A Bridge to Love

by Nancy Herkness

  Randall Johnson slapped the folder he was reading shut. He couldn't keep his attention on the numbers parading across the pages. Swiveling his big leather chair around, he rifled through the pile of newspapers and business magazines stacked on his credenza without finding anything to interest him. He got out of the chair and went to the minibar hidden behind a mahogany panel. Grabbing a bottle of mineral water, he walked over to his wall of windows.

  As soon as he let his mind wander, it instantly gravitated to Kate Chilton.

  He remembered lowering her onto the hood of his car and pushing up her skirt so that he could see the thigh-high stockings she wore. Damn, he loved those stockings! He recalled the feel of her under him. Then he quickly cut off that train of thought as he felt himself growing hard and mentally doused himself in cold water by recalling her brittle tone as she told him she was using him for a bizarre form of revenge.

  He felt his anger surge again. Why did this particular woman rile him so much? Even though he had denied it, he wasn't generally averse to good sex with no strings attached. In fact, more and more, he preferred it that way.

  Randall tilted the water bottle to his lips and stared out the window. Maybe it was an ego problem: he had expected to control the encounter.

  He shook his head.

  No, he had had higher expectations of Kate, that was it. There was a fineness about her that attracted him. He wanted to fence with her verbally, not just sexually. He wanted to teach her boys to nutmeg. He wanted to... He scowled and knocked back the rest of the water just as Tom Rogan walked into his office.

  “The Mason people are promising a final contract by Friday so your trip is on as scheduled,” Tom said, seating himself on the couch.

  Randall grunted an acknowledgment.

  “Are you planning to stroll down Memory Lane while you're in Texas?” Tom asked.

  “I'm planning to repave Memory Lane.”

  “So you're going in with guns blazing.”

  “Guns are more Gill's style than mine. Money is my weapon—and it's just as lethal.”

  “I didn't mean that literally,” Tom said, looking worried.

  Seeing papers dangling from his VP's fingers, Randall changed the subject. “Do you need me to sign those?”

  Tom flipped the papers up and looked at them as though he had forgotten what they were. “These? No, but I thought that they might interest you on a deeply personal level.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Randall said, as he yanked the papers from Tom's hand. The top sheet was a note on an engineering firm's letterhead. The bottom sheet was Kate's resume. He went back to the letter and started reading.

  Dear Tom,

  I'm forwarding this resume to you because I highly recommend Kate Chilton as an engineer and as an employee. I'd hire her myself if I had a position worthy of her talents. I'm hoping that you might be able to find her a place somewhere in RJ Enterprises. Give me a call and we’ll talk.

  Regards, Phillip Gabelli

  “When did you get this?” Randall barked.

  “This morning.”

  “Have you called Phil Gabelli?”

  “No, I thought that you might prefer to do it.”

  Randall scanned the resume, noting that Kate's credentials were quite impressive.

  “She looks like she'd make a great addition to the company. Just think of how much more interesting meetings would be. You could use this couch or the conference table or...” Tom stopped abruptly as Randall's expression hardened.

  “Kate Chilton is off-limits as of now,” he said flatly.

  Tom nodded. “Understood.” He made a quick and silent exit.

  A minute later, Randall returned to his desk and flipped through his computer Rolodex, sending a telephone number to the auto-dialer.

  “Hello, is Frank Peltier there? It's Randall Johnson. Hey, Frank! How are things out in the back of nowhere?... Yeah, I'll come out and see your place – the next time my plane runs out of gas. Do you know a firm called C/R/G in New York? They lost a partner about a year ago and I'm curious about the business. What's the status of the partnership, how's their financial position, that sort of thing... Yeah, I might go into competition with you... Thanks, I appreciate your help and your discretion. And Frank, the radiant heat under the back terrace was a real good idea.”

  He hesitated a minute, then clicked another number into the auto-dialer. “Phil Gabelli, please. This is Randall Johnson.”

  In the few moments he waited, Randall picked up the cordless receiver and walked to his customary spot in front of the window-wall.

  “Phil. Randall Johnson here. Tom just showed me your letter about Kate Chilton so I thought that I'd give you a call... I'm too late?... Do you know where she’s working? Maybe I'll steal her away,” he said with a chuckle.

  After a very informative conversation, Randall buzzed Gail.

  “Would you set me up for a tennis game with Lidden Hartley? Right, the lieutenant governor of Connecticut. Tell him I want a rematch.”

  Eleven

  Kate had hit the perfect rhythm as she ran along Oakwood Avenue with Gretchen trotting beside her. It was a glorious autumn afternoon, warm in the sun but not humid. The soccer game was over, the boys were happily occupied at home and she was free for a few precious minutes. She had stripped down to her sports bra and running shorts when she had broken a sweat. Now she enjoyed the breeze created by her own motion and let her thoughts roam free.

  For the first time in weeks, she felt hopeful. It was amazing what an income could do for one's spirits. She was even excited about the bridge itself. To the commuters on the highway, it was just a different sound beneath their wheels. To Kate, it was a series of puzzles to solve while considering mechanical, economic and aesthetic factors. Her bridge was going to be both practical and beautiful. Assuming that she got to build it. Their proposal was going in on Monday, but Adler still had to win the bid.

  The boys were handling her more limited parenting time without any noticeable ill effects. Kate thought that she probably missed them more than they missed her. The Dog Dough jar was filling up; evidently, both Clay and Patrick had cut some junk food out of their lunch purchases to save more money. So her absence was even improving their eating habits. Kate's chest swelled with motherly pride as she considered how well her sons were responding to the change in their lives.

  She was the one having trouble handling change. She knew that Oliver was waiting, and she had a sinking feeling that if she hadn't known Randall Johnson, in all senses of the word, she wouldn't be so sure about rejecting him. Was she an idiot to turn away a man who wanted to marry her and be a father to her children just because he seemed colorless when compared to a multimillionaire playboy? Kate preferred not to pursue that question because she was quite sure the answer wouldn't be flattering to her. At least Randall hadn't called or shown up at any soccer games. He must finally be so disgusted by her that he was staying away.

  She should feel happier about that.

  She picked up her pace and resolutely turned her mind to the relative merits of different paving materials. She was recalculating the amount of riprap needed to protect the bridge's piers from scouring when she had a strong feeling that she was being followed.

  “Oh, hell!” she exclaimed as she spotted the dark green Jaguar cruising just behind her.

  She stopped dead, pulling a surprised Gretchen to a sudden halt. Randall Johnson lifted a hand in greeting and then pulled up beside her.

  “Randall. Are you taking the Saturday afternoon tour of Claremont?” she asked coolly, as she tried to ignore the tiny thrills vibrating through her body at the sight of him.

  Randall reached across to push the passenger door open. “Hop in.”

  Kate shook her head. “No, thank you. I haven't finished my run yet. And I have Gretchen with me.”

  “Gretchen's welcome to the backseat.”

  Kate could tell that he was getting annoyed. It was impossible to see his eye
s behind the aviator sunglasses but she saw his left hand flex on the steering wheel. “I don't want her to scratch the leather. It was good to see you.” Kate gently closed the door and started to walk away, feeling very pleased with herself for escaping so gracefully.

  “Kate, you can either get in the car or I will put you in the car,” came an exasperated growl from behind her. Kate stiffened and swung around to see Randall explode out of his side of the Jaguar and stalk around to open her door again. As she hesitated he started toward her.

  “I'm coming,” she said quickly.

  Gretchen scrambled into the backseat and sat panting happily. “Traitor,” Kate muttered as she slid into the front.

  She glanced up. Randall was looking down at her with an appreciative leer and Kate yanked her T-shirt out from around her waist and pulled it on over her head. His smile widened as he sauntered around the car. She had to admit that he looked good in a deep red polo shirt and khaki slacks. But then, she had yet to see him looking bad.

  Kate crossed her arms and stared straight ahead.

  “You might want to lower your nose a little bit,” Randall said. “You'll get a crick in your neck trying to look down it.”

  She couldn't stop the corner of her mouth from twitching but she kept her tone frosty. “Were you looking for me or did you just happen to be driving by?”

  “I went by your house to invite you, Clay and Patrick to come swimming in the indoor pool at Eagle's Nest. Clay told me your usual route. I'll admit that I got distracted by the view for a few minutes.”

  “These old trees are beautiful, aren't they?”

  Randall wouldn't let her get away with that. “What trees? I was watching that trickle of sweat running down your back and under those very snug shorts, and imagining where it went from there.”

  Kate made a noise that was a mixture of embarrassment, annoyance and laughter.

  He swung the car into her driveway and turned off the engine. As he got out, he said, “Just bring your bathing suit. I've got plenty of towels.”

  Kate leapt out of the car. “I don't believe that I accepted your invitation.”

  “The boys will be mighty disappointed.”

  “You are absolutely shameless.”

  “Actually, the Wall Street Journal says that I'm a 'brilliant but ruthless negotiator.' No, that must have been Forbes. The Journal is never that complimentary.”

  “I'd call you underhanded and without any moral principles, myself.”

  “You're right! That's exactly what the Journal said.”

  Kate stalked into the house. “Clay! Patrick! Go get your bathing suits.”

  Clay and Patrick came bounding down the stairs. “Cool! You're letting us go!”

  Kate turned around to glare at Randall. He was leaning back against the door with his arms crossed and the aviator glasses dangling from his fingertips. He shrugged.

  “Only if you both can be ready in five minutes,” Kate said through clenched teeth. Then, as the boys raced back up the steps, she added, “Because I might murder him first.”

  He chuckled and pushed himself away from the door to come over to where she was standing. He reached out and ran his fingers from her earlobe under her hair to the back of her neck. Kate stiffened, thinking that he was going to pull her toward him. Instead he lifted her hair up to cool her neck off.

  “You've worked up a good sweat. If you want to shower here, I'll wait. Or you can shower at my place.”

  Ripples of delight were racing over Kate's scalp as Randall shifted his fingers in her hair. When he bent down and blew against her overheated neck, Kate's eyelids closed, her head fell back and a small moan escaped her as his breath seemed to feather over every inch of her body.

  Through the haze of sensation, she heard whispering in her ear. “Do you know what I want to do right now, Kate?”

  She didn't bother to answer. “I want to rip that T-shirt in half. Then I want to pull that bra down to your waist and slide it over your hips along with your shorts. When you're naked, I'm going to lick the sweat off your neck and between your breasts and down in your belly button. And I'll keep going lower...”

  His voice was just as effective as his tongue would have been, and Kate's breath was coming in small gasps.

  Footsteps sounded behind them. He released her head so suddenly that Kate almost lost her balance.

  “Is there a diving board?” Patrick asked. “Is it an indoor pool?”

  “Of course, it's indoors,” Clay said with brotherly scorn. “It's too cold for grown-ups to swim outside.”

  Randall started to answer Patrick's questions, and Kate escaped up the stairs. She shut herself in her bedroom and stood with her head in her hands, shaking. Her body was coiled tight with unsatisfied arousal, and she had the appalling thought that Randall Johnson could have brought her to an orgasm right there in her living room with just his voice. She stripped off her clothes and turned the shower on cold. The shock cooled her body but did nothing to settle her mind.

  She finished combing her wet hair in front of the mirror and then said to her reflection, “You are a widow. You are a mother. You are an engineer. You are not a hormonally overwrought teenager with no control over your urges.”

  She. comforted herself with the thought that Clay and Patrick would protect her from her baser impulses. Then her eyes widened in horrified realization. “Oh God, he'll be wearing a bathing suit. And so will I.”

  Kate pulled on her black one-piece suit in Randall's elegant dressing room and firmly tied the matching sarong around her hips. She wasn't taking the skirt off until the last possible moment before she dived into that spectacular pool. Kate squared her shoulders as she strode out to join the boys.

  “Hey, Mom! The diving board is great!” Clay said. He executed a back dive with a one-and-a-half twist and cut the water with barely a splash.

  “A very handsome dive.” Randall's voice came from behind Kate and she turned to see him sitting in a chair wearing dark blue swim trunks. A white towel was draped around his neck.

  “Thanks, Mr. Johnson,” Clay said as he surfaced. Kate was still reeling from the impact of having Randall's chest, shoulders and forearms bared to her eyes. She refused to look any farther down his body and instead averted her gaze to the pool itself.

  “Frank Peltier must have designed this, too,” she said, admiring the sleek marble columns and tiled walls. Sunlight streamed in through French doors that looked out over the Manhattan skyline. Kate closed her eyes against the memory that brought forth.

  “It's a modern version of a Roman bath. It was his favorite part of the house, probably because it cost the most. Architects love to mess with water.”

  “Or ignore it,” Kate laughed. “There's that famous story about Frank Lloyd Wright's client complaining that the roof leaked over his place in the dining room. Wright supposedly told him to move his chair.”

  As Randall laughed, Kate walked over to sit beside him. She realized her mistake when she turned her head slightly and found his shoulder mere inches from her own. She shifted sideways in her chair and looked straight ahead.

  “Your boys are good swimmers. Did you teach them?”

  “No, David was the driving force behind that sport. He loved the water.”

  “Mom, come in. It's warm,” Patrick called from the edge of the pool. “Mr. Johnson says that the water heats his terrace and then circulates into the pool.”

  Kate flushed. Randall chuckled evilly. Suddenly, he was out of his chair and walking toward the pool. “Come on in,” he said to her over his shoulder. As soon as his toes hit the edge of the pool, he launched himself into a long racing dive. He swam to the opposite end, giving Kate a breathtaking view of the muscles in his back flexing and stretching as he moved effortlessly through the water.

  “Show-off,” she said under her breath. She stood up and untied her sarong and then did her own flat dive into the water. However, she stopped beside Clay and Patrick, using them as both shield and distra
ction. Randall stroked easily back to their little group.

  “Hey, Mr. Johnson, can we play Marco Polo?” Patrick asked.

  “Sure, if you tell me how.”

  Clay and Patrick looked at each other in mute astonishment. The magnificent Mr. Johnson didn't know how to play Marco Polo?

  “There weren't a lot of swimming pools where Mr. Johnson grew up,” Kate said.

  “At least you didn't say when I grew up.”

  The boys explained the rules with great enthusiasm. Randall volunteered to be “it” first. He missed tagging Patrick by mere inches at least a half a dozen times, then switched his attention to Clay. After several near misses, Randall got him. Clay tagged Kate and Kate nabbed Patrick. Patrick ignored everyone but Randall and finally cornered him on the steps. “I got you!” he yelled in triumph, leaping into the air and pumping his fist.

  Randall picked him up and held him high in the air. “And for that you shall be punished,” he said, launching him toward the deep end. Patrick landed with an enormous splash and bobbed up saying, “Cool!” Randall submerged and then without warning came straight for Kate under water.

  “Watch out, Mom!” Clay yelled. “He's it.”

  Kate frantically dodged and dove and twisted away from the big hands but she couldn't out-swim him. He caught her ankle and reeled her in toward him, sliding his other hand up her thigh, over her hip and around her waist to pull her back against him.

  “Being it has its compensations,” he said, and then pulled her underwater. Kate wasn't ready and swallowed a mouthful of pool water. She surfaced sputtering.

  “Mom, he dunked you,” Patrick said in amazement.

  Kate pushed strands of wet hair out of her eyes and looked speculatively at Randall's shoulders and chest. Then she turned away and said, “I'm going to start counting.”

  Randall chuckled. “A wise decision. Retaliation is not a viable option.”

  Retaliation was definitely an option but Kate knew better than to launch a frontal attack.