The past could destroy their love...

Struggling to keep her corporate-recruiting firm afloat, Manhattan executive Melissa Grant has no time for love. Then Adam Roundtree walks into her life. But the charismatic businessman is no ordinary client. He’s the man who can bring Melissa’s career—and her heart—to life...until a shocking discovery jeopardizes their blossoming relationship.

Or fuel an unquenchable passion

For Melissa and Adam, fate couldn’t have played a crueler trick: their families have been embroiled in a stormy feud for generations, turning former business partners into lifelong enemies and leaving a bitter legacy that casts a long shadow. Then someone starts sabotaging Adam’s work, and everything points to Melissa. Now they could lose everything...unless their love is strong enough to close the door on the past and open their hearts to the promise of the future.

Against All Odds
Gwynne Forster

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

Thank you for purchasing and reading Against All Odds. I hope you have enjoyed your peep into the lives of Melissa Grant, Adam Roundtree and their complicated families. When I began this story, I had no idea that I would be writing a modern version of the Hatfields and the McCoys, historical families with a well-documented hatred for each other. Fight it though they do, love and passion grip Melissa and Adam in a steel vise, and they cannot escape it. Once they taste its fruit, they don’t want to escape.

Adam is a strong man, kind and loving, but arrow straight and demanding. In times past, the strong, harsh and hard alpha male was considered the ideal hero, a man the heroine had to tame. But my taste is for the strong, capable and dependable man who has human frailties but overcomes them; who can hurt to the depths of his soul and still stand strong for himself, his woman and his family. In my view, Adam is such a man. I hope you will agree with me. You meet him again in many of the Harrington novels, because he is a close friend of Telford Harrington and his brothers, Russ and Drake. I hope you will read the Harrington series.

Kimani Press has reissued the first three Harrington books: Once in a Lifetime, After the Loving and Love Me or Leave Me and several others of my bestselling titles: Sealed with a Kiss, Beyond Desire, Secret Desire, Obsession, Swept Away, Fools Rush In and Scarlet Woman. If you can’t find them, drop me an email and I’ll try to help.

I enjoy receiving mail, and I try to answer within a reasonable time. You may write me at P.O. Box 45, New York, NY 10044.If you would like an answer, please enclose a self-addressed and stamped legal-size envelope. You may email me at GwynneF@aol.com. If you would like to join my book club, visit GwynneForsterBookClubOfFansAndReaders@YahooGroups.com.

Fond regards,

Gwynne Forster

Acknowledgments

To my beloved stepson, Peter Forster Acsadi, whose attentiveness, encouragement and support mean so much to me; to my husband, whose love, devotion and helpfulness sustain me; and in memory of my dear friend Lily.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Melissa Grant hung up the phone. Anxious. Her graceful brown fingers strummed her desk. She’d had to expand her business in order to stay ahead of her competition, but months would pass before she got the results that she anticipated. Until then her financial status would be precarious at best. Her banker knew that and—because her first loan hadn’t been fully paid—had denied her request for a second one. Now she stood a good chance of losing her business. She knew when she came to New York that she could expect tough competition, but she had worked hard and established one of the top executive search firms, and she’d done it in less than five years. She had taken stock of her resources and decided that she had three alternatives, all of them unattractive. She could put her personal funds into her MTG Executive Search firm—something she’d been taught in business school never to do; she could borrow the money from her father; or she could take the lucrative Hayes/Roundtree account. Bankruptcy was preferable to discussing a loan with her father, Rafer Grant, and only trouble could come from any kind of involvement with a Roundtree. Adam Roundtree’s executive assistant, Jason Court, had called her with a request that she find a manager for “Leather and Hides,” the division of Hayes/Roundtree Enterprises, Inc., that tanned leather and made leather goods. She noticed the light on her phone.

“MTG.” She leaned back in her desk chair, twirling a slingshot that she won in a charity raffle. “Hello, Mr. Court. I’m not sure I’m the person you want for this job. I don’t know a thing about leather.”

“In other words, you don’t want the contract,” he said as though surprised. “Adam wants MTG. He thinks your firm is the best, and Adam is used to having the best. Think it over. I can raise the fee by twenty percent, but no more.”

* * *

Melissa hung up and buzzed her secretary for the Roundtree file.

“Here you are.” Kelly put the folder on Melissa’s desk. “I thought you said you wouldn’t take that job for all the bullion in Fort Knox.”

“That was yesterday. The bank just refused my request for a loan.” She scanned the few pages. “This must be a mistake.” She checked the figure on the last page. “He’s offering more money than I ever dreamed of asking for a search. I can find a manager who’ll suit him—I don’t doubt that, but the consequences could be...explosive. Probably hell to pay.”

Kelly frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“Someday when we have a few hours to throw away, I’ll tell you about it.” Melissa weighed the pros and cons. If she took the contract, she would no longer have a financial problem and, when she listed a firm on the New York Stock Exchange as one of her clients, her ability to attract fat accounts would be guaranteed. She looked over the papers, corrected the fee, initialed it, and signed the contract without giving herself a chance to change her mind. Her signature was unreadable, and she didn’t doubt that Adam Roundtree would inscribe his name beneath hers. But when he found out...when they all found out! Talk about dancing with the devil!

She walked over to her bookcase, scanned a shelf of business and reference books, and selected a volume of an encyclopedia with the intention of learning about leather tanning. The afternoon sun glared in her face, and she lowered the blinds, wondering absently why Adam Roundtree worked for Jenkins and Tillman, a New York real estate firm, rather than with his family’s Hayes/Roundtree Enterprises. Had he left northern Maryland and come to New York to escape his parents as she had? From what she’d heard of him, she doubted it. Men of his reputation didn’t run from anything or anybody. She put the book in her briefcase, sat down, and lifted the receiver.

“Would you please send this signed contract to Jason Court at Jenkins and Tillman?” she asked her secretary. “Get a messenger, and mark the envelope confidential. I’ll be leaving in a minute.” She pushed her tight curls away from her olive-toned face and completed her final task of the day.

Melissa walked out of her office, two blocks from Wall Street, and into the sweltering early July heat, her discomfort intensified by the high humidity for which New York City was famous. She didn’t wait long for a taxi, sat back and took a deep breath, grateful that she’d escaped the rush hour madness. Ten minutes later, getting a taxi within a mile of Wall Street would be impossible.

* * *

Adam Roundtree sat in his New York office reviewing reports from Hayes/Roundtree Enterprises, Inc. The Maryland-based company belonged to his family, handed down to them by his maternal grandfather. Jacob Hayes hadn’t believed that his gas field would produce indefinitely, and it hadn’t, but he’d lived modestly and ploughed his money into a hosiery and a fabric mill, the leather business, and the newspaper. His foresight had enabled him to pass considerable wealth to his children and grandchildren. Adam appreciated his social station and the wealth that he’d inherited, but he wanted his own kingdom, wanted to build his own legacy for his children—that is, if he ever had any. His father’s recent death meant that he had to take an active interest in the family business, including management of the leather factory, which his father had skillfully nurtured. His mother possessed a sharp mind, but his grandfather had thought it improper for a young woman to work, and she’d never used her university education. His younger brother, Wayne, a journalist, had his hands full running the newspaper. No help there. So the onus was on him. It would mean working two demanding jobs, but he’d do it.

He summoned Jason Court for a progress report on the search for a manager of the Leather and Hides division. Adam had just gained full partnership in what was now Jenkins, Roundtree, and Tillman, and he had worked hard for it. He didn’t see how he could manage a leather tanning and manufacturing business located in Frederick, Maryland, from his office opposite the World Trade Center in New York.

“Come in, Jason, and have a seat. What have you got for me?”

“I have a contract with MTG for your signature.” Adam slapped his right knuckle into the open palm of his left hand.

“Nothing else?” If Jason felt pressured, he didn’t show it.

“I got the contract by messenger twenty minutes ago.” He handed it to Adam, who didn’t even glance at the papers but fixed his concentration on the man opposite him.

“How much time did you allow? A week ought to be more than enough for a firm that knows its business. I need that position filled yesterday. Make that clear.” He signed the contract and handed it back. “Thanks, Jason.” Adam watched his executive assistant as he left the room. The man was his perfect complement; he liked working with him. A sharp mind and a cool head. But he didn’t like doing business by mail with an anonymous nonhuman entity, because he wanted to know with whom he was dealing, see him, size him up, and know what to expect. He called his secretary.

“Olivia, would you arrange a meeting here with the president of MTG tomorrow morning, if possible? I don’t like dealing with a faceless company.” He walked around to Jason’s office, next door to his own.

“Tell me something about this fellow who heads up MTG. I’ve asked Olivia to have him come over here tomorrow morning, and I need a line on him.”

He watched Jason lean back in his chair with a half smile playing around his mouth.

“Adam, the president of MTG is a woman.”

“A woman?” He quickly veiled his astonishment; no one was going to accuse him of bias against women or any other group.

“Yeah. And she’s a no-nonsense person and a good-looking sister, to boot. She’s feminine, but she’s the epitome of efficiency, a thorough pro. I figured the fact that she wears a skirt wouldn’t bother you.”

“It doesn’t. I take it from your reference to the sisterhood that she’s African-American.” Jason nodded. “Well, all I want is for her to bring me a first-class manager.”

“She will.”

“She’d better.”

* * *

When Olivia opened his office door, Adam stood. The tall, light-skinned woman approached him slowly and confidently, the epitome of self-possession. Cool, laid-back, and elegant, she didn’t smile as she made her way, seeming to saunter, across his vast office to where he stood. Stunned. Poleaxed. She stopped a few feet from him and, flabbergasted as he was, he could nonetheless detect a complete change in her—could see the catch in her breath, the slight droop of her bottom lip, the acceleration of her breathing, and the widening of her incredible eyes just before she lowered them in what was most certainly embarrassment. Woman. She was certainly that. He managed to erase the appreciative expression from his face just as she looked up, her professional demeanor restored, and offered her hand.

“I’m Melissa Grant. It’s good to meet you.”

His eyebrow quirked, and then a frown stole over his face as he walked to the leather sofa and offered her a seat. She took the chair beside the sofa. Amused, he told her, “The name Grant is anathema to my family.”

“As Roundtree is to mine,” she coolly shot back.

If he had needed a damper for the desire that she’d aroused in him the second she walked through his door, she’d just provided it. Ordinarily he didn’t mind getting a fast fever for a woman, stranger or not; he didn’t have to do anything about it. An unexpected sexual hunger assured him that he had the virility a man his age ought to possess, but he didn’t like this powerful assault on his senses, the jab in his middle that he’d just gotten in response to Melissa Grant. He wouldn’t have liked it if her name hadn’t been Grant. Making sure of his ground, he asked her, with seeming casualness, “You’re not by chance related to the Frederick, Maryland, Grants, are you?”

“I’m Rafer Grant’s daughter, and my mother is Emily Morris-Grant. I assume you’re Jacob Hayes’s grandson.”

He had to admire the proud lift of her head, the way in which she fixed her gaze on him, and he didn’t doubt her message: if her being a Grant was bothersome, it was his problem, not hers. His desire ebbed and, in spite of himself, his mind went back to his fifteenth year and to Rafer Grant’s beautiful and voluptuous sister, Louise, and the way in which she’d flaunted his youthful vulnerability. The memory wasn’t a pleasant one, and he brought himself back to the present and to the business at hand. What he felt right then wasn’t desire but annoyance at himself.

Assuming his usual posture with a business associate, he pinned her with an unwavering gaze. “What have you managed so far?” He knew his tone was curt, brusque; he made it so deliberately. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’d gotten to him so easily.

“What do you mean?”

He detected a testiness in her voice. If she had a temper, he’d probably know it soon. “I mean, what have you come up with so far?” He imagined that those were storm clouds forming in her eyes, but he didn’t have to imagine that her excessively deep breath bespoke exasperation. He repeated the remark and leaned back to observe the fireworks.

Her cool response disappointed him. “Mr. Roundtree.” She punctuated his name with a slow turn of her body toward him and paused while she seemed to weight her next words. “Mr. Roundtree, I signed that contract less than twenty-four hours ago. If I were a magician, I’d be in a circus or perhaps in the White House where miracles are expected. You couldn’t be serious, because the contract gives me one month.” He was accustomed to women who smiled at him at least occasionally, but not this one. Just as Jason had said, she was all business, and he had just made a tactical error. He’d practically demanded what he hadn’t put in the contract, solid evidence that he’d let his emotional response to her interfere with his professionalism, something he’d never done before. He wouldn’t do it again, he promised himself, resenting his slip.

He nearly gasped as she stood abruptly, preparing to leave. Nobody terminated an interview with him. Nobody. And neither would she. He stood and began walking toward his office door, but she stopped before reaching it and held out her business card.

“I’m giving you this in case you feel you need to speak with me in person again. My office is as close to you as yours is to me. Otherwise...” She pointed to the telephone. “This has been most informative. Goodbye.”

His gaze lingered on her departing back Was this more evidence of Grant contemptuousness for a Roundtree? Or was she telling him that he’d been out of order in requesting that she come to his office for a business meeting rather than suggesting lunch at a neutral place? If the lady disliked his having called rank on her, she had good cause. He should have invited her to lunch.

* * *

Adam answered his intercom. “Yes, Olivia. Well, get DiCampino to translate those papers. She claims to know Italian.”

“She’s out today.”

“Really? This is the third time this week. Get a replacement.”

He heard Olivia’s deep sigh. “Adam, I think Maria is pregnant, and the love of her life is unprepared to honor that fact.”

“Well, hell, Olivia.” He knew his secretary was waiting for him to pounce on the subject of males who mistreat females, and he didn’t keep her waiting. “A man shouldn’t impregnate a woman if he’s unprepared to make a commitment to her and to their child. He’s obligated to marry her. Deliver me from these modern-day Johnny Appleseeds. It’s one thing to leave a legacy of apple trees, but it’s something else to produce a bunch of fatherless kids. Find out what she needs and let me know.” He knew without seeing her that his secretary’s face bore a smile.

“Yes, sir. But I can tell you now that she’s going to need shelter pretty soon, because her father has threatened to kill her. He says it’s an affront to the Blessed Virgin for a good Catholic girl to get pregnant out of wedlock.”

He threaded his fingers. “Well, get her a place, and whatever else she needs. And tell her that if the guy doesn’t marry her before she begins to show, she should stay away from him.”

“Yes, sir. I figured you’d help her.”

“Did you, now?” He switched off the intercom and turned on his closed-circuit television. He needed a quote on cowhide futures. He’d thought his life was in order and his career in advance of where he hoped to be at this stage of his life. When his father passed away unexpectedly six weeks earlier, all of that changed. He was the elder son, and he had a responsibility to his family but, in truth, he didn’t want to leave his firm. Leather and Hides had always been the most profitable unit of Hayes/Roundtree Enterprises, and it was in trouble and didn’t have a manager. He didn’t believe in promoting the person who had been on the job longest—he went after the best man, even if he was an outsider, and he wanted the best product. His thoughts went to Melissa Grant. She had impressed him with her professional manner. He smiled. Professional after she recovered from the surprise they both received when they met. He wondered what his family would think of Ms. Grant.

* * *

What had she done? Melissa sat back in her desk chair and tried to imagine the possible fallout from her signature on that contract when Adam’s family found out about it, not to speak of her father’s behavior when he learned of her reaction to Adam Roundtree’s blatant, blistering masculinity. He haunted her thoughts, as he had done since she first looked at him. A big man. Self-possessed. And he was very tall, very dark, and very handsome. Thinking of him unsettled her, and she recalled that her entire molecular system had danced a jig when she laid eyes on him. But he was like the fruit in the Garden of Eden—one taste guaranteed a fall from Grace. Until today, as far as she knew, the Grants and Roundtrees and the Morrises and Hayeses before them hadn’t communicated by mouth or letter in her lifetime or her parents’ lifetime. Yet three generations of them had lived continuously within twenty miles of each other. And if today was an indication, their contact now wasn’t likely to be pleasant. They had been the bitterest of enemies since Moses Morris, her maternal grandfather, accused Jacob Hayes, Adam’s maternal grandfather, of cheating him out of a fortune nearly seventy years earlier. Whether she did it to assuage a sense of guilt, she didn’t know, because she didn’t examine her motive as she lifted the receiver and dialed her mother.

* * *

“Why are you calling in the middle of the day, dear?” Emily Grant asked her daughter. “Is anything wrong?”

“No,” Melissa said, groping for a plausible explanation. “I haven’t answered your letter, and I thought I’d better make up for that before I forgot it. How’s Daddy?” Her mother’s heavy sigh did not surprise her.

“Same as always. I’ll tell him you asked.” The voice suddenly lacked its soft, southern lilt. “I know you’re busy, dear, but come home when you can. And take care of yourself. You hear?”

Melissa hung up, feeling no better than before she’d made the call.

* * *

Melissa arrived at her apartment building that evening just as her friend, Ilona, reached it. She had met Ilona—a blond, vivacious, and engaging Hungarian with a flair for wit, conversation, and romance...and who admitted to fifty years—in the mail room just off the lobby. Until she’d met her, Melissa had never known anyone who kept a salon. You could always meet an assortment of artists, musicians, singers, dancers, and writers in Ilona’s bachelor apartment. Most were Europeans; all of them were interesting.

“Melissa, darling,” Ilona said in her strong accent, “come with me for a coffee for a few minutes.” Ilona drank hot espresso even on the hottest day.

“Okay, but only for a couple of minutes.” They rode the crowded elevator in silence and didn’t speak until they were inside Ilona’s place.

“What’s with you, darling?” Ilona called everybody “darling.” “Who is the man?” Laughter tumbled from Melissa’s throat, the first genuine merriment she’d felt since signing that contract.

“With you, it’s always a man, Ilona. This time, you guessed right.” She recounted her meeting that morning with Adam Roundtree.

“I don’t understand,” Ilona said.

“If I had passed up that contract, I might have had to declare bankruptcy. Now...well...Ilona, Adam Roundtree didn’t know who I was, but when he found out, I could see the light dimming in his eyes. You see, back in the 1920s his grandfather and my grandfather pooled their money to prospect some unproductive Kentucky oil fields for natural gas. For some reason, my grandfather pulled out, and six months later, Jacob Hayes brought in gas. My grandfather claimed that the gas field belonged to both of them, but he lost the court case. The townspeople gossiped, and years later Adam’s mother sued my family for slander and won an apology. It’s a mess. As far as I know, the Hayes-Roundtree clan and my folks hadn’t spoken in seventy years—until today when I met Adam Roundtree. You can’t mention their names in my father’s house.”

“And how do you feel about all this?”

“I don’t carry grudges.” Her weak smile must have reflected her grim mood; for once, Ilona had no clever response. Ilona brought their espresso coffee and some frozen homemade chocolates, explaining that she hadn’t made them and that she never cooked.

“If I had been wearing my glasses this morning, I’d have been better prepared for what I saw when I got close to Adam.” She thought that glasses didn’t become her and wore them only when absolutely necessary. Her laughter floated through the apartment. “The truth is that if I could have seen him, I wouldn’t have been foolish enough to get that close to him.” She rose to leave, but Ilona detained her.

“Darling, what are you going to do about this man?”

Melissa shrugged. “Avoid him as much as possible.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said, “but I’d never give up on that man.”

“I’d like to see more of him but, knowing what I know, that wouldn’t be smart. I’d better go.”

Melissa left Ilona and went home to get her dinner and review some contracts. Her face heated as she remembered what she’d felt when she got a good look at Adam. He’d made her feel... Recalling it embarrassed her. His smooth sepia skin invited her touch, and when she’d looked into his warm brown eyes, eyes that had a natural twinkle, she sensed herself being lulled into a receptive mood, receptive to anything he might suggest or do. Although twenty-eight, she had never experienced such a reaction to a man. His big frame had towered over her five feet eight inches, but she hadn’t been intimidated. Power. Flagrant maleness. He exuded both. Adam Roundtree was handsome...

and dangerous. His eyes continued to twinkle, she recalled, even when his tone became cool.

* * *

Melissa arrived early at her office, drank a cup of tasteless machine coffee, and settled into her work. At about eight thirty, she answered her secretary’s buzz.

“Yes, Kelly.”

“Mr. Roundtree insists that he won’t speak with anyone but you, and that if you refuse to talk to him, he’ll void the contract. He says he knows other executive search firms. He’s serious.”

Melissa remembered Jason Court’s deference to his boss. Void their contract? “Just let him try it,” she told Kelly. “Put him on.” She let him wait a second, but not so long as to seem rude. “How may I help you, Mr. Roundtree?”

“My name is Adam, Melissa, and you may help me by assuring me that you don’t palm off your clients on your assistants. I’m paying enough to be able to speak with you directly. You left my office before I had an opportunity to tell you what you can trade off. I know what the contract says, but we may have to give a little, because I can’t wait for a manager until you’ve checked every guy who’s been close to a cow. Could we meet somewhere for lunch tomorrow, say around one thirty?”

“Does that mean I can check every gal who’s been near a pig or an alligator?” she asked, alluding to other sources of leather. She heard him snort, but before he could answer, she agreed to meet him. “One o’clock would be better for me, and I like a light lunch. How about Thompson’s?” He had to compromise, she figured. And why couldn’t he discuss it right then? Adam’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Alright. Thompson’s at one. And Melissa, leave your armor in your office.”

“Will do. And you leave your tough guy personality in yours.”

“See you tomorrow.” He hung up, and she thought she heard him make a noise. It couldn’t have been a laugh. Maybe he had a hidden soft side, but if he did, she didn’t want to be exposed to it—what she’d seen of him was more beguiling than she cared to deal with.

Melissa walked into her co-op apartment in Lincoln Towers, three blocks from Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts, closed the door, and thanked God for the cool, refreshing air. She got a glass of orange juice from the refrigerator, took it into the living room and drank it while she watched the six o’clock news. After a few minutes her mind wandered to Adam Roundtree, and she switched off the television. She disliked driven, overachieving, corporate males. Gilbert Lewis had been one, a man with a timetable for everything. After “X” number of dinners, movies, and taxi rides, you either went to bed with him, or you were off of his list. She had told him to get lost when he gave her his stock ultimatum. She had stupidly fallen for him, and his attitude had hurt, but she’d kept her integrity. And now there was Adam Roundtree, a man whose impact on her when she met him was far more profound than any emotion Gilbert Lewis or any other man had ever induced.

* * *

Melissa wouldn’t have admitted that she dressed with special care that morning, had the red linen dress that she wore only when she wanted to make an impression not been proof. If her parents knew she planned to have lunch with Adam Roundtree, they’d have conniptions. She’d never been able to please her father, and her mother only said and did that which pleased her husband. She stared at herself in the mirror and saw her mother’s grayish brown eyes and her father’s mulatto coloring—the result of generations of mulatto inbreeding—and prayed that that was as much like them as she’d ever be. One thing was certain—if her business went under, she would consider it to have been due to her own shortcomings, not the fault of some imagined enemy that could be conveniently blamed the way her father always blamed the Hayeses and Roundtrees for his succession of failures. She let her curly hair hang down around her shoulders in spite of the summer heat, picked up her briefcase, and went to work.

* * *

She arrived at Thompson’s promptly at one to find Adam leaning casually against the cashier’s counter at the entrance to the restaurant. Punctuality fitted what she’d seen of his personality, and it was a trait she admired. His piercing gaze and that twinkle in his eyes fascinated her, and she realized she’d better get used to him—and quick—or he’d be laughing at her. She shook his hand and greeted him with seeming casualness, but the feel of his big hand splayed in the middle of her back as he steered her to their table was a test she could have happily forgone.

Melissa’s heavy lashes shot upward, and she gasped in surprise at the dozen yellow roses on their table. She glanced quickly at Adam, opened the attached note, and read: “My apologies for not having done this Tuesday rather than ask you to come to my office. Forgiven? Adam.”

Unable to associate the man with the soft gesture, she merely stared at him.

“Well?”

Melissa glanced downward to avoid his piercing gaze with its suggestive twinkle, certain that he discerned the flutter in her chest.

“Thanks. It’s a lovely gesture.”

Immediately he replaced his diffidence with his usual businesslike mien.

“Well, did you bring it?”

“Did I bring what?” she asked. His tone was jocular, but she wasn’t certain that it depicted his mood. She suspected that, with him, what you saw and even what you thought you heard might mislead you.

“Did you bring your armor?” She wanted to glare at him but didn’t trust herself to look straight into his eyes long enough to make it effective.

“It’s always close by,” she told him with studied sweetness, “but I’m not wearing it out of deference to your sensitive, gentle self.” He laughed. The dancing glints in his eyes matched both his softened face and the smile that framed his even white teeth, and hot sparks shot through her, his transformation very nearly electrifying her. He broke it off at once, and she had the feeling that laughing wasn’t something that he did often.

“When did you last laugh?” She watched him quirk an eyebrow and then frown.

“Not recently. What made you ask?”

She narrowed her eyes, squinting to get a good look, and shrugged her shoulder. “You didn’t seem comfortable doing it.” He laughed again, and she realized that he surprised himself when he did it.

Melissa controlled the urge to laugh along with him, reminding herself that she couldn’t afford to be captivated by his mercurial personality—they were there to discuss business. Her business. He sat erect suddenly, all semblance of good humor banished. She needn’t have been concerned, she told herself, because he had his own techniques for keeping people at a distance. And right then, his method was to serve his charm in small doses.

“Why did you need to see me in person?” she asked him. Did the twinkle in his eyes become brighter, or was she mistaken? She wished she could look somewhere else.

“My father managed Leather and Hides in his own way, ignoring the latest techniques and machinery. He made a good product, the best, but he’s gone now, and he didn’t leave a manual. I need a manager who can deal with that, who can make the business a state-of-the-art operation without sacrificing the quality that my father achieved. And I want an increase in productivity. We need to work together if I’m going to get what I’m looking for.”

“What are you willing to give up?”

He listed several traits that she considered minor.

“Okay. Now I’d like to eat my salad.” She looked down at her food and began to eat, but she knew he was glaring at her.

“Melissa, do I automatically ring your bell, or are you planning to carry on this ridiculous family feud?”

“I could ask you that.”

“You ring something, alright, but I’d hardly call it a bell. As for the rest, I chart my own course. I alone decide what I think and how I act, and my criteria for judging people don’t include reference to their forebears.”

“I can buy that. But with all their weaknesses, parents and siblings are very important, and it isn’t easy or comfortable to turn one’s back on them.” She could have kicked herself for that statement—after all, her thoughts about her family were not his business. “Why are you staring at me?” she asked him.

He seemed momentarily perplexed. “I didn’t realize I was. My common sense tells me I’d never forget a woman like you, but there’s something... Do you get the impression that we’ve met before...under unusual circumstances?”

“No. To my knowledge, I saw you yesterday for the first time. Why do you think we met somewhere else?”

“Just a feeling I have. When you were speaking softly about your family, your voice reminded me of someone and something special. Forget it. It’s probably just my imagination. Well, I’ve enjoyed our lunch, Melissa. Are you going to take my calls, or will I have to use blackmail again?”

She didn’t look at him. With that teasing tone, she could imagine the expression in his eyes. “Blackmail. But try something more original next time.” They both laughed, and she realized she liked him.

* * *

Adam told Melissa goodbye and walked briskly toward his office. In spite of the heat he didn’t want to go inside. He had a strange and uncomfortable feeling that something important was about to occur. It was like smelling a storm in the scent of the wind. Melissa Grant did not fit a mold, at least not one with which he was familiar. She wasn’t beautiful, but something about her grabbed him, embedded itself in him. He’d often wondered if he would ever feel for a woman what he’d felt the first time he saw her, wondered whether there would ever be a graceful, intelligent woman who’d bring him to heel. He had an irritating certainty that she could. She’d made him laugh, too, not once but three times, and it had felt good. The loud horn blast of a red Ford alerted him to the changing traffic light, and he stepped back to the curb and waited under the blazing sun. Melissa respected him, he reflected, but she wasn’t afraid of him, and he didn’t know many men about whom he could say that. But she was a professional associate, and she was a Grant.

* * *

Several days later at their regular Monday morning conference, Adam questioned Jason Court about Melissa. He wanted to know what progress she’d made, but he had other queries, too.

“Jason, why did you choose MTG for this search? I’m not displeased, just interested.” He had to know exactly what Melissa’s relationship was to Jason, and he scrutinized the man for any shred of evidence that he had a personal interest in her.

“MTG placed me in this job, Adam. I presume since you’ve just met her that my predecessor negotiated the terms. Anyway, she impressed me with her efficiency and manners. She’s thorough. She’s competent. If you answer all of her questions truthfully, you won’t have a secret when she’s through with you.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” So there was nothing personal between them. Good. He recalled her reaction to him when they met; if any other man was interested in Melissa Grant, he was out of luck.

Adam watched Jason tilt his head to one side, as if making certain of his words, before he said, “She’s not bad on the eyes, but she’s nearsighted as all hell. Man, she can’t see a thing from a distance of five feet, and when she does wear glasses, they’re on top of her head instead of on her eyes.” Adam couldn’t control the laughter that erupted from his chest. His head went back, and he laughed aloud, causing Jason to gape at him, apparently stunned.

“What’s so funny, Adam? That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh in the four years I’ve been working for you.”

Adam stood, effectively terminating the meeting. “You don’t want to know, Jason. Believe me, you don’t.” He went to his office, closed the door, and enjoyed a good laugh. The morning she’d come to his office, Melissa hadn’t seen him clearly until she was close enough to touch him, and what she saw must have sent her hormones into a tailspin. At least it was mutual.

* * *

The flashing phone lights brought him out of his heretofore unheard-of indulgence in reverie. “Roundtree.” He’d hoped it was Melissa calling to say that she had found a prospect, but it was his younger brother, Wayne.

“I’ve engaged a search firm to find a head for Leather and Hides, Wayne. Yes, I know you’re not keen on headhunters, but it’s the most efficient way to get the kind of person we want.” He didn’t mention that he’d hired Melissa Grant to do the job; time enough when the bimonthly report circulated. He wasn’t ready to take on Wayne and his mother, especially his mother, about dealing with a Grant or a Morris. Mary Hayes Roundtree would go to her grave despising the Morrises and Grants. Such a waste of emotion! He got up from his desk and began to pace. Wayne was asking a lot of him. The telephone cord reached its limit and halted Adam’s pacing.

“You’re suggesting that I leave my firm here in New York and spend three months in Frederick reorganizing Hayes/Roundtree Enterprises? But I’ve just been made full partner, Wayne—this is hardly the time to amble off for a few months leave of absence. I know you have your hands full with the paper, but I’ll have to give this some thought and get back to you.”

A leave of absence. He could do it, though he disliked leaving his department in the hands of another person, even Jason Court. But what choice did he have? Wayne wouldn’t suggest it if there was a way around it. His brother couldn’t continue to manage both the leather factory and the newspaper. He needed that manager. He walked around to Jason’s office, thinking of the fallout when their families learned of that contract.

* * *

That question plagued Melissa as she prepared and ate a light supper and mused over the day’s events. The telephone ended her reverie, and one of her father’s demands greeted her hello, shattering her good mood.

“Daddy, I know you think my business is child’s play, but it has supported me well for five years, and I’ve never asked you for help. Can’t you at least credit me with that?” Wrong tactic, she knew at once: independence was precisely what he sought to deny her. “I can’t leave my business and go back home. And I don’t want to.”

“Your mother needs you,” he replied, emphasizing the words this time as if to say, “You wouldn’t dare disobey me.”

Scoffing, she ignored his words. She didn’t wonder that her brother, Schyler, had taken a job overseas to avoid the emasculating effects of their father’s dominance, overprotectiveness, and indulgence.

“Daddy, I’m running a business here. I hire three people full time. I can’t close my business like that—” she snapped her finger “—and leave them and my clients stranded. I have contracts to fulfill.”

“But your mother’s been feeling poorly, and I want you to come home. You don’t have to work—I’ll take care of you. You come home.”

“Don’t my responsibilities mean anything to you, Father?” Melissa wanted to kick herself—he knew she always called him Father when he managed to make her feel like a small child.

His answer didn’t surprise her. “What’s an employment agency? Anybody can run that. You come home where you belong.” Why had she expected anything different? He could as well hire a companion for her mother, and if she went home, he probably wouldn’t even realize she was there. And if her mother needed anyone, it was her husband, the man who ignored her at home but played the besotted husband in public.

Her father hadn’t wanted a girl and had ignored her, but he doted on her brother, and her mother seemed to love whatever and whomever her father loved, because she hadn’t the will to confront or defy her domineering husband. Resentment coursed through her. No matter what she did, her father wasn’t satisfied with her. And now he demanded that she give up the life she’d made for herself. For as long as she could remember, she had done everything she could to please him, but whenever he needed something he imposed on her, never on his precious Schyler.

“I’ll go down and see Mother,” she told him, “but I’ll have to come back.” He hung up, and she knew he was furious, but for once she didn’t care. Immediately shame and remorse overcame her for having thought unkindly about her family. Family was important—Rafer Grant held that premise sacred and had taught her to do the same. She mulled over her father’s suggestion; perhaps moving back to Maryland might not be such a bad idea. She could care for her mother, and computers and fax machines would enable her to run her business from there. She’d also have lower overhead, and she’d be away from the temptation of Adam Roundtree.

Chapter 2

Several days later, frustrated by the poor caliber of the applicants she’d contacted, Melissa answered the phone without waiting for her secretary to screen the call.

“MTG.”

“Melissa? Adam. You must have guessed that it was me. Otherwise you wouldn’t have picked up, right?” What had come over him? She’d had the impression that he didn’t joke much, but that if he did, his words had an important, second meaning.

“Well?”

His voice carried a tantalizing urgency that challenged her to open up to him, but the very idea put her on guard, and she shifted in her chair. He had to be thirty-four or -five and couldn’t have reached that age without knowing his effect on people, especially women. Well, if he wanted to play cat and mouse, fine with her, but she was not going to be the mouse.

“Sure thing,” she bantered. “Didn’t you know that I’m a psychic?” She wasn’t, but let him think about that.

“You disillusion me. I thought you answered because you’re on my wavelength, but I’ve been wrong a few times. How are you getting along?”

“Just fine.”

“You have some good prospects? That’s great.”

“I don’t have any prospects, but I’m just fine.” Silence greeted her delicate laugh. “Adam, what happened to that sense of humor you had a minute ago? Don’t tell me that it only operates at somebody else’s expense?” Before he could reply, she asked him, “You wanted something?”

“I told you. I want to know how you’re getting along with the search.”

“Adam, when I have a candidate, I’ll contact Jason Court.”

“Are you saying you prefer speaking with Court?”

Melissa’s sigh, long and deep, was intended to warn him of her exasperation. “I’m assuming that you’re too busy to deal with so insignificant a matter as a head hunt.” Where was her brain? How could she have told him that he was paying her an exorbitant fee for an insignificant service?

Adam’s thoughts must have parallelled hers, because he spoke in clipped tones. “I didn’t realize you thought so little of the service you provide.” Did his voice reflect bitterness? She wasn’t sure.

“I’m sorry, Adam. It wasn’t my intention to imply that I don’t take your needs seriously.”

“Now you see why I dislike discussing business on the telephone. If I had been looking at you, I wouldn’t have mistaken your intent. Have lunch with me, and let’s straighten this out.”

“Adam, I don’t see that there’s anything to straighten out. Anyway, you probably won’t enjoy lunch with me. I don’t care much for power executives and two-hour lunches.”

He spoke more slowly, and his tone suggested that he didn’t like what she’d said. Why did the worst in her always seem to come out when she talked to him? She reckoned that, no matter how much the corporate giant he was, he had feelings, and she didn’t want to hurt him.

“I take it you don’t care for executive men. Why?”

“It isn’t that I dislike them—I understand them.”

He winced, and she had no trouble figuring out what he’d thought of that. Not much.

“I wasn’t aware that we were all alike,” he replied with pronounced sarcasm. Then he asked her, “Melissa, when you signed our contract, did you know I was a member of the Hayes-Roundtree family in Beaver Ridge, Maryland?”

“Yes, I knew.” She’d been expecting the question and had wondered why he hadn’t asked earlier. That was one thing she had decided she liked about him—he didn’t waste time speculating if he could get the facts. “I run a business, Adam, and I try to give my clients good service. If I think I can find them the kind of employee they want, I take the job. I don’t hold one person responsible for what another did.” The words had barely left her mouth when she realized her mistake.

His low, icy tone confirmed it. “Moses Morris’s accusation was false and unconscionable, and that was proved in court.”

“I’m sorry I alluded to that. I’d rather not discuss it. As far as I’m concerned, the matter was over seventy years ago.”

“No. You won’t state where you stand on that issue, though you know it’s important. You’ll evade it just like you walked out of my office without completing our discussions the day I met you. Avoid the heat, lady. That way you can stay calm, unruffled, unscathed, and above it all.”

She couldn’t tell from his voice whether she had angered him or saddened him, but she wouldn’t let him browbeat her. “You’re very clever to have learned so much about me in the...let’s see, two and a half hours that you’ve been in my presence. The arrogance of it boggles my mind, Adam. Well, let me tell you that I hurt as badly as the next Joe or Jane, and I bleed when I get cut, just like you do.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to— Melissa, this was a friendly call. I wanted to get to know you. I... We’ll talk another time.”

Her gaze lingered on the telephone after she hung up, annoyed with herself for having revealed such an intimacy to Adam. She could hardly believe that he’d been so accurate. She’d gotten out of his office that morning to preserve her professionalism, but for reasons other than he’d said. His effect on her had been mesmerizing, and she’d had no choice but to flee or lose her poise. She couldn’t allow him to regard her as just so much fluff—she headed a flourishing business, and she wanted that fact impressed on him.

* * *

Adam replaced the receiver with more care than usual and stared at the blank wall facing his desk. He didn’t want to feel compassion for Melissa; she’d made a solid enough impression on him as it was. It was one thing to want her, but if he also began to care about her feelings, he’d be in trouble. He had close women friends, but he didn’t allow himself to become emotionally involved with them. One woman had taught him to need her, to yearn for her, but foolish boy that he’d been, he had believed her seductive lies and gone back for more. Her full breast and ripe brown nipples were the first he’d ever seen. She had guided his lips to them while she stroked him, and he’d gone crazy. How could he have known that she only wanted to humiliate him? After nineteen years her vicious laughter still rang in his ears. Not again. Yet his life lacked something vital: a loving woman with whom he could share everything, the deepest desire of his soul; a home warm with a woman’s touch, devoid of the chrome and black leather sofas that decorators loved. And children. He shook his head. Just so much wishful thinking.

He left work late, grabbed a hot dog from his friend, who sold them at a corner pushcart, and made his way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He enjoyed the concerts there. People went because they appreciated the music, not because it was the chic thing to do, and they didn’t applaud halfway through a piece. At intermission he strolled out to the hallway for a stretch and a look at the crowd. Was he seeing correctly? He wouldn’t have thought that Melissa would attend a concert alone. Maybe she was waiting for someone. He watched her, undetected, and saw that she didn’t have a date. Just as he decided to speak to her, she looked directly at him, surprise mirrored in her eyes, and flashed him a cool smile.

* * *

Melissa watched Adam walk toward her, a gazelle in slow motion, and resisted the urge to smile. He must collect women the way squirrels gather nuts, she mused. She told herself not to be captivated by his dark good looks, his blatant masculinity, but she sucked in her breath as he neared her and wished that she’d taken off her distance glasses at the beginning of intermission.

She couldn’t hide her surprise at seeing him there alone. What had happened to the New York City women that such a man as Adam Roundtree attended concerts by himself? She decided not to comment on it, not to rile him, since he seemed more relaxed, less formal than previously, though she sensed a tightness about him. Her heart lurched in her chest as his slow, captivating smile spread over his handsome ebony face. She wasn’t a shy person, but she had to break eye contact with him in order to control her reaction. When her glance found him again, he had nearly reached her, and she had to steel herself against the impact of his nearness. What was wrong with her?

Adam held out his hand to her, and she took it, but they didn’t shake—though that was what he seemed to have intended. Instead he held her hand, and they looked at each other. His gaze burned her until her nervous fingers reached for the top button of her blouse. What is it about him? she asked herself. He spoke first.

“The auditorium is barely half full. Why don’t we sit together for the remainder of the concert?” She didn’t want to sit with him, and she didn’t want him holding her hand. Tremors ploughed through her when he touched her. She eased her fingers from his—feeling as though he’d just branded her—opened her mouth to refuse, and had half turned from him when another familiar voice caught her attention. Gilbert Lewis sauntered toward them.

“Yo, Melissa. I saw you sitting by yourself. I’m going for a drink, mind if I join you?” The man glanced up at Adam. “Or are you busy?” She wondered if he would have suggested it had she been alone.

“Excuse me, Gilbert. I’m with Mr. Roundtree.” She watched Gilbert Lewis walk away and thought how long she’d waited for that small measure of revenge. Small, but priceless. If a man saw a woman with Adam Roundtree, he knew he didn’t have an iota of a chance. The lights blinked, signaling the end of intermission, and Adam touched her elbow to guide her to their seats. She stepped away, but he trapped her.

“Have a good look at me, Melissa, so that you won’t try this trick with me again. I’m not accustomed to being used, Melissa, because nobody dares it. If you didn’t want that man’s company, you could have told him so. You said you’re with me—and lady—you are with me. Let’s get our seats before the music begins.” He walked them to their seats. Chastened, she explained.

“Adam, if you knew how much that scene meant to me, you wouldn’t grumble.”

His tone softened. “Are you going to tell me?”

She laughed. “You’re a hard man, aren’t you? Not an inch do you give.”

His shrug didn’t fool her that time, because his eyes denied the motion. “If it suits you to think that, I wouldn’t consider disabusing you of the idea.” At least he smiled, she noted with satisfaction. They took their seats, and she turned to him as the curtain opened. “You realize, of course, that if I didn’t want to sit with you, I’d be over there somewhere, don’t you?” She nodded toward some empty seats across the aisle. He patted her hand, and his words surprised her.

“I should think so. If you were the type to allow yourself to be steamrollered, you’d be less interesting.”

They stepped out of the great stone building, J. Pierpont Morgan’s grand gift to the city, and into the sweltering night. Several men removed their jackets, but not Adam. Her glance shifted to him, cool and apparently unaffected. She wondered how he did it. She had the impression that he didn’t allow anything, including the weather, to interfere with his adherence to the standards he’d set for himself.

The swaying trees along the edge of Central Park provided a welcomed, if warm, breeze as they walked down Fifth Avenue, but as though they had slipped into private worlds, neither spoke until they reached the corner and waited for the light to change.

“It’s early yet,” Adam observed. “Let’s stop somewhere for a drink.” If he hadn’t been staring down at her, she reasoned, saying no would have been easier. But a smile played around his lips almost as if he harbored a delicious secret—she didn’t doubt that he did—and the twinkle in his eyes dared her to be reckless.

She voiced a thought that tempered her momentary foolhardiness. “Adam, if anybody in Beaver Ridge or Frederick saw us walking together, they’d be certain the world was coming to an end.”

“Why?” he asked, taking her arm as they crossed the street, “we’re not holding hands.” She was grateful that he wasn’t looking at her and couldn’t see her embarrassment, but she needn’t have worried, she realized, because his thoughts were elsewhere.

“Melissa, why did you agree to find a manager for me if you knew who I was?”

“What happened between our grandfathers was unfortunate, Adam, and it is one legacy that I don’t intend to pass on to my children. I’ve never been able to hate anyone, and I’m glad, because hatred is as crippling as any disease. Believe me—I’ve seen enough of it. Anyway, why shouldn’t I have taken your business?” she hedged, unwilling to lie. His large retainer had been her salvation. “I operate a service that you needed and for which you were willing to pay.” She looked up at him and added, “It’s tempting to walk through the park, but that wouldn’t be safe even with you. How much over six feet are you, Adam?”

“Four inches. How much under it are you?”

“Four inches.”

He stopped walking and looked down at her. “How much under thirty are you?”

“Two years.” Her lips curled into a smile. “How much over it are you?”

“Four years.” He grasped her hand and threaded her fingers with his own.

Each time she was with him, he exposed a little more of himself, she realized. His wry wit and unexpected teasing appealed to her—she liked him a lot. Pure feminine satisfaction enveloped her. Here was a man who was strong and self-reliant, sure of himself, who didn’t need to blame others for his failures, if he had any. She shook her head as though to clear it. Adam Roundtree could easily become an addiction. And she knew that part of his appeal was his contrast with her father. Adam was direct, fair, but her father tended to be manipulative, at least with her. Adam was a defender, but for all his accomplishments, Rafer Grant was a user.

“Where are we going for this drink? We’re walking toward my place, but we could go over to Madison and find a café or bar. There’s no reason to go further out of your way.”

“Stop worrying, Melissa. I recognize your status as my equal—well, almost.” A glance up at him told her that the twinkle carried humor. “We are walking my way. I live on Broadway just across from Lincoln Center.” When she showed surprise, he slowed his steps.

“Where do you live, Melissa?”

She laughed. “Four blocks from you, in Lincoln Towers.”

They took the bus across Central Park, stopped at a coffeehouse on Broadway, and idled away three-quarters of an hour.

“How long have you lived away from home?” he asked between sips of espresso.

“Since I left for college. A little over ten years.”

“Do you miss it?”

She thought for minute. “No. I guess not. Our home life was less than ideal.” Hot little needles shimmied through her veins when his hand reached across the tiny table and clasped hers, reassuring her. She knew right then that he’d protect her if she let him.

“I’m sorry.” His words were soft. Soothing. She wouldn’t have thought him capable of such gentleness. “That must have been difficult for you,” he added.

“Oh, it wasn’t all bad. From time to time, I got lovely surprises that brightened my life.”

“Like what?”

“Let’s see. The occasional rose that I’d find on my dresser. The little crystal bowl of lavender potpourri that would appear in my bathroom. Books of poetry under my pillow. I remember I was so happy to find ‘The Song of Hiawatha’ there that I read it and cried with joy half the night.”

His strong fingers squeezed hers in a gentle caress. “Who was this silent angel?”

“My mother.”

His perplexed expression didn’t surprise her, but she was glad that he didn’t question her further. He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head as though dismayed. “Ready to go?”

She nodded. As they left, he took her hand, intensifying her wariness of him and of what she sensed growing between them.

“Walk you home?” he asked her. She wanted to prolong the time with him but thought of the consequences and tried to extricate her fingers from his, but he held on and then squeezed affectionately. Warmth flowed through her, a warmth that strengthened her, invigorated her, and enhanced her sense of self. She noticed couples, young and old, among the late evening strollers, some of whom were obviously lovers, enraptured, in their own world. Some seemed to argue, to be ill at ease in their relationship. Others appeared to have been together so long that complacency best described them, but they all held hands. Like small children clutching their security blankets, she mused. When they reached the building in which she lived, Adam assumed a casual air and looked down at her, silently awaiting a signal for his next move. What a cautious man, she thought as she prepared to head off any gesture of intimacy on his part. Though wary of the guaranteed effect of his touch, she extended her hand.

“It’s been nice, Adam. Since we’ve just had coffee, I won’t invite you for more. Maybe we’ll meet again.”

His displeasure wasn’t concealed by the dancing light in his eyes, she noted. “Are you always so cut and dried?” When I’m nervous, yes, she thought. Without waiting for her answer, he went on. “Your tendency to dismiss people could be taken as rudeness. Why are you so concerned with protecting yourself? Trust me, Melissa. I can read a woman the way fortune-tellers read tea leaves. You’d like this evening to continue, but you’ve convinced yourself that it wouldn’t be in your best interest, and you have the fortitude necessary to terminate it right now. I like that.”

He grinned. She hadn’t seen him do that before, and she couldn’t decide what to make of it. Why didn’t he leave? She didn’t want to stand there with heat sizzling between them. Tension gripped the back of her neck, and her hair seemed to crackle with electricity when he took a step closer. She moved, signaling her withdrawal from him, and he pinned her with the look of a man who knows every move and what it symbolizes. His brazen gaze told her that her reprieve was temporary, that he knew she was susceptible to him, and that he could easily get her cooperation in knowing him more intimately. Her blood raced when his right hand dusted her cheek just before he nodded and walked away.

* * *

Melissa closed her apartment door, leaned against it, and sighed with relief. Adam Roundtree was quintessential male. An alluring magnet. But she wasn’t fool enough to ruin her life—at least she hoped not. But the uneasy feeling persisted that Adam Roundtree got whatever he wanted, and that her best chance of escaping him was if he didn’t want her. Just the thought of belonging to a man like him was drugging, a narcotic to her libido. With his height, fat-scarce muscular build and handsome dark face, and those long-lashed bedroom eyes with their brown hazel-rimmed irises, he was a charismatic knockout. Add to that his commanding presence and... A long breath escaped her. She recalled his squared, stubborn chin and the personality that it suggested and concluded that if he softened up and stayed that way, he would be a trial for any woman. She heard the telephone as she entered her apartment, and excitement boiled up in her at the thought that Adam could be calling her from the lobby.

Her hello brought both a surprise and a disappointment. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t call me again, Gilbert.”

“You suggested it,” he said, “but I didn’t agree.” At one time she couldn’t have imagined that this man’s voice would fail to thrill her or that her blood wouldn’t churn at the least evidence of his interest.

“You don’t say.” His weary sigh was audible. Women didn’t dangle Gilbert Lewis, and she found his impatience with her disinterest amusing.

“Well, if you didn’t agree, what’s your explanation for this long hiatus? Do you think I’ve been twiddling my thumbs waiting to hear from you?” She didn’t approve of toying with a person’s feelings, but where Gilbert was concerned, she didn’t have a sense of guilt—if he had feelings, he hadn’t made that fact known to her. She grinned at his reply.

“Honey, you don’t know how many times I’ve tried to reach you, but you’re never home. Let’s get together. I’m giving a black tie party next Saturday, and I want you to come. And bring Roundtree.” The latter was posed as an afterthought, but she knew it was the reason for his call. Ever the opportunist, Gilbert Lewis had called because he wanted to meet Adam Roundtree. He had no more interest in her that she had in him.

“And if Adam has other plans, may I come alone or bring someone else?” She had evidently surprised him, and his sputters delighted her, because she’d never known him to be speechless.

“Well,” he stammered. “I’ve always wanted to meet the guy. See if you can get him to come.” She imagined that her laughter angered him, but he was too proud to show it. When she could stop laughing, she answered him.

“Gilbert, you couldn’t have been this transparent four years ago. If you were, there must have been more Maryland hayseed in my hair than I thought. Be a good boy, and stick to your kind of woman. I’m not one of them.” She hung up feeling cleansed. What a difference! Her thoughts went to Adam. That man would never expose himself to ridicule or scorn.

Minutes after he left her, Adam sat at a small table in the Lincoln Center plaza drinking Pernod, absently watching the lighted waters spray upward in the famous fountain. Across the way, the brilliant Chagall murals begged for his attention, offering an alternative to his musings about Melissa Grant, but he could think only of her. His strong physical reaction to her mystified him. He sipped the last of his drink, paid for it, and walked across the street to his high-rise building.

“This has to stop,” he muttered to himself. He’d never mixed business with pleasure, but when they’d reached her apartment building, he had wanted more than the coffee she refused to offer or a simple kiss—he’d wanted her. She would never know how badly. Sound sleep eluded him that night. Another new experience. Like a flickering prism, Melissa danced in and out of his dreams. Awakening him. Deserting him. And waking him up again.

* * *

Adam walked into his adjoining conference room promptly at eight o’clock to find coffee and, as he expected, his senior staff waiting for him. Their normal business completed, he detained them

“Where might an abusive man look for a woman who’d defied him and escaped his brutality?” he asked the group. Anywhere but a small town was the consensus. He returned to his office and began redrafting plans for a women’s center in Hagerstown, Maryland, an unlikely place for one. His secretary walked into his office.

“Are you planning to open another one?” He nodded, explaining that “this is more complicated and more ambitious than our place in Frederick.”

Her gaze roamed over him, with motherly pride, it seemed. “If you need help with this, I’ll work overtime at no cost to you. It’s a wonderful thing you do for these poor women, supporting these projects from your private funds.”

He leaned back in his big leather chair. “I can afford to pay you, Olivia, and I will. You do enough for charity.”

“Pshaw,” she demurred. “What I do is nothing compared to the help you give people. These homes for abused women, that hospital ward for seriously ill children, and the Lord knows what else. God is going to bless you—see if He doesn’t.”

He shook his head, rejecting the compliment. “I’m fortunate. It’s better to be in a position to give than to be on the dole.” Abruptly he changed the topic. “Olivia, what do you think of Melissa Grant? Think she’ll find me a manager for Leather and Hides?”

“Yes. She seemed very businesslike. Real professional. Anyhow, I trust your judgment in hiring her. When it comes to people, you don’t often make mistakes.”

Adam slapped his closed left fist into the palm of his right hand. Not in the last fifteen years, he hadn’t, but the thought pestered him that where Melissa was concerned he was ripe for a blunder of the first order.

Melissa. He had the sense that he’d been with her before. She reminded him of a woman he’d danced with in costume one New Year’s Eve. He’d been dancing with the woman, but at exactly midnight she’d disappeared, leaving an indelible impression. As farfetched as it seemed, whenever Melissa spoke in very soft tones, he thought of that unknown woman. Perhaps he’d wanted the woman because she was mysterious. His blood still raced when he thought of her. Warm. Soft. He’d like to see her at least once more. Yet he wanted Melissa. He rubbed the back of his neck. His elusive woman was at least two, maybe three, inches shorter than Melissa, but he couldn’t dismiss the similarity in allure.

He picked up the business section of The Maryland Journal and noted that the price of sweet crude oil had increased more rapidly than the cost of living index. His folks were no longer in the natural gas business and had sold their property in Kentucky, so fuel prices didn’t concern him, but every day his family had to combat the scandal brought on by Moses Morris’s unfair accusation of seventy years earlier. Anger toward the Grants and Morrises surged in him as he reflected on how their maltreatment had shortened his grandfather’s life and embittered his mother. His passion for Melissa cooled, and he strengthened his resolve to stay away from her.

He dictated a letter pressuring Melissa to find the manager at once, though the contract specified one month. He rationalized that he wasn’t being unfair, that he was in a bind and she should understand.

Several hours later Adam told himself that he would not behave dishonorably toward Melissa or anyone else, that he should have investigated MTG and identified its president. He tore up the letter and pressed the intercom.

“Olivia, get Jason for me, please.” Melissa hadn’t been in touch with Jason, and that riled him. He paced the floor of his office as he tried to think of a justifiable reason to telephone her. Finally, he gave up the idea, left his office and went to the gym, reasoning that exercise should clear his head. But after a half hour, having conceded defeat, he stopped as he passed a phone on his way out and dialed her number.

Adam held his breath while the phone rang. She’s in my blood, he acknowledged and wondered what he’d do about it.

“Melissa Grant speaking.”

“Have dinner with me tonight. I want to see you.”

* * *

She had dressed when he arrived at her apartment. He liked that, but he noticed her wariness about his entering her home. He didn’t put her at ease—if she didn’t want to be involved with him, she had reason to be cautious, just as he had. It surprised him that she didn’t question why he’d asked her to dinner, and he didn’t tell her, reasoning that she was a smart woman and old enough to divine a man’s motives. He’d selected a Cajun restaurant in Tribeca, and it pleased him that she liked his choice.

“I love Cajun food. Don’t you think it’s similar to soul food?”

He thought about that for a bit. “The ingredients, yes, but Cajun’s a lot spicier. A steady diet of blackened fish, whether red or cat, would eat a hole in your stomach. Reminds me of my first trip to Mexico. I’d alternate a mouthful of food with half a glass of water. I don’t want that experience again. Come to think of it, that’s what prompted me to learn to cook.”

“You cook?”

He knew she wouldn’t have believed it of him, and neither would any of his staff or business associates. “Of course I cook, Melissa. Why should that surprise you? I eat, don’t I?”

“Aren’t you surprised that we get on as well as we do?” she asked him. “Considering our backgrounds, I’d have thought it impossible.”

He let the remark pass rather than risk putting a damper on a pleasant evening. Later they walked up Seventh Avenue to the Village Vanguard, but neither liked the avant-garde jazz offering that night, and they walked on.

Adam took her arm. “Let’s go over to Sixth Avenue and Eighteenth or so. The Greenwich Village Singers are performing at a church over there, and we may be able to catch the last half of the program. Want to try?” She agreed, and at the end of the concert, Handel’s Judas Maccabeus, he walked with her to the front of the church to shake hands with two acquaintances who sang with the group. While he spoke with a man, his arm went around her shoulder, automatically, as if it belonged there, and she moved closer to him. He glanced down at her and nodded, letting her know that he’d noticed and that he acknowledged her move as natural, but he immediately reprimanded himself. He’d better watch that—he’d been telling the man with whom he spoke that Melissa wasn’t available, and he had no right to do it.

“That was powerful singing,” he remarked, holding her arm as they started toward the front door. She nodded in agreement.

“That mezzo had me spellbound.” He tugged her closer.

“Would you have enjoyed it as much if you hadn’t been with me?” She looked up at him just before a quip bounced off of her tongue. She’d never seen a more serious face, but she had to pretend that he was teasing her.

“I doubt it,” she joked, “you’re heady stuff.”

“Be careful,” he warned her, still serious. “I’m a man who demands evidence of everything. If I’m heady stuff, you’re one hell of an actress.” His remark stunned her, but she recovered quickly.

“Oh, I’ve been in a drama or two. Back in grade school, it’s true, but I was good.” Laughter rumbled in his throat, and he stroked her fingers and told her, “You’re one classy lady.”

* * *

Melissa looked around her as they continued walking down the aisle of the large church toward the massive baroque front door and marveled that every ethnic group and subgroup seemed to be represented there. She stopped walking to get Adam’s full attention. “Why is it,” she asked him, “that races and nationalities can sing together, play football, basketball, tennis and whatever together, go to school and church together, but as a group, they can’t get along? And they make love together—what’s more intimate than that? You’d think if they can do that, they can do anything together.”

“But that’s behind closed doors,” he explained. “Two people can resolve most anything if there’s nobody around but them, nobody to judge them or to influence them. Take us, for instance. Once our folks get wind of our spending time together, you’ll see how easily a third person can put a monkey wrench in a relationship.”

* * *

Melissa quickened her steps to match those of the man beside her. He must have noticed it, because he slowed his walk. Warmth and contentment suffused her, and when he folded her hand in his, she couldn’t make herself remove it. Was the peace that seemed to envelop her the quiet before a storm? She couldn’t remember ever having felt so carefree or so comfortable with anyone. Adam was honorable, she knew it deep down. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t leave her to cope alone with the problems that they both knew loomed ahead if they continued to see each other.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he asked her, “Would your family be angry with you if they knew we spent time together?”

Looking into the distance, she nodded. “I’d say that’s incontestable. Furor would be a better description of my father’s reaction.” She tried to lift her sagging spirits—only moments earlier they had soared with the pleasure of just being with him. He released her hand to hail a speeding taxi, and didn’t take it again. She sat against the door on her side of the cab.

With a wry smile, Adam commented, “If you sat any farther away from me, you’d be outside this cab. Scared?”

She gave him what she intended to be a withering look. “Of whom?”

“Well, if you’re so sure of yourself,” he baited, “slide over here.”

“I read the story of ‘Little Red Riding Hood,’” she told him solemnly, careful to maintain a straight face.

“Are you calling me a wolf?”

She was, she realized—and though he probably didn’t deserve it, she refused to recant. “You used that word. I didn’t. But I bet you’d be right at home in a wilderness.” Or most other places, she thought.

She controlled the urge to lean into him, when his long fingers stroked the back of her neck. “Don’t you know that men tend to behave the way women expect them to? Huh? Be careful, Melissa. I can howl with the best of them.” Tremors of excitement streaked through her. What would he be like if he dropped his starched facade?

“What does it take to get you started?” she asked idly, voicing a private thought.

“One spark of encouragement from you.” He flicked his thumb and forefinger. “Just that much, honey.” She couldn’t muffle the gasp that betrayed her.

“Move over here,” he taunted. “Come on. See for yourself.” Tempting. Seductive. Enticing her. The words dripping off of his smooth tongue in an invitation to madness. She clutched the door handle and prayed that he wouldn’t touch her.

“Melissa.”

She clasped her forearms tightly. “I’m happy right where I am.” Her heart skittered at his suggestive, rippling laughter.

“You’d be a lot happier,” he mocked, “if you closed this space between us.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Believe me, honey,” he purred, “I’m doing exactly that.” If she didn’t control the impulse, her fingers would find his and cling.

He took her key to open her door for her and held it as though weighing the consequences of alternative courses of action. After a few minutes during which he said nothing and she was forced to look into his mesmeric eyes while she fought rising desire, she had the impulse to tell him to do whatever he wanted—just get on with it. But seemingly against his will, as if he pulled it out of himself, he spoke.

“I’d like to spend some time with you, Melissa. I don’t have loose strings in my personal life nor in my business affairs. I need to see whether our friendship, or whatever it is that prevents our staying away from each other, will lead anywhere. I’m not asking for a commitment, and I’m not giving one. But there’s something special going on between us, and you know it, too. What do you say?”

“We’ll see.” Even if she hadn’t already learned a lesson, she had good cause to stay away from Adam. The most optimistic person wouldn’t give a romance between them a chance of maturing, because no matter how they felt about each other, their families’ reactions would count for more. So that settled it—she wouldn’t see him except with regard to business. But how could she be content not knowing what he’d be like if she let herself go and succumbed to whatever it was that dragged her toward him? Oh, Lord! Was she losing sight of the storm that awaited her when Rafer Grant learned of her passion for Adam Roundtree?

* * *

Adam awakened early the next morning after a sound and refreshing sleep. He’d made up his mind about Melissa, and as usual he didn’t fight a war with himself about his decision. That was behind him. He suspected that given the chance, she’d wrestle with it as any thinking person in her circumstances would, but he didn’t plan to give her much of a chance.

He scrambled out of bed as the first streaks of red and blue signaled the breaking dawn, showered, poured coffee from his automatic coffee maker, got a banana, and settled down to work. He liked Saturday mornings, because he was free to work on his charities, the projects whose success gave him the most pleasure. The Refuge, as the Rachel Hood Hayes Center for Women that was situated in Frederick was commonly known, had become overcrowded. He had to find a way to enlarge it and expand its services. His dilemma was whether to continue financing it himself or seek collaborative funds. If it were located in New York City or even Baltimore rather than Frederick, raising the money would be fairly simple, but corporations wouldn’t get substantial returns from humanitarian investments in Frederick, and he couldn’t count on their support.

He looked out of the window across Broadway and toward the Hudson River, knowing that he wouldn’t see Melissa’s building. He had had years of impersonal relationships and loveless sex, and he had long since tired of it. After the humiliation of that one innocent adolescent attachment, he’d sworn never to be vulnerable to another woman. The lovers he’d had as a man had wanted to be linked with Adam Roundtree and regarded intimacy as a part of that. They hadn’t attempted to know or understand him. Hadn’t cared whether he could hurt or be disappointed. Hadn’t dreamed that a hole within him cried out for a woman’s love and caring. But Melissa was different. He sensed it. He knew it. He pondered what his mother would think of Melissa. She’d probably find reasons to shun her, he mused, and none of them would have anything to do with Melissa herself. Mary Hayes Roundtree was bitterly opposed to the Morris/Grant people for having vilified her family’s name without cause. And he suspected that Melissa’s fair complexion might bother her, too—his mother liked to trace her roots back to Africa, and she ignored all the evidence of miscegenation that he could see in the Hayes family. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He couldn’t and wouldn’t allow his mother’s preferences and prejudices to influence his life.

He spent an hour on his personal accounts, then lifted the receiver and dialed her number.

“Hi. I mean, hello.”

He could barely understand the mumbled words. “Hi. Sorry to wake you, but I’ve been up for hours. Want to go bike riding?”

“Biking?” The sound resembled a lusty purr, and he could almost see her stretching languorously, seductively. “Call me back in a couple of days.”

“Come on, sleepyhead, get up. Life’s passing you by.”

“Hmm. Who is this?” He had a sudden urge to be there, leaning over her, watching her relaxed and inviting, seeing her soft and yielding without her defenses. Her deep sigh warned him that she was about to drop the receiver.

“This is Adam.” He heard her feet hit the floor as she jumped up.

“Who? Adam? Bicycle?” A long pause ensued. “Adam, who would have thought you were sadistic?”

“I didn’t know I was. Want to ride with me? Come on. Meet me at the bike shop in an hour.”

“Where is it?”

“Not far from you. Broadway at Sixty-fifth Street. Eat something.”

“Okay.”

They rode leisurely around Central Park, greeting the few bikers and joggers they encountered in the still cool morning. Melissa knew a rare release, an unfamiliar absence of concerns. It was as if she had shed an outer skin that she hadn’t known to be confining but the loss of which had gained her a welcomed freedom. She looked over at the man who rode beside her, at his dark muscular legs and thighs glistening with faint perspiration from their hour’s ride and at the powerful arms that guided the bike with such ease. From her limited experience, she had always believed that it was the man who wanted and who asked. She shook her head, wondering whether she was strange, decided that she wasn’t, and let a grin crease her cheeks. Self-revelation could be pleasant.

* * *

“Let me in on it. What’s funny?”

“Me.” She replied and refused to elaborate, watching him from the corner of her right eye. He slowed their pace and headed them toward the lake. At the shed he locked and stored their bikes and rented a canoe for them. He rowed near the edge of the lake. The ducks made place for them amidst the water lilies, and some swam alongside the canoe, quacking, seemingly happy to provide entertainment. Melissa looked around them and saw that, except for the birds, they were alone. The cool, fresh morning breeze pressed her shirt to her skin, and she lowered her head in embarrassment when she realized he could see the pointed tips of her breasts. Her restless squirming seemed to intensify his fixation with her, and she had to employ enormous self-control to resist covering her breasts with her arm.

“Don’t be shy,” he soothed, “let me look at you. I’ve never before seen you so relaxed, so carefree.”

“If you saw it all the time, you’d soon be fed up with it,” she jested in embarrassment. “And maybe worse. One Latin poet, I believe his name was Plautus, said that anything in excess brings trouble.”

His half smile quickened the twinkle of his eyes, and her hands clutched her chest as frissons of heat raced through her. “I prefer Mae West’s philosophy,” he taunted. “She said too much of a good thing is wonderful. You stick with Mister What’s-his-name’s view.” Melissa stared at him. Did he know what he’d just done to her?

His eyes caressed her while she squirmed, rubbed her arms, and moistened her lips. As though enchanted, he dropped anchor and let the boat idle.

“You’re too far away from me. If I wasn’t sure this thing would capsize, I’d go down there and get you.”

“And do what?” she challenged. Heat seemed to radiate from him, and she shivered in excited anticipation.

“When I finished, you’d never think of another man. You know you’re playing with fire, don’t you?” She wrinkled her nose in disdain.

“Keep it up,” he growled, “and I’ll go down there to you even if this thing sinks.” The air crackled and sizzled around them, and she fought the feminine heat that stirred in her loins. Sweat poured down her face as his hot gaze singed her, but she struggled to summon a posture of indifference. Nose tilted upward and chin thrust forward, she teased him, her voice unsteady.

“Planning to rock the boat, are you? Well, if you let me drown, the Morrises and Grants will have your head.”

She thrilled from head to toe as his laughter washed over her, exciting her. “I’m scared to death, Melissa. I’m shaking in my Reeboks.” Her right hand dipped into the lake as a duck swam by, and she brought up enough water to wet the front of his shirt.

“Lady, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Cooling you off.” She hoped she’d made him give her some room. She hadn’t. He looked at her steadily and spoke without a trace of humor.

“If you think I’m hot now, Melissa, you’re in for a big surprise.”

* * *

Adam watched as her eyes widened and knew she was at a loss as to how to handle him. He regretted that—he wanted her to handle him and to enjoy doing it. He pulled up the anchor and began rowing. The trees heavy with green leaves and the quiet water provided the perfect background against which he could appreciate her beguiling loveliness. His fingers itched to replace the breeze that gently lifted her hair from her shoulders and neck, and his lips burned with the impulse to taste her throat, to... They had the lake to themselves. If he dared... He raised his gaze from the water surrounding them and caught the naked passion unsheltered in her eyes. Watched, flabbergasted, as she licked her lips. Desire sliced through him, and he had to fight to rein in his rampant passion.

He rowed back to the shed, surrendered their boat, and retrieved their bikes. He was in control, he assured himself. He could stop the relationship, walk away from it anytime he chose. Or he could have until he’d seen the heat in her eyes and the quivering of her lips—for him.

* * *

He stood in front of the building in which she lived, looking down at her, trying to keep his hands to himself. She squinted at him and licked her lips. Did she want him to...? He ran his fingers over his short hair in frustration.

“Melissa, I... Look, I enjoyed this.” He settled for banality, when what he needed to tell her was that he wanted her right then.

She smiled in an absentminded way and responded to his meaningless remark: “Me, too.”

Maybe he’d spend some time with Ariel on Sunday and get his desire for Melissa under control. Abstinence wasn’t good for a man. He smiled grimly as he bade Melissa goodbye, admitting to himself that self-deception wasn’t good for a man, either. The next morning, Sunday, it was Melissa whom he called.

Chapter 3

A soft sigh escaped Melissa when she awakened and realized that Adam wasn’t with her, that she’d been dreaming, and that the glistening bronze male who’d held her so tenderly was an illusion. Had she leashed her emotions so tightly these past four years that her defenses against masculine seduction were weak and undependable, that a man, who’d never even kissed her, could take possession of her senses? She didn’t think so. What was it about Adam? She reached for her glasses, looked at the clock, decided she could sleep another hour, and turned over. Wishful thinking. She answered the ringing phone.

“Hello,” she murmured, half conscious of the seductive message in her low, sleepy tones.

“So you’re awake. Thinking about me?”

“No,” she lied. “I was thinking about the weather.”

“First female I ever met who gets turned on by thoughts of the weather.”

She frowned. He was too sure of himself. Then she heard his amused chuckle and couldn’t suppress a smile, then a giggle, and finally a joyous laugh.

“Want some company? I want to see you while you’re so happy. You’re uninhibited when you first wake up, aren’t you?”

“Why did you call?” She twirled the phone cord around her index finger and waited while he took what seemed an inordinate amount of time answering.

“I didn’t intend to—it just happened. How about going to the Museum of Modern Art with me this afternoon? There’s a show of contemporary painters that I’d like to see, and browsing in a museum is my favorite Sunday afternoon pastime. What do you say?”

“Depends. I’m going to church, and then I’m going to shoot pool for an hour.” After his long silence, she asked him, “Are you speechless? Don’t tell me I shocked you. Women do shoot pool, you know.”

“Surprised, maybe, but it takes more than that to shock me. Should I come by for you, or do you want to meet me?”

“I’ll meet you at the front door of the museum. One thirty.”

She hung up and immediately the telephone rang, sending her pulse into a trot in anticipation of what he’d say.

“Mama! Are you alright? Why aren’t you going to church this morning?”

“Oh, I am, dear, and I’m just fine. I wanted to say hello before your father and I leave home. Schyler called. He just got a promotion to vice president and head of the company’s operations in Africa. I knew you’d want to know.” They talked for a few minutes, but Melissa’s pleasure at receiving her mother’s call had ebbed. Her parents took every opportunity to boast of her brother’s accomplishments. She hoped she wasn’t being unfair, but if they boasted about her, she hadn’t heard about it.

* * *

Melissa’s status within her family was far from her thoughts while she roamed the museum with Adam. She could have done without many of the paintings, she decided, but an hour among them was a small price to pay for a stroll with Adam in the sculpture garden. She had to struggle not to betray her response when he slung an arm around her shoulder as they stood and looked at a Henry Moore figure, splayed his long fingers at her back as they walked, and held her hand while he leaned casually against a post, gazing at her with piercing intensity—letting her see that his plans for them included far greater intimacy than hand-holding. She had to conclude that Adam Roundtree was a thorough man, that he left nothing to chance. He’d said he wanted to find out if there could be anything between them, and he clearly meant it. He was also stacking the odds. He might need proof, but she knew they had the basis for a fiery relationship, and he couldn’t want that anymore than she did, but he was in a different position. He was head of his family, and his folks might not try to censor him as hers surely would, but she couldn’t believe he’d be willing to drag up those ancient hatreds.

Adam let his gaze roam over Melissa. Her wide yellow skirt billowed in the breeze, and he could see the outline of her bra beneath her knitted blouse. Her softly feminine casual wear appealed to him, made her body more accessible to his touch, his hands. He grasped her arm lightly. “I’ve got a friend in Westchester I’d like you to meet. Come with me.” He sensed her reluctance before she spoke.

“I have to be home early—I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Come with me,” he urged, his voice softer, lower. Persuasive. “Come with me.” He watched her eyelids flutter before she squinted at him and insisted that she should go home. He knew she wanted to escape the intimacy between them, but he was determined to prolong it.

“I’ll take you home early. Come with me.”

She went.

* * *

They boarded the train minutes before its departure. Melissa didn’t know what to make of Adam’s mood, and his invitation to join him in a visit with a friend perplexed her. She was certain that he hadn’t planned for them to go to Westchester when he’d called her that morning.

“Are we going to visit one of your relatives?”

Adam draped his right ankle across his left knee and leaned back in his seat. “If that were the case, Melissa, I’d warn you. I would never spring a member of my family on you unexpectedly, and I think you know that. Winterflower is a very special friend. You’ll like her. She has an aura of peace about her that’s refreshing—the best preparation for the Monday morning rat race that anybody could want. I go up to see her as often as I can.”

“How old is she?” She could see that the question amused him.

“Oh, around fifty or fifty-five, I’d say. But I could be way off—I don’t make a habit of asking women their age.”

“I got the impression from what you said a minute ago that she’s different. Is she?”

“In a way. Yes. Winterflower doesn’t fight the world, Melissa—she embraces it.” He shrugged elaborately. “Flower defies description...you have to experience her.” So he had a tonic for the New York rat race after all, she mused, pleased that the woman wasn’t his lover.

* * *

A tall Native American woman of about fifty greeted them with a natural warmth. Adam introduced them, and Melissa liked her at once.

“What are you two doing together?” she asked Adam before telling him, “Never mind, it will work itself out. But you’ll both hurt a lot before it does.”

Melissa watched, perplexed, as Adam hugged the woman and then admonished her. “Now, Flower, I do not want to know about the rough roads and slippery pebbles ahead, as you like to put it. You told me about them three months ago.”

The woman’s benevolent smile was comforting, though her words were not. “You’re just coming to them.” Melissa had a strong sense of disquiet as Flower turned to her and extended her hand. “It’s good that you are not as skeptical as Adam is. You complement him well.”

Adam snorted. “Flower, for heaven’s sake!”

Flower held her hands up, palms out, as though swearing innocence. “Alright. Alright. That’s all—I’m not saying anything else.”

They walked around the back of the house to the large garden and seated themselves in the white wooden chairs. Adam moved away from the two women and turned toward the sharp decline that marked the end of Winterflower’s property, impatiently knocking his closed right fist against the palm of his left hand. He didn’t need Winterflower or anyone else to tell him that Melissa was well suited to him, that she could be his match. She was unlike any woman he had ever known. Independent, self-possessed, and vulnerable. He didn’t turn around—he was vulnerable himself right then, and he’d as soon she didn’t know it.

Winterflower served a light supper. The late, low-lying sun filtered through the trees, tracing intricate patterns on them, patterns that moved with the soft breeze and seemed to cast a spell over the threesome, for they ate quietly.

* * *

Melissa spoke. “Are you clairvoyant, Flower?”

Winterflower nodded. “I see what chooses to appear. Nothing more.” Melissa nodded. Not in understanding, but acceptance.

“Why were you surprised to see Adam and me together?” She thought her skin crawled while she waited for what was without doubt a reluctant reply.

“I’ve been associating the two of you with the end of the year.” Winterflower nodded toward Adam, who frowned. He may not agree, Melissa decided, but he didn’t suggest that the woman’s words were foolish, either.

Winterflower’s soft voice reached Adam as if coming from a long distance, intruding in his thoughts. “How is Bill Henry?”

Adam shifted in his chair, aware that her mind was again on the metaphysical. “He’s well enough, I suppose. I haven’t been home to Beaver Ridge recently, and I haven’t spoken with him by phone since I last saw you.”

“You will learn something from him,” she told Adam. “He has taught himself patience, and he has stopped racing through life. Now he has time to reflect, and soon his heart will be overflowing with joy.” She looked from one to the other, nodded, and relaxed as though affirming the inevitable. “And he is not the only one.” Then she turned to Melissa. “Ask Adam to bring you back to see me.”

Adam stood and hugged his friend. “See you again before too long.” Melissa shook hands with Flower and thanked her.

“You’re very quiet, Melissa,” he said, as they trudged downhill toward the train station. “Was I mistaken in bringing you to visit Flower?”

“No. I’m glad you did.” She appeared to pick her words carefully. “You seemed different with her.”

He couldn’t help laughing. “Melissa, I expect everybody’s different around her. She’s so totally noncombative, so peaceful. Life-giving. Sometimes I think of her as being like penicillin for a virus.”

“But she’s also unsettling.”

He slid an arm across her shoulder and drew her closer. “That’s because you were fighting her good vibes.”

“Oh, come on!” she said, and he thwarted her attempt to move away by tugging her closer.

“Now, you’re fighting my vibes.”

“Adam,” she chided, “you could use a little less self-confidence.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Be reasonable. Nothing would lead me to believe that you like wimps.” She wiggled out of his arm. “Go ahead. Move if you want to. You still know I’m here.” She reached up and pulled his ear, delighting him with the knowledge that she needed to touch him.

“Feel better?”

“About what?”

“About giving in to your desire to have your hands on me?” From the corner of his eye, he saw her frown dissolve into a smile, and he stopped, grasped both of her hands in his, and stared down at her.

“You’re delightful, even when you’re trying to be difficult.” Her eyes narrowed in a squint, and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue in a move that he now realized as unconscious. His breath quickened. “You make my blood boil.” She parted her lips as though to speak but said nothing, and his passion escalated as she merely looked down the tree-lined street, escaping the honesty of his gaze. He held her hand as they walked to the train.

“Somehow I can’t picture you with a close personal friend like Flower,” she said as they seated themselves on the train. “You belong to the modern era—she doesn’t.”

“She does,” he corrected. “Winterflower is her tribal name. She is Dr. Gale Falcon, a history professor, but she manages to stay close to her origins. My uncle, Bill Henry, introduced me to her. She and I can sit on her deck for hours at night without saying a word, yet we’re together. I value her friendship.”

“She’s clairvoyant.”

“Oh, yes,” he confirmed, “but that stuff works only if you believe in it.”

“And you don’t?”

His cynical laugh challenged her to accept his premise. “It implies that life is guided by fate, that whatever happens to you is preordained. I can’t accept that. Life is what you make it.”

His hand covered hers to assist her as they left the train, and her inquiring look drew a grudging half smile and an unnecessary explanation. “I don’t want you to get lost.”

“If I get lost, it will be deliberate.”

“I’ll bet,” he shot back. His arm around her shoulder held her close to him as they walked through Grand Central Station. The eyes of an old woman who pushed a shopping cart of useless artifacts beseeched him prayerfully. Melissa thought that he would give the woman a dollar and continue walking. Instead, he stopped to talk with her.

“What do you want with the money?” The woman seemed to panic at the question. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Well, I need some food for myself....” She paused, as though uncertain. “And for my cats, please.”

“Where are you cats?”

“In my room on Eleventh Avenue.” The woman looked into her hand and gasped at the bills he’d placed there. He bade the woman goodbye, and within a few paces a man asked him for money.

“Are you planning to buy a drink?” Adam asked him.

“No, sir,” the man replied. “I’ll take groceries. Anything, so long as I can feed my kids. You wouldn’t have a job, would you?” Melissa’s heart opened to Adam, and she didn’t fight it, couldn’t fight it, as she watched him write down the man’s name and address before giving him money. It made an indelible impression on her that he didn’t ignore the outstretched hand of a single beggar, and she couldn’t dismiss the thought that he might not be as harsh and exacting as he often appeared. She was unable to avoid comparing Adam’s response to people in need with her father’s behavior when accosted by beggars, whom he despised.

“You’re quite a woman, Melissa,” Adam told her as they walked to her apartment door. Her eyebrows shot upward. “You’re straightforward,” he went on. “No roughness around the edges. A man knows where he stands with you. And you’re not a flirt.” A smile creased his handsome cheeks. “At least not with me. And I like that. I like it a lot.” His gaze roamed over her upturned face, as if he searched for clues as to what she felt. He pushed a few strands of hair from her forehead and then squeezed both of her shoulders, letting her know that he wanted more than he was asking for.

“You’re not entirely immune to me, though,” he told her in a near whisper, “and I like that, too. Good night, Melissa.”

Melissa upbraided herself for having spent the day with Adam. She couldn’t fault his decorum, though: no cheap shots, no attempt at intimacy in spite of the almost unbearable sexual tension. He could brighten her life. Oh, he could, if he chose to do so. But he wasn’t for her, and she intended to make sure that, in the future, Adam Roundtree would be just a business acquaintance. She sighed, remembering having made that resolution on two previous occasions.

* * *

After leaving Melissa, Adam strode quickly up Sixty-sixth Street to Broadway, crossed the street, and entered his building. Melissa was beginning to tax his self-restraint. He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. Aching want settled in his loins when he thought of her high firm breasts, her rounded hips, and those long, tapered legs. He stopped undressing. It was one thing to desire an attractive woman, but it was quite another to be captivated by her because she was special, because she had an allure like none other. It bore watching, he decided, pulling off his shorts and getting into bed. Careful watching.

But she was there when he closed his eyes. Deeply troubled, he sat up in bed and turned on the bedside lamp, fighting a feeling he hadn’t had for years. For all his wealth, his phenomenal success as a realtor, and his meteoric rise in the corporate world, his life lacked something. An emptiness lurked in him, a void that begged to be filled with the sweet nectar of a woman’s love.

* * *

Three evenings later Melissa rushed to find her seat before the concert began. She hated being late and had been tempted not to renew her subscription to the museum’s summer concert series, because it meant fighting the rush hour traffic in order to be on time. She shivered from the air conditioning and rubbed her bare arms as she realized belatedly that she’d left her sweater in her office. It would be a long, uncomfortable evening. As she weighed the idea of leaving, a garment fell over her shoulders, and large hands smoothed it around her arms. She looked down at the beige linen jacket that warmed her, felt the gentle squeeze of masculine hands on her shoulders, and fought not to turn around. But she couldn’t resist leaning back, and when his hand rested softly on her shoulder, she tapped it lightly to thank him. So much for her resolve to avoid a personal relationship with him.

They left the concert together, stopped for coffee at a little café on Columbus Avenue, and though there was no discussion of it, she knew he’d walk her home. Maybe this time he wouldn’t leave her without taking her in his arms. But when they entered the lobby of her building, she shuddered at the sight that greeted her. Wasn’t it like her father to appear unexpectedly, giving himself every advantage? Rafer Grant rose from a leather lounge chair and walked toward them. He stopped, gazed at Adam, and fear ripped through her as his mouth twisted the minute he recognized the man whose family he detested.

“What is he doing here with you? Is this why you can’t come home and look after your mother?” He didn’t give her a chance to reply. “How could you consort with this...this man after what he and his kin did to our family? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” Adam’s arm steadied her.

Her voice held no emotion. “Hello, Father. I needn’t say that I’m surprised to see you. There’s no reason for you to be displeased. Adam—”

He interrupted. “Adam, is it? I’m shocked and disappointed at your bringing this man here to your home. It’s disloyal, and I won’t stand for it.”

Adam pulled her closer to him, possessively and defiantly. “How are you planning to prevent it? This isn’t the Middle Ages when you could have her shackled to the foot of her bed. She’s an adult, and she can do as she pleases.”

“It’s alright, Adam.” She was used to her father’s harangues, having endured his reproofs and censure for as long as she could remember, but until now no one had called him to task for it—not her mother nor her brother. She needed her father’s approval—it seemed that for most of her life she’d striven for it. Yet she couldn’t remember a time when he’d praised her. She reached toward him involuntarily, but he waved her aside, glared at Adam, and marched huffily out of the building without having told her why he’d come.

She looked up at Adam, trying to read him. “I’m sorry you were exposed to this, Adam. My father never wanted a daughter, and sometimes I think he’s not sure he has one. At least that’s how he acts.” She’d meant it in jest, but Adam’s dour expression told her that he was not amused. Upon reflection, she wondered if her father might be more caring if she showed him that his opinion of her didn’t matter. Should it matter so much, she pondered, as she and Adam walked without speaking to the elevator, her hand tightly enclosed in his.

At her apartment door he held his hand for her key, and she gave it to him and watched him open her door. Inside, Adam asked her, “Does your father always behave this way with you, or was he disrespectful because you were with me, a Roundtree?”

“Both. He’s that way when I do something that displeases him,” she explained, “which is fairly frequent.”

“How does he act when you brother displeases him? Or does that ever happen?”

She hesitated; even though she was displeased with her father and ashamed of his behavior toward her, she couldn’t criticize him. Especially not to a man whom he considered an enemy.

“Adam, my brother doesn’t displease my parents.” Then as the implications of her words hung between them, she joshed, “He’s the good kid.

“Come on in the kitchen with me while I make some coffee.” She had to change the subject—she didn’t want Adam to see her as an ineffectual person. They were business associates, and she’d better remember that. She gave him a mug of coffee, and when he nodded in approval after having sniffed it, she was glad she’d made it strong.

“I like it straight,” he told her, when she offered sugar and cream. “I also like your taste. I wouldn’t have thought that beige and a dark gray would be so comfortable to look at, but this kitchen is attractive. Of course, the yellow accents don’t hurt.”

Her surprise at his interest in colors must have showed, because he shrugged and explained, “I dabble in watercolors.” Then he asked her, “What’s your hobby?”

She hesitated. “I go to a library in Harlem on Saturday mornings in the winter and conduct a children’s story hour.”

“That’s not a hobby, Melissa. That’s volunteer work. What’s your hobby? I mean, what do you do for fun, just to please yourself?”

She didn’t reveal that part of herself to acquaintances. Only her mother knew of her secret pleasure, though she hadn’t let her mother read her verses. A desire to share herself with Adam welled up in her. She didn’t look directly at him. “I like to write poetry. When I was at home, before I went to college, I used to sit in my room writing poems, and if I heard my father or brother roaming around or calling me, I’d hide what I was writing under my mattress.”

His grim expression disconcerted her. “You don’t think much of poetry writing?” He stood, his gaze boring into her. “I was thinking that I’ve known you less than a month and yet I know you better than your family does.” Lowering her eyelids, she tried to veil her emotions from his probing stare. Her sudden self-consciousness must have been evident to him, for his casual posture suddenly changed. As though attempting to rein in an uncustomary wildness, he jammed both hands in his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels before turning swiftly and heading toward her hallway. Her ingrained courteousness overcame her diffidence, and she followed to see him out. At the door he turned to her.

“It’s too bad that my presence caused you problems with your father. I expect you have enough trouble with him without having to explain why you were with me.” She sensed that this impatient, demanding, and sometimes harsh man could be gentle, tender, and he would be that way with her. Her gaze drifted up to his face to the yearning, the fiery passion in his eyes and unconsciously she moved to him.

“Adam. Oh, Adam.” Both of his hands reached out and wrapped her into his embrace. Her senses reeled at the feel of his big hand behind her head, positioning her for the force of his mouth. Heat shot through her when his marauding lips finally took possession of her, imprisoning her in a torrent of molten passion. He nipped her bottom lip and quickly, as if she’d waited a lifetime to do it, she opened for him and welcomed his hot tongue into every crevice of her hungry mouth. She reveled in the savage intensity with which he loved her, crushing her to him, then caressing her with a gentleness that belied the strength of his ardor. She opened her mouth wider, and as if he sensed a deeper need in her—one that he wanted to fulfill—his hand stroked her bottom then pulled her up until the seat of her passion pressed against the unmistakable evidence of his desire.

More. She needed more. To be a part of him, to crawl inside of him. One hand moved to his head to increase the pressure of his mouth on hers while the other caressed his face and neck. Frantically she undulated against him. His groan warned her to stop it, but she couldn’t make herself move from him. The feel of his hard chest against her tender, sensitive breasts, his hands moving slowly over her back, and the intimacy of her position against him enticed her closer. She wanted... His hands gently separated them and held her from him. When she dared look at him, she saw his difficulty in maintaining control. Honest to a fault, as always, when she could restore her equilibrium, and without thought to sparing either of them, she told him, “If you hadn’t waited so long to do that, it might have been easier.”

He released a grudging laugh. “Easier? You’re kidding. Woman, kissing you is easy—it’s the consequences that’ll sure as hell be rough.” He continued to let his gaze roam indolently over her, and she knew his passion hadn’t cooled.

She backed away from him. What had she been thinking about? If she had doubted that an involvement with Adam would rekindle the hatred between their families, her father’s behavior when he saw them together was proof. Adam folded his arms and leaned against the wall, obviously judging her reaction to what had just happened.

“I see you intend to break off personal relations between us. I agree that we ought to at least decide if we want to go where we seem to be headed, but I hope you know that breaking it off and staying away from each other will be easier said than done.” He brushed her cheek with his lips and winked at her. “I’ll call you.”

“At my office on business only,” she quickly interjected. His raised eyebrow did not signify agreement.

She closed the door, drew a deep breath, and sat down to assimilate her feelings. One minute she had thought he’d walk away from her as usual, but in the next she was reeling from the jolt of his strength and passion. She knew that trouble lay ahead of her, so why was she already anxious for that telephone call? A famous actress once said that she’d have swum the Atlantic to be with her man—I still don’t know exactly why, Melissa reasoned, but I sure am in a better position to guess.

* * *

Two days later, one day short of the month allowed in her contract, Melissa decided that she’d found a candidate with flawless credentials, one whom Adam couldn’t reject. As was her custom, she escorted the candidate, Calvin Nelson, to his potential employer. Jason Court like the man and assured her that his boss would. Adam hired Nelson after an interview that confirmed Melissa’s opinion that Adam was hard, but fair, and that he had a keen mind. And her relief was nearly palpable when Adam made no allusion to the intimacy they had shared the previous Sunday evening.

“You’re African American and so is Mr. Court,” Calvin Nelson commented to Adam. “When I saw you, I was sure I wouldn’t get the job, that you wouldn’t hire a man who wasn’t African American for such a high position in your company.”

Furrows creased Adam’s brow as he leaned back in his chair and weighed the words. The man was open, unafraid to speak his mind; he liked that. “I’m an equal opportunity employer, Calvin. What I want in an employee is competence, integrity, and honor. I don’t give a hoot about a person’s sex or ethnicity.” He stood and shook Calvin Nelson’s hand. “Welcome to Hayes/Roundtree Enterprises, Calvin. Oh, yes. We use first names here and in Maryland. Let me know what I can do to help you get settled in Frederick.”

* * *

Jason shepherded Melissa to the reception room so that Adam could speak privately with his new employee. She blinked to make certain that her eyes weren’t betraying her when Adam followed them and told Calvin to make an appointment to see him the following morning.

“Let’s get some lunch,” he called to them, pausing by his secretary’s desk. “Olivia, call Thompson’s and tell the maître d’ I’m bringing three guests.”

Melissa couldn’t hide her surprise at Adam’s odd behavior. “I thought he’d want to talk to Calvin alone, Jason. And another thing, I didn’t say I was free for lunch.” Her resentment flared at his cavalier disregard for her preferences, forcing her to squash what would have been a rare display of temper. One kiss didn’t give him the right to take her for granted.

“He’s marking his territory,” she heard Jason say.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked him and warned herself to be calm—an agitated person didn’t think clearly.

Jason nodded toward his boss. “He just told me to stay out of his territory, meaning you.”

She reflected for a second. Jason had given her an appreciative glance. More than one, in fact, but she hadn’t thought that Adam noticed.

“How can you say that? I haven’t given him the right to do that.”

Jason’s shoulder flexed in a quick, careless shrug. “You don’t have to give it to him. Adam doesn’t wait for doors to open—he opens them himself. You believe what I’m saying. A man knows when another tells him to back off from a woman. Melissa, I have never lunched with Adam. Unless he has an important client, he doesn’t go to lunch. He has a sandwich and coffee at his desk. You’re the reason he’s going to Thompson’s.”

She turned on her heel and headed for the elevator, but Jason must have guessed her intention, because he detained her. “Melissa, it isn’t smart to belittle Adam. You wouldn’t get away with it, and there’s no point in making an enemy of him. Besides,” he grinned lazily, “the food at Thompson’s is first class. Worth a try.” She looked up as Adam approached the elevator with Calvin Nelson. His disapproving scowl told her that he knew what she’d threatened and dared her to do it. Jason looked from one to the other. He didn’t know that she and Adam were more than business associates, she remembered, forced a smile and got on the elevator.

* * *

Adam stopped abruptly as they walked out of the restaurant, and his companions stared while he greeted a woman with such warmth that neither of them doubted she was a close friend.

“Ariel! What a pleasant surprise!” A smile drifted over his face. He shook hands with his guests, excused himself, and left with the elegant woman. Jason’s knowing look confirmed what Melissa knew: Adam had repaid her and had enjoyed doing it.

“He’s not vindictive,” Jason said, so that only Melissa heard, “but he believes in letting you know how he feels about a thing.” They waved Calvin Nelson goodbye.

“What is this about?” she asked Jason.

“Melissa, surely you know that Adam has cut you away from the pack. He knew you intended to leave his office with me and without telling him goodbye, and he didn’t like it. You didn’t show much enthusiasm for his company and he’s just let you know that he isn’t pining for you.”

“Who was she?” She hated herself for having asked him, but she had to know.

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but I don’t think she’s anyone special, because she made a pass at Nelson but, well...you never know.”

Melissa swore to herself that she hated Adam, that he was just another of the four-martini corporate types she disliked. She wished that it was Jason Court who attracted her, but Adam was the one.

* * *

Adam settled down to work on that August morning, after telling himself that he’d done the smart thing in not calling Melissa over the weekend. They’d moved so fast in the short time they’d known each other that he figured he’d better step back and take stock of things, decide what he wanted. Maybe he’d been wrong last week in not asking her if she wanted to lunch with the group, but she’d been wrong in threatening to walk off in a huff, too. He flicked on the intercom.

“Yes, Olivia. Sure. Put him on.” He lifted the receiver of his private phone. His eyes widened in astonishment at Wayne’s incredulous request. Could he get away for a few weeks, go down to Beaver Ridge, and settle the strike at the hosiery mill? It was becoming increasingly clear that, except for Wayne’s newspaper, the family businesses had been held together by the force of their father’s personality, rather than by his managerial abilities.

“That’s asking a lot, Wayne. I’ll need an office manager for the time I’m gone, and it may be a few days before I can get one. I’ll get back to you.” He hung up and called Melissa, and the anticipation he felt as he awaited her voice surprised him.

“MTG.” His customary aplomb seemed to have deserted him, and seconds passed before he could respond in his usual manner.

“Melissa, this is Adam. I need an office manager right away. Can you get one for me without Jason having to spend hours drafting a contract? I’m in a hurry for this.” He walked around his desk cradling the phone against his left shoulder while he squeezed his relaxer—a plastic object that he kept in his top drawer—with both hands.

“Why do you need one? If your secretary can’t manage your office, maybe you should be looking for one of those, not an OM.”

He hoped that his deep sigh and long silence would warn her that he didn’t have time for games.

“Well?” she prodded.

“Melissa, would you please stop while you’re ahead? When I say I want an office manager, that’s what I want. If you can’t attend to that without lecturing me about how to run my business, I’ll try another service.”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir. Just fax me a job description,” she needled, her tone cool and sarcastic.

Olivia’s voice came over the intercom, and he realized he hadn’t turned it off. “My Lord, Adam, what could she have said to make you mad enough to break the telephone? And I didn’t know you knew those words.” Her chuckle didn’t relieve his boiling temper.

“I’m sorry, Olivia, but Melissa Grant strips my gears, and she gets a kick out of doing it.”

He turned off the intercom, grabbed Betty—as he called his relaxer—leaned back in his chair, and squeezed the plastic object. What was it about her, he pondered. Why did that one woman get to him that way? She could make him madder than anybody else, and she could heat him up quicker and make him hotter than any woman. If he couldn’t get her out of his mind, maybe the solution was to take her to bed and get her out of his system. He dropped the relaxer, pushed away from his desk, and put a hand on each knee as if to rise, but didn’t. That could work either way, and if it brought them closer together, what would he do then?

Adam locked his hands behind his head. She questioned his motives and grilled him about his decision—nobody did that, not even his brother, his closest friend. He could get the response he wanted from most people with just a look, but not from Melissa. Was her attitude toward him part of the old Roundtree-Grant antagonism, or was it just Adam and Melissa, a part of the storm that seemed to swirl around them and between them even when outward calm prevailed? His intelligence told him it wasn’t their last names and that their family ties were irrelevant. He sat up straight, his nerves tingling with excitement. Melissa was worth the cost of getting her.

* * *

Melissa began the search for Adam’s office manager, deliberately looking for a man, because she knew he would expect her to find a woman. He’d repaid her for threatening to defy him in the presence of Nelson and Court. Well, she’d give it back to him. Nobody put her down and got away with it, she vowed, still smarting from the warm greeting he’d given that woman at the restaurant.

* * *

Within an hour after speaking with Melissa, Adam received another call from Wayne.

“Adam, one of the older workers discovered what appears to have been foul play or, at best, an uncommon accident in the Leather and Hides plant. Nearly seven hundred pounds of cattle hides that we’ve earmarked for women’s shoes and luggage have been given chrome tanning rather than vegetable tanning, and the lot is now too soft and too elastic for its intended use. These valuable hides will have to be made into cheaper and less profitable items, and we haven’t been able to trace the error to any worker.”

“Do what you can, Wayne. I’m working on getting that manager.”

He hung up and phoned Melissa. “How’s the search for my OM going?” She was peeved with him, and he knew why, so he kept his tone casual and friendly. He didn’t want her to have an excuse to needle him.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been working on it ever since you made the request an hour ago. When I find one, I’ll notify Jason.”

He couldn’t resist correcting her, but he kept his tone gentle. “Melissa, Jason Court is not in charge of this—I am. Please remember that.” He hung up and stared at the phone. Somebody ought to tell her that he never walked away from a challenge. And she was that...in more ways than one.

* * *

Melissa 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.

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