“Ah, yes. And it’s always there. Work, people, one fight or another.” His brow furrowed. “Now and again, though, I want to get away from it. I’ve been politicking for better than forty years. There should be something else.”
“You have Lenore and your children and grandchildren.”
“I’m afraid,” he stated slowly, “that I’ve burned some bridges along the way.”
“But they love you.”
“Do they like me?”
“I’m sure they do. Oh, you can be intimidating at times,” she teased in an attempt to lighten his mood, which upset her, since it was so uncharacteristic, “but then, what powerful man isn’t intimidating at times?”
“He shouldn’t be. Not when he’s with his family.”
“Is it possible to turn one’s personality on and off?” She settled against the desk, holding his hand now between both of hers. “You are who you are, Gil. You can’t change that.”
“No, but still.…”
“You’re thinking of Deborah.” Katia knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. “Gil, you can’t blame yourself—”
“If she’d approached me I’d have given her anything she needed. But she was afraid. She was always afraid.” He gave a curt laugh. “Funny, isn’t it? The world thinks that my kids are spoiled brats, that they only have to wish for something and it’s theirs. Then I look at Deborah, who was almost afraid to wish for things for fear they’d be hers. Maybe if I’d been around more, maybe if I’d spent more time with her.…”
“You couldn’t have it both ways. It would have been impossible for you to have accomplished what you have in politics if you’d been with your family every minute.”
“Not every minute. Just more than I was. Some men do it. I see them, Katia, some of the younger members of Congress. Sure, they work themselves ragged and sleep on sofas in their offices, but they rush home to be with their families every weekend, and I’m not sure that in the end they won’t be just as successful as I’ve been. More so. Because they’ll have that groundwork of love to keep them going.”
“You have it.”
“Me? No. Ambition keeps me going. That’s all.” His eyes met hers and grew sharper. “Don’t do what I did. I know that your career means the world to you. You’re doing well, moving up. But you’re alone.”
“There are people at work, and friends, and I date.”
“That was what I always said, but it’s not the same. You should have a family, Katia. A husband who loves you, and children. For a while I thought you and Sean—”
“He wasn’t right for me.”
Gil nodded, then hesitated, again uncharacteristically. “I’ve always hoped that something would develop between Jordan and you. He’s a fine boy.”
“More than a boy,” she murmured, blushing.
“So you are aware of him?”
“I’ve always been aware of him. But he isn’t in any more of a rush to settle down than I am.”
“He should be,” Gil grumbled. “If he waits much longer he’ll be enjoying his children from a wheelchair.”
She laughed. “I doubt that.”
“What he needs is a good kick in the pants.”
“He’d rebel for everything he’s worth.”
“Let him. A little rebellion is good for the soul. It’s purging, makes you come to your senses all the sooner.”
What Katia had in mind, though, wasn’t rebellion as a purgative. Though she spent another hour with Gil, answering his questions about her life in New York much as she’d done her mother’s, she was plotting her own personal form of fire starting.
The first match was struck later that morning when she joined the others at the pool. This time she let her eyes wander freely over Jordan’s barely clad frame—and precisely at those moments when she knew he’d notice.
Sitting with Anne’s daughter, Amanda, on her lap while Jordan chatted with them from the next lounge chair, Katia undertook a survey of his bare chest, focusing on one flat brown nipple that nestled amid a whirl of dark hair. Only until that flat nub rose did her gaze linger, then it skittered away and refocused on Amanda.
Later, she was resting on the same lounge chair, lap empty and legs outstretched while Jordan skimmed pine needles from the pool’s surface with the long net he had taken from the shed. She leisurely traced the narrow band of his lycra suit, raised her eyes to meet his, then dropped them back to his trunks in a blatant visual caress before closing her eyes and lying languidly back in the sun.
Following lunch, when a hoard of Warrens and Whytes were on the patio eating ice cream cones, Katia, who had positioned herself close to Jordan, reached over to wipe a smear of chocolate from his upper lip. Holding his eyes, she brought the finger to her mouth, sucked on it deeply, then immediately turned her attention to the others, offering a timely addition to the conversation.
During the afternoon, when she and Jordan took Nick’s two youngest children for a walk in the woods, Jordan boosted little Sean up onto the branch of a tree. Katia stood flush behind him, grinning at the child while her fingers walked a long, slow line down Jordan’s spine to its very base. His head shot around in time to see her step back and kneel beside Heather, who was impatiently awaiting her turn for a boost.
That evening, when Jordan was in the family room with Anne, Mark, Peter, Nick and Angie, Katia was the one to bring in a brimming bowl of popcorn. Propping herself on the arm of the chair in which Jordan sat, she directed her eyes to the screen. Meanwhile, she reached into her pocket and pulled out several of the macadamia nuts she had taken from the jar in the kitchen. One by one, with comfortable intervals between, she popped them into his mouth as she watched the movie. When the nuts were gone, she slipped her hand around Jordan’s neck and whispered her thumb back and forth over the warm, smooth spot behind his ear. When she felt him tilt his head into her touch, she withdrew it, twisted away to reach into the communal popcorn bowl for a fistful, then slid to the floor to watch the remainder of the show.
Jordan said nothing. He and Katia sat on the patio later that night talking, but he made no reference to the fact that anything might be amiss with her. They ate breakfast together the next morning, during which she drew a ripe strawberry from the jam on her muffin and pressed it between his lips. Then they went for a sail with Laura’s husband, Donald, and their daughter, Dawn, and Katia made a point to hang onto Jordan’s thigh—his inner thigh, high up—when the boat heeled at a daring angle.
And still he said nothing. Not that she had expected any comment. He had long since proven himself to be a master of sexual self-control when he was with her. But the more self-control he exerted the more determined she grew to test it.
So, after lunch that day—most of the family members, including Jordan and Katia, planned to leave the island by nightfall—she donned her pièce de résistance. It was a t-shirt, scooped-necked and sleeveless—practically sideless, the armholes were cut so low. Normally, she’d have worn it over another, more traditional t-shirt. Layered, and with matching shorts, it was a chic set. Unlayered, and with the skimpiest of bikini pants, it was nearly lewd.
The pool was the site for her assault. Indeed, the pool was the central point for the families’ gatherings, particularly on days such as this when the heat of the sun was something to be gathered in and cherished, then remembered with longing in the long winter months to come.
Katia carefully kept her arms by her sides until she had taken the chair next to Jordan. She had no intention of flaunting herself before the others, and simply tilted her face to the sun as the conversation flowed around her. Only when the children were occupied in the water and the other adults seemed equally preoccupied did she sit forward. Her thighs were spread, her knees bent, her ankles crossed. It was around the latter that she wrapped her hands.
He had a view. He had to have a view. She could feel the warm breath of a breeze against her breasts, and it set them to tingling. She threw her head back, shook it so that her sandy hair billow
ed, and smiled.
“Mmm. This is nice, Jordan. I’m glad you convinced me to come.”
At first Jordan said nothing. She kept her eyes closed, her face to the sun, but her nipples were growing tight.
“Relaxed?” he asked at last. His voice was as tight as her nipples.
“Very. You were right. It is good to see everyone. And we couldn’t have asked for better weather. There’s many a Labor Day when it’s cold and rainy. This is … wonderful.” The last was said in a purr. Lifting both arms, she drew her fingers through her hair.
“You’ll get marks.” His voice was tighter than ever.
Katia propped her elbows on her knees. Her eyes stayed closed, her face tilted up. “In my hair?”
“On your body. Where’s your bikini top?”
“In my room.”
“Lot of good it’s doing there.”
“This is fine. The sun isn’t strong enough to tan much of anything except the soul. Come January I’m going to remember this.” As though in reaction to the thought of the cold, she gave a tiny shiver—just enough to wiggle her breasts—then she suddenly lowered her head and opened her eyes. “In fact, the beach will be nothing but a memory then too. I think I’ll take a walk there. Want to come?”
For the first time she looked at Jordan. He was sitting with his arms wrapped around his bent knees and would have looked perfectly at ease had it not been for the whiteness of the knuckles of the hand that grasped his opposite forearm. And for his eyes. They were dark, very dark, and smoldering.
When he didn’t answer, she popped up from her seat. “See you later, then,” she said as she breezed by.
She headed straight for the beach, wondering if he would follow. She refused to look back and spoil her act of utter nonchalance, but she wondered. And listened. And homed in on an ESP she had never possessed but had always wanted.
When she reached the dock she anchored herself against one of the wood pilings. Ankle-deep in the ocean, she shifted until she was looking back at the shore.
He wasn’t there. She waited, giving him time, but still he didn’t come. He had ignored her bait. He hadn’t followed. Coward! she shrieked silently, pushing off from the piling and starting across the rocky beach. She called him an assortment of other names, then turned many of the same ones on herself as she made her furious way toward an outcropping of rocks, which she proceeded to scale in a way that would have been reckless had her anger not endowed her with greater than normal strength and agility.
That strength was spent, though, by the time she had reached a small hollow in the rocks cushioned with beach grass. She had gone there often, both as a child and an adult. Shielded on both sides by boulders, it was a throne from which she could survey her domain.
But at the moment she wasn’t feeling particularly regal. Or powerful. She was feeling rather foolish, a mite embarrassed, and very, very frustrated. It occurred to her that the only person she had set a fire under was herself, and it wasn’t simply one of anger. Each time she had touched Jordan she had been excited. When she had boldly studied his body her own had stirred in response. And just now, giving Jordan what she had considered to be an irresistible show had only heightened the eroticism in her own mind. If she had the strength or good sense, she mused, she’d climb right back down and take a swim in the ocean. The water was cold; it was always cold. Somehow, though, she knew that it wouldn’t help her. The problem was every bit as much in her mind as her body.
She was staring out to sea, feeling sorry for herself, when Jordan’s thundering voice rent the afternoon air high above her. “What the hell are you doing up here?” She whirled around to see him towering atop the boulder. “You could have killed yourself climbing up!”
“I’ve done it before,” she said curtly. Self-pity was forgotten, replaced by defiance. “You never knew that, did you? I found your little hiding place one afternoon when I followed you. I was six years old. I couldn’t make it up here then, but I remembered just where it was. I’ve been coming here since I was eight. You’re not the only one who likes a little adventure, Jordan. Or a little privacy.”
The last was offered pointedly. Jordan chose to ignore it. He sat down hard on the edge of the boulder, gave a push and jumped. It was ten feet worth of jump. Katia rose to her knees in alarm.
“My God, Jordan, look who’s talking! That was brilliant! Self-destructive from the word go!”
“And if it was?” He brushed off his hands as he came to his feet. “What’s it to you? It’s my life, and I can do without your interference!” His eyes narrowed on her. “You’ve been playing a game, and I don’t like it.”
“What game?” she asked, wanting to be as perverse as he was.
“Oh, come on, Katia. We both know what you’ve been doing.”
“Well that’s a relief. I was beginning to think you were deaf, dumb, blind and sexless.”
“I am not sexless.”
Without guile or the slightest hint of humor, she dropped her gaze to the front of his racing suit. “It’s obvious that you’ve got the goods. Whether they work is something else.”
“You know they work.”
“How would I know that?” she yelled. “You’ve never given me a demonstration!”
“Is that what you want?” he snarled. Before she knew what he intended, he dropped into a crouch directly before her and took her chin in his palm. Between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, her jaw was immobilized. “You’ve been taunting me. Little touches here, little looks there. You’ve been doing it on purpose, Katia, and it’s cruel!”
“You don’t know what cruel is,” she managed to grit out between her teeth.
“And you do? What an innocent you are, Katia. What a sweet, sweet innocent.” And with that he took her mouth, bent on destroying her innocence once and for all.
Chapter 13
Jordan knew he would never be able to do it. The instant he put his hands on her his anger began to wane. The instant he covered her mouth with his the anger grew distant, then dissolved completely. In its place was a need so potent that it was palpable and tangible and very nearly audible.
This was Katia, whom he loved. Her lips were still beneath his, but he wanted them open and moving and hungry. So he gentled his kiss to its seductive best, sipping and coaxing and stirring her until she slowly began to respond.
She didn’t want to. She wanted to hold herself stiff and unfeeling. She wanted to drive Jordan insane with the same frustration that had been eating her alive for days, months, years. But this was Jordan. She had never had a chance against him, and she didn’t now. If his lips were loving her, hers had no choice but to love him back. If his tongue filled her mouth, she had no choice but to offer her own in exchange.
He sighed her name when he came up for breath, but in the next instant he was back, renewing the kiss with even greater ardor. His hands slid up and down her sides, homing in on the large ovals of flesh bared by her poor excuse for a covering. When her hands crept up to thread through his hair, the lift of her breasts was too great a temptation. There was little to bar him; the simple shift of fabric toward the center of her body and he was there. A bare breast, creamy, warm and swelling, filled each hand. He loved them as he continued to love her mouth, stroking, kneading, tugging gently as desire spiraled.
And it did. Oh, it did. He knew he should stop, but in another minute … just another minute more. The tiny whispers coming from Katia’s throat told him of her pleasure, and if he could give her that, surely he would be forgiven for his sins.
The only sin in Katia’s mind was that this explosion of passion had been so long in coming. The wait and its torment had stubbed out any hopes she had of self-denial. After striking that first match she herself was on fire.
The feel of Jordan’s long limbs against hers was electric, or so she thought until his thumbs snapped over her painfully taut nipples and wholly new currents of arousal arced through her. She wanted to touch him all over, but feared that if
she removed her arms from his neck her trembling knees would refuse to hold her upright. So she simply strained closer and closer, needing the tight fit of his body to ease her pain.
Suddenly he was lowering her to the beach grass, leaning over her, kissing her eyes, her nose, her chin. She felt worshiped, which was exactly how Jordan wanted her to feel. He wanted her to know of his love, though he couldn’t say it in words. He wanted her to know that she was the dearest thing in his life and that it hurt him to hurt her, though to tell her that would be to invite questions that he simply couldn’t answer for fear of hurting her even more. Instead, he showed her, with his roving lips, his hands and his heated body what she meant to him.
Katia rose to his ministrations by growing greedy. Her palms drew large circles over his chest, his shoulders, his rib cage. She loved the feel of him, and her fingers told him so by raking through the mat of his chest, then following its tapering progression to his navel. They lingered there for just a minute, but there was more they wanted—needed—to touch, and they did. His stomach muscles were rigid, allowing the room she needed to slide her hand beneath the thin band of his trunks.
He was hard and throbbing. She closed her fingers around him, but she no sooner heard his gutteral moan when a matching one came from her throat, for his own hand had breached the tiny barrier of her bikini and was opening her and stroking her, clouding her mind with the haze of passion. Her fingers loosened. She couldn’t think. What he was doing to her was nearly beyond sensation.
She cried his name, but it was muted in the cavern of his mouth. His thumb was rubbing her while his fingers slipped inside, withdrew, then entered her again. At some point her own hand had left him, because she was clutching his shoulders, digging in her nails, holding to him as though she were on the verge of destruction.
And it was exactly that in a small way. For after she had writhed up against his hand, after she had caught in her breath and then released it in a series of harsh gasps, after her insides had tightened in spasm after glorious spasm, then finally relaxed, she realized that she had lost. As beautiful as the moment had been, she knew the instant she opened her eyes that Jordan had no intention of possessing her in the most intimate, most total of ways.
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