Scarlet Woman. Gwynne Forster

on the back. “I’ll do that. You pack. See? I told you you might need me for something.”

      He had to get away from her before he did something foolish. “I…uh…there’s a phone out in the hallway.” He grabbed a suitcase from the closet in the foyer and headed for his bedroom without looking at her.

      “There’s a Delta Airlines flight at eleven-forty. I’ll drive you.”

      “I was going to drive and leave my car at the airport.”

      “And it probably wouldn’t be there when you got back.”

      He shrugged. “This is true, but if you drive me, how’ll I get home when I come back?”

      She didn’t look at him when she said, “You’ll call me, tell me when you’ll be back, and I’ll meet you. Simple as that.”

      He didn’t know her reasons, and he didn’t want to ask, because he wasn’t sure he had anything to give in return. “I can’t let you do this, Melinda.”

      “Why? You want an affidavit stating that you’re not obligated to me? Give me a pen and a piece of paper.”

      When he grabbed her shoulders, he surprised himself more than her. “It isn’t that I don’t trust you—”

      “What about my integrity? Do you believe in that? Do you?” Her lips trembled, and her eyes held a suspicious sheen.

      His fingers moved from her shoulders to her back and then gripped her waist. “Yes. Yes, damn it. Yes!”

      Her lips parted to take him in, and desire slammed into him, hot and furious and overpowering. The sound of her groans of sexual need shook his very foundation, and against his powerful will, he rose against her hard and hurting while she feasted on his tongue. He had to…Caught up in the fire she built in him, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and the other around her buttocks and lifted her to fit him. She straddled him, hooked her ankles at his back, and moved against him with a rhythm that sent hot needles of desire showering through his veins.

      “Melinda. Melinda!”

      “Huh?”

      He set her away from him as one would a pan of boiling lye. Then, realizing that he might have hurt her, he folded her in his arms and hugged her. Her breath came fast and hard like that of a marathon runner at the end of a twenty-six mile race, and he held her as he strove to regain his own equilibrium.

      After a few minutes, he trusted himself to speak. “Something’s happening here, and it…it doesn’t want to be controlled.” A half laugh tumbled out of him; he’d never been one to dodge responsibility, and when it came to fanning the fire between them, he was the guilty one.

      “I’d like to know what’s funny so I can laugh. It’s gotta be an improvement over what I feel.”

      She’d begged the question, so he had no choice but to ask, “What do you feel?”

      She looked at him with the expression of one staring at the unknown. “Need. Confusion. Loneliness. A lot of stuff that makes me feel bad.”

      He had almost relaxed when she said, “And I feel something for you that I shouldn’t, because you don’t want me to feel like this. But don’t worry—you’re as safe with me as a lion cub surrounded by a pride of lions.”

      He wasn’t sure he wanted all that security, but it wouldn’t hurt to have it while the coming eleven months revealed her future.

      Her father raised her to want only what was good for her, and though years had passed since she’d believed his every word, she conceded at the moment that she’d be better off if she’d never wanted Blake Hunter. But on the other hand, she was glad she hadn’t died without feeling what she experienced when he had her in his arms kissing and loving her.

      Get your mind on another level, girl, she told herself as she let him ponder her last words. “We’d better get started,” she said after minutes had passed and he hadn’t responded to her assurance as to his safety. “No. Wait a minute, is there anything in the refrigerator that will spoil? Any plants? Pets?”

      A frown clouded his face. Then he smiled, and she wondered if he’d done that intentionally to make her heart race and butterflies flit around in her stomach.

      “I forgot about the refrigerator.” He dumped the handful of fruits into the garbage disposal. “That’s it. I’m the only thing here that breathes. Come on.”

      He picked up his suitcase, took her hand, and walked to the door. “You’re a special person, Melinda. Very special.” He looked beyond her and spoke as if to himself. “And very dear.” She didn’t speak. How could she when she didn’t know what those three words meant? They walked to her car, and when he paused at the front passenger’s door, she handed him the car keys.

      “Since you’re apparently not a male chauvinist, why don’t you drive?”

      He stepped around to the driver’s side and accepted the keys. “You mean if I’d asked to drive, you would have objected?”

      “You got it.”

      “You think that means I’m not a chauvinist?”

      She got in and closed the door. “It’s a pretty good indication. But if you are, you’ll let me know. That’s an ailment a man can’t hide.”

      “Now wait a second. Who’s being a chauvinist?”

      “Not me, I was just stating a fact.”

      “That so? Do you know that much about men? I wouldn’t have thought it.”

      “Whoa. I didn’t realize a married woman—or a widow for that matter—was expected to account for such things.”

      He looked over his shoulder, moved onto Route 144, and set the car on Cruise. “And I didn’t ask you to, but you have to admit there’s a certain freshness, an innocence about you that one doesn’t associate with a woman who’s had almost five years of marriage. But maybe this isn’t the time to get into that.”

      How much did he know about her marriage to Prescott? “I’m not sure I follow.”

      His quick glance sent a chill through her. A man didn’t discuss his marriage with his attorney, did he?

      “You mean about the innocence? Could be it’s just the way you are with me. Whatever. I like it.”

      She folded her hands in her lap, stared down at them, and made herself relax as he turned into the drive leading to BWI airport. “No comment?” he asked.

      “Some other time. No point in getting into a deep discussion that we can’t finish.”

      A grin danced off his lips. “In that case, I’ll repeat those words the minute I get back here. Be prepared.”

      They walked into the terminal minutes before his flight was called. He put his ticket in the breast pocket of his jacket, took her hand, passed the security checkpoint, and reached the gate as boarding began.

      Blake dropped his suitcase on the floor and clasped both of her shoulders. “I’m never going to forget this, Melinda. Never. You can’t possibly know what your being with me these past couple of hours means to me. I’ll call you.”

      She hardly felt his kiss; it passed so quickly. But she recognized in it a new urgency. Or maybe it sprang from a deeper need. She didn’t know, and she was afraid to guess. She walked slowly back to her car thinking that she had no idea where in Alabama he was headed.