At thirty-four, Blake Hamilton was an arrogant lady-killer determined to keep his heart free. But to Kathryn Mary Kilpatrick he was a guardian stricter than the father she'd lost. She tried to rebel in the arms of another man…until a furious Blake promised to teach her a lesson she'd never forget, plunging them both into a fiery passion that was dangerously close to love!

September Morning

New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author

Diana Palmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader,

I really can't express how flattered I am and also how grateful I am to Mills & Boon Books for releasing this collection of my published works. It came as a great surprise. I never think of myself as writing books that are collectible. In fact, there are days when I forget that writing is work at all. What I do for a living is so much fun that it never seems like a job. And since I reside in a small community, and my daily life is confined to such mundane things as feeding the wild birds and looking after my herb patch in the backyard, I feel rather unconnected from what many would think of as a glamorous profession.

But when I read my email, or when I get letters from readers, or when I go on signing trips to bookstores to meet all of you, I feel truly blessed. Over the past thirty years, I have made lasting friendships with many of you. And quite frankly, most of you are like part of my family. You can't imagine how much you enrich my life. Thank you so much.

I also need to extend thanks to my family (my husband, James, son, Blayne, daughter-in-law, Christina, and granddaughter, Selena Marie), to my best friend, Ann, to my readers, booksellers and the wonderful people at Mills & Boon Books—from my editor of many years, Tara, to all the other fine and talented people who make up our publishing house. Thanks to all of you for making this job and my private life so worth living.

Thank you for this tribute, Mills & Boon, and for putting up with me for thirty long years! Love to all of you.

Diana Palmer

New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author

Diana Palmer

The Essential Collection

Long, Tall Texans…and More!

AVAILABLE FEBRUARY 2011

Calhoun Tyler Ethan Connal Harden Evan

AVAILABLE MARCH 2011

Donavan Emmett Regan's Pride That Burke Man Circle of Gold Cattleman's Pride

AVAILABLE APRIL 2011

The Princess Bride Coltrain's Proposal A Man of Means Lionhearted Maggie's Dad Rage of Passion

AVAILABLE MAY 2011

Lacy Beloved Love with a Long, Tall Texan (containing “Guy,” “Luke” and “Christopher”) Heart of Ice Noelle Fit for a King The Rawhide Man

AVAILABLE JUNE 2011

A Long, Tall Texan Summer (containing “Tom,” “Drew” and “Jobe”) Nora Dream's End Champagne Girl Friends and Lovers The Wedding in White

AVAILABLE JULY 2011

Heather's Song Snow Kisses To Love and Cherish Long, Tall and Tempted (containing “Redbird,” “Paper Husband” and “Christmas Cowboy”) The Australian Darling Enemy Trilby

AVAILABLE AUGUST 2011

Sweet Enemy Soldier of Fortune The Tender Stranger Enamored After the Music The Patient Nurse

AVAILABLE SEPTEMBER 2011

The Case of the Mesmerizing Boss The Case of the Confirmed Bachelor The Case of the Missing Secretary September Morning Diamond Girl Eye of the Tiger

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

The meadow was dew-misted, and the morning had the nip of a September breeze to give it life. Kathryn Mary Kilpatrick tossed her long black hair and laughed with the sheer joy of being alive. The sound startled the chestnut gelding she was riding, making it dance nervously over the damp ground.

“Easy, boy,” she said soothingly, her gloved hand reaching out to touch his mane gently.

He calmed, reacting to the familiar caress. Sundance had been hers since he was a colt, a present from Blake on her sixteenth birthday. Sundance was a mature five-year-old now, but some of his coltish uncertainties lingered. He was easily startled and high-strung. Like Kathryn Mary.

Her dark green eyes shimmered with excitement as she studied the long horizon under the pink and amber swirls of the dawn sky. It was so good to be home again. The exclusive girls’ school had polished her manners and given her the poise of a model, but it had done nothing to cool her ardor for life or to dampen the passion she felt for Greyoaks. Despite the fact that the Hamiltons’ South Carolina farm was her home by adoption, not by birth, she loved every green, rolling hill and pine forest of it, just as though she were a Hamilton herself.

A flash of color caught her attention, and she wheeled Sundance as Phillip Hamilton came tearing across the meadow toward her on a thoroughbred Arabian with a coat like polished black leather. She smiled, watching him. If Blake ever caught him riding one of his prize breeding stallions like that, it would mean disaster. What luck for Phillip that Blake was in Europe on business. Maude might indulge her youngest, but Blake indulged no one.

“Hi!” Phillip called breathlessly. He reined in just in front of her and caught his wind, tossing back his unruly brown hair with a restless hand. His brown eyes twinkled with mischief as they swept over her slender figure in the chic riding habit. But the mischief went out of them when he noticed her bare head.

“No helmet?” he chided.

She pouted at him with her full, soft lips. “Don't scold,” she accused. “It was just a little ride, and I hate wearing a hard hat all the time.”

“One fall and you'd be done for,” he observed.

“You sound just like Blake!”

He smiled at her mutinous look. “Too bad he missed your homecoming. Oh, well, he'll be back at the end of the week—just in time for the Barringtons’ party.”

“Blake hates parties,” she reminded him. Her eyes lowered to the rich leather of her Western saddle. “And he hates me too, most of the time.”

“He doesn't,” Phillip returned. “It's just that you set fire to his temper, you rebellious little witch. I can remember a time when you all but worshiped my big brother.”

She grimaced, turning her eyes to the long horizon where thoroughbred Arabians grazed on lush pasture grass, their black coats shimmering like oil in the sunlight. “Did I?” She laughed shortly. “He was kind to me once, when my mother died.”

“He cares about you. We all do,” he said gently.

She smiled at him warmly and reached out an impulsive hand to touch his sleeve. “I'm ungrateful, and I don't mean to be. You and your mother have been wonderful to me. Taking me in, putting me through school—how could I be ungrateful?”

“Blake had a little to do with it,” he reminded her wryly.

She tossed her hair back impatiently. “I suppose,” she admitted grudgingly.

“Finishing school was his idea.”

“And I hated it!” she flashed. “I wanted to go to the university and take political science courses.”

“Blake likes to entertain buyers,” he reminded her. “Political science courses don't teach you how to be a hostess.”

She shrugged. “Well, I'm not going to be here forever, despite the fact that you and Blake are my cousins,” she said. “I'll get married someday. I know I owe your family a lot, but I'm not going to spend my whole life playing hostess for Blake! He can get married and let his wife do it. If he can find anyone brave enough,” she added waspishly.

“You've got to be kidding, Cuz,” he chuckled. “They follow him around like ants on a sugar trail. Blake could have his pick when it comes to women, and you know it.”

“It must be his money, then,” she said tightly, “because it sure isn't his cheerful personality that draws them!”

“You're just sore because he wouldn't let you go away with Jack Harris for the weekend,” he teased.

She flushed right up to her hairline. “I didn't know Jack had planned for us to be alone at the cottage,” she protested. “I thought his parents were going to be there, too.”

“But you didn't think to check. Blake did.” He laughed at her expression. “I'll never forget how he looked when Jack came to get you. Or how Jack looked when he left, alone.”

She shivered at the memory. “I'd like to forget.”

“I'll bet you would. You've been staring daggers at Blake ever since, but it just bounces right off. You don't dent him, do you?”

“Nothing dents Blake,” she murmured. “He just stands there and lets me rant and rave until he's had enough, then he turns that cold voice on me and walks away. He'll be glad when I'm gone,” she said in a quiet voice.

“You're not going anywhere yet, are you?” he asked suddenly.

She darted a mischievous glance at him. “I had thought about joining the French Foreign Legion,” she admitted. “Do you think I could get my application accepted before the weekend?”

He laughed. “In time to escape Blake? You know you've missed him.”

“I have?” she asked with mock innocence.

“Six months is a long time. He's calmed down.”

“Blake never forgets,” she sighed miserably. She stared past Phillip to the towering gray stone house in the distance with its graceful arches and the cluster of huge live oaks dripping Spanish moss that stood like sentries around it.

“Don't work yourself into a nervous breakdown,” Phillip said comfortingly. “Come on, race me back to the house and we'll have breakfast.”

She sighed wearily. “All right.”

***

Maude's dark eyes lit up when the two of them walked into the elegant dining room and seated themselves at the polished oak table.

She had the same olive skin and sharp, dark eyes as her eldest son, the same forthright manner and quick temper. Maude was nothing like Phillip. She lacked his gentleness and easy manner, as well as his pale coloring. Those traits came from his late father, not from his maverick mother, who thought nothing of getting a congressman out of bed at two in the morning if she wanted a piece of pending legislation explained to her.

“It's good to have you home, baby,” Maude told Kathryn, reaching out a slender, graceful hand to touch the younger woman's arm. “I'm simply surrounded by men these days.”

“That's the truth,” Phillip said wryly as he helped himself to scrambled eggs from the bone china platter. “Matt Davis and Jack Nelson nearly came to blows over her at a cocktail party last week.”

Maude glared at him. “That isn't so,” she protested.

“Oh?” Kathryn asked with an impish smile as she sipped her black coffee.

Maude shifted uncomfortably. “Anyway, I wish Blake were home. It was bad timing, that crisis at the London office. I had a special evening planned for Friday night. A homecoming party for you. It would have been perfect…”

“I don't need Blake to make a party perfect,” Kathryn burst out without thinking.

Maude's pencil-thin gray brows went up. “Are you going to hold it against him forever?” she chided.

Kathryn's fingers tightened around her coffee cup. “He didn't have to be so rough on me!” she protested.

“He was right, Kathryn Mary, and you know it,” Maude said levelly. She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “Darling, you have to remember that you're just barely twenty. Blake's thirty-four now, and he knows a great deal more about life than you've had time to learn. We've all sheltered you,” she added, frowning. “Sometimes I wonder if it was quite fair.”

“Ask Blake,” she returned bitterly. “He's kept me under glass for years.”

“His protective instinct,” Phillip said with an amused grin. “A misplaced mother hen complex.”

“I wouldn't let him hear that, if I were you,” Maude commented drily.

“I'm not afraid of big brother,” he replied. “Just because he can outfight me is no reason…on second thought, you may have a point.”

Maude laughed. “You're a delight. I wish Blake had a little of your ability to take things lightly. He's so intense.”

“I can think of a better word,” Kathryn said under her breath.

“Isn't it amazing,” Phillip asked his mother, “how brave she is when Blake isn't here?”

“Amazing.” Maude nodded. She smiled at Kathryn. “Cheer up, sweetheart. Let me tell you what Eve Barrington has planned for your homecoming party Saturday night…the one I was going to give you if Blake hadn't been called away…”

***

The arrangements for the party were faultless, Kathryn discovered. The florist had delivered urns of dried flowers in blazing fall colors, and tasteful arrangements of daisies and mums and baby's breath to decorate the buffet tables. The intimate little gathering at the nearby estate swelled to over fifty people, not all of them contemporaries of Kathryn's. Quite a number, she noticed with amusement, were politicians. Maude was lobbying fiercely for legislation to protect a nearby stretch of South Carolina's unspoiled river land from being zoned for business. No doubt she'd pleaded with Eve to add those politicians to the guest list, Kathryn thought wickedly.

Nan Barrington, Eve's daughter, and one of Kathryn's oldest friends, pulled her aside while the musicians launched into a frantic rock number.

“Mother hates hard rock,” she confided as the band blared out. “I can't imagine why she hired that particular band, when it's all they play.”

“The name,” Kathryn guessed. “It's the Glen Miller ensemble, and Glen spells his name with just one ‘n.’ Your mother probably thought they played the same kind of music as the late Glenn Miller.”

“That's Mother,” Nan agreed with a laugh. She ran a finger over the rim of her glass, filled with sparkling rum punch. Her blond hair sparkled with the same amber color as she looked around the room. “I thought Blake was going to come by when he got home. It's after ten now.”

Kathryn smiled at her indulgently. Nan had had a crush on Blake since their early teens. Blake pretended not to notice, treating both girls like the adolescents he thought them.

“You know Blake hates parties,” she reminded the shorter girl.

“It can't be for lack of partners to take to them,” Nan sighed.

Kathryn frowned at her. She cupped her own glass in her hands and wondered why that statement nagged her. She knew Blake dated, but it had been a long time since she'd spent more than a few days at Greyoaks. Not for years. There was too much to do. Relatives she could visit in faraway places like France and Greece and even Australia. Cruises with friends like Nan. School events and girlfriends to visit and parties to go to. There hadn't been much reason to stay at Greyoaks. Especially since that last bout with Blake over Jack Harris. She sighed, remembering how harsh he'd been about it. Jack Harris had turned every color in the rainbow before Blake got through telling him what he thought in that cold, precise voice that always accompanied his temper. When he'd turned it on Kathryn, it had been all she could manage not to run. She was honestly afraid of Blake. Not that he'd beat her or anything. It was a different kind of fear, strange and ever-present, growing as she matured.

“Why the frown?” Nan asked suddenly.

“Was I frowning?” She laughed. She shrugged, sipping her punch. Her eyes ran over her shorter friend's pale blue evening gown, held up by tiny spaghetti straps. “I love your dress.”

“It isn't a patch on yours,” Nan sighed, wistfully eyeing the Grecian off-the-shoulder style of Kathryn's delicate white gown. The wisps of chiffon foamed and floated with every movement. “It's a dream.”

“I have a friend in Atlanta who's a budding designer,” she explained with a smile. “This is from her first collection. She had a showing at that new department store on Peachtree Street.”

“Everything looks good on you,” Nan said genuinely. “You're so tall and willowy.”

“Skinny, Blake says.” She laughed and then suddenly froze as she looked across the room straight into a pair of narrow, dark eyes in a face as hard as granite.

He was as tall and big as she remembered, all hard-muscled grace and blatant masculinity. His head was bare, his dark hair gleaming in the light from the crystal chandelier overhead. His deeply tanned face had its own inborn arrogance, a legacy from his grandfather, who had forged a small empire from the ashes of the old confederacy. His eyes were cold, even at a distance, his mouth chiseled and firm and just a little cruel. Kathryn shivered involuntarily as his eyes trailed up and down the revealing dress she was wearing, clearly disapproving.

Nan followed her gaze, and her small face lit up. “It's Blake!” she exclaimed. “Kathryn, aren't you going to say hello to him?”

She swallowed. “Oh, yes, of course,” she said, aware of Maude going forward to greet her eldest and Phillip waving to him carelessly from across the room.

“You don't look terribly enthusiastic about it,” Nan remarked, studying the flush in her friend's cheeks and the slight tremor in the slender hands that held the crystal glass.

“He'll be furious because I haven't got a bow in my hair and a teddy bear under my arm,” she said with a mirthless laugh.

“You're not a little girl anymore,” Nan said, coming to her friend's defense despite her attraction to Blake.

“Tell Blake,” she sighed. “See?” she murmured as he lifted his arrogant head and motioned for her to join him. “I'm being summoned.”

“Could you manage to look a little less like Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine?” Nan whispered.

“I can't help it. My neck's tingling. See you,” she muttered, moving toward Blake with a faint smile.

She moved forward, through the throng of guests, her heart throbbing as heavily as the rock rhythm that shook the walls around her. Six months hadn't erased the bitterness of their last quarrel, and judging by the look on Blake's rugged face, it was still fresh in his mind, too.

He drew deeply on his cigarette, looking down his straight nose at her, and she couldn't help noticing how dangerously attractive he was in his dark evening clothes. The white silk of his shirt was a perfect foil for his olive complexion, his arrogant good looks. The tang of his Oriental cologne drifted down into her nostrils, a fragrance that echoed his vibrant masculinity.

“Hello, Blake,” she said nervously, glad Maude had vanished into the throng of politicians so she didn't have to pretend more enthusiasm.

His eyes sketched her slender figure, lingering at the plunging neckline that revealed tantalizing glimpses of the swell of her small, high breasts.

“Advertising, Kate?” he asked harshly. “I thought you'd learned your lesson with Harris.”

“Don't call me Kate,” she fired back. “And it's no more revealing than what everyone else is wearing.”

“You haven't changed,” he sighed indulgently. “All fire and lace and wobbly legs. I hoped that finishing school might give you a little maturity.”

Her emerald eyes burned. “I'm twenty, Blake!”

One dark eyebrow went up. “What do you want me to do about it?”

She started to reply that she didn't want him to do a thing, but the anger faded away suddenly. “Oh, Blake,” she moaned, “why do you have to spoil my party? It's been such fun…”

“For whom?” he asked, his eyes finding several of the politicians present. “You or Maude?”

“She's trying to save the wildlife along the Edisto River,” she said absently. “They want to develop part of the riverfront.”

“Yes, let's save the water moccasins and sandflies, at all costs!” he agreed lightly, although Kathryn knew he was as avid a conservationist as Maude.

She peeked up at him. “I seem to remember that you went on television to support that wilderness proposal on the national forest.”

He raised his cigarette to his firm lips. “Guilty,” he admitted with a faint, rare smile. He glanced toward the band and the smile faded. “Are they all playing the same song?” he asked irritably.

“I'm not sure. I thought you liked music,” she teased.

He glowered down at her. “I do. But that,” he added with a speaking glance in the band's direction, “isn't.”

“My generation thinks it is,” she replied with a challenge in her bright eyes. “And if you don't like contemporary music, then why did you bother to come to the party, you old stick-in-the-mud?”

He reached down and tapped her on the cheek with a long, stinging finger. “Don't be smart,” he told her. “I came because I hadn't seen you for six months, if you want the truth.”

“Why? So you could drive me home and bawl me out in privacy on the way?” she asked.

His heavy dark brows came together. “How much of that punch have you had?” he asked curtly.

“Not quite enough,” she replied with an impudent grin and tossed off the rest of the punch in her glass.

“Feeling reckless, little girl?” he asked quietly.

“It's more like self-preservation, Blake,” she admitted softly, peeking up at him over the empty glass as she held its coolness to her pink lips. “I was getting my nerves numb so that it wouldn't bother me when you started giving me hell.”

He took a draw from his cigarette. “It was six months ago,” he said tightly. “I've forgotten it.”

“No you haven't,” she sighed, reading the cold anger very near the surface in his taut face. “I really didn't know what Jack had in mind. I probably should have, but I'm not very worldly.”

He sighed heavily. “No, that's for sure. I used to think it was a good thing. But the older you get, the more I wonder.”

“That's just what Maude was saying,” she murmured, wondering if he could read people's minds.

“And she could be right.” His eyes narrowed to a glittering darkness as he studied her in the revealing little dress. “That dress is years too old for you.”

“Does that mean it's all right with you if I grow up?” she asked sweetly.

One dark eyebrow rose laconically. “I wasn't aware that you needed my permission.”

“I seem to, though,” she persisted. “If I try to do anything about it, you'll be on my neck like a duck after a June bug.”

“That depends on what sort of growing-up process you have in mind,” he replied, reaching over to crush the cigarette into an ashtray. “Promiscuity is definitely out.”

“Not in your case, it isn't!”

His head jerked up, his eyes blazing. “What the hell has my private life got to do with you?” he asked in a voice that cut like sheer ice.

She felt like backing away. “I…I was just teasing, Blake,” she defended in a shaken whisper.

“I'm not laughing,” he said curtly.

“You never do with me,” she said in a voice like china breaking.

“Stop acting like a silly adolescent.”

She bit her lower lip, trying to stem the welling tears in her soft, hurt eyes. “If you'll excuse me,” she said unsteadily, “I'll go back and play with my dolls. Thank you for your warm welcome,” she added in a tiny voice before she pushed her way through the crowd away from him. For the first time, she wished she'd never come to live with Blake's family.

Chapter Two

For the rest of the evening she avoided Blake, sticking to Nan and Phillip like a shadow while she nursed her emotional wounds. Not that Blake seemed to notice. He was standing with Maude and one of the younger congressmen in the group, deep in discussion.

“I wonder what they're talking about now?” Phillip asked as he danced Kathryn around the room to one of the band's few slow tunes.

“Saving water moccasins,” she muttered, her full lips pouting, her eyes as dark as jade with hurt.

Phillip sighed heavily. “What's he done now?”

“What?” she asked, lifting her flushed face to Phillip's patiently amused eyes.

“Blake. He hasn't been in the same room with you for ten minutes, and the two of you are already avoiding one another. Talk about repeat acts!”

Her rounded jaw clenched. “He hates me, I told you he did.”

“What's he done?” he repeated.

She glared at his top shirt button. “He said…he said I couldn't be promiscuous.”

“Good for Blake,” Phillip said with annoying enthusiasm.

“You don't understand. That was just what started it,” she explained. “And I was teasing him about not being a monk, and he jumped all over me about digging into his private life.” She felt herself tense as she remembered the blazing heat of Blake's anger. “I didn't mean anything.”

“You didn't know about Della?” he asked softly.

She gaped up at him. “Della who?”

“Della Ness. He just broke it off with her,” he explained.

A pang of something shivered through her slender body, and she wondered why the thought of Blake with a woman should cause a sensation like that. “Were they engaged?”

He laughed softly. “No.”

She blushed. “Oh.”

“She's been bothering him ever since, calling up and crying and sending him letters…you know how that would affect him.” He whirled her around in time to the music and brought her back against him loosely. “It hasn't helped his temper any. I think he was glad for the European trip. She hasn't called in over a week.”

“Maybe he's missing her,” she said.

“Blake? Miss a woman? Honey, you know better than that. Blake is the original self-sufficient male. He never gets emotionally involved with his women.”

She toyed with the lapel of his evening jacket. “He doesn't have to take his irritation out on me,” she protested sullenly. “And at my homecoming party, too.”

“Jet lag,” Phillip told her. He stopped as the music did and grimaced when the hard rock blared out again. “Let's sit this one out,” he yelled above it. “My legs get tangled trying to dance to that.”

He drew her off the floor and back to the open veranda, leading her onto the plant-studded balcony with a friendly hand clasping hers.

“Don't let Blake spoil this for you,” he said gently as they stood leaning on the stone balustrade, looking out over the city lights of King's Fort that twinkled jewel-bright on the dark horizon. “He's had a hard week. That strike at the London mill wasn't easily settled.”

She nodded, remembering that one of the corporation's biggest textile mills was located there, and that this was nowhere near the first strike that had halted production.

“It's been nothing but trouble,” Phillip added with a hard sigh. “I don't see why Blake doesn't close it down. We've enough mills in New York and Alabama to more than take up the slack.”

Her fingers toyed with the cool leaves of an elephant-ear plant near the balcony's edge as she listened to Phillip's pleasant voice. He was telling her how much more solvent the corporation would be if they bought two more yarn mills to add to the conglomerate, and how many spindles each one would need to operate, and how new equipment could increase production…and all she was hearing was Blake's deep, angry voice.

It wasn't her fault that his discarded mistresses couldn't take “no” for an answer, and it was hardly prying into his private life to state that he had women. Her face reddened, just thinking of Blake with a woman in his big arms, his massive torso bare and bronzed, a woman's soft body crushed against the hair-covered chest where muscles rippled and surged…

The blush got worse. She was shocked by her own thoughts. She'd only seen Blake stripped to the waist once or twice, but the sight had stayed with her. He was all muscle, and that wedge of black, curling hair that laced down to his belt buckle somehow emphasized his blatant maleness. It wasn't hard to understand the effect he had on women. Kathryn tried not to think about it. She'd always been able to separate the Blake who was like family from the arrogant, attractive Blake who drew women like flies everywhere he went. She'd kept her eyes on his dark face and reminded herself that he had watched her grow from adolescence to womanhood and he knew too much about her to find her attractive in any adult way. He knew that she threw things when she lost her temper, that she never refilled the water trays when she emptied the ice out of them. He knew that she took off her shoes in church, and climbed trees to hide from the minister when he came visiting on Sunday afternoon. He even knew that she sometimes threw her worn blouses behind the door instead of in the clothes hamper. She sighed heavily. He knew too much, all right.

“…Kathryn!”

She jumped. “Sorry, Phil,” she said quickly, “I was drinking in the night. What did you say?”

He shook his head, laughing. “Never mind, darling, it wasn't important. Feeling better now?”

“I wasn't drunk,” she said accusingly.

“Just a little tipsy, though,” he grinned. “Three glasses of punch, wasn't it? And mother emptied the liquor cabinet into it with our hostess's smiling approval.”

“I didn't realize how strong it was,” Kathryn admitted.

“It has a cumulative effect. Want to go back in?”

“Must we?” she asked. “Couldn't we slip out the side door and go see that new sci-fi movie downtown?”

“Run out on your own party? Shame on you!”

“I'm ashamed,” she agreed. “Can we?”

“Can we what?”

“Go see the movie. Oh, come on, Phil,” she pleaded, “save me from him. I'll lie for you. I'll tell Maude I kidnapped you at gunpoint…”

“Will you, now?” Maude laughed, coming up behind them. “Why do you want to kidnap Phillip?”

“There's a new science fiction movie in town, and…” Kathryn began.

“…and it would keep you out of Blake's way until morning, is that how this song goes?” Phillip's mother guessed keenly.

Kathryn sighed, clasping her hands in front of her. “That's the chorus,” she admitted.

“Never mind, he's gone.”

She looked up quickly. “Blake?”

“Blake.” Maude laughed softly. “Cursing the band, the punch, the politicians, jet lag, labor unions, smog and women with a noticeable lack of tact until Eve almost wept with relief when he announced that he was going home to bed.”

“I hope the slats fall out under him,” Kathryn said pleasantly.

“They're box springs,” Maude commented absently. “I bought it for him last year for his birthday, remember, when he complained that he couldn't get any rest…”

“I hope the box springs collapse, then,” Kathryn corrected.

“Malicious little thing, aren't you?” Phillip asked teasingly.

Maude slumped wearily. “Not again. Really, Kathryn Mary, this never-ending war between you and my eldest is going to give me ulcers! What's he done this time?”

“He told her she couldn't be promiscuous,” Phillip obliged, “and got mad at her when she pointed out that he believed in the double standard.”

“Kathryn! You didn't say that to Blake!”

Kathryn looked vaguely embarrassed. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh, my darling, you're so lucky you weren't near any bodies of water that he could have pitched you into,” Maude said. “He's been absolutely black-tempered ever since that Della toy of his started getting possessive and he sent her packing. You remember, Phil, it was about the time Kathryn wrote that she was going to Crete on that cruise with Missy Donavan and her brother Lawrence.”

“Speaking of Lawrence,” Phillip said, drawling out the name dramatically, “what happened?”

“He's coming to see me when he flies down for that writers’ convention on the coast,” she said with a smile. “He just sold another mystery novel and he's wild with enthusiasm.”

“Is he planning to spend a few days?” Maude asked. “Blake has been suspicious of writers, you know, ever since that reporter did a story about his affair with the beauty contest girl…who was she again, Phil?”

“Larry isn't a reporter,” Kathryn argued, “he only writes fiction…”

“That's exactly what that story about Blake and the beauty was,” Phillip grinned. “Fiction.”

“Will you listen?” Maude grumbled. “You simply can't invite Lawrence into the house while Blake's home. I've got the distinct impression he's already prejudiced against the man.”

“Larry isn't a pushover,” Kathryn replied, remembering her friend's hot temper and red hair.

Maude frowned, thinking. “Phillip, maybe you could call that Della person and give her Blake's unlisted number just before Kathryn Mary's friend comes, and I'll remind him of how lovely St. Martin is in the summer…”

“It will only be for two or three days,” Kathryn protested. Her soft young features tightened. “I thought Greyoaks was my home, too…”

Maude's thin face cleared instantly and she drew Kathryn into her arms. “Oh, darling, of course it is, you know it is! It's just that it's Blake's home as well, and that's the problem.”

“Just because Larry's a writer…”

“That isn't the only reason,” Maude sighed, patting her back. “Blake's very possessive of you, Kathryn. He doesn't like you dating older men, especially men like Jack Harris.”

“He has to let go someday,” Kathryn said stubbornly, drawing away from Maude. “I'm a woman now, not the adolescent he used to buy bubble gum for. I have a right to my own friends.”

“You're asking for trouble if you start a rebellion with Blake in his present mood,” Maude cautioned.

Kathryn lifted a hand to touch her dark hair as the breeze blew a tiny wisp of it into the corner of her mouth. “Just don't tell him Larry's coming,” she said, raising her face defiantly.

Phillip stared at Maude. “Is her insurance paid up?” he asked conversationally.

“Blake controls the checkbook for all of us,” Maude reminded her. “You could find yourself without an allowance at all; even without your car.”

“No revolution succeeds without sacrifice,” Kathryn said proudly.

“Oh, good grief,” Phillip said, turning away.

“Come back here,” Kathryn called after him. “I'm not through!”

Maude burst out laughing. “I think he's going to light a candle for you. If you're planning to take Blake on, you may need a prayer or two.”

“Or Blake may,” Kathryn shot back.

Maude only laughed.

***

The house was quiet when they got home, and Maude let out a sigh of pure relief.

“So far, so good,” she said smiling at Kathryn and Phillip. “Now, if we can just sneak up the stairs…”

“Why are you sneaking around at all?” came a deep, irritated voice from the general direction of the study.

Kathryn felt all her new resolutions deserting her as she whirled and found herself staring straight into Blake's dark, angry eyes.

She dropped her gaze, and her heart thumped wildly in her chest as she dimly heard Maude explaining why the three of them were being so quiet.

“We knew you'd be tired, dear,” Maude told him gently.

“Tired, my foot,” he returned, lifting a glass of amber liquid in a shot glass to his hard, chiseled mouth. He glared at Kathryn over its rim. “You knew I'd had it out with Kate.”

“She's been gorging herself on the rum punch, Blake,” Phillip said with a grin. “Announcing her independence and preparing for holy revolution.”

“Oh, please, shut up,” Kathryn managed in a tortured whisper.

“But, darling, you were so brave at the Barringtons,” Phillip chided. “Don't you want to martyr yourself to the cause of freedom?”

“No, I want to be sick,” she corrected, swallowing hard. She glanced up at Blake's hard-set face. The harsh words all came back, and she wished fervently that she'd accepted Nan's invitation to spend the night.

Blake swirled the amber liquid in his glass absently. “Good night, Mother, Phil.”

Maude threw Kathryn an apologetic glance as she headed for the staircase with Phillip right behind.

“You wouldn't rather discuss the merger with the Banes Corporation?” Phillip grinned at Blake. “It would be a lot quieter.”

“Oh, don't desert me,” Kathryn called after them.

“You declared war, darling,” Phillip called back, “and I believe in a strict policy of non-interference.”

She locked her hands behind her, shivering in her warm sable coat despite the warmth of the house and the hot darkness of Blake's eyes.

“Well, go ahead,” she muttered, dropping her gaze to the open neck of his white silk shirt. “You've already taken one bite out of me, you might as well have an arm or two.”

He chuckled softly and, surprised, she jerked her face up to find amusement in his eyes.

“Come in here and talk to me,” he said, turning to lead the way back into his walnut-paneled study. His big Irish Setter, Hunter, rose and wagged his tail, and Blake ruffled his fur affectionately as he settled down in the wing armchair in front of the fireplace.

Kathryn took the chair across from his, absently darting a glance at the wood decoratively piled up in the hearth. “Daddy used to burn it,” she remarked, using the affectionate name she gave Blake's father, even though he was barely a distant cousin. He was like the father she'd lost.

“So do I, when I need to take the chill off. But it isn't cool enough tonight,” he replied.

She studied his big, husky body and wondered if he ever felt the cold. Warmth seemed to radiate from him at close range, as if fires burned under that darkly tanned skin.

He tossed off the rest of his drink and linked his hands behind his head. His dark eyes pinned Kathryn to her chair. “Why don't you get out of that coat and stop trying to look as if you're ten minutes late for an appointment somewhere?”

“I'm cold, Blake,” she murmured.

“Turn up the thermostat, then.”

“I won't be here that long, will I?” she asked hopefully.

His dark, quiet eyes traveled over the soft, pink skin revealed by her white dress, making her feel very young and uncomfortable.

“Must you stare at me like that?” she asked uneasily. She toyed with a wisp of chiffon.

He pulled his cigarette case from his pocket and took his time about lighting up. “What's this about a revolution?” he asked conversationally.

She blinked at him. “Oh, what Phil said?” she asked, belatedly comprehending. She swallowed hard. “Uh, I just…”

He laughed shortly. “Kathryn, I can't remember a conversation with you that didn't end in stammers.”

Her full lips pouted. “I wouldn't stammer if you wouldn't jump on me every time you get the chance.”

One heavy dark eyebrow went up. He looked completely relaxed, imperturbable. That composure rattled her, and she couldn't help wondering if anything ever made him lose it.

“Do I?” he asked.

“You know very well you do.” She studied the hard lines of his face, noting the faint tautness of fatigue that only a stranger would miss. “You're very tired, aren't you?” she asked suddenly, warming to him.

He took a draw from the cigarette. “Dead,” he admitted.

“Then why aren't you in bed?” she wanted to know.

He studied her quietly. “I didn't mean to ruin the party for you.”

The old, familiar tenderness in his voice brought an annoying mist to her eyes and she averted them. “It's all right.”

“No, it isn't.” He flicked ashes into the receptacle beside his chair, and a huge sigh lifted his chest. “Kate, I just broke off an affair. The silly woman's pestering me to death, and when you said what you did, I overreacted.” He shrugged. “My temper's a little on edge lately, or I'd have laughed it off.”

She smiled at him faintly. “Did you…love her?” she asked gently.

He burst out laughing. “What a child you are,” he chuckled. “Do I have to love a woman to take her into my bed?”

The flush went all the way down her throat. “I don't know,” she admitted.

“No,” he said, the smile fading, “I don't suppose you do. I believed in love, at your age.”

“Cynic,” she accused.

He crushed out the cigarette in his ashtray. “Guilty. I've learned that sex is better without emotional blinders.”

She dropped her eyes in mortification, trying not to see the unholy amusement on his dark face.

“Embarrassed, Kate?” he chided. “I thought that experience with Harris had matured you.”

Her green eyes flashed fire as they lifted to meet his. “Do we have to go through this again?” she asked.

“Not if you've learned something from it.” His gaze dropped pointedly to her dress. “Although I have my doubts. Are you wearing anything under that damned nightgown?”

“Blake!” she burst out. “It's not a nightgown!”

“It looks like one.”

“It's the style!”

He stared her down. “In Paris, I hear, the style is a vest with nothing under it, worn open.”

She tossed her hair angrily. “And if I lived in Paris, I'd wear one,” she threw back.

He only smiled. “Would you?” His eyes dropped again to her bodice, and the boldness of his gaze made her feel strange sensations. “I wonder.”

She clasped her hands in her lap, feeling outwitted and outmatched. “What did you want to talk to me about, Blake?” she asked.

“I've invited some people over for a visit.”

She remembered her own invitation to Lawrence Donavan, and she held her breath. “Uh, who?” she asked politely.

“Dick Leeds and his daughter Vivian,” he told her. “They're going to be here for a week or so while Dick and I iron out that labor mess. He's the head of the local union that's giving us so much trouble.”

“And his daughter?” she asked, hating herself for her own curiosity.

“Blond and sexy,” he mused.

She glared at him. “Just your style,” she shot at him. “With the emphasis on sexy.”

He watched her with silent amusement. Blake, the adult, indulging his ward. She wanted to throw something at him.

“Well, I hope you don't expect me to help Maude keep them entertained,” she said. “Because I'm expecting some company of my own!”

The danger signals were flashing out of his deep brown eyes. “What company?” he asked curtly.

She lifted her chin bravely. “Lawrence Donavan.”

Something took fire and exploded under his jutting brow.

“Not in my house,” he said in a tone that might have cut diamond.

“But, Blake, I've already invited him!” she wailed.

“You heard me. If you didn't want to be embarrassed, you should have consulted with me before inviting him,” he added roughly. “What were you going to do, Kathryn, meet him at the airport and then tell me about it? A fait accompli?”

She couldn't meet his eyes. “Something like that.”

“Cable him. Tell him something came up.”

She lifted her eyes and glared at him, sitting there like a conqueror, ordering her life. If she buckled under one more time, she'd never be able to stand up to him. Never. She couldn't let him win this time.

Her jaw set stubbornly. “No.”

He got to his feet slowly, gracefully for such a big man, and the set of his broad shoulders was intimidating even without the sudden, fierce narrowing of his eyes.

“What did you say?” he asked in a deceptively soft tone.

She laced her fingers together in front of her and clenched them. “I said no,” she managed in a rasping voice. Her dark green eyes appealed to him. “Blake, it's my home, too. At least, you said it was the day you asked me to come live here,” she reminded him.

“I didn't say you could use it as a rendezvous for romantic trysts!”

“You bring women here,” she tossed back, remembering with a surge of anguish the night when she had accidentally come home too early from a date and found him with Jessica King on the very chairs where they were now sitting. Jessica had been stripped to the waist, and so had Blake. Kathryn had barely even noticed the blonde, her eyes were so staggered by the sight of Blake with his broad, muscled chest bared by the woman's exploring hands. She'd never been able to get the picture of him out of her mind, his mouth sensuous, his eyes almost black with desire…

“I used to,” he corrected gently, reading the memory with disturbing accuracy. “How old were you then? Fifteen?”

She nodded, looking away from him. “Just.”

“And I yelled at you, didn't I?” he recalled gently. “I hadn't expected you home. I was hungry and impatient, and frustrated. When I took Jessica home, she was in tears.”

“I…I should have knocked,” she admitted. “But we'd been to that fair, and I'd won a prize, and I couldn't wait to tell you about it…”

He smiled quietly. “You used to bring all your triumphs straight to me, like a puppy with its toys. Until that night.” He studied her averted profile. “You've kept a wall between us ever since. The minute I start to come close, you find something else to put up in front of you. Last time it was Jack Harris. Now, it's that writer.”

“I'm not trying to build any walls,” she said defensively. Her dark eyes accused him. “You're the mason, Blake. You won't let me be independent.”

“What do you want?” he asked.

She studied the delicate scrollwork of the fireplace with its beige and white color scheme. “I don't know,” she murmured. “But I'll never find out if you keep smothering me. I want to be free, Blake.”

“None of us are that,” he said philosophically. His eyes were wistful, his tone bitter. He stared at her intently. “What is it that attracts you to Donavan?” he asked suddenly.

She shrugged and a wistful light came into her own eyes, echoing his expression the minute before. “He's fun to be with. He makes me laugh.”

“That's all you need from a man—laughter?”

The way he said it made shivers run down her stiff spine, and when she looked at him, the expression on his hard face was puzzling. “What else is there?” she asked without thinking.

A slow, sensuous smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “The fires a man and woman can create when they make love.”

She shifted restlessly in her chair. “They're overrated,” she said with pretended sophistication.

He threw back his head and roared.

“Hush!” she said. “You'll wake the whole house!”

His white, even teeth were visible, whiter than ever against his swarthy complexion. “You're red as a summer beet,” he observed. “What do you know about love, little girl? You'd pass out in a dead faint if a man started making love to you.”

She stared at him with a sense of outrage. “How do you know? Maybe Lawrence…”

“…maybe not,” he interrupted, his eyes confident, wise. “You're still very much a virgin, little Kate. If I'd had any fears on that account, I'd have jerked you off Crete so fast your head would have spun.”

She grimaced. “Virginity isn't such a prize these days,” she sighed, remembering Missy Donavan's faintly insulting remarks about it.

His silent appraisal lasted so long that her attention was caught by the faint ticking of the big grandfather clock in the hall. “Don't get any ideas about throwing yours away,” he warned softly.

“Oh, Blake, don't be so old fashioned,” she grumbled. “Anyway,” she added with a faint, mischievous smile, “where would you be today if all the women in the world were pure?”

“Rather frustrated,” he conceded. “But you're not one of my women, and I don't want you offering yourself to men like a nymphomaniac.”

She sighed. “There's hardly any danger of that,” she said dully. “I don't know how.”

“That dress is a damned good start,” he observed.

She glanced down at it. “But it covers me up,” she protested. “It's a lot more modest than what Nan was wearing.”

“I noticed,” he said with a musing smile.

She peeked at him through her lashes. “Nan thinks you're the sexiest man alive,” she said lightly. “She knew you'd be at the party.”

His face hardened. “Nan's a child,” he growled, turning away with one hand rammed in his pocket. “And I'm too old to encourage hero worship.”

Nan was Kathryn's age, exactly. Her heart seemed to plummet, and she wanted to hit out at him. He always made her feel so gauche and ignorant.

She studied his broad back. He was so good to look at. So big and vibrant, and full of life. A quiet man, a caring man. And a tyrant!

“If you won't let me invite Larry here,” she murmured, “I suppose I could fly down to the coast and go to that writers’ convention with him.”

He turned, staring at her, hard and intimidating even at a distance. “Threatening me, Kate?” he asked.

“I wouldn't dare!” she replied fervently.

His dark face was as unreadable as a stone sculpture. “We'll talk about it again.”

She scowled at him. “Tyrant,” she grumbled.

“Is that your best shot?” he asked politely.

“Male chauvinist!” she said, trying again. “You do irritate me, Blake!”

He moved toward her lazily. “What do you think you do to me, little Kathryn?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

She looked up into his arrogant face as he came within striking distance. “I probably irritate you just as much,” she admitted, sighing. “Pax?”

He smiled down at her indulgently. “Pax. Come here.”

He tilted her chin up and bent his head down. She closed her eyes, expecting the familiar brief, rough touch of his mouth. But it didn't come.

Puzzled, she opened her eyes and looked straight into his at an unnerving distance. She was so close that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark brown irises, the tiny crinkled lines at the corner of his eyelids.

His fingers touched the side of her throat, warm and strangely caressing.

“Blake?” she whispered uncertainly.

His jaw tautened. She could see a muscle jerk beside his sensuous mouth.

“Welcome home, Kate,” he said roughly, and started to move away.

“Aren't you going to kiss me?” she asked without thinking.

All the expression drained out of his face to leave his eyes smoldering as they looked down into hers. “It's late,” he said abruptly, turning away, “and I'm tired. Good night, Kate.”

He walked out the door and left her standing there, staring at the empty doorway.

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