Forbidden Love by Shirley Martin Page A

effect on her.
      Owen clasped her hand in his strong one, his gaze never leaving hers. "Lisa," he murmured in his husky voice, "this is a pleasant surprise, although you did mention you wanted to see the play, didn't you?"
    She turned away for a moment. "I’d like you to meet my friends," she said, so proud of him, as if he were her lover, her husband, the man who would take her to his bed and make love to her like nothing she’d ever dreamed of. A cloud of cigar smoke enclosed the lobby, but she ignored the haze, the laughter of the women, the rumbling voices of the men. For a few precious moments, she could pretend Owen was her husband, that she'd go home with him, that they could hardly wait to make love.
    While the crowd began to thin, the two couples made small talk, their conversation running the gamut from the play to the weather and what a bitter winter the city was having. Why are we discussing such trivial things? Lisa fretted, when all I want is to tell Owen how much I've missed him and that he means more than life to me.
    A bell sounded to indicate the play would resume in five minutes, and with much chatter, the crush of people straggled from the lobby, until only a few patrons remained.
    "Why don't we all meet after the play and come back to our house for a while," Lawrence suggested, his glance covering all of them. "We always enjoy getting acquainted with new friends."
    Owen shook his head regretfully. "Thank you, but I'd better not. A long ride home," he explained.
    Lawrence placed his hand on Owen's shoulder, a persuasive grin on his face. "Oh, come now, Mr. Cardiff." He paused. "Do you mind if I call you Owen? No? Good. We'd really enjoy having you, and if you don't have to work tomorrow, why not come with us? We've known Lisa for years, and any friend of Lisa's is our friend, too."
    Lisa sighed inwardly. Lawrence might be overdoing it a bit. Nevertheless, she held her breath, waiting for Owen's reply.
    "Well, then . . . thank you," Owen said. A rush of relief rendered her speechless. He included all three in his disarming grin. "It would be my pleasure."
     
     
    * * *
     
    A strong northerly wind howled through the trees, bending bare branches and driving blinding snow with it. Inside the Hunter mansion, red-hot logs sputtering in the wide fireplace warmed the parlor. Lost in a dream world of unbridled sensations, Lisa leaned back in the wide armchair and listened to the conversation around her. She made an occasional cogent remark and absorbed every word Owen uttered, words to be remembered and treasured, like precious gems.
    The talk segued from music to science, finally settling on the inevitable topic of such gatherings--politics. Would Benjamin Harrison run for a second term, Owen wanted to know, and if so, did Cleveland have a chance of defeating him?
    Reluctant to reveal her feelings, Lisa turned away to stare outside and noted the wind had increased, shaking the window with a persistent ferocity, fluttering the brocade draperies. The logs on the fire fell apart with flying, sizzling orange sparks, the warmth of the room belying the harsh weather outside.
    With growing uneasiness, Lisa listened to the storm raging outside, even while she tried to suppress the storm within her. Reluctant to interrupt, she nevertheless felt she had to make some comment. "Did you hear that?" She gestured toward the outside.
    "Hear what?"
    "Listen," she said. "The wind." She rose from her chair and rushed to the window, the others following. "Look at that, would you!" She indicated the blinding snow outside, the snowflakes coming down hard and fast, driven by a squally wind. Large flakes flew past the window, swirling and dipping in the frigid night air. Distressed for Owen's sake, she wondered how in the world he'd get home tonight. He had much farther to go than she.
    Despite the storm, Lisa could think only of Owen. He stood so near, their shoulders touching. She wanted to lean against him, lose herself in his