A Season for Love by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page B

affair. If there was anything she didn't want to read about at that moment, it was a perfect love affair.
Ronnie snapped off her bedside lamp and curled into position to sleep. But try as she would, sleep would not come. Instead an image of dark eyes kept coming to her, and the memory of tender hands that demanded as they seduced.
Just last night it had all been real. And the reality was so strong now that she felt she could reach out and touch Drake. . . .
But she couldn't. All she could do was toss and writhe and close her eyes to dream—and burn with the sweet, simple memory of being held and cherished through the night.
It was very late when exhaustion finally overtook her and allowed her a few brief hours of respite.
Morning was much better. She had things with which to keep herself occupied. Pieter did not appear for breakfast, and she assumed correctly that he was saving his strength. As she had also expected, he sent her a crisp note by way of Henri, telling her that, after all, they would spend none of the day working. Dave would be motoring their guest to the island at five o'clock precisely—she should please see to it that she was dressed and prepared to greet him.
"Do you wish to reply, Mrs. von Hurst?" Henri asked politely.
"Yes," Ronnie said sharply, dismayed by her own tired irritability. "Ask Mr. von Hurst to please make sure I know this man's name before I greet him!"
If he was surprised by his mistress's uncharacteristic outburst, Henri gave no sign. As usual, he clicked his heels, bowed, and left her.
Ronnie finished her coffee and wandered out to the garden, pacifying herself with the selection of flowers. She loved the garden and had nurtured it with tender care, giving her flowers the affection she needed to release. And although she did the planning for any entertainment or renovation, the house actually ran smoothly without her. The black-and-tan coonhounds that roamed the estate were well looked after by the kennel keeper, and the four American saddle horses were tended by a conscientious groom. Only the flowers really depended on her, and so they received her devotion.
Now she savored their sweet aromas, wrinkling her nose into their blossoms as the softness of the petals caressed her cheeks. She clipped and pruned a colorful assortment, planning a myriad display for the huge formal dining table, which would be used that night. Then, with a streak of impishness, she planned an arrangement for their guest's room. If the man was hard as tacks, she mused, a little flower softness might be in order.
Returning to the house, Ronnie set to her arrangements, dryly appreciating the fact that they were to have company. She so desperately wanted to keep her mind busy! To worry about Pieter brought about useless pain; to think about her excursion into the arms of Drake brought agony. To tangle with them both brought a torturous guilt. In the eyes of the world she was married, and she had willingly sought out another man.
But her heart cried out that it was impossible to be untrue to a husband who had never been one with her. She vaguely wondered what her life might have been like had Jamie not senselessly lost his life to drugs. But that was all so long ago. It was in her extreme youth; it was the past. She could barely remember Jamie's face. When she tried to recall it, another appeared—that of Drake O'Hara. And she was back to self-incrimination. . . .
"Mrs. von Hurst?"
"Yes?" Ronnie glanced up as Henri stepped quietly into the salon where she continued to absently trim leaves from her flowers.
"You requested the name of your guest. He is Mister Drake O'Hara of Chicago, Illinois, owner and proprietor of the American International Galleries. Mr. von Hurst would like you to be aware that—Mrs. von Hurst! Are you quite all right, madam?"
Ronnie wasn't all right. The room was spinning around her, going completely black, and spinning around her again. Her heart had ceased to beat. She felt as if she had been