Her teeth were chattering and her whole body had begun to shake. Where he had ripped her dress, the bodice gaped, revealing one of her breasts. She clawed at the material, while she backed away, tears running down her cheeks.
"Phoebe…" He rushed toward her.
She leapt back, frantically clutching her torn dress. "Don't touch me!" she sobbed.
He froze and backed away, holding up his hands. "I'm not going to hurt you. I can explain. It's all a mistake. I didn't know it was you. I-I thought you were my ex-wife. She was meeting me here."
"Is that supposed to make it better?" Her teeth wouldn't stop chattering, and her chest spasmed as she tried to swallow her sobs.
He took another step, and once again she backed away. He immediately stopped moving. "You don't understand."
"You bastard! You perverted bastard!"
"Dan!"
Phoebe froze as she heard the sound of a woman's voice.
"Dan! Where are you?"
Relief washed through her as she realized they were no longer alone. Then she saw the expression of entreaty in his eyes and watched as he pressed one finger to his lips, commanding her silence.
"Here!" she shouted. "In here!"
He dipped his head. "Shit."
"Dan?" A slim, attractive woman wearing a simple floral cotton dress stepped into the gazebo. "I heard a-"
She broke off as she saw Phoebe. Her gaze flew to Dan. "What's going on?"
"What we have here," he said unhappily, "is a case of mistaken identity."
The woman took in Phoebe's torn dress and mussed hair. Her eyes widened in consternation. "Oh, God."
As Phoebe's terror began to ease, she realized something was happening here that she didn't understand.
"It was dark," he told the woman, "and I thought she was you."
The woman pressed her fingertips to one temple. "Is she discreet?"
"Discreet, hell! She's scared to death! Can't you see what I've done to her?"
The woman's voice grew so cool and businesslike that Phoebe immediately hated her. "Who is she?"
"Phoebe Somerville," he replied, apparently realizing that Phoebe was in no condition to answer for herself.
"The Stars' owner?"
"One and the same." He turned back to Phoebe and, speaking softly, said, "This is Valerie Calebow, Phoebe. My ex-wife. She's also a member of the United States Congress, but, despite that, you can trust her. Valerie is going to explain to you that I wasn't trying to hurt you, and she's going to tell you exactly what you walked into."
Valerie's forehead puckered in dismay. "Dan, I can hardly-"
"Do it!" he snapped, his expression murderous. "She's not in any state to listen to me right now."
She picked her words carefully, her expression stiff. "Miss Somerville, although Dan I are divorced, we have chosen to continue an intimate relationship. We are both rather adventurous lovers, and-"
"Speak for yourself, Val. I'd have been happy with a double bed and some Johnny Mathis tapes."
"Are you blaming me for what happened?"
"No," he sighed. "It was my fault. You both have light hair, and you're about the same height. It was dark."
"Dan and I had made arrangements to meet here tonight. I had an official function to attend so I was a bit late. Unfortunately, Miss Somerville, he mistook you for me."
Slowly, Phoebe began to comprehend what had happened, but she could only stare at the woman in bewilderment. "Are you telling me that you wanted him to treat you like that?"
Valerie refused to meet her eyes. "I'm afraid I have to go. I'm sorry you received such a fright. I only hope you understand how delicate this matter is. As an elected official, it would be extremely awkward for me if anyone were to find out."
"For chrissake, Val-"
She spun on him. "Shut up, Dan. This could put an end to my career. I want her assurance that she won't tell anyone."
"Who would I tell?" Phoebe said helplessly. "No one would believe me anyway."
"I'm sorry." Valerie gave her an awkward nod and quickly left the gazebo.
Phoebe didn't want to be alone with him. She was immediately conscious of his oppressive physical size, the muscles straining the too-tight sleeves of his knit shirt. Holding the front of her dress together, she began to move toward the vine-draped opening in the gazebo's latticework.
"Please sit down," he said quietly. "I promise I won't come near you, but we have to talk."
"It's all a game to the two of you, isn't it?" she whispered. "That's how you get your kicks."
"Yes."
"It wasn't a game to me."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"How could you do something like that?"
"It's what she likes."
"But why?"
"She's a strong woman. Powerful. Sometimes she gets tired of always being in control."
"She's sick, and so are you!"
"Don't judge, Phoebe. She's not sick, and until tonight, what went on between the two of us had nothing to do with anyone else."
She started to shake again. "You were going to-What if you hadn't stopped?"
"I'd have stopped. The minute I felt your-" He cleared his throat. "Valerie's a little more flat-chested than you."
Her knees weren't going to hold her any longer, and she collapsed into the nearest chair. He came toward her cautiously, as if he were afraid she would start to scream again.
"What were you doing here?"
She took a shaky breath. "Paul showed up at the party not long after you left. I-I brought you the videotape you wanted." She made a helpless gesture as she realized she'd dropped it.
"But I told Ronald not to send it over tonight."
"I thought-I wasn't sleepy, and-Never mind, it was a stupid idea."
"You can say that again."
"I'm going." By bracing her hands on the arms of the chair, she managed to rise to her feet.
"You need a few minutes to settle down before you try to drive. I'll tell you what. I didn't get anything to eat at the party and I'm hungry. Let me make us some sandwiches. How about it?"
There was a boyish eagerness to please in his expression that alleviated some of her residual fear, but he was too large, too strong, and she hadn't recovered from those moments when the past seemed to be repeating itself. "I'd better be going."
"You're afraid to be alone with me, aren't you?"
"I'm just tired, that's all."
"You're scared."
"I was completely helpless. You're a strong man. You can't imagine what it's like."
"No, I can't. But it's over now. I won't hurt you. You know that, don't you?"
She nodded slowly. She did know it, but it was still hard for her to relax.
He smiled at her. "I know why you want to rush home. You're going to wake up your little sister so you can start slapping her around again."
Mystified, she stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Miz Molly and I had an interesting conversation tonight. But I'm not going to tell you about it unless you let me fix you something to eat."
She saw the spark of challenge in his eyes. He was the coach now, testing her mettle, just as he tested his men. She knew he wasn't going to hurt her. If she ran away this time, would she ever stop?
"All right. Just for a bit."
The unfamiliar path was difficult to maneuver in the dark. She stumbled once, but he didn't take her arm to help her, and she wondered if he knew that she would have fallen apart if he had touched her in the dark.
As they walked, he tried to put her at ease by telling her about the farmhouse. "I bought this place last year and had it renovated. There's an orchard and a stable where I can keep a couple of horses if I want. I've got trees on this place that are a hundred years old."
They reached the front porch. He bent down to retrieve the videotape she'd dropped, then opened the front door and flipped on a light before he let her in. She saw a staircase off to the left and an archway to the right that led to the side wing of the house. She followed him through it into a spacious open area that was rustic and welcoming.
The exposed stone on the longest wall glowed buttery in the light of the lamps he turned on. The room encompassed a comfortable two-story living area and a cozy, old-fashioned kitchen with a snug loft tucked above it under the eaves. The scrubbed pine floor held an assortment of furniture including a couch in a hunter green plaid with red and yellow accents, soft, oversized chairs, and an old pine cupboard. A wooden bench bearing decades of nicks and scars from tools served as a coffee table and held an old checkerboard sitting next to a pile of books. Chunky wooden candlesticks, stoneware crocks, and several antique metal banks rested on the mantel above the big stone fireplace. She had expected him to be surrounded by marble statues of naked women, not live in this comfortable rural haven that seemed so much a part of the Illinois prairie.