Private Passions Read online

  Chris opened an ebony lacquered box to reveal a set of exquisitely carved chess pieces in pale and dark green jade. He was an avid chess player and had also become a collector of chess sets. His collection included pieces made of pewter, brass and teak. However, none were as elegant as these smooth jade pieces. His stunned gaze shifted from the chess pieces to Emily’s perfect profile. As if on cue, they turned and looked at each other, smiling.

  Emily shifted her expertly waxed eyebrows in a questioning expression. “I hope you like them.”

  Nodding his head, he replied, “They are beyond description. Thank you.”

  She lowered her lashes in a demure gesture. “You’re welcome. The bracelet is beautiful.”

  “I hope you like it,” Chris said, winking at her.

  Her brilliant smile reached her luminous eyes, reminding him of sparkling, clear emeralds. “I love it. I love you,” she added. She held out her right arm. “Please put it on.”

  He took the bracelet, opened the clasp, then slipped it on her tiny wrist. She watched his long, well-groomed fingers as he managed to secure the safety catch with a minimum of effort. His hands were as elegant as the rest of him.

  Chris did not react to her declaration of affection because he had grown up hearing Emily tell him that she loved him—loved him fondly, not passionately.

  They sat side by side, sipping their drinks and staring at the flickering flames behind the decorative screen in the fireplace, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Ten minutes later, Emily placed her half-empty glass on the coffee table and stood up. “Everything should be ready now.”

  Without waiting to see whether Chris followed her, she made her way to the dining area. The table was covered with an antique embroidered linen cloth and set with china, crystal and shiny sterling silver pieces. She stopped, dimmed the lights in an overhead chandelier, and lit several beeswax candles.

  She had told Chris she loved him for what seemed like the hundredth time in her life. And, again there was no reaction from him. Closing her eyes, she made herself a solemn promise. She would never again tell him that she loved him.

  Chapter 2

  December 27

  Santa Fe

  KCNS-TV News Director Richard Adams’s penetrating gaze swept around the conference room, lingering momentarily on the impassive expression of Emily Teresa Kirkland.

  “This concludes our last staff meeting for the year. I want to thank all of you for your ongoing cooperation. I’d like to wish everyone a wonderful New Year, and for those of you who have scheduled vacation leave—enjoy. Emily, could you please give me a few more minutes,” he added as she gathered her leather-bound day planner.

  The eight people who made up the political news staff pushed back from the oak conference table and stood up, offered one another warm smiles, and congratulated Calvin Robinson, while Emily remained seated.

  She stared numbly at her boss; she had successfully concealed the anger and resentment racing through her rigid body, threatening to explode. She knew why she’d been passed over for a promotion, and it had nothing to do with her job performance and everything to do with her refusal to accept Richard’s very subtle advances. Any respect she’d had for him was suddenly swept away because he had waited less than half an hour before she was to take vacation to announce his decision.

  Richard Adams had been careful—very, very careful—not to step over the line where she could charge him with sexual harassment when he had asked her to share an intimate dinner meeting at his home to discuss her future at the all-news cable television station.

  She had left KHRP a year ago, after network executives at KCNS approached her with an offer she could not refuse; they had hired her with a promise that she would take over as lead anchor of the weekend political desk within a month of the network’s popular veteran anchor’s impending retirement. The man had officially retired six weeks earlier.

  She had chided herself for not securing the pledge in writing; but then, she had told herself that she could trust Richard. He had offered her what she had spent most of her professional life pursuing: the position of assistant political analyst for a national television network.

  His decision to select Calvin Robinson for the anchor slot had momentarily stunned her. Calvin had come to KCNS three months after her, and they were the only two African-Americans in front of the camera. She tried rationalizing why she had not been given the position: she was only thirty, hardly what could be called a veteran correspondent, and she was a woman. However, female television journalists had come a long way since Barbara Walters had been hired by ABC’s Roone Arledge.

  Emily and her contemporaries still had a never-ending journey ahead of them within a male bastion that had reluctantly and grudgingly allowed members of the opposite sex into their coveted profession. She and many other women had become the recipients of the 1964 Civil Rights Act and a 1971 Federal Communications Commission ruling mandating equal employment regardless of gender. The result was that more women were hired in TV newsrooms all over the country, even though legislation was not going to change her current status.

  Richard waited until the others filed out of the conference room, then gave Emily his full attention. He had to admire her. She had not reacted visibly to his decision not to promote her. But then, he admired everything about her. When meeting her for the first time he had been awed by her intelligence and stunned by her beauty.

  Seeing her close up and in person verified what the camera always revealed—it loved her. Soft, flattering light illuminated her large, heavily lashed eyes and their vibrant color—reminiscent of early spring leaves. They were a brilliant contrast to a flawless complexion in a hue of heated honey. Her straight, delicate nose; full, lush, curving mouth and naturally curly, professionally coiffed black hair completed her winning professional persona. However, after working closely with her, he thought her reserved and inhibited—much too reserved for her age.

  He glanced down at the printed schedule in front of him, feeling the heat from the laser-green eyes on his bowed head. “I’ve decided to reassign you for the gubernatorial campaign. I want you to cover Savoy instead of Delgado.”

  There was a pulse beat of silence before Emily was able to respond to Richard’s second surprise announcement. “Why?”

  A slight smile curved his mouth as he glanced at her without raising his head. “I’ve changed my mind after being apprised of your relationship with Senator Delgado.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “What relationship?” There was a tremor of annoyance in her voice when it lowered half an octave. The only relationship she shared with Christopher Blackwell Delgado was friendship.

  Richard’s head came up. “I need impartiality in this gubernatorial race, and I don’t feel comfortable assigning you to cover the campaign of a man whom you know personally. It’s a known fact that you and Delgado are godparents to his sister’s son.”

  Emily gripped the arms of her chair as she leaned forward. “Are you questioning my professional ethics?”

  “I’m not questioning anything,” Richard retorted. A flush of bright pink color crept swiftly up his neck and face to his ill-fitting toupee. “I’ve made my decision.” Steepling his fingers, he brought them to his mouth, a forefinger stroking the neatly barbered hair covering his upper lip. “You can accept the assignment, or…” His words trailed off.

  She shifted an eyebrow. “Or what?”

  He met her direct stare. “You can edit copy.”

  A sense of strength replaced her simmering anger. The egg-sucking dog wanted to punish her only because she hadn’t been receptive to his advances. Perhaps if she didn’t work directly for him, and if he considered removing the ratty nest doubling as a toupee she would have reconsidered and shared an occasional dinner or movie with him. He would simply join the o
ther men she dated but refused to commit to. Richard claimed an angular face with even features, and had married and divorced thrice while earning a reputation as a brilliant television journalist.

  However, she had no intention of becoming wife number four. There was only one man she wanted to marry—a man she had known all her life, a man who continued to treat her as if she were his younger sister.

  She forced a smile, chilling him with the icy-cold glare shrouding her luminous eyes. If Richard Adams thought she was going to allow him to demote her because she did not like her assignment, then he did not know her competitive spirit. She had another year left on her contract, and the coming twelve months would give her the time she needed to assess whether she would remain with the network.

  “Do I have the option of selecting my camera team?”

  Richard’s jaw went slack. He hadn’t expected her to accept the reassignment without an exchange of dialogue. He did not know how he knew it, but after observing Emily Kirkland and State Senator Christopher Delgado together at a recent social gathering at the governor’s mansion, he was certain he had detected a silent intimacy between the attractive young couple. He needed objective views from his correspondents, and he felt Emily’s oversight of her childhood friend’s campaign would not yield the unbiased reporting KCNS expected from its reporters. He would grant her every wish except that she cover the Delgado campaign.

  “Put your request in writing and I’ll make certain you get your team,” he confirmed.

  She glanced at her watch. “Is there anything else, Mr. Adams?”

  Richard flinched visibly, as he always did whenever she addressed him as “Mr. Adams” instead of “Richard.” There had been an occasion when Emily had hinted that he was too old for her. He was only forty-two—hardly what he would think of as an old man or too old for a woman in her early thirties. A mask of hardness settled on to his features before he glanced away.

  “No. Enjoy your vacation.”

  Rising to her feet, Emily resisted the urge to reach across the table and rip the offending hairpiece from her boss’s head. If she had been younger and more reckless she would have done it without compunction, but her reputation as a professional news correspondent was much more important to her than humiliating Richard Adams. He knew she wanted to be assigned to cover Chris’s campaign. She had been the likely choice because both she and the candidate were bilingual. She was the only political correspondent at KCNS who was fluent in Spanish.

  What Richard did not know was that her lifelong association with her best friend’s half brother would not compromise her standards even if she were to cover his election campaign. The fact that she had been in love with Christopher Blackwell Delgado for more than eighteen years would not eclipse her reporting the facts as she saw them.

  “I’ll see you in a month.” The six words were barely audible as she turned and walked out of the opulent conference room, closing the door softly behind her.

  Richard’s head came up and he stared at the solid mahogany door. “Dammit!” The word exploded from between his teeth.

  Emily walked into her office and read the telephone message on her desk. Sara Sterling-Lassiter had returned her call. Over the past two months she had promised her best friend that she would come to Las Cruces for a weekend visit yet had not found the time. Now that she had a month off she would be able to spend more than a weekend with her friend and sixteen-month-old godson. She planned to spend the first two weeks of her vacation in Ocho Rios, Jamaica, and the last two in Las Cruces, New Mexico.

  She would leave the States that afternoon and return to KCNS on January 29. William Savoy would officially begin his campaign with a $2500-a-plate fundraising gala on February 4. An event she would now be expected to attend.

  Reaching for the telephone, she buzzed an administrative assistant, dictated an intra-office memorandum giving the name of the person she wanted as her cameraman, then gave the efficient woman authorization to sign her name.

  Opening a desk drawer, she gathered her handbag, turned off the desk lamp, retrieved a Pullman case she had left near the door, then walked out of her office. Three minutes later she stood in front of the modern office building where the offices of KCNS were housed, waiting for Keith Norris’s arrival. She spied his Lamborghini as it eased to the curb like a silent, sleek black cat.

  Keith Norris slipped from behind the wheel of the sports car, ignoring the curious stares of passersby. His admiring gaze was fixed on Emily Kirkland’s smiling face. He had offered to drive her from Santa Fe to Albuquerque because he would not see her for four weeks—much too much time to be separated from a woman he had fallen in love with.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he crooned, lowering his head to brush his lips with hers.

  “Hi,” she whispered.

  “Have you been waiting long?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Taking her Pullman, he guided her to his car and helped her into the low-slung vehicle.

  Several pedestrians stopped, staring and pointing at the couple. They had recognized Keith Norris, the National League’s Most Valuable Player, and Emily Kirkland of KCNS-TV. The Colorado Rockies outfielder had graced the cover of most major sports and several men’s fashion magazines during the past year. It was reported that the image of his sensually brooding face on the cover of GQ sold as many copies as the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Individually and as a couple, he and Emily were acknowledged as one of People Magazine’s “50 Most Beautiful.”

  Keith stored Emily’s suitcase in the trunk, slipped into the driver’s seat and shifted into gear. Smoothly, expertly, he maneuvered the powerful sports car into the flow of downtown Santa Fe’s late-morning traffic. Emily closed her eyes and pressed her head against the headrest, her chest rising and falling gently. A mysterious smile curved his strong, masculine mouth when he took a surreptitious glance at her enchanting profile.

  “How was your meeting?”

  Emily inhaled, then let out her breath slowly. “Enlightening, to say the least.”

  “How?”

  “Calvin Robinson will be lead anchor for the weekend segment, and I was reassigned to cover William Savoy’s campaign.” Her voice was soft, even.

  Keith’s head snapped around before he returned his attention to the road in front of him. “You’re kidding me, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes opened and she stared through the windshield. “No, Keith, I’m not kidding.”

  He shook his head, totally confused. Emily had returned to Santa Fe after spending Christmas with her parents, grandparents and cousins in West Palm Beach, bubbling over with enthusiasm because she had expected to be named anchor for the network’s weekend political desk.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “That’s all right,” she interrupted. What she did not want or need was his pity.

  “It’s not all right,” Keith countered.

  “And I said it is.”

  “But, Emily—”

  “It’s my career, Keith,” she retorted angrily, “and it’s my business.”

  He clamped his jaw tightly to keep from spewing acerbic words. Emily had her career, but what she failed to realize was that she had become his business from the moment he had fallen in love with her. And before she boarded the private jet that would fly her from Albuquerque to Kingston, Jamaica, he would demonstrate just how much he loved her.

  Their exchange of dialogue ended, both content to listen to the music flowing from the speakers in the car during the hour-long drive, each lost in private musings.

  In the past when Emily encountered disappointment or failure in her life she had sought her father and poured out her heart to him as he held her in his strong, comforting embrace. He had pampered and protected her, telling her that she could accomplish anything. Joshua Kirk
land had only been half right. The position she coveted most was still beyond her grasp, and the man she had fallen in love with was also beyond her.

  Keith spied the signs indicating the airport and slowed down to move into the lane that led to a terminal near a private airfield where a corporate Gulfstream jet sat on the tarmac, fueled and waiting for Emily Teresa Kirkland’s arrival.

  Parking in the short-term lot, Keith escorted Emily to the area of the airport where she would be cleared through customs. He smiled down at her, his penetrating gaze committing everything about her to memory.

  “I’m going to miss you,” he stated simply.

  She peered up at him through her lashes. Keith Norris was the consummate sports superstar. It was rumored that he’d earned more in one year from endorsements than his pay for his five-year, multimillion-dollar contract. And there was no doubt that his engaging personality and good looks were bankable assets he would be able to exploit even after his baseball career ended.

  He flashed a perfect smile, eliciting a smile from her. “Are you sure you don’t want me to join you in Jamaica?”

  “I’m sure, Keith. Thank you for dropping me off.”

  His golden-flecked brown eyes crinkled as he pulled her into the circle of his strong arms. “I want to give you a little something before you leave. It’s a Kwanzaa gift.”

  Her eyebrows lifted, her gaze surveying his handsome face. Keith stood six-four, and his 208 pounds was evenly distributed over a perfectly sculpted physique of velvet, sable-brown flesh. He had already given her a pair of natural gray twelve-millimeter cultured pearl earrings from the South Seas for Christmas. The exquisite jewels were suspended from a graceful curve of brilliant diamonds. She had dated Keith Norris off and on for a year—more off than on, due to his baseball schedule.

  Reaching into the breast pocket of his cashmere jacket, Keith withdrew a flawless emerald-cut diamond ring and slipped it on the third finger of her left hand. The large stone with its platinum setting shimmered against her golden-brown skin.