Love Is Elected Read online

  Love Is Elected

  By

  Alyssa Howard

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  "Cover Yourself Up," he said roughly.

  Kara glared at him as she pulled the towel around her body.

  Try to memorize what he looks like, she told herself, so you can give the police a good description. She had to admit he was handsome in a hard, ruthless sort of way.

  "I'm here for a meeting with James Barnett tomorrow," he added. "He invited me to spend the night here."

  "Well that's too bad," Kara shot back. "You'll just have to find other accommodations."

  "We both know there are no other accommodations," he said harshly.

  ALYSSA HOWARD lives in Maryland and is a wife and mother, as well as a writer of fiction and nonfiction. She loves writing romances because they celebrate the most joyful part of a woman's life—and there's always a happy ending.

  Dear Reader,

  Silhouette Romances is an exciting new publishing series, dedicated to bringing you the very best in contemporary romantic fiction from the very finest writers. Our stories and our heroines will give you all you want from romantic fiction.

  Also, you play an important part in our future plans for Silhouette Romances. We welcome any suggestions or comments on our books, which should be sent to the address below.

  So enjoy this book and all the wonderful romances from Silhouette. They're for you!

  Jane Nicholls

  Silhouette Books

  PO Box 177

  Dunton Green

  Sevenoaks

  Kent

  TN13 2YE

  Copyright© 1982 by Alyssa Howard

  Map by Ray Lundgren

  First printing 1983

  ISBN 0 340 33274 3

  Chapter One

  Kara Barnett gripped the steering wheel tighter and squinted through the mist obscuring Highway 15. Towering shapes of tall pines loomed on either side of the country passage that led up the mountain to Uncle James' cabin.

  Had she missed the turnoff? she wondered. She hoped not, because thunder was already rumbling in the distance and the sky had taken on an ominous cast.

  Getting caught in a spring storm would be a fitting end to a wretched day, Kara assured herself grimly. First there had been the fiasco at work. As public relations specialist at Citizens for Consumer Protection in Washington, D.C., Kara had spent the last two months lobbying for stricter toy safety inspection regulations. But she'd found out this morning that the bill she was pushing was stuck in committee.

  With Congress adjourning for a three week break, there wasn't a prayer of passing it this session.

  Then there had been the humiliating call from Wayne Lyle—the handsome lawyer Kara had been dating for half a year, almost ever since she'd come to D.C. with her B.A. in public relations tucked under her arm. For the past several months he'd been pressing his own campaign—trying to get her to move out of the apartment she shared in Georgetown with Jill Sanders and into his Roslyn highrise. But recently he'd slackened the pressure. And she had breathed a sigh of relief, until this afternoon, when he'd called to tell her he wouldn't be seeing her anymore because Gloria Ferguson was moving in with him.

  That bleached-blond pushover, Kara fumed. She may be more glamorous than I am, but I thought that wasn't important. Kara glanced critically in the mirror, inspecting her own dark curls, heart-shaped face and wide violet eyes, totally unaware of their potential for real beauty. Had she been wrong, Kara wondered, to turn down Wayne's proposition? He had called her old-fashioned.

  "But that's just the way I am," she muttered fiercely to herself as she clutched the wheel tighter. I want a special man to share the rest of my life, to make a home with and raise a family, and not just an affair that lasts a few months. I'm not going to move in with any man unless we're married!

  Kara reflected back over the past few months, remembering a time when she had thought Wayne might be that man. Getting the big rush from him had been a heady experience at first. It had come at a time when she had been ready for love.

  Kara's parents had been killed six years ago in a plane crash, and she had spent most of her life since then in fancy boarding schools, summer camps, and a girls' college where there were few eligible men to date. She had grown self-sufficient and independent in those years, but she had been starved for affection. She had been eager to soak up the flattering attention Wayne had lavished on her.

  But after a few months, something in her had reluctantly pulled back. She had begun to suspect that Wayne's plans for her didn't include wedding bells. Yet she couldn't help clinging to the hope that she could make their relationship into what she wanted it to be. And there was no doubt about it—despite her suspicions that it might be coming, his rejection had hurt terribly.

  Her roommate Jill had tried to be consoling. But Kara didn't want anyone's sympathy. She wanted to be alone to sort out her feelings. So she'd packed an overnight case, left D.C. in the height of rush-hour traffic, and headed for Uncle James' cabin in rural Frederick County. Along the way she had stopped for enough groceries to last through the weekend.

  Suddenly Kara slammed on the brakes. She'd been so involved in her thoughts that she had overshot the dirt turnoff to the cabin. After backing up and shifting down, she nosed her yellow hatchback onto the rutted drive. Large drops of rain were just beginning to plop against the windshield.

  Kara stopped the car in the clearing beside the cabin. Just as she turned off the ignition, the skies opened up. Sheets of rain began to pelt against the sturdy A-frame that Uncle James had built as a getaway when he was still Party Chairman.

  James was her father's older brother. And for the thousandth time she wondered why he, and not her parents, had walked away from that company plane wreck. But then he had always been the lucky one.

  For the past six years—out of what she surmised was a sense of duty—he'd been her guardian, paying her bills at school and camp. But when she'd been at his house during vacations, he'd always seemed too busy, too wrapped up in his political wheeling and dealing to take much interest in her.

  There had always been expensive presents like giant stuffed animals, a room full of French Provincial furniture and fancy stereo equipment. But for Kara, none of these made up for the fact that he was never at home for dinner.

  She'd forced herself to be independent, but when she'd graduated from college and gotten a job, she'd still been hurt at his seemingly obvious relief that she was moving out.

  She'd left all the expensive presents behind at his house and kept only her clothing, car and the key to her uncle's cabin in the mountains which he'd given her, along with permission to use it as long as he didn't have plans for entertaining his cronies at a hunting party.

  But it was too early in the season for hunting. So, in her haste to get away, she hadn't bothered to make her usual check with his secretary before fleeing Georgetown.

  Kara peered out the car window. Now she could barely make out the cabin's outline through the downpour. There was no sign of the rain letting up. Maybe coming here was a mistake, after all. She shivered. It was always colder in the mountains. And the dampness was penetrating. But driving back to D.C. now was out of the question.

  I guess I'm going to have to get really wet before I get dry again, she thought. Resolutely she opened the door, sloshed through the puddles to the back of the car, and pulled out her overnight c
ase and handbag, which she carried to the cabin porch. Then she made another trip through the downpour to retrieve the groceries she'd bought.

  With everything transferred to the porch, she heaved a sigh of relief and tried to blink the drops of water out of her thick black lashes. Then she unlocked the door and stepped quickly into the familiar shelter of the cabin.

  Kara transferred her sodden grocery bags to the counter separating the kitchen from the living area and glanced at the massive fieldstone fireplace. Thank goodness George Mason from the village had already laid a fire. What she needed was to get out of her soaking wet jeans and apricot lambswool sweater and dry off.

  Crossing the room, she searched the mantel for the long wooden matches Uncle James kept there and quickly lit the paper underneath the bed of dry wood. In moments a warming blaze had sprung up, casting long shadows across the room's rich cherry paneling.

  Kara lifted a plaid wool blanket from the back of a nearby leather easy chair and spread it in front of the hearth. Then she began rummaging in her overnight bag for a towel and brush. Moments later she was pulling her wet sweater over her head.

  "That's better," she murmured as she kicked off her clogs, unzipped her jeans and wriggled clear of the damp, clinging fabric. Clad only in silken bikini underpants and a matching beige lace bra that accented her slender but shapely curves, she toweled herself dry and then began to brush her raven curls by the inviting heat of the blazing logs.

  Firelight gleamed warmly on her porcelain skin. And she felt the glow from the burning logs melt away the chilling effect from her wet clothes.

  Relaxed and comfortable at last, she glanced around the spacious living room of the cabin. The flickering shadows gave the rustic furniture a mellow look. A sturdy, dark green leather sofa faced the fireplace, flanked by a matching leather and wood easy chair to its right. A colorful handmade quilt in the wedding ring pattern, folded over the arm of the sofa, added a bright touch of warmth.

  A brass kerosene lamp occupied the end table. The cabin did have electricity, but Kara knew that the lamp stood ready for use in a power failure—a not uncommon occurrence in this remote mountain hideaway.

  Rain was still pelting the cabin's roof, and Kara wondered icily if the storm might interrupt the power tonight. But it wouldn't really matter, she told herself. She wouldn't be watching the Friday night movie anyway, since the cabin's location precluded even marginal TV reception. And tonight she wasn't in the mood to listen to the radio or the tapedeck.

  Kara stretched out on the plaid blanket, letting the warmth of the fire lull her into a peaceful lassitude. She could even let her mind wander to the subject of Wayne now without feeling so upset. When he had learned about the cabin, he had wanted to come up here with her, she remembered. But she'd been afraid of what would happen if they were alone together in such an isolated setting.

  Should I have let him? she asked herself. But she knew instinctively that the answer was no. Don't worry about Wayne anymore, she told herself. It was so wonderfully comforting and drowsy by the fire. She would take a little nap and then fix some dinner.

  She had just drifted off, her dark hair spread in a thick curtain over her shoulders, when she felt a gust of wind as the door suddenly flew open.

  Jarred from the peaceful security she had just felt, Kara whipped her head around and her violet eyes opened wide. There framed in the doorway stood a dark, forceful stranger.

  A look of surprise and then anger, mixed with something Kara couldn't quite fathom, crossed the man's features as he slammed the door and closed the distance between them in a few long strides.

  Terrified, Kara clutched at her towel and tried to cover herself. But the stranger was undeterred. Grabbing her wrist in an iron grip, he pulled her ruthlessly to her feet. The towel slipped from her fingers.

  "What the devil are you doing here?" he demanded. Grasping her shoulder, he administered a forceful shake that sent an electric shock down her spine.

  "I hope for your sake you have a rational explanation for being half-naked in my cabin," he rasped menacingly, his eyes raking her body. "If this is another of Bill Thorp's attempts to discredit me, you'll both regret the day you agreed to this scheme!"

  It took Kara a moment to recover from that initial shock and to find her voice. "Your cabin?" she finally managed to blurt out with more authority than she felt. "This happens to be my uncle's cabin and I have permission to use it. Just what gives you the right to walk in here without so much as knocking and threaten me?" she cried, lashing out at him with a clenched fist. But he merely laughed at her attempt to defend herself.

  "Cut that out," he warned.

  Sputtering with anger, Kara lowered her trembling arms. Ignoring her outrage, the stranger reached down, scooped up the fallen towel and thrust it at her.

  "Cover yourself up," he said harshly. "I don't have time for one of Thorp's girls, though I have to admit he's showing better taste than I would have thought possible," he said, sweeping his eyes appraisingly over her scantily clad form.

  Kara glared back as she pulled the towel around her body. Try to memorize what he looks like, she told herself, so you can give the police a good description.

  Despite her fear, she forced herself to study him intently. Although she'd never met him before, he seemed vaguely familiar, as if she had seen his face once on television or in the papers. Maybe he was on the FBI's most-wanted list.

  She had to admit he was handsome in a hard, ruthless sort of way. His thick, black hair, prematurely gray at the temples, glistened with droplets of water. The flinty gray eyes, set wide apart, and the strongly chiseled nose and chin gave him a compelling, arrogant appearance. He was tall, over six feet, with an athlete's powerful body of broad shoulders and narrow hips. The wet fabric of his wool slacks and flannel sport shirt clung to his muscular arms and hard thighs.

  When he spoke, his voice was deep and vibrant, and still a bit menacing.

  "I'm here for a meeting with James Barnett tomorrow. Since I had important business in Frederick this evening, he invited me to spend the night here so we could get right to work in the morning."

  "Well that's too bad," Kara shot back. "You can't spend the night here. You'll just have to find other accommodations."

  "We both know there are no other accommodations around here," he answered harshly, turning to retrieve his carryall from the porch.

  As soon as his back was turned, Kara grabbed her jeans and sweater, now dry from the fire's heat. She had zipped up her pants and was struggling to find the armholes in her V-neck when she heard the stranger's sardonic laugh.

  "Now that does make an interesting picture— being treated to a striptease in reverse. Maybe Bill Thorp's done me a favor after all."

  His words set her raw nerves on edge. Yanking the sweater over her head, she shook her curly tresses free. Narrowing her normally wide eyes, she hissed, "Listen, mister, I don't know your Bill Thorp and I don't know why you're here, but you'd better get out of my uncle's cabin before I call the police."

  "Nice try," he drawled with insolent amusement. "But I happen to know this cabin doesn't have a phone."

  He was right she realized with horror. Uncle James always boasted of the fact that this was his impenetrable retreat where no one could get hold of him except by having a message relayed through George Mason in the village.

  "All right. Then you stay! But I'm getting out of here," she exclaimed, snatching up her purse and bag and heading for the door.

  "Leaving without your shoes?" the maddening intruder called out just before she slammed the door.

  It was still raining hard, and the soft mud was cold and slippery under her bare feet.

  "I'd rather die than go back there," she muttered fiercely. She stumbled across the clearing and crawled into her car.

  As the engine sprung to life, the door to the cabin was flung open and the man's tall figure emerged, striding purposefully toward the car and shouting something about the roads. Panic stricken, K
ara slammed into reverse and tried to back out of the clearing and onto the dirt road. But her wheels spun uselessly.

  As the stranger reached for the handle of the car door, she gunned the engine, sending a spray of muck onto his expensive-looking slacks and shirt. She heard him curse. An instant later he had yanked the door open and snatched the keys from the ignition.

  "Just what do you think you're doing, you little idiot?" Roughly his strong hands grasped her, and she felt herself pulled from behind the wheel.

  "Get your hands off me," she protested, trying to fight back. But in his grip, her struggles were as ineffectual as a child's. She felt herself hoisted in the air, slung over his shoulder, and then he was striding grimly back to the cabin.

  "You beast, you animal!" she cried, pounding in helpless fury on his broad back. But he ignored the blows.

  In a moment they were back in the cabin. With one hand he switched on the radio. Then he lowered Kara to the couch, holding her beside him in a vise-like clamp.

  The strains of a popular song issued from the radio.

  "What is that? Music to molest by?" Kara jeered, looking at him fiercely. But her anger turned to fear at the suddenly intense expression on his face.

  "Not a bad idea," he murmured. Taking hold of the back of her neck, he drew her face slowly closer to his. His gray eyes locked with hers. She wanted to scream but the sound died in her throat as his warm mouth covered hers.

  Her body stiffened in anger, but the hard pressure of his lips aroused a reaction she had not expected— a strange heat spread through her like a runaway flame as his lips explored hers. She'd never felt like this when Wayne kissed her.

  She became so absorbed in this new sensation that she didn't notice the change in the radio broadcast— but he did. Abruptly he put her aside and reached over to turn up the volume.