Tempest in Eden

Despondently, as had been her mood for the past three weeks, she had pushed through the front door, sucked out by the autumn wind that sped through the urban canyons. When she saw him pacing the sidewalk, she came to an abrupt halt. He was staring down at his feet as he painstakingly measured out his steps. He was wearing a light overcoat. The wind's disarrangement of his hair was far sexier than any hairstylist could have ach

ieved.

He looked up and saw her as she stood there clutching her oversized bag to her chest. His pacing stopped abruptly.

"Ian?" she asked, looking back at the building she had just left to assure herself that she wasn't dreaming.

"Hi."

"How did you know where I was?"

"I followed a hunch and looked up. Glad's address in the phone book. I wanted to see you. I've been waiting for over an hour."

She gathered her resolve, drew herself up straight, and marched brusquely past him. "Well, you could have spared yourself the time and effort," she said. "I've got to catch a train back to Woodville. I promised Vandiveer I'd put in a couple of hours at the shop before closing."

"Shay," he said, catching her arm and pulling her to a stop, "are you angry with me for not calling?"

The wind made a riot of her wheat-colored curls. She shook them impatiently off her face. "Don't flatter yourself." Her efforts to pull free from his grip only made him increase the pressure on her arm.

"After what happened last time, I thought it would be better if we didn't see each other for a while," he said quietly.

"And you were right. Only I think it would be better if we never saw each other again." She had to force the words from her throat. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself at him, to wrap her arms around the body that haunted her fantasies, to feel the heat of his mouth on hers. In the gray light of the cloudy afternoon his vivid blue eyes seemed to be the only bright thing, offering the only hope and happiness in her life. Yet they were denied her. "I know why you didn't call," she said. "You don't want to be tainted by a scarlet woman like me. I can't tell you how relieved I was when you didn't persist in seeing me. Good-bye, Ian. I'm in a hurry."

She pulled her arm away and even took a few steps before he pulled her to another jarring halt. His face was only inches above hers as he drew her against him. "I didn't call because I wanted you too much." She stared up at him wordlessly, her eyes wide, her lips parted. "Don't you understand, Shay? It was killing me to stop myself from making love to you."

She tugged on her arm to no avail. He wouldn't release it. Perversely, she was glad to know that he had suffered as much as she had, and for the same reason. That he could continue to tamper with her shattered emotions spurred her temper. "Thank you very much, Reverend Douglas, but I don't like being considered the evil influence in your life." Tears filled her eyes, which made her even more furious. She didn't want him to know how much he had hurt her. Maybe he would think the cold wind was responsible for the moisture beading her lashes.

"No, no," he said, shaking his head and gathering her to him. He opened his coat and pressed her head against the soft, warm sweater that covered his chest. His fingers threaded through her hair and settled on her scalp, holding her fast. "Neither of us is evil, Shay. Sex isn't evil. We've responded to each other as God intended two healthy adults attracted to each other should." Propping his chin on the top of her head, he enclosed her in his coat. "It's how we're going to deal with that sexual attraction that I've been deliberating about for the past three weeks. And I couldn't risk having your distracting influence close by to cloud my good judgment."

She sniffed back her tears and raised her head to look at him. "Well, I suppose being a distracting influence is better than being an evil one." She smiled shakily.

Lowering his head, he planted a tender kiss on her mouth. "I missed you."

"Did you?" She pretended coyness to keep from raising on her tiptoes and covering his face with kisses.

"Yes. I came here today to invite you personally to spend the weekend with me in Brookside."

She stared at him incredulously. "Have you lost your mind?"

He laughed and squeezed her tight. "Come on, I'll treat you to a cab ride to the train station. On the way I'll convince you that I haven't taken leave of my senses."

When they were ensconced in the lumpy backseat of the cab, he took her hand and placed it on his knee. He studied it as his thumb caressed each knuckle.

"Come to Brookside this weekend. See what it's like, what my life there is like. Come on the train Saturday morning. We'll spend the day acquainting you with the town. I want you to attend church with me Sunday morning. I'll drive you home Sunday evening."

The invitation portended more than a fun weekend. What was left unsaid far outweighed what he had spoken aloud. The question of a commitment implied in his invitation frightened her. She hedged, turning her head to gaze out the window in order to avoid his opinion-swaying good looks. "Where would I stay?"

He chuckled lightly. "Did you think I was suggesting something illicit? No. In all humility, I think that my congregation holds me in nothing but the highest regard, but I don't think any of them would approve of their pastor inviting an attractive young woman to stay the night under his bachelor roof. I'd get a room for you at the local inn."

Her mind was warring with her desire to be with him and her fear that she wouldn't fit into his world. What opinions would the people of his church form of her? Not much that was good, she was sure. "I don't think so, Ian," she said finally. "Maybe some other time."

He sighed heavily. "You've forced me to tell you the real reason behind the invitation." Alarm at his guilty tone brought her head around, but she was instantly relieved to see amusement in his eyes. "I confess to an ulterior motive. Saturday night we're having a church supper climaxed by a raffle drawing. A member of the church has donated a mink coat as the prize. I thought that a stunning woman modeling the coat would create interest and perhaps urge the gentlemen in the audience to buy more chances. That's the real reason I invited you. Would you please come and model the mink for us?"

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she drew her brows together speculatively. "I don't know. What does it pay?"

Imitating her seriousness, he said, "All the clam chowder you can eat … and my company, of course."

"Clam chowder's not one of my favorites, but…" She pondered a while longer. "What are you raising money for?"