Read Online A Season for Love by Heather Graham - Free Book Online

upon Drake's back, his bony fingers ludicrous against the imposing breadth. "Come, my friend, it's been years. We have a lot of catching up to do."
Ronnie sailed ahead of the two men, listening vaguely to their chatter about Chicago, the state of the arts, and the Von Hursts' home on the island. In the comfortably tasteful salon she hurried to the small but well-stocked rosewood bar and slipped behind it, feeling absurdly that she had found another shield. Any distance between herself and Drake was beneficial. She knew his eyes followed her relentlessly; she could sense them as if they were tangible fires, and she refused to look into them.
"Drake, what can I get you?" she inquired, busily setting up glasses. She dropped ice into only two of them, knowing that when her husband drank, it was neat Scotch. He still abhorred the American custom of cold liquor.
"A bourbon, please, with a splash of soda," Drake replied politely. He leaned his vibrant form against the bar, forcing her to an awareness of the leashed energy that composed him. His fingers closed over hers again as she pushed his glass toward him, tightening momentarily and drawing from her a shiver of apprehension. From the corner of her eye she could see that he had felt the shiver, and that it had given him grave satisfaction. His lips were twisted into a dry, hard grin.
Ronnie mentally squared her shoulders. She couldn't allow him to believe he could intimidate her. Moving serenely from the bar without glancing his way, she brought the crystal rock glass of straight Scotch to Pieter and, carrying her own highball of Seagram's and Seven, chose an encompassing provincial chair apart from the others. The men seated themselves after her and immediately fell back into comfortable, reacquainting conversation. Sipping on the drink she had made much stronger than usual, Ronnie let their words float around her head, learning that her husband and Drake had met years before: once in Pieter's Dutch homeland, and once in Chicago. The first American showing of Pieter's work had been at Drake's galleries, hence Drake's determination now to push Pieter to greater productivity.
"You've been hiding out on this island too long," Drake told Pieter. He seemed perfectly at ease, one long leg crossed over the other at an angle, his hand resting on one knee. Ronnie was sure she had been temporarily forgotten, but then he turned to her. "Of course, that's perfectly understandable. Had I your lovely wife, I might be tempted to spirit her away to an island myself."
It was a perfectly innocent compliment. Only Ronnie understood the undertones. Keep her safely away from all others.
Pieter was pleased as always when reference was made to his wife's beauty. He chuckled quietly, and, at another time, Ronnie would have been equally pleased to see the happiness that was easing the terrible strain of his pinched features. "Ronnie and I find great pleasure in our island. We seldom leave it."
"Ah," Drake inferred with a teasing tone, "but you must sometimes!"
Ronnie unfurled from her chair and rose gracefully to her feet. "I believe I shall fix myself another drink," she said smoothly, ignoring Drake's comment. "How about you, gentlemen?"
Pieter declined, but Drake grinned at her cruelly. "Please."
As hostess she had no choice but to walk to him and retrieve his empty glass. And at that moment she hated him intensely. It was obvious that her wishful assessment had been correct; Drake admired Pieter and would say or do nothing to hurt him.
But he didn't intend to let her forget a thing. It was evident that he was barely concealing his disdain, evident that he believed whatever torture he inflicted upon her was more than warranted.
Taking Drake's glass as swiftly as was conceivably polite, Ronnie met his gaze for an instant of open hostility, determined not to wilt before his fire. She spun away from him and retreated once more to the bar, grateful for the mechanical tasks that kept her moving with the