Free Against All Odds (Arabesque) by Gwynne Forster

order to be on time. She shivered from the air conditioning and rubbed her bare arms as she realized belatedly that she’d left her sweater in her office. It would be a long, uncomfortable evening. As she weighed the idea of leaving, a garment fell over her shoulders, and large hands smoothed it around her arms. She looked down at the beige linen jacket that warmed her, felt the gentle squeeze of masculine hands on her shoulders, and fought not to turn around. But she couldn’t resist leaning back, and when his hand rested softly on her shoulder, she tapped it lightly to thank him. So much for her resolve to avoid a personal relationship with him.
    They left the concert together, stopped for coffee at a little café on Columbus Avenue, and though there was no discussion of it, she knew he’d walk her home. Maybe this time he wouldn’t leave her without taking her in his arms. But when they entered the lobby of her building, she shuddered at the sight that greeted her. Wasn’t it like her father to appear unexpectedly, giving himself every advantage? Rafer Grant rose from a leather lounge chair and walked toward them. He stopped, gazed at Adam, and fear ripped through her as his mouth twisted the minute he recognized the man whose family he detested.
    “What is he doing here with you? Is this why you can’t come home and look after your mother?” He didn’t give her a chance to reply. “How could you consort with this...this man after what he and his kin did to our family? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” Adam’s arm steadied her.
    Her voice held no emotion. “Hello, Father. I needn’t say that I’m surprised to see you. There’s no reason for you to be displeased. Adam—”
    He interrupted. “Adam, is it? I’m shocked and disappointed at your bringing this man here to your home. It’s disloyal, and I won’t stand for it.”
    Adam pulled her closer to him, possessively and defiantly. “How are you planning to prevent it? This isn’t the Middle Ages when you could have her shackled to the foot of her bed. She’s an adult, and she can do as she pleases.”
    “It’s alright, Adam.” She was used to her father’s harangues, having endured his reproofs and censure for as long as she could remember, but until now no one had called him to task for it—not her mother nor her brother. She needed her father’s approval—it seemed that for most of her life she’d striven for it. Yet she couldn’t remember a time when he’d praised her. She reached toward him involuntarily, but he waved her aside, glared at Adam, and marched huffily out of the building without having told her why he’d come.
    She looked up at Adam, trying to read him. “I’m sorry you were exposed to this, Adam. My father never wanted a daughter, and sometimes I think he’s not sure he has one. At least that’s how he acts.” She’d meant it in jest, but Adam’s dour expression told her that he was not amused. Upon reflection, she wondered if her father might be more caring if she showed him that his opinion of her didn’t matter. Should it matter so much, she pondered, as she and Adam walked without speaking to the elevator, her hand tightly enclosed in his.
    At her apartment door he held his hand for her key, and she gave it to him and watched him open her door. Inside, Adam asked her, “Does your father always behave this way with you, or was he disrespectful because you were with me, a Roundtree?”
    “Both. He’s that way when I do something that displeases him,” she explained, “which is fairly frequent.”
    “How does he act when you brother displeases him? Or does that ever happen?”
    She hesitated; even though she was displeased with her father and ashamed of his behavior toward her, she couldn’t criticize him. Especially not to a man whom he considered an enemy.
    “Adam, my brother doesn’t displease my parents.” Then as the implications of her words hung between them, she joshed, “He’s the good