In drifting spirals of wonder and joy she clung to him, her soul reverberating with him. And she felt his muscles tremble as with one deep, final thrust, he gathered her close and released himself inside her. She held him; he held her. They were together, as one, and for the longest time that was all that mattered.
Chapter Nine
Morning came in, soft and gray, drifting over the twisted pewter-colored sheets of Kevin's bed like a heavy fog. Kate awoke reluctantly and found that Kevin was not beside her. She was glad.
The sound of the shower running in the other room revealed the whereabouts of her lover. She turned over slowly, drawing the sheet more surely around her stiff and overused body, and focused soberly on the ceiling. She had a few moments of privacy in which to resign the unprecedented excesses of the night with the demands of the morning, and then she had to face Kevin.
In the languorous afterglow of lovemaking, they had returned to the house the night before, and Kate had been too stunned and drained with pleasure to give much thought to the consequences of what they had done. And almost as though to forestall the return of reason he could surely sense coming, Kevin had begun to make love to her again. The path to passion was familiar now, easy to follow, and she was eager to explore the new dimensions of sensuality Kevin taught so expertly. They did not talk. Except for whispered words of ecstasy and satisfaction, they had said nothing to one another since the moment they fell to the grass beneath the willow tree. Kate had fallen asleep in Kevin's arms in a state of glowing exhaustion, and not once had it occurred to her what she would be facing this morning.
Many of her anxieties were expected and did not deserve dwelling upon. Kevin Dawson, the legendary lover, had made another score. The last thing she had ever expected to be, or wanted to be, was one of his conquests, and she cringed to imagine what he was thinking now. He would be cavalier and sophisticated, just another night in a long string of nights, no sooner over than forgotten. Worse yet, she had practically begged him to make love to her. She had come on to him like a sex-starved escapee from a prison farm, and there was no conceivable way she could place blame upon him. She might have felt better if she could have.
But none of those things was what really worried her. For almost thirty years she had known Kevin; she had joked with him, looked down upon him, teased him, scolded him, fought with him, despaired of him. Whatever affection had existed in their relationship had been of a perverse sort, each of them bringing out the worst in the other. But she had allowed Kevin to share with her an intimacy only a very few had known before him; she had given to him something that, while it might be relatively meaningless to him, was very important to Kate. Closeness, most especially the physical kind, did not come easily to Kate, and she did not take the act of love lightly. Emotions, as well as sensations, were invariably involved.
And that was the worst part. More than simple physical satisfaction had been involved last night. Everything was changed; everything was confused. She did not even know how she was supposed to feel, much less how to deal with those feelings.
She heard Kevin come in from the bathroom, and she had a brief and childish impulse to close her eyes and pretend to be asleep. Deliberately scolding herself for a coward, she turned her eyes slowly to meet him.
His hair was wet and tousled, his body glistening in places from shower steam. A large black bath towel was wound around his hips and trailed on one side to his calf, which was slick and molded with damp dark hair. His smile, for just a moment, seemed almost as shy as she felt, but his tone was gentle as he said, "Hi, sweetie."
She returned his smile, fleetingly, but found she couldn't look at him. She had to clear her throat before replying, "Hi."
There was a hesitation, and then he said, in a voice that sounded surprisingly casual, "It's almost eight. You have office hours today, don't you?"
"Umm... yes." She struggled to sit up, dragging the sheet with her to cover her nakedness. She was perfectly aware of what a silly, girlish gesture that was. The one thing she had never been shy about was her body; one could not have viewed as many naked humans as she had and maintained any sense of false modesty about her own physical appearance. But everything was different today. She hardly knew herself anymore.
She could feel Kevin's hesitation above her, and when she ventured a glance at him, she was surprised by what she saw. A dozen unreadable emotions played across his eyes, though he kept his expression carefully casual. There was debate there and the same kind of uncertainty Kate felt, and she was confused, because there was none of the nonchalant, easygoing morning-after attitude she had expected. And then he seemed to come to some sort I of decision; he sat down on the bed beside her and smiled, reaching forward to tuck a spiky strand of hair behind her ear.
"In case you're wondering," he teased gently, "it was worth breaking my vow for."
She tried to match his casual tone. "I'm flattered."
That did not seem to be what he wanted to hear. There was a faltering of the smile in his eyes, just briefly, and then he cupped his hand lightly on the side of her face. He smelled of spicy soap and warmth, and her eyes were drawn, without volition, to the flex of his long bicep, the damp tangle of hair under his arm. She found that for some reason uncomfortably sexy, and she moved her eyes away restlessly.
Looking at her with gentle intensity, he said, "Are you okay this morning?"
"Sure." She returned a false smile. "The sex was great, if that's what you mean."
The light died slowly from his eyes, and his hand left her face. "No," he said quietly, "that's not what I mean. But I'm glad to hear it, anyway. Always nice to know I haven't lost my touch."
He got up and walked toward the closet, and Kate thought tightly. Damn. She didn't know whether she was angry with herself or with Kevin and thought it was a little of both. She had handled that clumsily, and she wasn't used to being clumsy. But what did he expect from her? Why was he making it so difficult?
Kevin loosened the towel and let it drop to the floor, revealing to her taut white buttocks and lean runner's thighs. She swallowed hard as she looked at him and wondered what he would say, what he would do, if she opened her arms to him and called him softly back to bed. And then she was appalled at herself for even thinking such a thing. She was in enough turmoil as it was.
He took a light cotton shirt from the closet and pulled it on, turning to face her as he buttoned it. He was easy in his nakedness, and Kate was fascinated for a moment by the male beauty of him, his unself-conscious grace. And then she noticed he was using only one hand to button his shirt, and she felt a stab of guilt. His shoulder pained him this morning, as naturally it would after the uncalled-for exercise of last night. She thought briefly and wryly that as a physician she should have warned him against engaging in sexual activity for a few days, and then she had to close her eyes, a wave of bleakness and despair overcoming her. Oh, Kate, what have you gotten yourself into?
Kevin said coolly and rather dryly, "You don't have to be embarrassed, Kate. I can imagine what a shock it must have been to go to bed with Colt Marshall and wake up with Kevin Dawson."
Her eyes snapped open in an inmiediate flare of anger and horror, and for a moment she could only look at him, churning with insult. Though she knew her best course was not to dignify the outrageous statement with a reply, she couldn't seem to help herself. She said lowly, her eyes darkening, "That was uncalled for, Kevin"
"Was it?" His tone was mild, but his eyes, too, were churning as he fastened the last button at mid-chest. "Then will you kindly tell me why you keep looking at me as though we've just conmiitted a felony?"
"I'm not!" But even with the instinctive, angry defense she knew he was right. Guilt and uncertainty were gnawing at her defenses, making her afraid, leaving her vulnerable and at a loss. She retaliated by withdrawing from him, and the last thing she wanted to do was withdraw.
Raw emotion flared between them, and it was hard to accept that she had hurt him for no other reaso
n than that she was afraid. She hadn't meant to hurt him. But she didn't know what he expected of her.
"Kevin, I'm sorry. I know..." She floundered for the right words and came up, of course, with exactly the wrong ones. "That this is not what you are used to from women the morning after... " She saw a swift flash of something in his eyes—it might have been disgust, or it might have been pain. She hastened to try to make amends. "What I mean is... this is an awkward situation, I know, but let's try to be mature about it."
"Let's not." His voice was smooth as he crossed to the bureau in search of underwear. He wore small, sexy briefs, she remembered from last night, and she was annoyed and embarrassed to be dwelling on such a thing. "I think our ideas of maturity might be too different at this point."
She moved her eyes away as he bent to step into his briefs. "Oh, yes?" Her voice was brittle. Damn, how had it come to this? How could they be arguing with such cold carelessness after what they had shared? She felt absurdly as though she were going to cry, and that made her only angrier. "In what way?"
"Your idea of being mature, I think," he replied coolly, "is to be blasé and sophisticated and try to get yourself out of my bed with as little embarrassment as possible. I'd prefer a bit more honesty myself."
She turned her eyes on him in speechless astonishment as he moved back to the closet. She—blasé and sophisticated? That was his role. But everything was turned upside down this morning; nothing in her entire world made sense, and she had no reply. His alternative was unthinkable. How could she be honest when she didn't know what the truth of the situation was?
She had never seen Kevin like this, stiff and angry and far more in control than he had any right to be, talking to her about honesty and maturity in precise, clipped sentences that made her feel like a thwarted child who didn't know what she wanted. Maybe he was right. Maybe she had gone to bed with a stranger. Not Colt Marshall but Kevin... a Kevin she had never known.
She wanted to curl her arms around her pillow and bury her face in it and give in to a slowly creeping misery she didn't understand. She wanted Kevin to come and hold her and comfort her and somehow make things, if not the way they used to be, then at least right between them. She was angry at herself for being a woman and victim of irrational needs, and she was angry at herself for being human and confused. She wanted to turn back the clock three days and pretend Kevin had never strolled back into her life, to erase the storm that had molded them together and made her vulnerable, to save herself from the mistake of last night. If it was a mistake.
But she could not, of course, do any of those things. She simply sat there, staring at the opposite wall, waiting for Kevin to get dressed and leave the room so that she could do the same. But when she heard his footsteps cross the carpeted floor, he was moving toward her, not away from her. She looked up to find him standing above her, dressed in dark cotton trousers and the white shirt, looking sad and gentle and resigned. He held a wine-colored velour robe, and he handed it to her.
"Here," he said. "You go ahead and shower and I'll see what I can do about breakfast."
He started to turn, then hesitated. ''Katie," he said softly, "we have to talk about it... but I know you need some time. I just wanted you to know I'm not sorry." Then, in the most casual of tones he added, "Don't leave without me, okay? I need a ride into town."
Kate showered and dressed with dogged rapidity, wanting only to be away from Kevin and back into her own familiar world where, hopefully, she would have breathing space to assess the events of the past eighteen hours—but where, more likely, she would find a way to put the entire problem out of her mind. Kevin made instant coffee with hot tap water—under normal circumstances they both would have laughed and sparred wits over that—and they ate dry sweet rolls without tasting either. Kate dropped Kevin off at her house to pick up his car, and very little was said between them on the trip. He murmured something polite about seeing her later, and Kate was still finding it difficult to meet his eyes. She was glad to get to the routine insanity of her office.
Kate had more than enough to keep her busy that day. She made rounds at the hospital and dismissed two patients, then met with the administrator and chief of surgery to discuss Jeff Brandon's admission to the staff. She saw patients all morning—most of whom needed nothing more than reassurance and tranquilizers and a friendly ear to whom to tell their problems—and used the lunch break to try to find someone to begin making repairs to her house. And Kevin was never off her mind.
She hated the way she had acted this morning, and she couldn't believe it was she who had behaved like such a child. Even if last night had been no more than an accident of chemistry, she had still known Kevin longer than she had known anyone in her life except her relatives. Only a fool would abandon such a friendship because of one night of indiscretion. She had been so concerned because everything was changed between than, yet she had gone out of her way to make the change permanent and tempered with anger. No man deserved to be treated the way she had treated Kevin after the night they had spent together. She couldn't beheve that in this, the most dramatic aspect of their long relationship, she had failed him so.
They had been so good together. It was that, perhaps, that bothered her the most. They shouldn't have been, but they were. None of the dictates of logic prepared her for the fact that she and Kevin should get along better in bed them they ever had out of it. She was not a superstitious parson; she did not believe in karmic relationships or heaven-made love affairs or that there was only one man in all the world for every woman. She knew perfectly well that sexual compatibility did not necessarily have anything to do with emotional involvanent. But she could not deny the fact that with Kevin there had been magic.
And when she thought about him now, her heart beat faster, and her skin flushed. She remembered long, smooth muscles and his face, softened with adoration, his eyes, brilliant and dark and alive with passion. She remembered him, and she felt weak and wanting, absurdly happy and disconcertingly sad. Her mood swings peaked and dropped. She wanted desperately to see him again; she was afraid of what would happen when she did. Kate was no fool, although she was acting like one now. She knew what was wrong with her. She was in love with Kevin Dawson.
It was absurd, of course. There was no future to it, no basis in reality; it was a temporary mental aberration brought on by stress and incredible chemical attraction.
It was thrilling, and it was distressing, and the best thing for her would be to put it out of her mind and get on with her life. Only, of course, she couldn't.
Kate had tried every contractor, handyman and remodeler in three counties; absolutely none was available. She himg up the phone with a force that jarred the bell and an imaginative oath that was loud enough to be heard by Iris in the lab. The older woman poked her head in the door curiously. "Are you all right, Doctor?''
Kate ran an impatient hand through her hair, disgruntled and embarrassed. Displays of temper were not her style, either, especially during office hours. She was annoyed with herself and remembered now why she so infrequently had lovers. The entire experience was upsetting to her equilibrium in ways she could not afford.
"I'm just having trouble getting someone to come in and look at my house," she said apologetically. "Like everyone else in town, I guess." And then she looked up, trying to keep her expression neutral. "I understand Daddy stayed with you last night."
"Well, I had the extra bedroom," she confessed, "and with the shape his house was in..." Was that a trace of color Kate saw tinging Iris's soft, fifty-year-old cheeks? She added, a little anxiously, "You don't mind, do you?"
Kate almost smiled. Iris was obviously concerned about her boss's opinion of her reputation, which was both amusing and endearing. She wished she had Iris's problems.
"Don't be silly," she answered easily. "I appreciate it, as a matter of fact. If you think Dad's house is bad, you should see the shape mine is in." And then, realizing she had left herself wide open for an inquiry about w
here she had spent the night, Kate hurried on. "How's Dad's leg? Any swelling?"
"I told him to stay off it today, but you know him." Iris made a face. "He's got some sixteen-year-old kid chauffeuring him around. He keeps saying he has things to do."
Kate could well imagine. Her father was an important citizen in this town, and he wouldn't be able to sit by and let the crisis take its course without his help. "I'm sure our esteemed mayor and city council are finding plenty for him to do," she agreed dryly. "See if you can get hold of him, will you, and ask him to come by. I'd like to check the cast."
Iris nodded. "We've got a couple of patients waiting. Are you ready?"
Kate took a final sip of her cold coffee and pushed herself to her feet with an effort. There had never been a day when she did not enjoy the work, when she did not look forward to seeing patients and doing what she was best at. Today her mind was in a thousand other places, and her body wanted to follow. "Get them set up. I'll be right in."
In the afternoon, Kate treated a dog bite, an infant she had helped deliver who was now ready for his first DPT shot and a young wife who thought she was pregnant. Things were getting back to normal.
When she came back into her office, thinking vaguely about going out to her house and seeing what she could do on her own, Kevin was waiting for her.
Her pulses leaped, and she felt a quick tightening in the pit of her stomach. She tried to tell herself it was only from anxiety but knew it wasn't. It was joy.
He was lounging on her sofa, one ankle crossed on his knee, his arm stretched across the back of the sofa. His hair was slightly tousled, his gaze lazy and relaxed. The white shirt was parted from throat to mid-chest and revealed a tantalizing triangle of smooth golden skin and dark chest hair, and the black pants were molded to his thighs. He looked sleek and continental and pnmally sexual.
After The Storm (Men Made in America-- Mississippi) Page 14