Drain.
“Goddamnit! I can’t do this!” Walker aggressively threw the saline bottles into the wastebasket. “I. Am. Not. Meant. To. Wear. Contacts.” He sat down on the edge of the tub, defeated.
Kathryn felt unequipped to help him. Should I give him a hug now, she wondered. Or would that be misinterpreted. She went over and tousled Walker’s hair. “Hey, who was it who said ‘don’t sweat the small stuff’?”
“Someone who never tried to install venetian blinds over his corneas. Besides, don’t you know that the response is ‘it’s all small stuff’?”
“They’re wrong, Bear. You’ve done a helluva lot lately . . . and it has not gone unappreciated. Now what about a long hot bath in this wildly decadent jacuzzi? You’ll feel much better.”
Walker’s smile lit up the room. “I’ll definitely feel much better if you join me.”
“Sneak.”
Chapter 27
“C’mon . . . you’ve heard that expression ‘you wash my back and I’ll wash yours’?”
“That’s scratch, Bear.” Kathryn looked at Walker. She couldn’t help smiling. “Tell you what,” Kathryn said. “I’m going to close the door and go out there and slip into something more comfortable. When you’re in that tub with bubbles up to your armpits, give a holler and I’ll come in and wash your back.”
“I guess I’ll take what I can get.”
Kathryn closed the door to the bathroom and changed her clothes. She read a few more pages of the short story she’d begun earlier until she was satisfied that she’d heard the water running long enough.
“Red Rover, Red Rover, can the redhead come over?” Walker called from the bathroom.
“Ready or not, here I come!” Kathryn opened the door to the bathroom, and was relieved when she saw that Walker had abided by her rules. She hadn’t expected him to.
“Hey, hey,” he admonished, waving her closer with a soapy arm. “You said you were going to slip into something more comfortable.”
“And by that I assume that you inferred that I was going to get naked?”
“Yes, actually. Well . . . I was hoping. No, I didn’t think you really would. Why the hell did you pack that for a romantic getaway? I mean, I think the Saints jersey makes you look incredibly hot, but I can’t presume to vouch for what Colin might have thought.”
Kathryn approached the enormous whirlpool, grabbed a terry washcloth and knelt beside the tub. “Okay, turn around.”
“Wait. You’re not properly attired.” Walker scooped up a poof of bubbles and deposited them on Kathryn’s nose.
“Hey, no fair!” She skimmed a handful of the fragrant froth from the top of the tub and paid him back.
Walker splashed some water at her in return. “At least I’m dressed for the occasion!”
Kathryn skittered back away from the tub as Walker continued to toss water in her direction. “Hey, stop! You’ll flood the bathroom! And you’re getting me all wet.”
“Then you shouldn’t have come in here unless you were naked. This is usually where hotel rooms keep the water,” he teased. “Or you should have worn something waterproof.”
Kathryn leaned over the side of the tub, took the remaining bubbles from her nose and plopped them between Walker’s eyes. She started to splash him playfully.
“Doesn’t bother me; I’m already wet,” he laughed, grabbing her wrists before she could toss any more water in his face. “Young lady, you’re coming in! Resistance is futile!” In a matter of seconds, Kathryn, still wearing her New Orleans Saints jersey—and her underwear—found herself flailing on top of Walker in the whirlpool.
And it felt really good. Really good.
He lifted her face to his, and with his thumb, gently wiped away a falling tear.
She was the one who kissed first.
Kathryn’s arms encircled Walker’s damp neck, clutching, clinging. Her hands groped upwards, grasping his thick hair, massaging his scalp, as her mouth opened wider to admit the insistent intrusion of his tongue. Never before had she been so hungry for a man, never before had she so completely abandoned herself to physical desire, no matter what the consequences.
She slithered over him as they embraced, trying to keep her head above water . . . in every sense. Kathryn felt him hard and firm against her thigh and maneuvered herself over him. It was then that she agreed with Walker that she was entirely overdressed for the occasion. With his help, she sat up in the tub, yanked her sopping Saints shirt over her head and wrestled herself out of her panties, throwing the clothes in a sodden heap on the tile floor. She slid back down in the deep bath until she and Walker were reclining side by side. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” she asked softly.
“Your eyes. They’re deep blue.”
“So are yours.” She threw her leg over his and pulled him back to her, devouring his mouth. He smelled new: sweet and clean, and he tasted of cognac. The slickness of his soapy skin aroused her further. She buried her hands in the soft, mossy hair growing around his nipples while she nibbled gently at his lower lip.
Walker kneaded Kathryn’s back, exploring the contours of her slim waist and hips. He cupped her firm rear and drew her closer, closer, until she was again on top of him.
Kathryn pulled her mouth away from Walker’s just long enough to beg. “Take me, please,” she said huskily. “I want to feel you inside me.” She was ready for him— emotionally as well as physically.
He had waited so long for her, had wanted this moment to happen from the minute she walked into his office. Her body welcomed him, matching his rhythm like a longtime lover; his body felt like it was coming home.
Kathryn clung to him with every muscle, hungrily taking in his tongue as it danced in her mouth, caressing it with her own, and greedily arching her hips toward Walker’s to bring him deeper and deeper inside her, gripping and releasing him in a sustained rhythm.
His expression was beatific. “How the hell do you do that?”
Kathryn gave him a Mona Lisa smile. “But I didn’t know I could do it underwater.”
“Are you noisy in bed?” he gasped.
“It depends on the company,” she teased hoarsely, then kissed him again.
He found out for himself when she shuddered her climax, surrendering entirely, slickly clinging to his torso, her mouth wide open, her head thrown back. Her hips bucked against his, as Walker thrust with increased intensity. Her nails dug into his back when she felt him release inside her, and he muffled his cries against her damp shoulder.
For a long time they held each other, somewhat suspended by what water remained in the whirlpool, enjoying the little aftershocks of their lovemaking. Walker cradled her head to his chest and tenderly kissed her tangled mop of curls.
“We didn’t take full advantage of our surroundings,” he whispered, and guided Kathryn’s body to one of the water jets. She felt an instant arousal from the pulsing water. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” Walker asked softly.
Kathryn nodded, her eyes closed, succumbing to the sensation. “Amazing. It feels . . . truly . . . amazing.”
Walker’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Open your eyes, Kitty. I want to see your face. And I want you to see mine.”
She locked his passion-filled eyes in her gaze, her breath coming in quicker, more intense inhalations. Her lower lip seemed to swell, quivering almost imperceptibly as she relaxed her mouth and felt the surge of warmth spreading through her blood. What an intoxicating sensation it was to watch him watch her . . . and to revel in his awareness—as he took her again—that he was truly the source of her pleasure, manifested by the million and a half sensations coursing through her body and reflecting themselves on her countenance.
Blissed out, minutes later, Kathryn flashed Walker a wicked little smile. “You up for heading out to the deck?” she said dreamily. “We didn’t try the hot tub.”
Sometime well after midnight, when she found herself drifting off to sleep against his strong, warm body, she pulled
away. His arm was draped over her shoulder, drawing her close, keeping her safe. It was too safe, and it felt too good. She remembered the night he’d fallen asleep on her bed and how, after she’d finally decided to join him because it was impossible to get any rest on the couch, they’d awakened nestled like spoons. She recalled the conversation they’d had weeks ago back in her apartment about making love with one another, as well as her response—her reasons for refusing to give in to her own desires. Now that they’d finally had sex, at least she knew what she’d been denying herself.
And she was well and truly in love with Walker “Bear” Hart. Among other things, he had rescued her sister’s marriage from the rocks and he had rescued her in the nick of time last night. In fact, Kathryn realized, when she did the math, in so many ways he’d been rescuing her pretty much since they’d met. Bear was the one who found her lost lingerie after her dismal date with Barnaby. Bear was the man who picked her up from the police precinct, brought her home and made her feel whole and human again after the debacle with Eddie Benson. Bear was the guy who had spent a sleepless night worried about her being with Rick Byron until the wee hours of the morning. It was Bear who had eased her pain even while he told her the truth about Glen Pinsky’s macabre living arrangements. Plus, he seemed to be the first guy who ever actually paid attention to anything she told him, as evidenced by his effort to cheer her up by bringing her a bouquet of her favorite flowers as a little surprise to go along with the bottle of aspirin she’d requested. Oh yeah, she mused, smiling to herself. There’s the great sex part. Never underestimate the great sex part.
But when they got back to New York, what would happen? She would be tempted to cook brunch for him again. Try very hard not to think about the urban equivalent of white picket fences or to read aloud the “Wedding of the Week” column to him, even during a Jets time-out. He would remind her that he had no interest in forming a permanent attachment, while he lounged on her couch, using her coffee table for an ottoman, shod in silly-looking socks, reading the sports section of the Sunday Times , while Gershwin or Porter was playing on the stereo.
Nope.
Step back, take stock, rearrange perspective.
No more mixed messages from men. After a literally exhausting search for a husband, and, yes, well, despite all the amazing sex they’d just shared, Kathryn was on the verge of deciding she was better off alone.
Her energy was at half-mast the following morning. After breakfast where Walker picked up the tab for everything, including Tugman House’s lodging bill, Colin having beat an early retreat to the airport, Kathryn and Walker tossed their overnight bags in the trunk of Walker’s rented car and headed out of town.
“Hold it! You just missed the turn for the ferry,” Kathryn said, looking back at the directional sign they’d just driven past.
“Did I?”
“Yes. This causeway is taking us farther away from the Vineyard Haven slip. We’re headed toward Oak Bluffs.”
“Oh. Gee. So we are.”
“You’re up to something.” Kathryn caught Walker smiling mysteriously. She wasn’t sure how to behave with him this morning. He wasn’t acting all snuggly and lovey-dovey, so maybe her middle-of-the-night resolution to put some distance between them, despite the intense passion they’d finally shared, was the right decision after all.
As the road became less rural, Walker instructed her to close her eyes.
“Did I ever tell you I hate surprises like this?” Kathryn told him, obeying nonetheless. He made a quick turn into a parking place and brought the engine to a halt.
“Keep ’em closed, now,” Walker said. Kathryn heard him get out of the car. A few moments later, he opened the passenger door for her. “Take my hand.”
She groped for his hand and he steered her out of the vehicle, gently placing his hand on the top of her head, so she wouldn’t injure herself in the process. Walker continued to hold her hand as he led her on a short walk that took them inside a building. The air smelled of peanuts, cotton candy, and artificially buttered popcorn, the scents of a carnival midway. She heard music. “Two, please,” Walker said. He placed a small piece of paper in her hand and closed her fingers around it. “Okay you can open your eyes now.”
Kathryn did so, and her reaction was one she would always remember. “It’s the Flying Horses Carousel!”
Walker beamed at her. “Oldest one operating in the U.S. It dates from the 1870s, about thirty years before the one in Central Park.”
She took in the scene, completely delighted, totally in her element. “They don’t go up and down,” she remarked. “And they’re so skinny. And so much smaller than the horses on the Central Park carousel. Someone ought to feed you guys.” She reached out to finger the genuine horsehair tail tacked to the wooden rump of one of the ponies. “How did you know about this place?”
“Read about the local attractions coming up here. When I stopped at a filling station for gas, I grabbed a map and read all the stuff printed at the bottom of it. I had the feeling you might need a treat. After last night, I thought you really needed it.”
“I thought last night was the treat!” she replied suggestively. They climbed aboard the horses. Kathryn couldn’t help laughing at how Walker’s bulk dwarfed the poor wooden animal beneath him. With his long legs reaching the planking, it looked like he was riding in a toddler’s plastic car where you have to propel it by walking your feet forward on the floor. Of all the adults on the carousel, Walker looked the silliest. Yet he appeared totally unselfconscious about it. Kathryn admired his pluck.
“Now, this is a proper carousel,” Walker said. “This carousel has a brass ring.” He stretched out his arm, easily reaching the metal bar that dispensed a series of brass rings, and snagged three in one try.
“Colin was right, though. You have to give them back before you leave,” Kathryn said, slightly disappointed, noticing the sign next to the ring dispenser as her horse came around. Being much smaller than Walker, she had a harder time reaching for the rings, but handily grabbed one, although she was trying for two, as her horse passed by the bar. “I don’t understand something, though, Bear. Why do people talk about going for the brass ring as though getting it was some monumental achievement? Life should always be this easy.” She grinned beatifically. “Nevertheless. I love this!”
By the time the ride was over, Kathryn had a handful of brass rings. Walker had a pocketful. They dutifully returned their prizes to the ring collection box, and Walker bought them a striped cardboard container full of caramel corn. Back outside the Flying Horses building, Kathryn thanked him by jumping on him as though he were her Lindy partner, throwing her legs around his waist. The popcorn went flying into the street.
“You’re extremely welcome,” Walker laughed. And they were back on the road.
Chapter 28
Once they reached the mainland, following a lovely but otherwise uneventful remainder of the trip home, which included a pit stop at a Friendly’s on the New England Thruway, Walker deposited Kathryn on her doorstep, kissed her passionately, refused her offer to step inside and have a drink, and went upstairs to the penthouse to try to repair his emotional circuits.
Three days later, the process was still underway. “You can’t barricade yourself in there, bro,” Josh warned over the answering machine. “And if you think you’re ignoring your mother, too, try again. She called me from Maui to see if you’re okay.”
Walker pushed a button on his mobile phone and continued to pound passionately away at his piano. “Talk, Josh.”
“Pick up the damn receiver, Bear. I hate speakerphone. It’s for people with Napoleon complexes, and you’re too tall for that.”
“Maui? What the hell is my mother doing in Maui? She said she was going to visit my aunt Sheila for a few days.”
“That new guy she’s engaged to has a timeshare there.”
Walker was playing a sweeping romantic ballad—one of his own compositions, through the open receiver.
> “Hey! It’s next to impossible to hear a word you’re saying while you’re in the middle of taking out your frustrations on the keyboard.”
“I know. And I can barely hear you, too. That’s deliberate.”
“Bear, if you’re not going to talk to anyone about what happened on Martha’s Vineyard, then why did you pick up the phone?”
“So you would know I was still alive and well, Josh.”
“I know that sound, bro. You’re on your third martini this evening, right about now.”
“It was stupid and wrong of me to make love with her.”
“Why?”
“Because she was in deep emotional pain after the whole Colin debacle. I’m afraid she’s thinking I took advantage of that.”
“If, after what happened between you, you don’t contact her for over a week, you’re feeding her fears, bro.”
“Well, since you brought it up, that’s why I’ve been staying away. To give us both time to think things over. Josh, you and my mother are standing on the sidelines of my life, coaching it like it’s a three-legged potato race back at Camp Saranac. Go away.”
“What we have here is a failure to communicate. Fine, then. I’m hanging up, bro.” A click, and Josh was gone.
Another sip of his dry martini reminded Walker that he hated to drink alone. “Suits me.” He switched off the phone and launched into “Where Is the Life that Late I Led?” from Kiss Me, Kate . He looked around the beige apartment, winced at the uncomfortable, impersonal furniture and expensive paintings that he thought more properly belonged on the wall of a corporate head-quarters. The ceiling had been repaired, replastered, and repainted, but he’d been too lazy and uninterested to throw away the plastic tarps and clean house. Rushie had bolted as usual, abrogating all domestic responsibilities, but at least for once she’d taken an active role in handling a crisis by becoming involved in staging the “intervention” between Kathryn and Colin. For once, she’d run toward something, rather than away from it. And if Rushie could change . . .
Miss Match Page 28