Private Scandals

  “And I’m cuter.”

  “Well, you’ve got more hair. I suppose I should offer to cook tomorrow.”

  “That depends.” He curled his fingers around hers, grazed his teeth over her knuckles. “How are you at broiling fresh fish?”

  “Is that what’s on the menu?”

  “If our luck holds. We should be able to pull a couple out of the lake in the morning.”

  “In the morning?” She blinked. “We’re going fishing in the morning?”

  “Sure. What do you think I brought you up here for?” When she laughed he shook his head. “Kansas, you don’t understand the master plan. After we’ve dropped line together for a couple of hours, pulled in trout together, cleaned them—”

  “Cleaned them?”

  “Sure. After all that, you won’t be able to resist me. The excitement, the passion, the elemental sexuality of fishing will have overwhelmed you.”

  “Or will have bored me senseless.”

  “Have a little faith. There’s nothing like man—or woman—against nature to stir up the juices.”

  “That’s quite a plan.” She tipped back in her chair, amazingly relaxed. “Have you had much success with it?”

  He only grinned and topped off their wine. “Want to look at my lures?”

  “I don’t think so. You can surprise me tomorrow.”

  “I’ll wake you up at five.”

  The glass froze an inch from her lips. “At five? A.M. ?”

  “Dress warm,” he warned her.

  Deanna had been certain she’d be restless, had been sure her nerves would resurface the moment the house was quiet around her. But the instant she’d snuggled under the blankets, she’d dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep. A sleep that was rudely disturbed by a hand shaking her shoulder.

  She opened her eyes, blinked into the dark and closed them again.

  “Come on, Kansas, rise and shine.”

  “Is there a war?” she mumbled into the pillow.

  “There’s a fish with your name on it,” Finn told her. “Coffee’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

  She sat up, blinked again and was able to make out his silhouette beside the bed. And she could smell him—soap and damp skin. “How come you have to catch fish at dawn?”

  “Some traditions are sacred.” He leaned down, unerringly finding her warm, sleepy mouth with his. Her sigh of response had his muscles tightening, and his mind skidding toward an entirely different morning activity. “You’ll want that long underwear I told you to pack.” He cleared his throat, forced himself to step back before he gave up and crawled under the blankets with her. “It’ll be cold out on the lake.”

  He left her huddled in bed. He hadn’t slept well. Big surprise, Finn thought wryly. She needed time, he reminded himself. And care. And patience. What she didn’t need was for him to unstrap the desire that was clawing inside of him. It would frighten her, he was sure, if she understood just how much he wanted.

  It very nearly frightened him.

  * * *

  There was fog on the lake. Light fingers of it tore like cotton in the breeze and muffled the sound of the boat’s motor. In the east the sky was struggling to light, and the silver sun glanced off the mist, hinting at rainbows. She could smell water and pine, and the soap from Finn’s shower. Deanna sat at the bow of the small boat, her hands resting on her knees, the collar of her jacket turned up against the chill.

  “It’s beautiful.” Her breath puffed out in smoke. “Like we’re the only ones around for miles.”

  “The Senachwine gets plenty of campers and hikers.” He cut the engine and let the boat drift on water as calm as glass. “We’ve probably got company on the lake already.”

  “It’s so quiet.” But she did hear, in the distance, the putt of another engine, the call of a bird and the faint lap of water against the hull.

  “That’s the best thing about fishing.” After dropping anchor, he handed her a rod. “You can’t rush it. You can’t crowd it. All you have to do is sit in one spot and let your mind rest.”

  “Let your mind rest,” she repeated.

  “What we’re doing here is float fishing,” he began. “It takes more finesse than bait fishing.”

  “Right.”

  “No sarcasm, please. It’s an art.”

  “Art? Really.”

  “The art,” Finn continued, “is to lay the float gently on the surface so that it entices the fish as you skillfully reel it back.”

  Deanna glanced up from her study of the pretty lures and looked out over the water. “I don’t see any fish.”

  “You will. Trust me. Now you’re going to cast the line out. It’s all in the wrist.”

  “That’s what my father always says about horseshoes.”

  “This is every bit as serious.” He moved surefootedly to her end of the boat.

  “Horseshoes are serious?”

  “Christ, Deanna, don’t you know anything? When a man needs to relax, to unwind, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want competition.”

  She grinned when he shifted her hands on the rod. “My father would like you.”

  “Sounds like a sensible man. Now keep your hands firm, wrists supple.” He steadied her, casting the line out so that it landed with a quiet plop in the still waters. Ripples ringed magically around the lure, spreading, delighting her.

  “I did it!” Beaming, she looked over her shoulder at Finn. “Okay, you did it, but I helped.”

  “Not bad. You have potential.” He took up his own rod, chose a lure. He cast off soundlessly, with barely a ripple on the lake. Through Deanna’s pleasure came the hot spirit of competition.

  “I want to do it again.”

  “You’re supposed to do it again. But you have to reel it in first.”

  Her brow arched. “I knew that.”

  “Slow,” he said, with a hint of a smile as he demonstrated. “Smooth. Patience is as much an art as casting.”

  “So we just sit here, and keep tossing the line out and bringing it back in?”

  “That’s the idea. I get to sit here and look at you. Which is a pretty good way to spend the morning. Now if you were a man, we’d liven things up by telling lies—about fish and women.”

  Her brow was knitted in concentration as she cast off again. Her lure did not land soundlessly, but she enjoyed its celebratory plop. “In that order, I imagine.”

  “Generally, you mix it up. Barlow James and I once spent six hours out here. I don’t think we told each other a single truth.”

  “I can lie.”

  “Nope. Not with those eyes. I’ll make it easy for you; tell me about your family.”

  “I’ve got three brothers.” She stared at the lure, looking for action. “Two older and one younger. The older two are married, and the youngest is still in college. Should I, like, move this around or anything?”

  “No, just relax. Are they all still in Kansas?”

  “Yeah. My father owns a hardware business, and my oldest brother went in with him. My mother keeps the books. What are you doing?”

  “Playing this one out,” he said calmly as he reeled in. “He’s hooked.”

  “You’ve got one.” She leaned forward in the boat, jerking her line. “Already?”

  “Did you grow up in the city or the suburbs?”

  “The ’burbs,” she said impatiently. “How come you’ve got one already? Oh, look!” She stared, fascinated, as he drew the fish out of the lake. It wriggled, the strengthening sun flashing off its fins. The fascination remained as he netted it and plopped it onto the bottom of the boat. “You must have used a better lure than mine,” she said as Finn removed it and laid the fish on ice.

  “Want to trade?”

  The stubborn line creased her brow. “No.” She studied him as he cast off again. Determined, she reeled in, shifted positions, then cast off the opposite side of the boat with more enthusiasm than style.

  When Finn only grinned at her, she put her nose in the air. “What
about your family?”

  “I don’t have any to speak of. My parents divorced when I was fifteen. I was the only child. They’re both lawyers.” He braced his rod so that he could uncap the thermos of coffee and pour for both of them. “They buried each other under a very civilized mountain of papers, and agreed to split everything fifty-fifty. Including me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for?” It wasn’t a bitter question, but a simple one. “Family ties don’t run strong in the Rileys. We each have our own life, and prefer it that way.”

  “I don’t mean to criticize, but that sounds awfully cold.”

  “It is cold.” He sipped coffee and absorbed the quiet pleasure of the chilly morning with the sun breaking over the water. “It’s also practical. We don’t have anything in common but blood. Why pretend otherwise?”

  She didn’t know how to respond. She was far away from her family, but the connection was there, always there. “They must be proud of you.”

  “I’m sure they’re pleased that the money they spent on my education wasn’t wasted. Don’t look like that.” He reached out and patted her ankle. “I wasn’t traumatized or scarred. The fact is, it’s been a plus careerwise. If you don’t have roots, you don’t have to keep ripping them out every time you get an assignment.”

  Perhaps there was no need to feel sympathy for the man, but she couldn’t prevent it spreading in her for the boy he’d been. “Roots don’t have to hold you back,” she said quietly. “Not if you know how to transplant them.”

  “Kansas?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve got a bite.”

  “I’ve got—oh!” Her line tugged again. If Finn hadn’t reached out and held her still, she would have leaped up and capsized them. “What do I do? I forgot. Wait, wait,” she said, before he could reply. “I want to do it myself.”

  Brow puckered in concentration, she turned the reel, feeling the resistance as the fish fought back. There was a moment when she felt an urge to release it. Then the line went taut, and the spirit of competition overwhelmed everything else.

  When she finally dropped the catch awkwardly in the bottom of the boat, she shouted with laughter. “He’s bigger than yours.”

  “Maybe.”

  She slapped Finn’s hand aside before he could remove the lure. “I’ll do it.”

  With the sun rising higher in the east, they grinned at each other over a five-pound trout.

  They carried four fish back to the cabin with them. Two apiece. Deanna had argued hotly for a tie breaker, but Finn had started the motor. You didn’t catch more than you could eat, he’d told her as he cleaned them.

  “That was great.” Still revved, Deanna spun around the kitchen. “Really great. I feel like a pioneer. Are we going to have fish for lunch?”

  “Sure. We’ll fry some up. Let me beef up the fire in the living room first.”

  “I really thought it would be boring,” she said, following him in. “I mean that in a good way.” Laughing, she combed a hand through her hair. “But it was exciting, too. I don’t know. Satisfying.” She laughed again.

  “You’ve got a knack for it.” Finn added another log, sat back on his heels. “We can go out for a couple hours tomorrow morning before we head back.”

  “I’d like that.” She watched the firelight dance over his forearm as he prodded the quiet flames into a roar. His profile was to her, relaxed, his eyes dark as they stared into the fire. His hair fell over his brow, curled above the collar of his shirt. “I’m glad you brought me here.”

  He looked over his shoulder, smiled. “So am I.”

  “Not just for the fishing lesson.”

  His smile faded, but his eyes stayed on hers. “I know.”

  “You brought me here to get me away from the papers, and the talk, and the ugliness.” She looked past him, into the fire, where the flames were rising. “You haven’t asked me any more questions.”

  He laid down the poker and turned to face her. “Did you want me to?”

  “I don’t know.” She tried for a smile. “What question would you ask?”

  He asked the one that had kept him restless through the night. “Are you afraid of me?”

  She hesitated. “A little,” she heard herself say. “More afraid of what you can make me feel.”

  He glanced back at the fire. “I won’t pressure you, Deanna. Nothing happens between us that you don’t want.” He looked back at her now, his eyes dark, intense. “I promise.”

  Rather than relaxing, the tension coiled in her stomach; his words, and her certainty that he would keep them, balled it tighter. “It’s not that kind of fear, Finn. It’s . . . seductive.”

  The look in his eyes made her body yearn. She turned away quickly so that she could say it all, say it quickly. “Because of what happened, I’ve never been able to get back what I lost. Until you.” She turned back slowly. The nerves were vicious. She could feel her heart pounding strong and hard in her breast. “I think, until you. And I’m afraid of that. And afraid that I might spoil it.”

  Though he stood, he didn’t approach her. “Whatever happens between us happens to and because of both of us. It’ll wait until you’re ready.”

  She looked down at her hands, linked tight in front of her. “I’d like to ask you a question.”

  “All right.”

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  She stood there, lashes concealing her eyes, slim and fragile-looking in the oversized shirt. A log shifted lazily behind him and sent out a short, small burst of sparks.

  “Deanna, I’ve never been so afraid of anything in my life as I am of you, and what you can make me feel.”

  Her lashes lifted then. And she was no longer so fragile, not with her eyes huge and smoky, her lips softly curved. The first step toward him was the hardest. Then it was easy, to walk to him, to slip her arms around him, to rest her head on his shoulder.

  “I couldn’t have asked for a better answer. Finn, I don’t want to lose what I’m feeling right now.” When he didn’t move, she looked up, lifted her hands to his chest. “I don’t think I will if you make love with me.”

  Of all the emotions he’d expected to feel, alarm was the last. Yet it was alarm that came first, swiftly, overpoweringly, as she looked up at him with trust and doubt warring in her eyes. “There’s no pressure here, Deanna.”

  “There is. Not from you. In me.” Was that his heart racing under her palm? she wondered. How could it be beating so fast when he was watching her so calmly, when his hands were so light on her shoulders. “I need you.”

  It wasn’t merely desire that stabbed through him at the words. There was something sharper and hotter fused with it. His hands slid from her shoulders to her face, cupping it as he lowered his mouth to hers.

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  “I know,” she said, but trembled nonetheless. “I’m not afraid of that.”

  “Yes, you are.” And he regretted that, bitterly. “But you won’t be.” He promised that, fiercely. “You only have to tell me to stop.”

  “I won’t.” There was determination in her eyes again. He swore to himself he would change it to pleasure.

  Her mouth went dry when he unbuttoned her shirt. Slowly, his eyes on hers, he peeled away the first layer, cast it aside. Then smiled. “This is going to take a while.”

  Her laugh bubbled out, nervous and shaky. “I’ve got plenty of time.”

  Her eyes closed, her mouth lifted to his. It was right, so