Kevin's hand moved lazily through her hair, his breath gradually calming, his heartbeat resuming a more or less normal pace beneath her ear. His skin was warm and sticky against hers, rich with the scent and texture of their lovemaking. There had never been anything more wonderful than lying here with him, savoring what they had shared.
And then he lifted his face slightly, urging her to look at him. She turned her face to his, and he was smiling, his eyes filled with the glow of all she felt, his face content and relaxed. He kissed her lips lightly and then lay back down again, his hand resuming its gentle, stroking play in her hair. Kate rested her head against his shoulder, and she could see his smile still lingered, absent and tender, and his eyes were warm with it. "Ah, Katie," he said softly, looking at her quietly and caressingly. "I do love you."
Chapter Eleven
Everything within Kate stilled. She lay against Kevin and didn't move or breathe or hardly even think for what seemed like a very long time. It was, in fact, only the space of a few heartbeats.
"I love you." She heard the words, and she felt such a conglomerate of swift, complex and hopelessly entangled emotions that for a moment she could not even defend herself against than. First there was joy, simple and pure, the kind of joy any woman would feel to hear those words as she lay in the arms of a man with whom she had just made such beautiful and intensely satisfying love. And then there was anger, because he didn't mean them, and such words were too powerful to be uttered in vain. And then sadness, because he did not know, could not know, what until this very moment she had not known herself—-how long she had waited to hear those words from someone and know they were real. And guilt, because he was only voicing what she felt in that glowing aftermath of emotional sharing and physical satisfaction. And finally, understanding, because she knew that Kevin, in his simple straightforward way of looking at life, did mean it at the moment and cared enough about her to want her to hear it. I love you because I love making love with you and feel good about myself and you and life in general and want you to feel good, too.
She smiled and lifted her face to brush a gentle kiss across his jawline. "Kevin," she said softly, "what a sweet thing to say."
She saw the cautious expectancy in his eyes change to confusion, ahnost anxiety, and he looked as though he would say something. Knowing only that she did not want to hear it, Kate sat up quickly, tugging at his hand. "I need a shower," she announced brightly. "Care to join me?"
For a moment longer, hesitance and uncertainty lingered in his eyes, then relaxed gradually into a more familiar expression. "Only if you carry me," he murmured, and then laughed as Kate slapped him smartly on the thigh and leaped to her feet.
He made a playful swipe for her ankle, missed, and Kate ducked away from him, initiating a lighthearted chase toward the bathroom. Only when she stood within the circle of his arms beneath the gentle spray of the shower did she realize that her heart was pounding furiously, as though from a narrow escape.
Beneath the warm cascade of water, they discovered a new dimension to sensuality that had little to do with classic arousal. They soaped each other's bodies and tasted the clean, fresh water on each other's skin; they smiled into each other's eyes and let the rhythmic pulse of the water soothe them. It was not foreplay, but something infinitely more satisfying and bonding.
Afterward, Kevin teased her about the oversized football jersey and knee socks she chose to wear to bed, and they made popcorn and ate it in bed, watching television. This, too, was the unfolding of a wonderful new level in their relationship, only it wasn't really new, just dimly amazing. There had never been another man in Kate's hfe with whom she could be this comfortable— before, during or after lovemaking. With Kevin there were no pretenses. Everything was natural. There were no demands, no expectations, no unfulfilled needs. They were comfortable together. She could sit with Kevin and munch popcorn and watch television and talk casually just as she had done so many times before. The only difference was that they shared a bed and that beneath the covers Kevin was naked.
She drifted to sleep in the middle of the late news, curled into the crook of his arm, thinking what a special thing they had discovered by accident and hoping it would last a little while longer.
In her dream she heard the wind and felt the lash of the cold rain against her face. She saw buildings explode, pieces of her town, her life, all that was familiar, sucked in and whisked away by the forces of nature. She tried to scream, to run away, to call out warnings, to do something to stop it, but she was mute and paralyzed. She could hear the thudding of her heart, loud and fast, and the roaring gasp of her breath. Then she was running through a dark and treacherous landscape littered with corpses and echoing the agonized screams of her friends and family. Bloodied hands reached for her, terrified voices called out to her, begging for help, but she could only shake her head helplessly, sobbing, pleading with them to understand. There was nothing she could do.
And then there was another voice, a more familiar voice, shouting her name. There was desperation in the call, and yet strength, and she knew if only she could reach it, everything would be all right. She saw Kevin in the distance, holding out his arms to her, calling to her, and with a ragged sob of relief she ran toward him. But too late. Even as she ran, he was moving away. Something huge and monstrous had him in its grip and was tearing him away from her. He was growing smaller and smaller on the screen of her vision, calling to her, reaching out to her, disappearing...
"Katie! Katie, love, stop."
Kate awoke with a start, gasping and sweating. Kevin was holding her shoulders, shaking her gently, his face above her a dim blur in the darkness. Instinctively, she pressed herself against him, releasing a long shudder that was half a sob, and he held her tightly, murmuring something soothing and unintelligible into her hair. Her heart wouldn't stop pounding, and she was shaking all over. It felt so good to feel him solid and warm around her, holding her. Safe.
"God, it was awful." The words came bubbling out, hoarsely and unsteadily, as she struggled to get hold of herself. "Nightmare... about the storm. I felt so helpless. I was so scared. You were there, but I couldn't reach you."
"I'm here now." He tightened his arms, showing her his strength, and his face nuzzled hers reassuringly. There was a soft bristle on his cheek, which she found wonderfully comforting. She lay against him, listening to the pounding of her heart trying to regulate itself, trying to push away the childish terrors of the dream, which clung to her like cobwebs.
"I feel silly," she murmured at last.
"I've always thought you were silly." There was an indulgent smile in his voice that coaxed confidence from her, and she stirred against him, slightly, reluctantly.
"I shouldn't be lying against your shoulder," she said. "I'm hurting you."
"You're not," he assured her softly. "It's the other shoulder. Feeling steadier now?"
She nodded but made no further move to leave the protective circle of his arms. Her fist clenched slightly and instinctively against his chest as recalled terror crept over her again. She kept her eyes wide open, certain she would not sleep again. "I guess you were right," she whispered. "It doesn't go away. The crisis is over, but the aftermath stays with us.''
He threaded his fingers through her hair, pushing it away from her face. "I guess we were all changed inside by living through what we did. In ways we may not even know yet."
She tried to smile, smnmoning courage. "I hope I don't have to go into therapy."
He chuckled softly, kissing her temple. "You, Ms Rock of Gibraltar? Not a chance."
She wished she could tell him how wonderful it was to lie in his arms just now. To awake from a heart-stopping nightmare and have someone to turn to, someone to hold and comfort her, someone who cared and understood. She thought there must be no greater contentment in the world, and she snuggled closer to him.
"Do you have them?" she questioned, holding on to him. "Nightmares?"
"No, hardly ever.
That's because I don't internalize very much. And during the storm I dealt with every fear known to man right out front—there's not very much left over to work through in my dreams. You had other things to deal with while it was happening, but me—I had nothing to do but be terrified."
"You never let on," she murmured. "I never knew you were scared, except that one time when I asked you. And then I didn't believe you."
"I thought I was going to die," he said simply, and she lifted her face to look at him. His expression was quiet and open in the dim shadows of the night, and his tone was sober. "When I knew what was happening—when you pulled me away from the window and we were lying on the floor—you know how they say your life passes before your eyes? It really does. I thought of things I hadn't remembered in years, silly, unimportant things. Like the time you told me I could catch a bird by putting salt on its tail and I spent three hours tracking a blue jay with a salt shaker." Her laugh was choked and a little smothered, but encouraged, he continued. "And the time I put peanut butter in your sneakers the morning of the cheerleader tryouts."
Her head jerked up. ''You did that?"
He nodded. "Probably to get you back for the blue jay." Now his voice softened. "And the time you and I rode our bikes out to the lake and spent the afternoon collecting flora and fauna for our science project. You probably don't even remember it, but it's one of those childhood things that just stayed with me for some reason. The day was so beautiful. I can't even describe how beautiful it was. All silver and gold, about three weeks into autmnn. And you... you were so smart and so pretty. You were wearing jeans and a fuzzy pink sweater, and your hair was long then, corn-silk yellow, and you wore it in a braid down past your shoulders, and every time the sun would hit it, I would have to stare and wonder what it felt like to touch."
He smiled then. She could feel his smile against the top of her head. "Maybe that was the day I first fell in love with you," he said huskily. "I know it was the day I decided I wanted to have a house here and spend the rest of my life having days like that one." Then, pulling himself out of the reverie, his hand traversed the length of her arm, lightly, bracingly. "But things didn't exactly work out that way, did they?"
Kate was silent, struggling with a lump of moisture in her throat. She did not remember that day. Kevin and she had spent so many afternoons together during their childhood that none was much different from the others in her memory. But Kevin remembered. Kevin recalled one of the most precious days of his childhood, and she had been a part of it. When he thought he was living his last moments, that was what he had turned to, one afternoon at the lake with her. And he said he had fallen in love with her then. It was impossible, of course. Kevin's relationship with her had been little short of antagonistic throughout their lives, hadn't it? She wished he would stop talking about love. It made things so much more complicated than they already were.
In a moment, she managed, trying to move him onto a more neutral subject, "I think things worked out fine. You've got your house on the lake and half the rest of the world besides."
He chuckled softly. "Yeah, I guess."
"What's your house like in L.A.?" Now it was comfortable, talking with him like this in the dark.
He thought for a moment, as though it were hard for him to remember. "Well, I have a round bed with mirrors on the ceiling. I don't sleep in it, though. I caught a glimpse of myself waking up one morning, and it put me off mirrors for a long time."
She laughed, and his fingers tightened on her waist affectionately. "That's funny; I never thought about that before. Why don't you come back with me this time?"
Once again he trod the very edges of dangerous ground. She dismissed his invitation with a mild "And just what would my patients do while I'm off playing Hollywood? Wait for a more convenient time to get sick?"
He seemed surprised. "You never take a vacation?"
She shook her head against his shoulder. "I'm too possessive. You know that."
"Well..." Now there was an odd tone to his voice that he tried to disguise with nonchalance. "Maybe when your friend Brandon comes, you'll have more time. At least he'll be good for something."
She lifted her face to him, trying to scrutinize his expression in the dark. "Kevin..." she said softly, half amused, half incredulous. "You are jealous."
He didn't hesitate a moment. "Of course I am."
Kate found that difficult to digest. The concept was both ridiculous and exciting, embarrassing and gratifying. That Kevin Dawson would have cause to be jealous of any man—and over her. It strained the limits of her imagination.
She demanded, still peering at him, "Why?"
"Because he's perfect for you," Kevin replied with simple, disarming honesty. "And because it's so damn obvious even I can see it."
This was even more difficult for Kate to absorb. He wasn't kidding. He saw Jeff Brandon as a threat, but one did not feel threatened unless one first felt possessive.
And then, as though to forcefully lighten the mood, he added, "Of course I have one advantage over Brandon already." She glanced at him again, half expecting some lewd comment, but he only grinned. "I know you wear wool socks to bed. And I don't mind." His hand drifted down the length of her nightshirt, which had ridden up to her waist, and rested warmly and affectionately on her bare hip. "How many men can you say that about?"
Kate chuckled, wrapping her ann more securely about his bare waist. But she was thinking, Yes, indeed, how many? She had never felt comfortable enough with anyone to be herself like this in bed. Anyone but Kevin.
She inquired, in the same vein, "Do you always sleep in the nude?"
"No. Usually I wear pajama bottoms." He glanced down at her, a teasing spark in his eyes. "Black silk, to be precise, as you would know if you ever read the fan magazines."
Again she laughed into his chest, wondering how long it had been since she had ever felt this good with anyone. It was aknost worth having a nightmare for, to awake and be comforted like this. His hand was comfortable and secure on her bare bottom, his chest a warm pillow. She wanted to stay like this forever.
He kissed her hair again, lightly, and used his forefinger to trace the shape of her lingering smile. He inquired gently, "Do you want to make love again, Katie, or do you want to try to go back to sleep?"
No one had ever asked her that in precisely that way before. Granted, her experience was not enormous, but it struck Kate as incredibly loving, the way he asked. As though it were a shared experience, never to be demanded by one partner or the other. As though if she said yes, he would enjoy it, but if she said no, he wouldn't mind.
She didn't realize that her arm tightened around his waist in a fractional, adoring pressure as she answered softly, "No. I'd really like you to just hold me for a while. We don't have to talk anymore. I just like lying like this."
"So do I," he whispered, and stroked her hair, tenderly, one more time.
They stayed that way, not talking, just holding each other, until Kate fell asleep.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Kate had only afternoon office hours, though she still wanted to make rounds at the hospital. If Kevin's phone had been connected, she would have been more than tempted to simply call in her orders at the hospital and spend more time with Kevin. But then she decided it was just as well. She had no intention of letting this love affair disrupt her routine, and it was best not to get too attached to Kevin and the time they spent together. They shared an idyll, something that only the most bizarre of times and circumstances could have created, but no rational person would believe for a moment that it could last. And Kate was very rational.
They made oatmeal and toast and took it out to the deck that overlooked the lake, breakfasting in the sunshine and lazy morning companionability. "Doesn't it make you feel strange," Kate inquired after a time, gazing out over the brilhant serenity of water and spring-blooming shrubs, "to be enjoying all this while there's a whole world out there going crazy? I mean, there are a million things I should be doing. E
veryone else in this town is frantically trying to put the pieces of their lives back together, but I'm sitting here looking at the lake and pretending like nothing else matters."
"It doesn't make me feel a bit strange," Kevin answered. They were sitting side by side in redwood deck chairs, and he reached across and held her hand, letting their entwined fingers swing lightly between the chairs. "There's always a world going crazy out there, Katie. The trick is to keep your world halfway sane."
That was a typical Kevin remark, at the same time both reassuring and disturbing. Reassuring because for the first time in many days he had said something that didn't surprise her and disturbing because it only illuminated once again the chasm of personality differences that separated them. Kate could never adopt such a relaxed, self-centered attitude toward life and the people who surrounded her. And she had never approved of it in Kevin.
"What about your folks?" she said. "I thought you were on your way to see them."
He shrugged, gazing at the lake. "I call them every day. I'm going to wait till the shoulder heals until I go down there, though. You know Mom; she makes such a big-budget production out of everything, and she'd drive me crazy, fussing over me. If she doesn't know, that's one less thing I have to worry about."
Kate glanced at him in amusement. "One less thing? What else, pray tell, do you have to worry about?"
He gave her a relaxed grin, stretching his legs out before him. He was wearing only a pair of dark running shorts, and Kate couldn't help admiring the shape of his legs. Long and tanned, with each muscle and tendon perfectly defined, they were the epitome of relaxed masculine strength.
After The Storm (Men Made in America-- Mississippi) Page 17