A Bridge to Love

by Nancy Herkness

  Kate arched her back as he slid his hands under her to unfasten her bra. When he pushed it up and began teasing her nipples with his tongue, she arched even higher. Then he closed his lips on one nipple and ran his thumb around the other one. Kate gasped and grabbed handfuls of the bedspread. The longing to have Randall fill the hollow between her legs had just multiplied tenfold.

  “Oh... my... goodness,” Kate whispered as Randall blew a warm breath across the nipple he had just released. She couldn't stand the torture any longer. She reached up and finished unbuttoning his shirt, yanking it out of the waistband of his slacks and down his arms. She stopped briefly to run her hands across the springy dark hair on his chest and to circle his nipples in retaliation. When his head fell back in pleasure, she ran her tongue up the line of his throat.

  Then they were both unbuckling, unbuttoning and unzipping madly.

  The second the last piece of clothing hit the floor, Randall was on top of her. Kate closed her eyes and opened her legs, waiting for the thrust that would begin to assuage the demanding ache.

  It didn't come. Instead, Randall's voice growled, “Do I need a condom?”

  Kate looked up at him and shook her head. “Not because of me. I won't get pregnant, and you won't catch anything. Do you need a condom for any other reason?”

  A grin of pure lust curled Randall's lips. “No reason at all.” And then the thrust came.

  Kate had to swallow her shout of satisfaction. Randall was not so quiet. Kate tilted her hips and wrapped her legs around his waist so that each stroke slid along her most sensitive spot. Randall came first, his orgasm pulsing in and against her. He reached down and with one touch sent Kate convulsing over the edge. Her climax seemed to go on forever, and when she finally collapsed in satiation, tiny after-tremors ran through her inner muscles.

  Randall did not withdraw but rolled so that Kate lay draped limply on top of him. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a long contented sigh.

  “I agree completely,” his voice rumbled against her ear.

  Kate's eyelids drifted closed. She thought how unique the feeling of skin against skin was; two living fabrics stretched over flexing muscles and pulsing veins. Each part felt a little different. There was the focused pleasure of her breasts' softness crushed against the wall of Randall's chest, the provocative tangle and slide of thigh between thigh, and, as she laced her fingers with his, the warm affection of two palms touching. The steady stroke of his hand on her hair made her scalp tingle with tiny vibrations of bliss. She sighed again.

  “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

  Kate's eyes flew open. “I beg your pardon,” she said indignantly.

  A deep chuckle vibrated against her cheek. “I said that we were going to go slowly, but slow doesn't seem to be in our vocabulary when it comes to this.”

  She let her eyes close again. “Maybe next time,” she murmured.

  As their breathing slowed and their blood began to cool, Randall pulled up the down quilt that Kate neatly folded at the foot of the bed each morning. He nestled Kate comfortably but firmly at his side and then wrapped the quilt around them.

  Kate knew that she should go check on Clay, but she couldn't deny herself the indulgence of lying in the arms of the man she loved, completely naked and totally satiated. The knowledge that Randall wanted her close against him even after making love warmed her heart. She didn't pretend to herself that he had come to her for anything other than solace in a moment of crisis. For now, that was enough.

  Randall lay with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling and savoring the feel of Kate's warm, bare body snuggled against his. The thought of returning to his empty mountaintop sent a chill into the center of his bones, and he involuntarily tightened his grip on her. Kate responded by melting closer to him, and he smiled.

  With Kate's presence to anchor him, he let his mind drift back to the moment when he had been awakened on the plane by the co-pilot gently shaking his shoulder. The man's look of concern had resurrected with shattering ferocity the memory of how he had gotten there. Randall had wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and fall back into the oblivion he had found in his drunken sleep. But he had dragged himself off the plane with what dignity he could muster.

  Only to be confronted by Tom in his role of guardian angel. Randall winced when he remembered his harsh dismissal of his oldest friend. He knew that he owed Tom the truth, but he hadn't been prepared to give it to him. So he had gotten rid of him as fast and efficiently as he could. Now he owed Tom the truth and an apology.

  After treating Tom disgracefully, he had gotten in his car and driven for hours. When he noticed that he was in Pennsylvania, he had turned around, the one thought in his head being that he needed sanctuary and that Kate Chilton was it.

  Randall dropped a whisper of a kiss on her hair, being careful not to disturb her. He had been right to come here. He believed Kate when he couldn't believe himself. Now he could see that he had lost his passion for revenge years ago, but that he was accustomed to the focus that it gave his life.

  And now what? His life was hollow at the core. He felt aimless, adrift.

  Kate said that he needed a new project, but he felt burned out and cold. Except here and now. He had made himself invulnerable for so long that it felt good to be seen as human again. Kate admired him for reasons that had nothing to do with his wealth or position. In fact, those things formed a barrier in her mind.

  He smiled again as he thought of how much he enjoyed ruffling her calm, polite control and fanning the flame of temper beneath it. He never feared being burned; she was the warm glow of the hearth, not a raging bonfire. Although when he thought of how they came together physically, he remembered that chimney fires could burn down houses.

  His thoughts refocused on the here-and-now, and he ran his hand along Kate's hip and thigh, admiring the curve and flow of her body. He regretted his action, though, when she stirred and said, “I have to go check on Clay,” shifting her warmth away from him as she scooted to the edge of the bed and sat up. He enjoyed the view as she walked across the bedroom to open the closet door and slip on a deep green silk robe.

  When she finally looked at him, he was delighted to see that she was blushing slightly. He quirked a brow at her. She smiled, saying, “I haven't walked across a room naked in front of a man in quite a while.”

  “It must be like riding a bicycle because you did a fine job of it.”

  Her color heightened. “Thank you,” she said and then padded noiselessly out of the room.

  Randall pushed himself up and stacked the pillows so that he could lean comfortably against the big Victorian headboard. He gazed across the room into the empty fireplace and did some hard thinking.

  He had reached a very satisfactory decision when the door reopened, and Kate slipped back into the room. Her gleaming auburn hair had caught the mood of their love-making and was curling wildly around her face. The silk of the robe flowed like liquid over the swell of her breasts and the glorious roundness of her hips and thighs. He was grateful for the puffy down comforter that covered his immediate arousal. She closed the door softly and gave him a sweet, slow smile. He answered her with a smile of his own and said, “Marry me, Kate.”

  A riot of emotions exploded through her. Having performed her motherly duties, she had walked back to her room, thinking how extraordinary it was to know that Randall Johnson lay in her bed waiting for her to return. She had opened the door with a mixture of shyness and anticipation. The sight of him naked to the waist, lounging on her pillows, had made her temperature rise several degrees. He looked magnificently male and at ease, with his shoulders spanning half the headboard's width and the dusting of dark hair highlighting the muscles of his chest and arms. She had wanted to hurl herself on him, but instead she had smiled her thoughts and started to untie the belt of her robe.

  Then he spoke and she froze.

  She had expected a sexy come-on, and instead, he had casu
ally proposed marriage!

  Her surge of pleasure was swamped by a tidal wave of hurt and anger. He was no better than Oliver, trying to find himself a ready-made family.

  “I don't believe that my name appeared on the list of projects for you to pursue,” she said coldly, pulling her belt into a knot.

  “I screwed that up, didn't I? I would have gotten down on my knees, but in my present state,” he said, glancing down at his lap, “you would have suspected me of ulterior motives.”

  Refusing to let his humor disarm her, Kate walked to the foot of the bed. “I'm not Lucinda,” she said.

  His brows snapped down, and his smile vanished. “Hell, I know that. You don't resemble Lucy in any way.”

  She tried not to be insulted as she recalled the glowing terms with which he had described his childhood sweetheart. “I meant that I'm not a substitute for your dream of having a wife and a family.”

  Randall's scowl deepened. He was furious with himself. He was usually the most controlled of negotiators, carefully laying the groundwork so that the other party was drawn inexorably and inevitably to the conclusion he wanted. He had completely fouled up this deal.

  “That's not why I proposed, but now I withdraw the offer.”

  Kate gaped at him. “Two seconds ago you wanted to marry me and now you don't?”

  “I didn't say I didn't want to marry you. I temporarily rescinded my proposal.”

  He got out of bed and stalked across the room, six-feet-three and naked. Kate backed up. He caught her in two strides and slid his arms around her and cupped her buttocks, pulling her hips against him. The thin silk of her robe offered no barrier to the warmth of his hands or the friction of his arousal against her.

  “I have a different proposition in mind now,” he whispered against her neck.

  Kate had crossed her arms when he approached, but that was proving no defense against his assault on her better judgment. The fact that she had walked into the room wanting him didn't help. She was confused and furious and utterly without willpower when one of his hands slid up into her hair and he ran his lips along her jawline and onto her mouth. Then he stooped and swept his arm behind her knees, lifting her and carrying her to the bed.

  He set her down gently and began slowly peeling back her robe, letting his hands drag slowly across the skin he bared. When he had exposed her completely, he stood looking down at her with an expression that made her nipples harden. Instead of coming down on top of her, he rolled her onto her side and fitted his body along her back with his erection against her bottom. He adjusted his arm so that her head was pillowed on his biceps. Then he covered her breast with his free hand.

  “Watch me touch you, Kate,” he commanded in her ear.

  She looked down involuntarily. The tan of his big hand against the paleness of her breast was startling, and she couldn't tear her eyes away. He slowly trailed his hand down the other breast, stopping to tease her nipple, then moving lower until his fingers disappeared between her legs. Kate caught her breath at the sight and the sensation. There was little that she could do to respond in this position, so she reached behind her and held on to his hip as he played and stroked and drove her mad. Finally she gave in and begged, “Please, Randall, now.”

  Again he surprised her. He bent her top leg by pushing his knee against the back of hers. “I learned that trick from an engineer friend,” he drawled.

  Then he slid down her back and drove himself into her from behind and below. She was so wet that he slid in effortlessly, and she cried out at the almost instant sense of fullness. The lack of friction made the lovemaking go on and on. He never halted his rhythm but his hands roved freely up to her breasts and down her stomach. He explored the whorls of her ear with his tongue, whispering how good this felt and how wet she was and how he wanted to stay inside her for hours.

  Kate was incapable of speech. She answered him with moans and the clamp of her hand on his hip. Finally, his strokes quickened, and he slid his hands down to hold her hips at the angle he wanted.

  Kate forgot that her children were in the house. She forgot that this man was an arch-manipulator. She forgot that she was three days behind at work and that the mortgage was due. All she knew was that her body and Randall's joined with an intensity that wiped away all other considerations. She came with an explosion of sound and motion that made Randall's hold almost bruise her. And he joined her, her convulsion triggering his own roar of release, muffled by his mouth against her hair.

  She lay limp, wondering if she had wakened Clay or Patrick, and knowing that she couldn't move even if the door opened and they both barged in. She also knew that she shouldn't have let Randall make love to her again since he now undoubtedly thought that she would change her mind about marrying him.

  For a moment she contemplated the thought. Oliver's voice rang in her head: “He won't marry you, you know.” Even Georgia replayed: “He isn't interested in relationships.” Well, it seemed like little old Kate Chilton had brought Randall Johnson to his knees figuratively, if not literally. She had proved both of them wrong and enjoyed the ignoble spurt of triumph she felt at that.

  It was a tempting offer in many ways. The sex alone would sway a lesser soul, something she was sure that Randall was counting on.

  But she could imagine nothing worse than marrying a man who didn't love her heart and soul as well as body. What happened when he got bored with sex with her, when it became comfortable rather than explosive? She would always wonder whether he was seeking that combustion elsewhere.

  More important, what sort of father would he be for Clay and Patrick? He was great at handing out treats like helicopter rides and indoor swimming, but how would he handle throwing up and undone homework assignments? Kate pushed aside memories of Randall coaching the soccer team to victory and showing up at the hospital to smooth the way for Clay. She didn't trust him to continue in that vein when the novelty wore off.

  When it came right down to it, other than the physical attraction, she had no sense of how he felt about her at all. He teased her, he bullied her, he seduced her, and he came to her for comfort. What did all of that mean? Could she trust him with her own life and that of her children?

  Randall interrupted her thoughts by saying hoarsely, “That gets better every time.”

  She laughed at the contrast in their thoughts.

  “After an orgasm like that, you laugh at me?” he asked in mock horror, as he propped himself up on his elbow to look down at her face.

  Kate rolled onto her back. “After an orgasm like that, I'm lucky that I can draw enough breath to laugh.”

  “That's better.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. He hesitated a moment before saying, “May I sleep here tonight? I'll leave early, before the boys wake up.”

  Her throat tightened around the tears she wouldn't allow in her eyes. How could she say no to the plea in his normally confident voice? “Of course you can sleep here. I'll set the alarm.”

  “That's not necessary. I've been getting up early all my life. I'll be gone long before anyone stirs.”

  “Let's get under the covers this time,” Kate said, pulling back the blanket and sheets. After they had arranged their pillows and snuggled in against each other, she felt compelled to confess, “I haven't slept beside a man since David died. I'm glad you wanted to stay.”

  The man she was sleeping beside pulled her closer. “I want to stay forever, darlin', at least till death do us part. But we won't talk about that now. Go to sleep.”

  TwentyTwo

  Kate was in the midst of a strange dream that involved Randall Johnson kneeling in front of her on the dirty floor of a run-down bar while a fight raged in the background. She was trying to grab him and pull him outside, but other people kept getting in the way. Then someone caught her hand in a clasp too solid and warm to be a dream, and Kate slowly pried her eyes open.

  Looking better than any vision, even with his black eye, Randall was sitting on the side of the bed holding h
er hand. His damp hair was neatly combed back and his white shirt looked crisply pressed. The memory of the previous night came rushing vividly back into her brain and she started to sit up.

  Then she realized that she was completely naked under the covers.

  “Go right ahead and get up.” Randall kissed the back of her hand with a wicked smile. “I've been resisting the temptation to peel those covers off of you ever since I woke up.”

  “I didn't know you ever resisted temptation.” Kate adjusted the covers a bit higher.

  “Darlin', if you didn't have two impressionable boys in the house, I'd keep you naked and tied to the bedposts all day long.”

  She held the sheet firmly across her chest as she scooted upright. It was a severe enough disadvantage to be nude when he was clothed. At least, she could be vertical instead of sprawled flat on her back.

  “Well, I'm glad Clay and Patrick are here,” she managed to say.

  “Are you really?” he asked as he kissed the spot where her neck flowed into her shoulder.

  Hanging on to the sheet for dear life, she used her other hand to push him away. He moved back, but only a few inches. His eyes held her.

  “Are you really glad, Kate?” he repeated as his hand trailed down her shoulder and over the swell of her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple, and she jumped. He smiled smugly and stood up.

  “You're being deliberately provocative,” she accused him.

  “No, lady, that's you. You're sitting in a bed that smells like sex. Your hair looks like a man ran his hands through it over and over again.”

  She started to sputter but he kept going.

  “Then there's the fact that you're wearing absolutely nothing over that gorgeous body but a blanket. And your eyes go wide every time I touch you. That's being provocative. And if I don't get out of here soon, those impressionable boys are going to get an education.”