Home for Love by Ellen James Page A

these dresses to boating parties, or leisurely lunches in someone's garden. But here was a gown that surely had been worn to a ball. It was simple yet strikingly elegant, an off-the-shoulder burgundy silk with a full skirt swirling to the floor. Kate held it gently against her body, closing her eyes and humming a waltz to herself. She could see a string orchestra playing in a ballroom where couples skimmed over the parquet floors. Unbidden, an image of Steven rose to her mind, the way he had looked last night in his tuxedo. He fit too easily into her fantasy; it was too easy to imagine him clasping her hand in his and leading her out onto the dance floor. He pulled her close, his cheek resting against her hair.
    Kate hummed her waltz louder, with a deliberately martial beat, but that didn't stop the Steven in her dream from drawing her a little closer.
    "You look beautiful," he said huskily. Kate froze and her eyes flew open. Steven was sitting next to the trap door, gazing at her intently. The blood rushed to her face, and she lost her grip on the dress. It floated down to the dusty floorboards. She grappled for it, but in one easy motion Steven stood and was beside her. He rescued the dress, brushing it off and handing it back to her. The ceiling was so low that he had to lean over her. Kate took a deep, shuddering breath, and the next second she was in Steven's arms, the dress crushed against her.
    "Please, please, no…" she whispered, but her words were lost as his mouth descended hungrily to hers. No fantasy could have captured the actual feel of him—the searing pressure of his lips, the lean hard strength of his body. Fire coursed through her in response, sweeping away all her defenses. Her hands moved upward over his shoulders. His muscles tightened under her touch, and he gave a low groan. The silk rustled between them, unheeded.
    Her body fit so closely against his, but she longed to be closer yet. The need in her was overwhelming, more terrifying than any sensation she had ever known. She felt powerless against it. Her lips opened willingly to the gentle but insistent probing of his tongue. He tasted fresh and warm and clean.
    But then he broke away from her, and the attic suddenly seemed cold, despite its stuffy air. They were both breathing raggedly. Kate held the gown against her as if for protection.
    "Lord…that shouldn't have happened," Steven said.
    "No," she agreed woodenly, not understanding how fire could bank down so suddenly to ashes.
    "You'll have to forgive me—and forget about it."
    But it was already too late. She knew that her body would always remember the feel and taste of him.
    "I suppose that will be easy for you," she burst out. "To forget you came up here and—"
    "Nothing is easy with you, Kate," he said roughly. His eyes were darkened now with some emotion she could not fathom. She turned away, clutching the dress still tighter.
    "You're the one making everything so difficult," she muttered. "You weren't even supposed to be here today."
    "You're right. I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. I've got a pile of contracts waiting for me at the office. That's where I should have been in the first place." He left her abruptly.
    Kate felt raw inside. Slowly she loosened her grip on the poor gown, making a futile attempt to smooth out the wrinkles. It still felt warm from the contact with Steven. She returned it to the old chest, then sank down and rested her forehead against her knees. She was completely drained and completely shaken. How foolish it was to daydream, to imagine a perfect romantic scene. Because the reality was far too dangerous, pushing her to acknowledge feelings better left ignored.
    But she could not deny the sensations that Steven aroused in her. They were not merely physical. She could have dealt with that—explained them away as the normal responses of a healthy body. But what Steven made her feel…
    She straightened, rubbing her temples. This feeling went too deep,