A Bridge to Love

by Nancy Herkness

Kate nodded, startled that he knew about David at all.

  “Then you'll probably know the firm: Pei Cobb Freed and Partners. But the architect didn't work there long. His name is Frank Peltier. He's on his own now, out West somewhere.”

  “Actually, I've met him,” Kate said. “He's a very interesting man. And obviously extremely talented.” She gestured toward the house as they walked in.

  Randall closed the front door behind them. “This was the last house he built before he left New York. I've never been sure whether to consider that a compliment, or a comment on my deficiencies as a client.”

  “Surely a compliment,” Kate said, taking in the staircase that seemed to rise through the air unsupported, and the walls paneled in geometric patterns of different woods. “This house must have given him the confidence to strike out on his own.”

  “Thank you,” Randall said, with a courtly little bow. Kate was taken off guard by his self-deprecation. Then the wicked glint was back in his eyes as he said, “Would you like to take your shoes off now? If you want a tour of the house, you might be more comfortable without the heels.”

  Kate looked at the highly polished oak floor and decided that dignity would have to take a backseat to personal safety. She started to lean down to push one pump off her heel, when Randall once again offered her his hand. “I seem to require an unusual amount of hand-holding tonight,” she said with a smile.

  “That's why short skirts and high heels were invented.”

  “By men, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  He took the shoes from her hand and tossed them onto the hall table. Kate winced as the heels skidded on the inlaid wood. “Would you like to see the house first or have a drink?”

  “See the house,” Kate answered, thinking that she had had enough wine for the moment.

  “A true architect's soul mate,” Randall said, taking her elbow and turning her toward the library.

  Kate began by admiring the rooms and their furnishings, but soon she was more conscious of Randall Johnson's touch than of her surroundings. His hand moved from her elbow to the small of her back where she could swear he deliberately rubbed the fabric of her dress lightly against her. In the next room, she felt his hand slide up to the vee of skin left bare by the dress's low back and Kate had to stifle a gasp at the sensation of his warm skin against hers. When he called her attention to a chandelier by running his hand up the back of her neck and threading his fingers into her hair to tilt her head back, Kate gave up and closed her eyes.

  He stopped talking, so she opened them. Randall was very close and looking down at her with that intensity she had felt at their first meeting. She dropped her gaze to his mouth in a blatant invitation and was shocked when he said, “I'm being a bad host. Let me get you something to drink,” and shifted his hand back to her elbow.

  He steered her toward the rear of the house. Kate wondered why he hadn't kissed her. She knew perfectly well that she was being seduced by a master of the art, but why had he stopped?

  “What's your poison?” Randall's voice jolted her out of her thoughts. He was standing in front of a wood and brass bar with his hands poised over an array of bottles and glasses.

  “Red wine would be lovely,” Kate responded. She looked around the room, admiring the stone fireplace, the leather sofas and chairs that looked as though you would sink into them and never get up again and the panoramic view that stretched all the way to Manhattan. This was obviously the room where Frank Peltier had meant the house's inhabitant to spend most of his time.

  “Frank let me pick the furniture for this room,” Randall said, as he poured two glasses of wine from a decanter. “So you don't have to worry about scratching the tables.”

  Kate laughed. “I have a great respect for varnished wood. I've done a lot of wood-stripping in my own house.”

  The wineglasses were engulfed by Randall's hands as he carried them to where Kate stood. He held hers a minute before handing it to her. “It's better slightly warmed,” he commented.

  Touching his glass lightly to hers, he held her gaze over the rim of the glass as he drank. Kate sipped the full red wine. He really is very good at building tension, she decided. Based on their first meeting, she realized she had been expecting a more direct approach.

  “Come and enjoy some fresh air,” he said, swinging open a door onto the stone patio behind the house.

  “I'll have to get my shoes,” Kate said, starting toward the hallway with a wobble and realizing that she needed to get some food in her stomach soon or she would never be able to walk in those heels.

  “No need. Frank Peltier was a disciple of Frank Lloyd Wright.”

  “He put radiant heat under the outdoor patio?” she asked in amazement.

  “He wanted to make sure that it got the maximum use.”

  Kate tentatively stepped out onto the patio and then sighed with pleasure. The stones were slightly rough under her stocking feet but they were the temperature of bathwater. “Why don't you take your shoes off?” she suggested.

  Randall looked down at his wing tips and then back up at Kate with a smile that was gone almost before she caught it. “Why not?” he said, untying his shoes and dropping them by the door. She watched in fascination as he stood stock still, his gaze focused on his sock-clad feet.

  “It feels good,” he announced, taking another drink of wine.

  “You've never walked out here in bare feet?” Kate asked incredulously.

  “Despite Frank's best intentions, I don't spend much time out here.”

  “I see.”

  Kate padded over to the waist-height wall along the edge of the patio, enjoying every warm step of the way. The view of Manhattan was beautiful. She and David had often admired it from both an architect’s and an engineer’s perspective.

  She shook her head at the memory. The small movement made her sway, and she looked down at her wineglass to discover that it was almost empty. She decided to leave it that way; she would need to keep her wits about her if she was going to deal effectively with Randall Johnson. That reminded her of her mission, and she tried to think of a seductive comment to move things along. She put the wineglass down, tilted her head back and squinted at the distant lights, racking her brain for a suggestive line.

  Then Randall's arm slid around her waist from behind. Evidently, he didn't need any verbal suggestions to get things rolling.

  He moved closer to her back, and Kate felt him along the length of her body as the wool of his jacket rubbed against her bare shoulder blades, and the cuffs of his slacks brushed her ankles. She went very still. Instantly, Randall did the same. Somehow Kate knew that he would stop now if she moved away. Her muscles tensed.

  Then the words of the horrible letter echoed through her brain: We would be back in my now-empty bed… my body aches for you...

  She relaxed, leaned back against Randall's warm, strong body, and reveled in the feel of him. He kissed her on the side of her neck, and when she felt his hand splay across her stomach, bringing her even more tightly against him, she lost all coherent thought.

  She reached up and back to weave her fingers into his hair as he moved his mouth down to her shoulder. His other arm came around her and he ran his palm gently up and over her breast. When she arched into his exploring hand, his fingers found her nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. She gasped as his touch sent a streak of sensation between her legs.

  Feeling him harden against her made her brave. She turned in his grasp and brought his head down to hers with a confidence that astonished her. Winding her arms around his neck, she traced the outline of those stern, masculine lips with her tongue.

  Randall groaned but let her continue her exploration, moving his hands downward to pull her even closer. Kate felt his thigh push against the vee of her legs, and she moaned herself. Then his lips were hard and open on hers and his tongue was inside her mouth. His hands cupped her buttocks and she felt herself being lifted onto the stone wall behind her
. The cold stone made her gasp in exquisite surprise as it gritted against her bare thighs. She realized that her skirt had slid up as he lifted her, and she spread her thighs as he brushed his fingers between them.

  “God, Kate,” she heard him say and opened her eyes to see him gazing down at her legs. He ran his finger slowly down one garter and then traced the top of her stocking around to her inner thigh. As his finger moved upward, Kate's eyes closed again and her head fell back against his supporting arm. When he pushed under the teddy's lace crotch and gently touched her most sensitive spot, Kate clutched his shoulders and pressed into his hand. He moved the thin strip of lace aside and she could feel how wet she was as he slipped his finger inside her. She arched into him more strongly, reveling in the motion and heat of his hand against her. But she wanted more than his hand inside her. She reached for his belt buckle and was surprised when Randall released her for a moment to turn away.

  She heard the rip of foil and he was back between her legs, entering her at first slowly and then as Kate moved with him, stroking fast and hard into her. He skimmed one hand down between her legs and Kate exploded into orgasm, embracing him with her spasms. She felt him withdraw and slide once more deep into her, then felt the pumping of his own climax against her, as he groaned in wordless pleasure.

  Kate allowed her head to fall forward onto his shoulder as she savored the aftershocks of their joining. Her legs were locked around his waist and her muscles were trembling in fatigue but she didn't want to let go. She felt a tremor run through his arm and realized that he was holding her firmly away from the far edge of the wall. When she glanced sideways she saw that both wineglasses had smashed onto the rocks and tree roots below. She felt foolish tears pricking at her eyelids at his protectiveness.

  Randall shifted slightly and brought one hand up to smooth her hair. Kate started to lift her head to look at him and then realized that she had no idea what to say. Now she understood why you were supposed to have dinner before you had sex with a man: you would have something to talk about after orgasm. She shivered as Randall kissed her softly behind her ear and then gently set her down on her feet. He turned away to strip off the condom and then came back to put his arms around her again. “You are an incredibly sexy woman.”

  “Th-thank you,” Kate stammered and, unbelievably, blushed. “I think you may have gotten the wrong idea about me.”

  She felt Randall's arms tense but he looked down at her with a slight smile and drawled, “You're not going to tell me that you didn't want to do that as much as I did.”

  “Probably more,” Kate said.

  Randall threw his head back and gave a shout of laughter. “I love an honest woman.”

  Kate braced her hands against his chest and stared at his tie. “What I mean is that I don't generally, um...” Kate couldn't decide what to call what they had just done. “Have sex” seemed too vulgar, whereas she could hardly claim to have “made love” to a man whom she had known for all of forty minutes. “I don't generally do that,” she tried again, “with someone I've just met.”

  Randall's smile disappeared, along with his velvet drawl. “And you think I do?”

  “Well, yes,” Kate was surprised into saying.

  Randall withdrew the protection of his arms. “Thank you for that very flattering evaluation of my character,” he said, stepping back. “I was about to apologize for my unseemly haste, but I see you had low expectations.”

  “No, no, I don't mean it that way. I just assumed that being who you are, you probably have lots of opportunities and that you might take advantage of them....”

  She was met by cool silence.

  “...occasionally...” Kate knew that she was going from bad to worse.

  She was starting to feel chilly and wrapped her arms around herself. Randall handed her his jacket with a sardonic glance. She slipped it over her shoulders and felt guilty for enjoying the body heat that lingered inside.

  Now she wasn't sure what to say to him at all. Her inner muscles were still rippling with a satisfaction that she found shocking but comforting. I can still have great sex, she thought with some smugness.

  “Thank you,” she said again, more firmly, as she pulled her scattered thoughts together. “That was... great.”

  Randall's lips twitched.

  Briskly, in her best social voice, she said, “I think that dinner would be an anticlimax.” Then blushed as she caught her unintentional double entendre. “So perhaps you would be so kind as to take me home now,” she finished sheepishly.

  Randall's mouth no longer held an amused curve. He leaned his hip against a stone-topped table, crossed his ankles and folded his arms across his chest.

  “What's the catch?”

  “The catch?” Kate repeated.

  “Why are you here? What do you want now?”

  “Actually, I just want to go home.”

  Randall looked down at the ground and then back at Kate with a raised eyebrow. “So I don't even have to buy you dinner?”

  She shook her head and shivered again. An absurd idea flitted across her mind. Rich, powerful Randall Johnson was feeling used by average, ordinary Kate Chilton.

  As she began to walk toward the door, Randall moved with the sudden spring of a tiger and blocked her path. He took her by the shoulders and dropped his head to kiss her so swiftly that Kate couldn't dodge him. With a slow and inexorable pressure, he forced her head back so their bodies were locked together from thigh to chest. In some distant corner of her mind, a small voice was urging her to stop but when Randall slid his knee between hers, the voice became a whimper as Kate melted against her tempter.

  Randall lifted his head and smiled gloatingly at his conquest. “I'll consider this dessert,” he said, bending down to slide his arm behind her knees.

  When he picked her up, Kate expected him to take her to the stone table and deposit her there, but instead he kicked open the door and carried her to the bedroom, dropping her across the bed and following her down. He pinned her hands over her head with one arm and slid his other hand down between her legs.

  She moaned when his finger flicked against her as he un-snapped the crotch of the teddy, and she cried out with satisfaction as he slid his finger against the damp folds of her skin and then inside her over and over again. She struggled to free her arms so that she could reciprocate but he wouldn't loosen his grip. Kate understood the message. He was controlling this encounter. She didn't care.

  He released her arms to unbutton his shirt and throw it off. Then he unzipped the bodice of her dress part way and pulled it down around her elbows. Kate ached to run her hands over the dark hair of Randall's chest, but once again he had trapped her arms. He practically drove her mad as he played with her already aroused nipples. She completely lost control when he lowered his chest onto her bare breasts and lightly brushed back and forth across them. Kate arched up to meet him and he teased her by lifting himself up just beyond her reach. The muscles in those marvelous arms were bunched in effort but still he wouldn't relent. Finally, Kate opened her eyes to see him looking down at her, sweat shining on his forehead and the anger in his eyes replaced by pure desire. “Are you ready, Kate?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  He pulled away to fit on a condom and then lowered himself between her legs and thrust into her in one fluid motion. Kate again arched up against him and he stopped. She tried to move her hips but his weight was pinning her to the bed. He was still punishing her so she fought back. She tightened her inner muscles around him as hard as she could.

  He made a sound between a groan and a laugh and began moving again. Kate came in a convulsion of sensation and sound. Then Randall drove into her and shouted his own completion. He collapsed facedown beside her with his arm flung across her breasts. He turned his head just enough to look at her. “Where did you learn that trick?”

  Kate smiled as she considered telling him that it was a pregnancy exercise, then decided against it. “In a brothel in Paris,” she sai
d.

  Randall gave a bark of laughter. “I'm going to have to find that brothel.”

  Kate turned her head on the bed to look at him. “Well, you wouldn't let me move anything else.”

  The slight smile on his lips vanished and his flat Texas twang sounded sharp and hard. “I'm not a nice man, Kate. You don't want to mess with me.”

  She looked away from his steady gaze and found herself admiring the curve of his biceps. She ran her hand up his arm, enjoying the feel of skin over muscle.

  “You're very... touchable,” she said, exploring back down his arm to his wrist.

  She felt the bed shaking and realized that he was laughing silently. “I've been called a lot of things, but this is a first for touchable. Don't spread it around.”

  Kate laughed, too. It struck her that she was lying beside a virtual stranger, her dress bunched around her waist, and she was enjoying it. One-night stands were quite liberating. Of course, she gave Randall Johnson credit for being an above-average partner.

  His stomach growled loudly. Kate giggled and then gave a little gasp of pleasure as Randall rolled onto his back, caressing her breasts as he pulled his arm away.

  “Lady, I need food if you want to continue this depravity. I make a mean burrito.”

  Kate sighed with regret. She wanted to stay lost in this sexual haze but reality was seeping into her reluctant brain; she knew that she had to leave. There must be some ancient taboo about accepting food from a man you had no intention of ever seeing again.

  Randall picked up his shirt from the floor and pulled it on. He started to button it when Kate said, “No, wait.”

  He raised an eyebrow in question. “I just want to do one thing,” she explained as she got up and pulled her dress up and down enough to cover the bare minimum. She walked over to him and pushed open his shirt. “You wouldn't let me do this earlier,” she said as she ran her hands over the springy hair on his chest and abdomen. As she brushed over his nipples, he groaned.

  “We'll never make it to the kitchen if you keep that up.”

  Kate ran her hands once more down his ribs and stepped back, feeling bereft.