September Morning (3 page)

“Maybe he's missing her,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Kathryn!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm ashamed,” she agreed. “Can we?”

“Can we
what?
”

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

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

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

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

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

“Never mind, he's gone.”

She looked up quickly. “Blake?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just because Larry's a writer…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Or Blake may,” Kathryn shot back.

Maude only laughed.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm cold, Blake,” she murmured.

“Turn up the thermostat, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do I?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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