The Summit

Autumn’s sure hands and small feet searched and found the tiny niches and crevices in the holds as she made her way up the wall with skill and a fluid grace.

Ben found himself watching with fascination the movement of the muscles in her arms and legs and the way her buttocks tightened under her shorts as she moved higher and higher up the wall. Her waist was small, her breasts nicely rounded. His groin clenched almost painfully and he muttered a curse.

The last thing he needed was any sort of physical attraction to Autumn Sommers. He had no idea who she really was or if any of what she had told him was real.

He fixed his concentration on Autumn who had reached the top of the wall and was now smoothly riding the rope Ned held back down to the bottom. She was good. That much was clear. She made the sport look easy and he knew damned well it wasn’t.

Once she returned to solid ground, she centered those green eyes directly on him. “Your turn, Ben.”

Eight

Class was finally over. Thinking that everyone had left the gym, Autumn began to bag her gear, concentrating on stowing everything properly.

“I enjoyed your class today.”

She looked over her shoulder to find Ben McKenzie just a few feet away. “I didn’t realize you were still here. I thought you’d be anxious to get back to work.”

“I am. I wanted to ask if you were busy tonight.”

Autumn eyed him warily. “Not really.” Not unless watching an old movie on Turner Classics was busy. “Why?”

“I told you before—I need time to get to know you. I’ll come by your place after I leave the office…say six-thirty? We’ll go over to my downtown store and you can help me pick out the climbing gear I’m going to need. It shouldn’t take all that long.”

She didn’t want to go with him. He made her nervous in a way she couldn’t quite explain. But she needed his help and she couldn’t think of a reason to say no. “All right.”

Ben left her to finish her task and she carried her gear back to her locker. She had a couple of private lessons that afternoon then afterward stopped in at Barnes and Noble to pick up a few new paperback books, since she felt at a loss if she ran out of something to read.

Ben arrived in her lobby at six-thirty, but insisted on coming up instead of letting her come down to meet him.

“I want to see where you live,” he said over the intercom. “A person’s home says a lot about them.”

She didn’t like the idea. She didn’t want Ben McKenzie barging into her home—her life—but she didn’t see any other way to get his help. Without it, Molly would never have a chance to be found.

She was nervous as she opened the door. She loved her cozy apartment, but Ben McKenzie was rich and used to living in far higher style. Since their discussion at Luigi’s on Monday, she had gone back to the library and run his name. Over the past few years, article after article had appeared in the society section, showing Ben at benefits, plays and opening night concerts—escorting some of the most glamorous women in the world. Apparently, he was wildly successful in his business endeavors and equally successful with women.

He stepped through the open door, his eyes darting into the compact kitchen with its sparkling white countertops and cheerful white-and-rose flowered wallpaper, moving past the breakfast bar that separated the area from the living room. “So this is the place you call home.”

She managed a smile. “This is it. Would you like a glass of wine or something else? I keep a bottle of Jack Daniels up in the cupboard for my dad. He isn’t really supposed to drink, but he’s pretty hard-headed about it and I figure a little whiskey once in a while isn’t really going to hurt him.”

“Wine sounds good.”

“Red or white?”

He eyed her with interest. “White is good for right now.”

She pulled out two stemmed wine glasses, took an opened bottle out of the fridge and filled the glasses with chardonnay.

Ben took a sip and savored it slowly. “Not bad. Local vintner?”

“Columbia Crest. This is an estate vintage. I guess you figured I’d pour it out of a box?”

He laughed. “Not at all. You don’t strike me as quite that down-home.”

He lifted his glass off the breakfast bar and wandered toward the windows overlooking the city, pausing here and there to consider an antique Victorian clock, a porcelain figurine, a hundred-year-old green glass plate she had fallen instantly in love with and bought for practically nothing at a garage sale. The molded ceilings drew his eye, the sheer lace curtains, the floral rugs on the hardwood floors.

“The place is amazingly feminine,” he said. “I have to admit I’m a little surprised.”

Her posture tightened defensively. “I like sports. That doesn’t mean I’m not a woman.”

Those brown eyes drifted over her, seemed to warm with appreciation. She was wearing dark-gray, low-slung bell-bottom pants, a pair of black heeled boots and a deep pink sweater that hugged her curves.

“No,” he said. “You are definitely a woman.” His rich baritone rolled through her, sent a curl of warmth into her stomach. Autumn forced herself to ignore it and took a steadying sip of her wine.

Ben glanced into the bedroom, saw the canopied bed with its white eyelet bedspread and matching dust ruffle. “Very pretty. That’s where you’ve been having your dreams?”

She nodded.

“Any lately?”

“Last Monday, after I spoke to you.”

“None since then?”

“No.”

“So you think there’s a connection between me and the dreams.”

“I think it’s the most likely explanation.”

He wandered into her bedroom, went into her bathroom and eventually returned to the living room.

“You know,” she said, “it’s rude to enter a woman’s bedroom uninvited.”

The edge of his mouth faintly curved. “From the look in your eye, I imagine I’d be waiting a good long while.” The amusement faded. “You know my terms. I find out what I need to know or I’m out of this.”

Autumn shook her head. “I don’t think you’re going to back out. I don’t think your conscience will let you. Just like mine won’t let me.”

He said nothing for a while. “Nevertheless. Until I believe I can trust you, I’m going to stick to you like I’m your shadow.”

Autumn set her glass down a little too hard, making the crystal ring. “What if I say no? What if I just tell you to go away and forget the whole thing?”

“You won’t. You just said your conscience won’t let you.”

Autumn bit her lip. He was right—but so was she. They were in this together, whether they liked it or not. She would do what she had to in order to make this easier for both of them.

They sat at the counter and talked for a while: a little about her family, her father and what sort of parent he was as she grew up but mostly about climbing.

“You did okay for your first time,” Autumn said, speaking of his morning effort on the wall.