“Wanda—my whole house is out. How about you?”
“Well, I’m living in the den,” Wanda said. “My bedroom reminds me of Lake Erie. But I’m fine, and I guess I’m going to make it, but oh, is it miserable! Katie, my store doesn’t exist anymore! I have no home and no business.”
“You were insured, right?”
“Yes, and things will come around, I’m sure, it’s just that for the moment… Well, I wake up, then I sweat for a while, and then I cry and sweat for awhile, and then I cry harder because I feel so guilty—I know I could be so much worse off!”
“Wanda, it’s a tough time. And it’s going to be a tough time.”
Wanda lowered her voice. “There’s one good thing that has come from it all.”
“Oh?”
“The people in my neighborhood association got together to hire an off-duty policeman to watch the area during the evenings. And he’s very nice and very good-looking.”
Katie grinned. “Well, I’m glad.”
“What about you? What are you going to do? Oh, Katie! We can’t even meet for lunch—there isn’t any place to have lunch.”
“Broward County,” Katie said.
“If you could only get there!”
Katie thought she heard a car coming into the driveway. “Wanda, take care, and I’ll call you again soon, okay?”
“But Katie, where are you? What are you doing?”
“I’m staying with a neighbor, right across the street. I’m in good shape. I’ll talk to you soon, promise.”
She hung up before Wanda could start asking her questions she definitely didn’t want to answer with Drew Cunningham coming home.
She stood and waited for him to come up the walk, looking through the peephole then opening the door when he neared the house. She saw him a moment before he saw her. She was startled by the look of bleak exhaustion in his eyes, and she wanted to reach out to him.
She was living with him—but she wasn’t that close to him, she reminded herself.
And then, when he saw her, the look was gone, camouflaged behind his smile.
“You waited up.”
“It’s the least I can do. I have dinner waiting,” she said.
He came in, closed the door and leaned against it. “I could get to like this arrangement,” he told her.
She turned quickly, feeling a flush coming to her cheeks, afraid to tell him that she was beginning to like the arrangement herself and that she was beginning to feel far too at home in his house.
“Can I shower first?” he asked her. “I’ve been working with the roofers down the street, Seth’s house. It isn’t quite so bad as yours, only one area of the roof was swept away, and they’re anxious to get back in. I think they’ll be able to do so soon.”
Katie paused by the entry to the dining room and kitchen, turning to him.
“Great!” she told him.
She went into the kitchen. He went up the stairs. She set the table attractively for one, then gave them both a wineglass and lit the Sterno to heat the ham and vegetables. When he came down, she set the plate before him.
“Thanks,” he said. “You’re not joining me.”
“I ate with Jordan.”
“It’s delicious,” he told her, taking a bite of the ham.
She smiled. “Thanks. Jordan ate his dinner and told me he couldn’t wait to get back to Burger King.”
Drew laughed. He poured the wine and sat back, sipping his, watching Katie. She felt herself growing very warm. She sipped her own wine.
“How did your photos come out?”
“Wonderful—horrible,” she told him.
He nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. “What are you going to do with them?”
“Send them to some of the papers and magazines,” she said. “If I can get to a post office.”
“I know the South Miami branch is open. We can drive up tomorrow if you want.”
“I can drive myself,” she reminded him.
“I don’t mind—”
“Right, but if you don’t spend half the day playing chauffeur to me, you won’t have to stay out all night.”
“Some of these guys prefer working at night—it isn’t so hot. They’re used to working in the sun, but then, they’re used to getting into air-conditioning and cold sodas or beers afterward. There’s a lot going on at night.”
“And I imagine night will be prime feeding time for mosquitoes pretty soon.”
“Mosquitoes—they’re already worried about a rat problem, as well,” he murmured.
“We are getting an awful lot of trash built up already,” she agreed.
It was strange. She felt herself growing warm all over again, just because he was watching her. They had fallen into an incredibly domestic pattern very quickly and very easily. She still didn’t know much of anything about him—his life before the storm was a blank—but she felt more and more comfortable with him…
More and more intrigued by him, more fascinated.
More drawn…
“Well!” she said suddenly. “I think I’ll go on up to bed. Jordan went to sleep really early—especially for Jordan. He must be trying to catch up. I’ll do the same.”
She stood. He didn’t stop her. He continued to watch her, though, and he smiled slightly, his dark lashes lowering. “No movie tonight? We could see half the classics before this is over.”
“No movie tonight,” she said softly. She started to turn. His fingers suddenly fell on her hand where she had been holding the back of her chair.
“You’re not afraid of being with me suddenly, are you, Katie?”
“Afraid? Of course not.”
“Oh.”
“Should I be?” she found herself asking.
He shrugged, smiling again. “No, you shouldn’t be, but you are. As soon as we get close, you start retreating.” His voice grew soft, deep, low … sensual. He stood, meeting her eyes with a certain challenge in the golden depths of his. “And I haven’t felt quite so right with anyone in a long, long time.”
Katie felt as if her breath had caught somewhere deep in her chest. She couldn’t find her voice immediately.
“I barely know you.”
“I barely know you. I like what I know.”
“I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know if I’m intruding on anyone else’s relationship, I—”
“I’ll make it easy. I’ve been around some. I was married briefly, ten years ago. I was involved in a relationship that split up about a year ago. I’ve dated since, but no one seriously. Your turn. Tell me about yourself.”
“I’m an open book,” she said softly.
He arched a brow. “You haven’t been serious with anyone since—your husband passed away?”
She shook her head. She wasn’t sure if all the blood had drained from her face or if a ton of it had rushed into her cheeks. She felt as if she was burning. And she was afraid. Of herself, of him, of the way the conversation was going.
“I—I really need some sleep,” she said, almost desperately.
He nodded, watching her, “Sure. Go on up.”
She turned, then turned back. “I forgot to say thank you—”
“You don’t need to thank me. I keep telling you that.”
“Thanks anyway,” she murmured, and left the kitchen.
She took her flashlight and made it up the stairs almost blindly. She hurried into her room, closed the door and leaned against it.
Her heart was hammering. She turned off her flashlight, set it down and stood in the darkness.
In a few minutes, she heard him coming up the stairs.
She didn’t know what she was doing; she didn’t know at all. But she suddenly opened her door and went into the hallway. The slimmest rays of moonlight seemed to illuminate it. She couldn’t see his features, only his silhouette as he stood there before her.
“Katie?” he murmured softly, coming toward her. “Are you all right?”
She could feel
his heat, almost as if he touched her with it across the foot of space that separated them. In the pale moonglow she could see the contours and shadows of his handsome features, the way a damp lock of hair hung over his forehead. She could breathe in the subtle scent of him, masculine, clean … alluring.
“Katie?”
“Yes!” she whispered. “I’m—fine.”
“Can you see all right?”
“I—don’t need to see,” she told him. And yet she stood there.
She had been afraid, so she had run away.
Now she was afraid again, so she couldn’t come forward.
She didn’t need to.
“Katie,” he said, very softly.
And she hadn’t moved; she was certain she hadn’t moved.
Yet suddenly…
She was in his arms. And it seemed that the moonglow was raining down on them.
And indeed, she could see all that she needed to see.
Chapter 6
Katie wondered vaguely if she needed the darkness, the shadows and the moonlight. Perhaps she could never have done this in daylight or anything other than the pale moonglow that seemed to add a touch of magic and timelessness to the night.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t see him. She could. When her eyes were open, at least. But she closed her eyes as he kissed her in the hallway, closed her eyes and felt the raw burst of desire with which his lips touched her, the hunger with which he parted them, the passion with which his tongue touched her, swept her mouth. The fever seemed to sweep through her, melting, sweet, touching her lips, radiating down the length of her until she felt liquid.
So this is what it felt like to be touched by him. To know the feel of his hand at her nape, at the small of her back. Caressing her cheek and throat as his lips touched her…
But then his lips broke from hers, and his eyes seemed a pure and glittering gold in the moonlight. His breath escaped with a shuddering sound, but he forced her to look at him in the hallway, to meet the hard, handsome contours of his face and the demand within his eyes.
“Is this what you want?” he whispered tensely.
Was it what she wanted? No, she had wanted the right person to come along, to fall absolutely in love with Jordan, to fall absolutely in love with her, to picnic with her, go to the movies, have dinner, maybe go bowling, come around again and again as the months swept by until she knew it was right…
She hadn’t wanted to long for an almost stranger with this sizzle of fire that defied all thought and logic.
“Katie?” He would let her go, she knew. Let her walk away, close the door. And he would close his own. No matter how much desire she felt in the arms that held her, no matter what the tension, the hunger in himself.
“Go to bed, Katie,” he said softly. His fingers brushed her cheek.
He turned and started walking away from her. She stood there for the briefest second of indecision, then she ran after him.
He turned just as she went into his arms. She cupped his face, liking the just slightly rough feel of his cheeks between her palms, finding his lips swiftly, hungrily, with her own. She pressed hard against him, loving the strength of his chest, deeply aware of the subtle, arousing, masculine scent of him. She kissed his lips hard, then teased them with a flick of her tongue, delved within them again, searched, played and hungered all the more.
She suddenly found herself off her feet, in his arms, and meeting the hard glitter of his eyes in the moonlight once again. “Katie…”
“Last chance,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on his. Then she couldn’t find the rest of the words she had to say, and merely whispered, “Please.”
It was the right word. Swift footsteps and long strides brought them to his door, opened with the nudge of his foot. The moonglow was brighter here, for the boards were down and the French doors that opened to the balcony over the pool area had been thrown open, welcoming the night breeze and the magic of the moonlight.
His room was handsome, striking, masculine. A huge four-poster bed in dark wood faced the open doors. It was covered in a maroon and black patterned comforter, with a pile of satiny black pillows at the headboard. His furniture was deep, rich, hard-wood, with a maroon Berber carpet beneath the bed and walls painted in peach that opened the room and saved it from too much darkness.
But the rest of the room blurred. Katie saw the expanse of the bed, the open windows, the moon.
And she saw his face again as he laid her down on the bed, then rose above her.
She wished he’d kiss her again. That he’d come down beside her. That they might shed their clothing while touching, while holding onto the mystery and the sweet impulse. She wished he wouldn’t insist on questions…
But he did.
He stood above her, stripping his knit shirt over his head. She stared at his shoulders, his bronze chest, the taut ripple of muscle at his abdomen. The fever took flight within her. He shed his shoes, his socks…
“Katie, I want you to know what you’re doing—with whom,” he told her.
She felt her cheeks color. “I can go back to your guest room if you like.”
He was before her again, his tension bringing a whipcord tightness to his shoulders and chest. He lifted her chin to bring her eyes to his.
“I don’t want you to be sorry. You don’t know me that well. No regrets on this. No turning back.”
“Can’t we just have sex?” she tried to say lightly.
But he shook his head. “No regrets. No recriminations,” he insisted.
“No regrets,” she whispered hoarsely.
He unzipped his jeans, and the sound sent tremors streaking through her.
He stepped from them, easily, naturally, bringing his briefs along with them.
Everything on him was hard and tight and exceptionally aroused. Her eyes immediately fell to the new area of his nakedness, then rose swiftly again, all the color coming back to her cheeks. How strange! She wanted to make love, quickly, desperately, and she still didn’t want him to know that she was staring at him. Just days ago they had been strangers, and now he was stark naked just inches away from her.
Not inches away. He swept her into his arms again, stripping the comforter from the bed. She felt his naked flesh against her own, felt each ripple of muscle, each touch against her. Then she found herself lying beneath him, and he was raised above her, legs draped over her.
“One last thing,” he told her.
“What?” she asked, swallowing. A part of her wanted to run away in embarrassment.
Another part, a stronger part, knew that she couldn’t bear to do so, that it was wonderful to be here, to watch him and try not to watch him, to feel his body against her own.
“Just say, ‘Andrew Cunningham, I want you to make love to me. I’ll want it in the morning just as badly as I want it now.’”
“Drew, that’s not fair,” she began, but she broke off as his features tautened and tensed and a small, wry smile curved his lip.
“Why not? I can say it.” His hands smoothed her ribs as he spoke, over the terry of her robe, the cotton of her gown. The friction of the material against her flesh seemed exotic. His moving palm came over her breast, the fullness of it, the nipple. The feel of it brought a catch to her throat. Her lips went dry, her breath came too quickly. And the sound of his voice added richly to every sweet touch of fire that stroked its way through her. “I wanted you from the moment I first touched you. From the very second I picked you up—”
“Out of the mud?” she asked breathlessly.
“Hey, some people like mud,” he teased softly. But then the smile faded, and all she saw was the golden glow in his eyes as he continued. “I wanted you then, when your clothing was against you like a second skin. I wanted you later, when you were freshly showered, dressed in my robe, and I wanted you later, when you were fully dressed. I want you now, and I know that come morning, I’ll never try to delude myself that the storm, the darkness, the moon in the night had anything
to do with it.”
His hand moved while he spoke. Slow, erotic, above the fabric still, yet using the fabric to make every motion more sensual.
“Long-winded, aren’t you?” she asked him.
“I want the words, Katie.”
She slipped her arms around him, holding tight, burying her face against his chest. “I want you, Andrew Cunningham. And I won’t regret anything in the morning. I—”
That was it. It seemed he had talked for so long. Suddenly, he wasn’t talking anymore, and he didn’t seem to need any more words from her. His lips fell upon hers with a passion that was staggering, sweeping away her breath, her thoughts. His fingers were on the tie of her robe, undoing it swiftly and deftly. His lips left hers for her throat, and he started on the tiny buttons of her nightgown, his fingers amazingly dexterous. The gown slipped from her shoulders. His lips touched her flesh where it was bare. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. His fingers swept beneath the hem of the gown, and the rough, erotic feel of his palm swept up her thigh, fingers stroking the soft inner flesh, curling into the elastic of her bikini panties.
But he didn’t strip them away. His lips left her flesh, and he was sitting, reaching for her. “I really wanted you when I was finding all your silky things thrown around your room,” he murmured. “I wanted to see them on you…”
He slipped the robe from her shoulders. He tried to pull the cotton gown from her body, but her weight was on it. “You could help,” he whispered.
“What? Oh!” But it didn’t matter, because he swept her up, dragged the gown away, and this time, when he came down upon her, she felt the smooth heat of his flesh against her own, and the sheer pleasure and intimacy of it nearly made her weep aloud.
His fingers threaded through hers. His lips touched down on hers, on her throat, on her lips once again.
His tongue found the peak of her breast. Her breath caught. A gasp escaped her. He played with the hardening tip of her nipple, laving, touching, wetting, teasing, taking it fully into his mouth.
His head moved lower against her body, his tongue slipping into her navel, trailing to her hip. Her fingers tore into his hair. She discovered her body writhing against his in a sweet, natural rhythm of its own. She’d forgotten so much, and yet…
The Trouble with Andrew Page 9