by Jo Goodman
"Yes, I do," he said. "Really." He pushed the straps of her nightgown over her shoulders. The neckline held fast for a few seconds on the curve of her breasts. Logan simply waited it out. With Katy's next indrawn breath it slid past her nipples.
Katy raised her hands and tried to cover her breasts. Logan's fingers curled around her wrists, stopping her. He held her hands still and lowered his mouth, taking one erect nipple between his lips and sucking gently. Fire exploded between Katy's thighs. She pressed her legs together, ashamed.
Logan's tongue flicked at the tip of her breast. He raised his face and regarded her with eyes that, except for the cool outer ring of silver, were dark and fathomless and hot. "Yes?" he asked.
No words came. She shook her head. Strands of her hair whispered across the back of his hand.
His eyes fell on her mouth, and he realized with something akin to surprise that he had not kissed her properly. Not once. "You have a beautiful mouth," he said. It should be kissed often and thoroughly, he thought.
This time when his mouth touched hers, the contact was firmer, harder, and there was no teasing. Logan leaned forward, pressing Katy against the headboard until there was no retreat for her. His tongue darted across the line of her lips, probing. "Let me in, Katy," he said huskily. "Let me taste you."
Katy's mouth parted on a dry sob. She felt Logan's tongue sweep the ridge of her teeth, flick at the soft underside of her lip, then fill her mouth. It was no good telling herself that she wanted to reject him. She could not do it. This is what he meant, she thought helplessly: desire in the face of all good sense, all good reason. She hated him. She did. But she wanted him as much as she had wanted him all those years ago. Perhaps more. She would never tell him that, and then she prayed he could not make her say it.
He kissed her for a very long time. Logan enjoyed kissing. He enjoyed kissing Katy. Her response to him was tentative at first, just as he had known it would be, but then she gave herself up to him and it was not in surrender, but as an equal player. "I take it back," he said, breaking the kiss. "You probably are skilled enough to work in Maggie's brothel."
A shutter closed over Katy's eyes. She would not let him see her hurt. She had that much pride left. It was the easiest thing in the world to withdraw into herself and give Logan the woman he thought he wanted. Had Jenny Marshall been present, she would have recognized Katy's transitions into her character immediately. Had Logan's senses not been so drugged, he might have understood it as well.
Katy's smile was sly and sultry. Her beautiful hands rested on Logan's naked shoulders. She slid lower in the bed, and he followed her, partially covering her with his body. The weight and warmth of him felt good, but as soon as she thought of it, she dismissed it.
Logan kicked at the covers, pushing them away. Katy's nightgown followed. He caressed the flat plane of her stomach with his palm. Her skin was soft and warm. He drew ever-widening circles that had her navel as their center. She sucked in her abdomen as he bent his head over her stomach and flicked at her navel with the tip of his tongue. He returned to her mouth and kissed her deeply. It was then he realized that her passion was cold, that the hands on his chest were moving but not caressing. He sat up, hands braced on either side of her head. A lock of copper-struck hair fell over his forehead. His eyes pierced hers.
"What game are you playing?" he asked, voice harsh.
"Game?"
She was as guileless as Eve tempting Adam with the apple, Logan thought cynically. "Do you want me?" he asked.
"You know I do," she answered smoothly. Too smoothly.
"Like hell," he muttered, understanding at last. "I don't want that bitch woman from the stage in my bed. I want Katy." He gave her a small shake. "I want Mary Catherine."
Katy abandoned the role as easily as she had taken it up, striking out at Logan with all of her strength. Her knee came up, just missing his groin as he dodged the blow. She managed to roll half a body length away before Logan hauled her back.
"Oh, Katy... Katy," he whispered. "You do want me. And you're afraid."
"I don't," she protested, shaking her head. Her eyes were wide and wounded. "I don't want you. I hate you. And I am not afraid."
It didn't matter what she said now because Logan knew it was Katy in his bed again. This was Katy who was dodging his kisses and his hands until he gentled her to his touch. His fingers in her hair held her head immobile. He kissed her, drawing on her sweetness and her anger so that the passion that flowed from her into him was as read and vital as she was.
Katy made no protest when Logan left her side long enough to remove his trousers and drawers. She watched him strip because she was helpless to look away. The sight of him, taut and smooth and aroused, aroused her in turn. She did not have to speak the words. He saw it in her eyes and there was a touch of arrogance in his smile because he had been so certain he could make her want him. Now he knew he'd been right.
"Come here, Katy," he said when he was lying in bed beside her. He was propped on his side, his head supported by an elbow. "Closer. That's it. A little more. Turn on your side and face me." One hand rested on the inward curve of her waist. His thumb caressed her skin, moving like a pendulum, back and forth from the underside of her breasts to her hip. "Put your leg across mine. Mmm. Just like that. What's wrong, Katy? Don't you touch your lovers?"
They were so close that Katy could feel him hot and hard against her belly. "Please, Logan. Have done with it."
"No. Not like that." His palm moved, sliding over her hip and across her thigh. There was a fractional pause when his hand reached her knee. He watched her face and saw her lips part and heard her breath catch as she waited. His hand dropped and trailed along the inside of her leg until it rested at the apex of her thighs. "Don't move," he said quietly. "Stay just as you are." His fingers dipped into the soft nest of curls. He stroked her, probed, stroked again. "That's where I want to be," he told her when one finger slipped inside her. "What do you want?"
Fire was licking at her insides. Each time he touched her she thought she would be consumed in a flash of heat and light. She wanted to touch him and she told him so.
"All right," he said simply.
Katy's arms came around him. She had thought he would stop what he was doing to her, but he didn't. Her hands caressed his shoulders and back. She touched his nipples, once with her fingers, again with her mouth. One hand slipped between their bodies. She touched him intimately and was rewarded with the sounds of his wanting and pleasure. "I still hate you," she said against his mouth.
"I know." He felt her hips grind against his hand as she tried to have her pleasure without having him. His fingers stilled. "Tell me what you want," he said again.
There was a long silence, so long that Logan thought he had lost her. Then, "You." There were tears on her cheeks, despair in her voice. "I want you."
Logan kissed her, kissed the tears. He slid between her legs, raising her buttocks. "Help me," he said.
Katy faltered for a moment before she understood. She reached for him and guided him as he lowered himself into her. Biting the inside of her cheek helped her ignore the pain his entry brought. Her hands fell to his thighs and her fingers dug into his skin.
Pain passed. Discomfort lingered. The pull of pleasure had vanished completely. Katy wondered why she had ever wanted this, wanted him. All those long years ago she had asked him to teach her what passed for intimacy between a man and a woman. How disappointed she would have been then. She was only marginally less disappointed now. Yet in an odd way she was relieved as well. She did not like Logan Marshall. Had he only pleasured her, she would have felt dirtier and more ashamed than she already did.
He moved in her with long, slow strokes while Katy wished he would finish quickly. She turned her head to the side and stared at the play of light and shadow on the flocked wallpaper. When Logan stopped moving and rested his weight on his forearms, Katy thought he was done using her. She tried to move out from under him.
"No," he said, his breathing harsh. Inadvertently she had tightened around him. Logan nearly came out of his skin. He nudged her face upward with his fingertips. "Look at me, Katy. Look at me. I didn't know. Dammit, how was I supposed to know you were a virgin?"
She shied away from his rough, accusatory tone and unwittingly pushed Logan's control to new limits. Her chin jutted forward defiantly, but she could not quite meet his eyes. Instead, Katy's gaze centered on a tiny bead of perspiration at the corner of Logan's brow. "Would it have made any difference?" she asked.
"No... yes... I don't know. I wouldn't have... God! Don't move again or I won't be able to..." His eyes closed and self-denial tightened his mouth. "Hell..." He lost the battle and thrust into her deeply. There was a brief hesitation as he strained again, then his movements were involuntary, quick and shallow. Katy had always imagined that her lover would say her name and it would be as a caress. Logan spilled his seed and swore at her.
Silence yawned between them. Katy was afraid to move now. She waited for Logan. He raised himself off her and rolled away, grabbing for the top sheet. Standing at the side of the bed, he wrapped himself in it, and then tossed Katy her robe. He raked his hair in a weary, futile gesture.
"Stop looking at me like that," he said. "Oh, hell. I'm getting a drink. Do you want something?" Katy shook her head, but her wishes were of no account. Logan returned with a whiskey for himself and a tumbler with two fingers of brandy for her. "Drink it. Don't be tiresome, Katy. Just drink it. I am not trying to poison you."
Katy drank it down and suppressed a cough by jamming her fist against her mouth. She felt the rush of something wet and warm between her thighs. Afraid to look, she scooted to the edge of the bed.
"Where are you going?" asked Logan.
With a credible amount of dignity, she said, "I think I am bleeding." She brushed by him on the way to the bathing room.
Logan paced the floor of the bedroom until Katy returned. She was pale and her eyelids were puffy. There was a strained look to her mouth. "I'm all right," she said in answer to the question in his eyes. "There was only a little blood. Mostly it was..." Humiliated, she didn't finish.
Logan felt an unfamiliar flush of heat warm his cheeks. He could not remember the last time something had embarrassed him. "You could have told me you were a virgin."
"I doubt you would have believed me."
"We will never know, will we?"
She sighed, gathering the reins of her patience. "I think we have already established that it would not have made any difference. You wanted revenge. You got it—in spades."
Logan knocked back his whiskey. "What about Victor Donovan? Hell, what about Michael?"
"It would appear you made some faulty assumptions," she said calmly.
"Don't get self-righteous. You wanted me."
"You made certain I did. That was your plan after all. You proved I could want you in spite of myself. I should think you would be very pleased. It is impossible for me to loathe you—or myself—any more than I do in this moment. I would say that you have been quite successful this evening."
Logan said nothing. He had turned away and was staring out the window again.
"You'll be leaving now," said Katy. Then, uncertainly, "Won't you?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I thought it would be enough. Now I'm not so sure."
She could not believe she had heard him correctly. His beautiful profile was in silhouette, and the body that had covered hers was taut with tension. He hitched the sheet tighter around his narrow waist. His chest heaved once as a sigh shuddered through him. "You don't mean that," she said. "You can't."
"I'm afraid I do." He looked at her over his shoulder. "Go to sleep, Katy. I won't bother you again tonight."
And he didn't. It was morning before Logan slid into bed beside her, his decision made. She responded as if she had known the bent of his mind, fitting the contours of her body to his as naturally as a lover of long standing.
In Katy's mind it was a dream, and in the dream she was running. At first it was difficult to know if she was running from something or running toward it. Then she became aware that it wasn't a some-thing but a someone. Logan Marshall was at her beginning; he was also at her end. She was frantic to leave him behind, yet just as frantic to find him. It was not a happy dream.
Katy's breathing was short and labored, harsh in the back of her throat. There was a warmth blossoming inside her and she turned, seeking the source of the heat, welcoming it as a flower might turn toward the sun. There was pleasure at the core of the heat, and as the heat increased, so did the pleasure. Katy did not understand it. She wanted and she did not want. It was confusing and frightening, no longer something she welcomed, and before she knew what was happening, she was running again. This time she ran right into Logan's arms.
He held her, comforting her. He whispered in her ear, words that made no sense to her but soothed her nonetheless. His tone and cadence was sweet and his breath tickled her. He kissed the corner of her mouth and she felt it all the way to her toes. Katy's legs tangled with Logan's. The heat and excitement, inextricably mixed, returned with a force that left Katy breathless. This time she gave herself up to it.
The intensity of Katy's pleasure rocked her awake. Sparks of heat skittered along her arms and legs just beneath her skin, tingling and tickling. A wonderful sense of well-being enfolded her. She stretched languidly, smiling, and opened her eyes—and came face to face with Logan's coolly implacable gaze.
The enormity of what had just taken place was borne home to Katy in a flash of insight. It was accompanied by searing humiliation. Logan's hand still rested between her thighs and the heat and weight of him was like a branding iron. It was too discomforting to tell him to remove his hand. Katy jerked away instead.
"Katy?" Logan watched her sit up on the edge of the bed, her back to him. Her hair fell across her shoulders, a silky shield that his fingers itched to touch. There was a ripple in it as a shudder shimmied down Katy's spine. She looked around for her robe, and Logan pushed it toward her with the toe of his foot. She put it on without looking at him or thanking him. "I didn't like it that you had no pleasure before," he said, sitting up. He leaned against the headboard and covered himself with a sheet.
Outside, the day was gray. Droplets of rain spattered the widow, pinging out a flat, one-note staccato beat. Katy thought it was fitting that nature was shedding tears for her. She had none for herself. "Don't expect that I should be grateful for what you did to me."
"Katy..."
"I am only interested in one thing, Logan. Does this mean that you are finally out of my life?"
"I don't think so. I've thought of little else all night long. I want to make you my mistress."
Katy stood up. She took several steps away from the bed before she turned on him. Now that her anger had reached its zenith, Katy's eyes were more gold than brown. "I wish I had let them hang you at King's Creek," she said quietly.
* * *
Later the same day, between the Saturday matinee and the evening performance of Manners, Katy went to the offices of V. I. Donovan's and asked Victor if he still wanted to marry her. He did. The wedding took place that night in front of a judge that Victor knew, and Katy missed both Sunday performances. She did not return to her suite at the Chesterfield.
Logan and the rest of the city read about the marriage in the Monday afternoon edition of the Chronicle.
Chapter 6
"It's all right, Victor. It's not your fault." Katy's head rested on her husband's shoulder as she fit her body along the length of his. In spite of what had just happened between them, it was still a comfort to be close to him. The bedroom was chilled, but Victor's cotton nightshirt was warm beneath her cheek. She laid one hand on his chest and rested her palm over the spot where his heart beat so heavily. "I am not very experienced at this. I am certain I will do better the next time. Please, Vic—"
"Katy dear, shut up," Victor said, not unkindly. He plac
ed his hand over hers and squeezed gently. His eyes were focused on a watermark on the ceiling. He had not noticed it before. It was definitely something that would have to be repaired. "I will speak to the groundskeeper about it," he murmured.
"The groundskeeper? What does he have to do with us?"
"Shh, darling," Victor said soothingly as he chuckled deeply. "I was speaking of the watermark." One finger lifted to indicate the ceiling. "I have been contemplating it these past minutes."
Katy sat up in bed, her legs curled to one side. The neckline of her nightgown gaped, and she quickly fastened the top three buttons. Victor had not even glanced in her direction. "Is it because of Annie?" she asked in a low voice, uncertain. "Is that why I cannot please you?"
"Annie? What nonsense is this? My wife's been dead more than twenty years."
At least she had his attention, Katy thought. "Help me understand, Victor. I don't know what I've done."
Victor studied Katy's face. Her eyes were troubled and there was the suggestion of a frown marring the beautiful line of her mouth. Still, she was lovely. And young. Impossibly young for him. Even now she was holding the end of her braid to her mouth, sucking on it much the way she would have done as a child. The act was so unselfconscious that Victor doubted she was aware of it. "It is nothing you've done," he said finally.
"Then why..."
"It's me, Katy darling. I am too old for you. My body is too old." He tried a smile to make light of it and failed. He could only imagine that she had compared him to Logan Marshall and found him wanting. Hell, he had found himself wanting.
"That is not true," she said sharply. "It's not. I do not believe it and you should not either. Can't we try again? I know I can do better this time. Perhaps if you instructed me it would help and—"
Victor found Katy's wrist and drew her hand toward his lips. "Come, Katy. Lie beside me."
Katy abandoned her braid and slid under the covers. The soles of her feet rubbed Victor's ankles as she snuggled against him. "I do not want you to regret marrying me, Victor. I know I can be a good wife for you."