that. She could defend herself with the best of them. But she’d parted her lips and squinted at him, and he’d lost it. Getting her to him had been the only thing he’d cared about. He weighed the chances of dashing safely across Broadway against the light, noted the speeding cabs, and decided to wait. Thinking about it now, he admitted that his reason for going to Melissa had nothing to do with the office manager. He’d needed to see her. His displeasure about Lester had been a weak excuse.

      Chapter 4

      Adam closed and locked his office door, spoke at length with Olivia, took the elevator down to the garage, got into his newly leased Jaguar, and headed for Beaver Ridge. He hadn’t told Melissa where he would spend the next two months or so, because he wanted to find out whether a complete break would have any effect on their feelings for each other. He couldn’t imagine that they’d lose interest though, because a mutual attraction as strong as theirs had to run its course. He loved to drive and had missed having a car, which he considered more of a nuisance than a convenience in New York, but he’d forgotten the frustration of driving bumper to bumper. After more than four hours in heavy traffic, he turned at last into Frederick Douglas Drive, the long roadway that marked the beginning of his family’s property.

      Wayne met him at the door of the imposing white Georgian house that Jacob Hayes had built for himself and his heirs sixty-five years earlier. Remodeled and modernized inside, it was home to Adam as no other place ever would be. He could close his eyes and see every stone in the huge, marble-capped living room fireplace. As a youth he’d slipped numerous times out of the room’s large back window that oversaw his mother’s rose garden and, as many times, the thorns had ripped his pants. He had loved the solitude that its many rooms assured him, and cherished the stolen fun he’d had with his brother when they secluded themselves in upstairs closets or the attic away from parental eyes. Coming home was a feeling like no other.

      *