Free Tempest in Eden by Sandra Brown Page B

I'm sorry to have taken advantage."
    Scalding tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at him in wonder. He was taking the blame for their lovemaking—and there was nothing else to call it—on himself. Why, when he'd ridiculed her all weekend, was he now forgiving her so generously? Her eyes probed the depths of his. Could she detect understanding there, or was it simply that she wanted so badly to see it?
    He pushed back his chair. "I need to go if I'm to get to church before the first hymn," he said, grinning at John and Celia, who seemed vastly relieved that whatever had transpired between their children had been resolved.
    Shay noted then that he was dressed in a dark gray three-piece suit with a white shirt and a tastefully dotted tie. His suitcase was standing just inside the back door.
    "Dad, it was great. Sorry I won't be here to eat the fish you and Celia caught yesterday."
    "Next time," John said, hugging his son unselfconsciously and thumping him proudly on the back.
    "Celia," Ian said, taking Shay's mother in his arms for a fierce hug. "You're good for the old man," he said, teasing. "Don't let him take you for granted." He kissed her noisily on the cheek.
    "Shay." Just the sound of her name coming from his mouth stopped her heart momentarily, then sent it jumping to her throat. "It was a pleasure to meet you." He extended his hand, and mechanically she reached for it and pumped it twice before letting it go.
    He turned away and went to the door, leaning down to pick up his suitcase. She had an overwhelming compulsion to run to him and throw herself into his arms. But, of course, she didn't. The weekend was over. They'd rarely see each other again, if at all.
    "Drive carefully," Ian's father called to him as they waved good-bye.
    Once he was out of sight, Celia and John turned back into the kitchen. Celia's smile collapsed when she saw Shay leaning against the countertop. "Shay, are you still ill?"
    Shay shook her head absently and forced her feet to move. They seemed cemented to the floor. "No, just a little shaky. I think I'll go upstairs and lie down for a while. Then I need to be on my way."

    She left about noon, after her mother had forced her to eat a scrambled egg and a slice of dry toast, and drink two cups of tea sweetened with honey.
    During the drive home, Shay tried to diagnose her ailment, but couldn't. It was more than a hangover. Suddenly she didn't care about anything. Living seemed to be too much trouble to bother with. It required too much energy. Often it inflicted pain. The possibility that Ian Douglas had something to do with her malady flickered on the outskirts of her mind, but she refused to contemplate that thought further.
    She returned to work, having convinced herself that the weekend rest in the country had done her a world of good. She didn't have any modeling jobs lined up, so with a burst of enthusiasm, she threw herself into her work at the gallery.
    Hans Vandiveer, a wisp of a man with prissy manners and a pointed goatee, was pleased. "Watch out or I may turn all the difficult-to-please customers over to you," he warned her, wagging a slender finger in her face.
    She'd worked in his shop for three years, but knew little about him except that he lived alone with four cats, whom he talked about as other people did their children. If he'd ever had a meaningful attachment in his life, male or female, he'd never mentioned it. Shay thought it safer not to inquire and was glad she didn't know. He was pleasant enough to work for as long as she could overlook his fanaticism about keeping his shop and storeroom neat.
    His demand for cleanliness was the reason why Shay was perched atop a ladder, dusting a shelf that displayed inexpensive reproductions of Stuben and Lalique glass sculptures. It was mid-August, six weeks since the brief time she'd spent in the country. Shop windows displayed back-to-school clothes and supplies. Though the weather was still mild, several recent chilly