Strange Bedfellow (18 page)

“I don't know what you're talking about.”
 

“That's why you told Chet to give me a hand. I thought it was because you didn't think I could handle the job, but that wasn't it at all, was it?” Her anger was growing with each dawning thought.
 

Completely in control, Blake refused to react. “You tell me.”
 

“You planted all those doubts in my mind about Chet, then made me work with him, hoping I would become poisoned against him. That's what this was all about, wasn't it?” Dina was incensed at the way Blake had attempted to manipulate her thinking.
 

“I admit that after our little talk about Chet, I hoped the blinkers would come off and you would see him as he really is.” There wasn't a trace of regret in his expression or his voice that his motive had been uncovered.
 

“That is the lowest, dirtiest thing I've ever heard!” she hissed.
 

Trembling with rage, she was completely unaware of her hand lashing out to strike him until it was caught in a vise grip short of its target. She gasped in pain as he twisted her arm to force her closer. He had straightened from the desk to stand before her, the sweater cast aside on the desk top.
 

“The last time you slapped me, I let you get away with it because I might have deserved it. But not this time,” Blake told her flatly. “Not when I'm telling the truth.”
 

“But it isn't the truth!” Dina flared, undaunted by his implied threat. “Not one word you've said against Chet is true. It's all lies. None of it is true!”
 

That darkly piercing look was back in his eyes as they scanned her upturned face. “You know it's true, don't you?” he breathed in a low, satisfied voice. “You've started to see it for yourself—that's why you're so angry.”
 

“No, it isn't true,” she denied. “I haven't seen it.”
 

“You have. Why don't you admit it?” Blake insisted with grim patience.
 

“No,” Dina continued to resist and strained to break free of his hold. “And I'm not going to stay here and listen to you tear Chet down anymore.”
 

He increased the pressure of his grip and issued a taut denial. “I am not trying to make him appear less of a man. I'm trying to make you see him the way he is and not the way you've imagined him to be. Why can't you understand that what I'm saying is not a personal attack on him?”
 

Suddenly, unexpectedly, she did understand and she believed him. The discovery took the heat out of her anger. Dina stopped fighting him and stood quietly.
 

“All right,” she admitted.
 

“All right what?” Blake lowered his gaze to her mouth, watching her lips as they formed the answering words.
 

“I have noticed a few things,” Dina admitted further.
 

“Such as?”
 

“The way he takes a suggestion and elaborates on it until you're almost convinced the idea was his in the first place.”
 

“He's done that?”
 

“Yes. Today, when I mentioned an idea I had about adding regional dishes to the restaurant menus.” She wished Blake would stop watching her talk. It was unsettling, heightening her senses. “He's already contacting the restaurant managers to see about starting it.”
 

“Chet is very good at organizing and carrying out a suggestion,” Blake agreed. “What else?”
 

“I don't know. A lot of little things.” The compliment Blake had given Chet prompted Dina to mention another conversation that had bothered her. “When I didn't take a stand today about having a local or a major decorating firm redo the hotels, Chet didn't either. He suggested getting comparison bids from both and avoided offering a concrete opinion. In the last two weeks, I honestly can't remember Chet making a decision or offering a proposal of his own.”
 

Looking back, she realized that his proposal of marriage had been an outgrowth of a conversation about whether she would marry again or not. When she had conceded the possibility, Chet had asked if it would be someone like Blake she would choose. Her negative answer had then led to Chet's suggesting himself, after first testing out his ground.
 

That was hardly the mark of the strong, dependable man she had believed him to be. His reliability was limited to the times when someone else told him what to do.
 

Lost in her thoughts, Dina was unaware of the silence that had fallen between them until Blake spoke. “I have another equally selfish reason for wanting Chet to work with you on this project.” His fingers were lightly stroking the inside of her wrist, a caressing motion that was disturbing.
 

A tingling warmth spread up her arm, her nerves fluttering in awareness of how close she stood to him. “What is it?” There was a breathless catch to her voice. She looked into his eyes, nearly overcome by the sensation that she could willingly drown in the dark pools.
 

“Because I know that eventually this project is going to entail a good deal of traveling and I wanted to make certain it wasn't my wife who went on these trips.”
 

“I see.” She couldn't think of anything else to say.
 

“You might as well know this, Dina,” he said.
 

“You and I are never going to be separated for any reason.”
 

The ruthlessly determined note underlying his statement made her shiver. There was a sense of being trapped, a feeling that his wishes were inescapable. Whatever Blake wanted, he got. But not from her, her pride protested—not unless it was her own decision to agree.
 

With a degree of reluctance, she withdrew from his touch, turning to the desk to pick up her sweater and handbag. “I'm ready to leave now,” she said, aware of the conflicting magnetic currents between them, alternately pulling and repelling.
 

Blake didn't make a move to leave. He just stood there looking at her, making her feel more uncomfortable and unsure of her own wants and needs.
 

“Sooner or later you're going to have to make a decision,” he told her.
 

“I know. Sooner or later,” she echoed softly.
 

“Why are you waiting? What is holding you back?” he questioned. “It isn't Chet anymore, so what's left?”
 

“I don't know.” Dina shook her head uncertainly.
 

Needing to move, she started for the door. With that animal silence she was beginning to associate with him, Blake came up behind her, his hands sliding over her shoulders. The mere touch of him stopped her in her tracks.
 

“Decide now,” Blaked ordered in a low murmur. The silvery gold length of her hair was secured in a bun low on the back of her head. She felt the warm stirring of his breath on the exposed skin of her neck, sensitive and vulnerable. The sensuous pressure of his lips exploring that special pleasure point sent a delicious tremor through her.
 

His hands slid down to her forearms, crossing them in front of her as he molded her shoulders, waist and hips to the hard contours of his body. Dina felt as pliable as putty, willing to be shaped into anything he wanted. Primitive passions scorched through her veins.
 

She struggled out of the emotional upheaval going on within her to protest, “Blake, I can't!”
 

“You want to.” His mouth moved to her ear, his teeth nibbling at its lobe. “You know you do.”
 

“I don't know anything,” she breathed raggedly. “Then feel,” Blake instructed.
 

That was the problem. She felt too much and it blocked out her thinking processes. She didn't want to make a decision in the heat of an embrace. And certainly not in this inferno that was consuming her now.
 

“Blake, no!” She swallowed and pushed his hands from around her waist.
 

She took a step away from his tempting embrace and stopped, shaking and weak with desire. Her head was lowered, her chin tucked into her throat. She felt his gaze boring into her shoulders.
 

“Blake, no!” He mimicked her words with a biting inflection. “That's always your answer. How much longer are you going to keep giving it?”
 

“Until I'm absolutely sure that I know what I'm doing,” Dina answered.
 

“And how long will that be?” Blake was striving for control. It was evident in the clipped patience of his tone.
 

“I don't know,” she sighed. “I just know it's easy to surrender to passion now and not so easy to face tomorrow.”
 

“Then you're a hell of a lot stronger than I am, Dina,” he snapped, “because I don't give a damn about tomorrow!” He slipped a hand under her elbow. Her first thought was that he intended to ignore her uncertainties and kiss her into submission, something that would not be too difficult to do. Instead his hand pushed her forward. “Let's go,” he muttered.
 

His long, ground-eating strides made it impossible for Dina to keep up with him without half running. The rigid set of his jaw kept her from drawing attention to herself or her plight. He didn't slow down until he reached the parking lot, where she struggled to catch her breath as they walked to the car.
 

Without looking directly at her, Blake unlocked the passenger door and held it open for her, slamming it shut when she was safely inside. Walking around the car, he unlocked his own door and slid behind the wheel. He put the key in the ignition, but didn't start the car.
 

Resting his hands on the steering wheel, he stared straight ahead for several long seconds, a forbiddingly hard line to his mouth. Dina grew increasingly uneasy at the silence and felt pinned when his dark glaze finally swung to her. It wasn't a pleasant sensation.
 

“The first day I was back,” Blake said, “you claimed we needed time to get to know each other again—that we had to become adjusted to each other again. You felt we should talk.”
 

“I'm surprised you remember,” she remarked, and could have bitten off her tongue for issuing such caustic words.
 

“Believe me, I remember everything you've said,” he returned with dry weariness, his attention shifting to the windshield in front of him. Dina shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but remained silent. “The point is, Dina, that we aren't getting to know each other again. We aren't talking. The only place we spend any time together alone is in the bedroom. And we both know there isn't any communication taking place there, physical or otherwise.”
 

“So what are you suggesting? That we should communicate on a physical level and work on from there?” Dina questioned stiffly, her pulse quickening in a reaction that did not reject the idea.
 

“No, that isn't what I'm suggesting—” there was a cynical twist to his mouth “—although I know you're convinced that my instincts have become purely primitive.”
 

A slight flush warmed her cheeks. “Then what are you suggesting?”
 

“That we spend more time together, as you wanted.”
 

“That's a bit difficult with both of us working.”
 

“Neither of us works on the weekend,” Blake reminded her.
 

“You're forgetting we live in your mother's house.” And Mother Chandler had still not got over her son's miraculous return. She still hovered around him every possible moment she could.
 

“No, I'm not,” Blake returned calmly. “The key word is alone—no friends, no relatives, just you and I. I realize that can't be accomplished in my mother's home. That's why I've decided we'll spend the weekend at Block Island so we can have the time alone together that you claim we need.”
 

“Block Island.” Dina repeated the name of the resort island located roughly fourteen miles off the Rhode Island coast.
 

“That's what I said. Any objections?” He turned his head to look at her, a challenging glitter in his dark eyes.
 

“None.” How could there be when he had cornered her with her own words?
 

“There is one thing more, Dina.” Blake continued to study her, aware of her reluctant agreement—although why it was reluctant, Dina didn't know.
 

What's that?” She was almost afraid to ask.
 

“I want this clearly understood before we go. If you haven't made up your mind about us by Sunday night, I'm not waiting any longer.” At the sight of her paling complexion, he smiled without humor. “And I don't care whether you consider that a threat or a promise.”
 

“You can't make a deadline like that,” she protested.
 

“Can't I?” Blake had already turned away to start the car, ignoring her now that he had stated his intentions.