by Lisa Jackson
“I—I don’t know about this,” she whispered, but her words caught in her throat. Kneeling next to the bed, he leaned forward. His lips brushed the tops of her breasts, and an ache deep within the most feminine core of her began to pulse.
“Me, neither.” His tongue skimmed her breastbone, and her skin turned to fire. Nudging the silk bodice of her dress even lower, he kissed her breasts where they bulged above her bra. Inside her, something dark and painful broke. She closed her eyes as the dress slid down, exposing her to the warm lamplight.
Don’t do this, Katie! Don’t.
Desire, long slumberous, rose and seeped through her veins. His breath was warm, the scent of him arousing. With gentle fingers he edged one breast from its confines. Her nipple puckered in anticipation. As he placed his lips over the hard little nub, she drew in a swift breath. His tongue encircled her nipple until he began to suck slowly, seductively.
Katie’s fingers slid through his hair, and she fought the urge to cry out as his teeth tugged and pulled and one of his hands pushed her dress past her ribs to her waist. She was breathing fast and hard, her body quivering inside.
“Katie,” he whispered, his voice rough as he lifted his head. “I—”
“Shh.”
“Oh, hell.” The muscles of his face tightened as he battled between good intentions and self-control. “I—I think we should stop. While I still can.”
Disappointment welled inside her as he gently pulled the dress back up and over her breasts. His gaze, still bright with passion, touched hers. “I’ll be in the living room.”
She fought the urge to mew in protest, to beg him to finish what he’d started, to make love to her all night long, and she watched in fascination as he straightened, turned his back to her and, with long, swift strides, crossed the room and closed the bedroom door behind him.
Hot tears starred her lashes. Whether the tears were from embarrassment, regret or just plain frustration, she didn’t know or care to analyze. She slapped them away with her fingers and told herself she was every kind of fool known to womankind. What had she been thinking, letting this man—this virtual stranger—into her home, into her bedroom and darned close to into her bed? “Oh, Kinkaid, you’re really losing it,” she chided herself, then decided not to dwell on what had happened between them. He was here, on the couch, presumably to help her, and that, as they said, was that.
She pulled off her dress, hung it haphazardly on a hanger, then tossed her favorite nightgown over her head. She needed to wash her face, but that would mean walking into the hallway. “So what?” she growled under her breath. Just because Luke was in the house didn’t mean she couldn’t do what she had to do. The man wasn’t going to intimidate her, for goodness’ sake! This was her house. Her life. She snagged her bathrobe from a hook on the closet door, flung her arms into the sleeves and cinched the belt snugly around her waist. She crossed the hall, slipped into the bathroom and went through her nightly ablutions with one ear cocked to the door.
Luke didn’t disturb her. A few minutes later she crawled into bed, pulled the covers to her neck and wondered how she’d get one second of sleep knowing that he was just down the hall. Blue, who had padded into the room when she was in the bathroom, circled and dropped into a sleeping position at the foot of her bed. “Good dog,” she said around a yawn, and he thumped his tail. Sighing, she closed her eyes, and the exhaustion of the day took hold. She was asleep within minutes.
* * *
A sharp pain in his neck drove Luke to consciousness. He blinked, focusing on the small living room, and realized he was in Katie’s house.
The smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen, and as he lifted his head, Katie, her hair wound into a knot atop her head, her face scrubbed free of makeup, peeked around the corner.
“Good morning,” she said, her eyes sparkling in the dawn light.
“Mornin’.”
“Some bodyguard you turned out to be.” She giggled, and he should have felt irritated by her ribbing, but he managed a thin smile.
“You’re safe, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s because of you.”
“Well, then, you’re wrong. I chased away all sorts of evil types last night.”
“Did you?” She laughed and ducked back into the kitchen as some bell rang.
He got up from the couch, rubbed the kinks out of his neck and back, then ambled into the kitchen where she was busy tossing slices of bread into an ancient toaster.
“Breakfast?” Katie asked him.
“You don’t have to—”
“No trouble,” she insisted with a lift of one shoulder. “Consider it payment for protecting me. Ham and eggs okay?”
She didn’t know that he’d stayed awake until dawn, only falling asleep when he’d felt certain that there was no one skulking in the night to threaten her. “Great.” He couldn’t help noticing the long, graceful arch of her neck, the feminine slope of her shoulders and the nip of her waist where her robe was tied. Beneath the soft velour fabric her hips shifted as she twisted to look at him.
Her eyes caught his for a second, and she blushed, a fetching pink hue that climbed her throat and colored her cheeks. In a flash, he was reminded of kissing her breasts. He’d thought of little else all night and had fought the urge to return to her bedroom, press his lips to hers until she couldn’t protest and make love to her over and over again. His crotch tightened. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to step through the shower.”
She hesitated for a second, then said, “Sure. There’re extra towels in the hall closet.”
“Thanks.” In less than two minutes he was under the spray of the showerhead, silently damning himself for his wayward thoughts and the hardness in his crotch. What was wrong with him? Every time he looked at Katie Kinkaid, he wanted to start kissing her and never stop.
It had been just too long since he’d been with a woman. Way too long. He let the hot water work out the kinks in his muscles, washed as best he could, toweled off and dressed. As he opened the bathroom door, he heard Katie’s voice.
“I know it’s tough, especially for you, but it’s something we all have to face, Tiff. Whether you like it or not, John’s your father, and you have to deal with him. Just like I do.” There was a pause, then she added, “Yeah, I know. Okay, I’ll start moving stuff over in a few days. I’ve still got Dad—er, John’s Jeep. The convertible is officially dead. Len at the gas station is going to try and sell it or scrap it out, and I’ll find something else soon. But while I’ve got John’s rig, I may as well start moving.” There was a short pause, then she added, “Just let Josh know that I’ll pick him up by noon. Thanks again.”
She was replacing the receiver when he entered the kitchen. Her face was drawn in concentration until she saw him and grinned. “Well, well, Mr. Gates,” she teased, “don’t you clean up nice.”
“Do I?”
“Here.” She handed him a cup of coffee. “Now, sit.” At the table were two place settings complete with orange juice, toast, ham, eggs and hash brown potatoes.
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled in his best Texan accent, and she laughed, the sound as musical as wind chimes in a summer breeze.
They ate and talked as Blue sat on the floor at Katie’s side, his brown eyes following each morsel that she forked into her mouth. Every once in a while, she’d toss the dog a tidbit, and he’d deftly catch the treat with a snap of his jaws.
It felt comfortable and right in the cozy kitchen. In her fluffy bathrobe and slippers, Katie was innocently seductive, expressive with her hands and eyes as she talked about her job, her son, her ambitions and her family.
“So it’s all rather complicated,” she admitted as she poured the last cup of coffee. “All those years I’d grown up with and tolerated my half brothers, never dreaming that I’d end up with not one, but two half sisters.” She grinned, showing off the sexy overlap of her teeth. “Kind of weird, when you think about it. How about you? Any siblin
gs?” She munched on a bite of toast.
“Nope.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“So where are your parents?”
He felt his eyebrows quirk and drained his cup. “My mom took off with some other guy when I was two, and my old man was killed in Vietnam when I wasn’t much older.”
He noticed the color drain from her face. “I was kicked around between a couple of aunts and pretty much raised myself.”
“I—I’m sorry.”
“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” He saw the pain in her eyes and refused to let her pity him. “Trust me, it was harder on them than it was on me. I was in and out of juvenile homes for a while until I met my wife.”
“Your…wife?” she repeated, stunned.
“Ex-wife.” He shoved his chair back. “I’ve been divorced for years.”
“Oh.” She forced a smile that didn’t seem genuine, and tiny lines deepened between her eyebrows.
“It’s over, Katie. Been over a long time.” Why he felt compelled to explain, he didn’t understand. “We didn’t have any kids together, and the last I heard, Celia had divorced her second husband and was on her way to marrying a third—not that I care. I don’t even know where she’s living now.”
She seemed troubled, and he felt something tug at his heart. Katie Kinkaid, for all her tough-as-nails-investigative-reporter inclinations, was soft inside, couldn’t stand to see anyone hurt.
He went to her chair, reached under her arms and drew her to her feet. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said, bending down so that the tip of his nose brushed hers.
“Thanks…thanks for staying here last night.” Katie could scarcely breathe. His hands, big and possessive, held her on either side of her rib cage. One corner of his mouth lifted into that smile she found so damnably sexy.
“My pleasure, Ms. Kinkaid.”
“Mine, as well.” Cocking her head to the side, she looked up at him, heard a deep, heartfelt groan develop from somewhere around his lungs, then gasped as he pulled her roughly to him and pressed hard, insistent lips against hers.
In a heartbeat her blood was rushing through her veins, her bones began to melt, and she sagged against him, only to be released quickly. She nearly lost her balance and glanced up to find his eyes a smoky blue. “I gotta go,” he said.
“Y-yes.”
With another quick kiss to her cheek, he turned and walked through the back door. Katie was left with her heart pounding wildly, her thoughts tumbling disconcertingly and a new hunger burning deep in the most womanly part of her. She dropped into her chair and held her head in her hands as she realized that she was starting to fall in love with a man she barely knew.
“Don’t,” she warned herself, and Blue gave out a bark of agreement.
But she feared it was already too late. Much too late.
* * *
A few days later Luke stared at a copy of Josh Kinkaid’s birth certificate. Luke smoothed the official paper open on the scarred maple table that had come with his apartment in the carriage house. The name of Josh’s father was missing, but the birth date was perfect. With a little math, Luke figured Katie had gotten pregnant about a month to six weeks before Dave Sorenson had left Bittersweet.
It wasn’t proof positive, of course; she could have had another lover, but Luke had the painful sensation that he knew for certain that Josh Kinkaid was Ralph Sorenson’s only grandchild. His jaw tightened, and he wondered where the feeling of satisfaction he’d anticipated in figuring out this mystery was. He was about to earn the money he’d been promised, about to give an elderly man a ray of hope before he died, about to betray a woman he thought he could all too easily fall in love with.
At that thought, he started. He wasn’t falling in love! Hell, at best what he felt for Katie Kinkaid was lust. And what did it matter if he let Sorenson know the truth? The man had a right to meet his grandkid, didn’t he? Of course he did. Luke kicked out his chair, grabbed his hat from a peg near the door and walked outside to the landing where the sultry evening air was so thick it seemed to weigh against his skin.
Somewhere over the mountains, thunder rumbled, and he thought about his livestock at the ranch. He’d better check on the horses and cattle, then return to town.
To Katie.
His gut clenched when he thought of leaving her that morning in her bathrobe. He’d wanted to stay, to carry her back to the bedroom and finish what he’d started on the night of Bliss Cawthorne’s marriage. It had been five or six days since then, and the image of her lying on the bed, the shimmering blue gown peeled down to her waist, her gorgeous breasts exposed and crowned with rosy nipples, had haunted him. Day and night. He’d cruised by her house since then, telling himself that he was checking to see that no one was lingering in the shadows of her cottage, that no intruder was hell-bent on breaking in, that he was only checking on her.
And he’d called. Asked her about Josh’s ankle and if she’d had any more hang-ups, or if she’d changed the locks. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t really any of his business, but he knew that it wasn’t his concern that bothered her; it was the unspoken current that existed between them, the passion that they both tried to ignore, that caused her tongue to lash out.
He could break down and knock on her door. Use the same excuse he’d used the other night, about the potential prowler. And they’d end up in bed; they wouldn’t be able to stop themselves. But he knew it was a sham, a pretense to see her again.
Trying to convince himself that he’d been overreacting—that no one had been observing them at the hotel the night of the Lafferty wedding, that nothing in her house had been out of place and no one had broken in, that the phone calls she’d received were just a rash of wrong numbers—he climbed down the outside staircase.
The main house was nearly empty; a moving van had carted off most of Tiffany Santini’s belongings the day before. Boxes, crates and sacks were piled on the back porch, and the windows were dark. Soon, Katie and Josh would be moving in. It calmed him somehow, to think that she’d be near. Sure, there’d be hell to pay because he knew himself well enough to realize that he’d use any reason to get close to her, any excuse to get her into bed with him.
“Damn it all to hell.” What was it about that woman that made him want to protect her one minute and make love to her the next?
As he crossed the dry, yellowed lawn he noticed that the sky was dark, thick with swollen-bellied clouds that blocked the sun. He made his way to the truck just as the first fat raindrops began to fall. Inside the cab it was hot, breathless. He opened the windows, shoved the rig into reverse and squinted as rivulets of rain slithered through the film of dust that covered his windshield. He wouldn’t think of Katie right now; but sooner or later, he’d have to deal with her.
* * *
“I don’t believe you.” Josh, half lying on the rumpled sheets of his bed, stared at his mother with wide-eyed disgust.
Katie cringed. “It’s true. Why would I lie?”
“But you did. You lied.”
“And now I’m telling you the truth,” she said, dying a little inside. “Dave Sorenson is…your father.” She sat on the edge of the bed and opened the yearbook from her days in high school. “I’d always thought there would be more time. That when you were older… Oh, Josh, I made a horrible mistake.” Her voice was thick, her throat nearly closed. “Your dad and I…” How could she explain a short-term love affair to a boy who wasn’t yet eleven? “We were just kids, and he moved away. By the time I knew I was pregnant with you, he was already gone and, I think, dating some other girl in his new town.” She pointed to Dave’s senior-class picture. He looked so young, so boyish, and yet he’d been her first love. “I’m sure he would have loved you a lot, but he never knew about you.”
“Because you lied.”
“Yes.” She bit her lip and fought the urge to break down and sob like a baby. “Yes.”
“You should have told me.”
She
felt as if she’d been stabbed through the heart. Of course she should have. “I know.”
He swallowed hard and folded his arms over his chest. Thrusting out his chin, he demanded, “Are you gonna send me to him or is he comin’ here, or what?”
“No,” she said, summoning every bit of courage she could muster. “He can’t. Not anymore. He died…a few months ago, I guess…and I didn’t know it. He was in the military. There was a helicopter accident while they were on maneuvers and…and he didn’t survive.”
Josh gasped, and his face, tanned from the summer sun, turned a sickly chalky shade. Tears filled his eyes.
“I don’t believe you,” he said again.
“It’s true.”
“How do you know?”
“A friend…he told me.” For the first time she considered the fact that Luke could have been mistaken or lied, and she mentally kicked herself for not checking it out herself. She was a reporter, for God’s sake. She knew better than to take someone’s word. She spent days double-checking sources, and yet this time, she’d taken Luke’s story about Dave as if it were Gospel from the Bible.
But he wouldn’t have lied.
“You shoulda told me. Told him about me,” Josh said.
“As I said, I’m sorry, Josh.” She sniffed, as tears drizzled down her cheeks. “So sorry.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I—I couldn’t. It was wrong. Bad. I wish I could change things, but I can’t. I…” She sighed and fought the urge to break down altogether. “I just can’t. Not now.”
He blinked and looked away toward the window that was open just a crack. Outside, thunder rumbled over the hills, and rain began to drip down the windowpanes. Blue growled from the living room. With a swipe of one hand Josh wiped the tip of his nose, and as Katie touched him he shifted, using his shoulder as a shield, silently shunning her.
They were only inches apart, but the distance between them seemed vast. Unbridgeable.
“Josh—”
“Leave me alone.”
“Honey, please—”
He hopped to his feet, winced from the pain in his ankle, then skewered her with eyes filled with hatred. With a condemning finger pointed at her nose, he whispered his newfound mantra: “You shoulda told me.” His voice cracked, and Katie’s heart shattered into a million pieces.