After the Loving. Gwynne Forster

nobody talking this morning?” Henry asked.

      “I’m eating,” Drake said. “You knocked yourself out with these biscuits, Henry. I imagine Telford would put away half a dozen of ’em.”

      That was the old man’s joy in life, Velma realized, when he smiled and passed the plate of biscuits to Russ. “You ain’t eating much, either. Alexis found some special flour, and it’s right good, if I do say so myself.”

      When she glanced at Russ, her heart skittered in her chest. The expression on his face, open and—there was no other word for it—adoring as he gazed at her, shook her to the core. She tried to shift her glance, but his eyes, dark and slumberous, trapped her. From their silence, she realized that Henry and Drake watched them and, with effort, she lowered her gaze. But he had stirred her as thoroughly as a spinning bottle mixes what it contains.

      She sought safety in the bowl of fruit before her, but the spoonful she intended for her mouth dropped onto her lap. “Ex…cuse me, please.” She pushed back her chair and, forcing herself to walk rather than run as she wanted to do, headed for the stairs. Nobody was going to affect her that way with just a look, robbing her of her aplomb, of the control of her emotions. Nobody, she vowed. Her foot had barely touched the bottom stair when she felt his hand on her arm. She whirled around and into his arms.

      “Russ. Please.” The feel of his hands through the silk of her caftan, of her breast beaded and aching against his hard chest caused her breathing to quicken.

      He stared down at her. “Why didn’t you eat a decent breakfast?”

      “That’s not why you’re here,” she said, refusing to allow him the upper hand and hating her shortened breath and the rapid rise and fall of her bosom.

      “You’re right. It’s not. I’m here for the same reason that you bolted from the table.”

      “I spilled food on my dress, and—”

      “And we both know why. Did you wear it because I said I didn’t like it?”

      “Of course not. I didn’t bring any other kind of clothes.”

      His Adam’s apple bobbed furiously, his eyes—dark and long lashed—seemed to drag her into him, filling her head with dangerous ideas. If only he would ask no questions, but simply take her to his bed and love her until she couldn’t move!

      As if he read her thoughts, pure sexual hunger blazed in the stormy orbs that his eyes had become. He held her closer.

      “No matter what I want and how badly I want it, I keep my counsel.”

      Anger diluted the desire that raged in her. “Sure. You want me on the terms that you decide. If you would kindly communicate those terms to me, I’d tell you where you stand.”

      “I know where I stand, and so do you.” As he continued to gaze at her, she could see a change in his demeanor, a softening in him. “Can’t you find some pants and a sweater? I thought we might go down to the warehouse. I need to check supplies.”

      “On Sunday?”

      “It’s the only day no one’s down there.”

      “Sorry, but this is all I brought along. Don’t try to make me into what I’m not, Russ. I don’t look right in tight-fitting clothes, so I don’t wear them. Case closed.”

      “Nonsense. You looked terrific in that dress you wore last night.”

      “And you need glasses.”

      The daggers from his gaze sent pain piercing through her. “That’s the second time in less than twenty-four hours that you told me I don’t know my own mind. See you.” His shoulder brushed her as he dashed past her up the stairs, and she heard his bedroom door close with a louder than usual or necessary bang.

      The remainder of her breakfast forgotten, Velma leaned against the railing for a minute, thinking that if she hadn’t promised to look after Tara and if she didn’t want to investigate property in Baltimore, she’d go home.

      “You could have him eating out of your hand. What’s wrong?”

      Her head snapped up. “I don’t know, Drake. One minute, he’s wonderful. The next, I’ll say or do something that turns him off.”

      He regarded her intently. “And that happened last night as well as a minute ago. Right?”

      She nodded.

      “Then figure out what it is, and don’t do it. He’s straight, Velma. I told you that.”

      “I know he is. It isn’t Russ—it’s me. He sees me differently from the way I see myself, but I’m changing that.”

      He patted her shoulder. “See that you do. And make it up to Henry. Nobody ignores Henry’s biscuits unless they want to eat cabbage stew.”

      “Thanks, Drake.” She thought for a second. “Why are you…encouraging me? Why are you telling me this?”

      “I know my brother. He rarely extends himself to people, and we’ve all known from the time the two of you met that you were special to him. And your being Alexis’s sister has nothing to do with it. If anything, it’s a strike against you. Russ is a strong man. If he makes up his mind that nothing should happen between the two of you, he won’t change it.” He started up the stairs, turned and walked back to her. “I want my brothers to be happy. Whatever works for them, works for me. You understand that?”

      “I could use a brother like you,” she said, and he treated her to his celebrated charisma with a wide grin.

      “Get busy. I just might be one of these days.”

      Alexis didn’t know how fortunate she was to belong to the Harrington family, a part of it, and loved by every person in it. She went up to her room, took her appointments calendar and cellular phone out of her briefcase with the intention of working. She had left the two weeks following her sister’s wedding free of engagements so that she could take care of Tara while her sister and brother-in-law enjoyed their honeymoon. But with an agenda of her own, Tara got up early, dressed herself and, with Henry’s blessings, left around eight-thirty that morning with Grant Roundtree and his father, Adam, to spend the day with them at the Beaver Ridge Roundtree estate twelve miles away.

      Velma began work on the menu for the annual gala and awards dinner of the Society of Environmentalists that would be convened at the Ernest N. Morial Convention Center in New Orleans the first of February. Planning a gala dinner in the food capital of the United States was no cinch, but she knew she could pull it off. Problem was, she needed a test kitchen and a place to store supplies. And she needed office help. The business had become so big that she could no longer manage it with her computer and cell phone.

      Five hours later, she drank her fifth glass of water trying to appease her hunger. “I don’t care,” she told herself. “One day, he’ll say I’m nice-looking and mean it.”

      Russ tempered his urge to slam his bedroom door with all his might. He had gone to her to comfort her, to let her know that he cared, but he was damned if he would settle for less than he knew he deserved. He needed a woman who stood up to him as an equal, who believed him if he said that to him she was the Venus de Milo incarnate. He snapped his finger. Her preoccupation with the way she looked began with the wedding—at least that was the first time she had revealed it to him. All right, so Alexis was dazzling in that slim white gown, but hardly one in a thousand women looked like Alexis, no matter what she wore.

      Feeling inadequate beside her sister probably wasn’t new, but he suspected that it had just come to a head. And it obviously explained why she didn’t eat her usual breakfast. Maybe… Oh, what the hell! He slipped on his favorite pair of alligator boots, a short mackinaw coat and a pair of wool-lined leather gloves and bumped into Velma as he stepped out of his room.

      He grabbed her arm to steady her. “Sorry. Did I shake you up?”

      “Not