by Phoebe Conn
He laughed. “How long have you thought that?”
She bounced her knuckles down the hard planes of his belly. “Since the first time I saw you, but now I’ve discovered you also have great abs.”
He caught her hands. “So it’s just a physical thing?”
The question caught Catherine off guard, and for one painful instant, the memory of Sam’s loving threatened to overwhelm her in a tumbling wave of sorrow. She pressed against Luke to keep her husband’s ghost at bay.
“Chemistry is a wonderful thing,” she began hesitantly, “but I hope there’s more between us.”
He slid his hands through her hair to tilt her mouth up to his. “I can’t find the words to describe this magic,” he whispered, and his deep kiss made further speech irrelevant.
She drank in his affection and returned it eagerly. She loved his strength and the sinewy feel of his well-toned body. She was naturally slender, but he’d run the last ounce of fat from his muscular frame. She slid her fingers into his pocket to withdraw several condoms and set them on the nightstand beside a box of tissues. She unbuckled his belt, then unbuttoned his Levi’s to free his sex. He was hot and heavy in her hands, and she dropped to her knees to taste him.
Luke could stand only a few seconds of her provocative kiss before he had to pull her up into his arms. “Any more of that, and you’ll push me over the edge.”
“You won’t fall far,” she promised.
“I still want to take you with me.” Luke had already kicked off his loafers, and he sat on the side of the high brass bed to remove his pants. He was wearing black knit boxers, and he peeled them off and tossed them on the growing heap of clothes strewn across the convenient chair.
She was so intent upon watching him, she failed to discard the rest of her clothing until he looked up to send her a questioning glance.
She didn’t feel the least bit awkward with him, merely fascinated to have him there and find him such a warm and tender lover. She stepped out of her skirt and slip, and he reached out to grab the waistband of her panties. With an easy tug, he coaxed the satiny pair down her thighs. She quickly stepped out of them.
“Had I known you’d be in such an affectionate mood,” she confided in a sultry whisper, “I wouldn’t have bothered with underwear.”
“Mrs. Brooks,” Luke scolded, but whatever else he’d meant to say was lost in a roll of deep laughter.
She pushed him back on the bed and crawled up over him to brush the tips of her breasts across his chest. “Don’t we know each other well enough for you to call me Catherine?”
Rather than reply, he slid his hands around her waist and rolled over with her clutched tightly in his arms. He kissed her until she was again breathless, then licked a meandering trail over the soft fullness of her breasts and down across the inviting hollow at her hipbones. He combed her soft bush, then shoved her legs apart with his shoulder. He slid his tongue along her moist cleft, then with a graceful precision found her clitoris.
He eased two fingers inside her and stroked in time with his slow, sweet lapping until her inner muscles began to spasm. Deliberately leaving her on the brink of release, he raised himself up to slip on a condom and positioned himself between her thighs.
“Now I know you well enough, Catherine.”
His first thrust was shallow, but she rolled her hips to take him deeper, and his next thrust stretched her with an intoxicating warmth that he stoked with each successive lunge. Once buried deep within her, he stretched out, and with his weight balanced on his elbows, he remained perfectly still.
She wrapped her legs around his thighs to bridge the last separation between them. Close in height, she savored the feel of his hair-roughened skin along the whole length of her body. He dipped his head, and her own exotic taste flavored that kiss and the next, and then she was so lost in him she could only moan as he began to move with a slow, slyly teasing rhythm.
She clung to him to encourage more, and as his breathing grew ragged, he quickened his pace to fill her with a fiery heat that sent her spiraling through a climax so intense it bordered pain. Their passions perfectly matched, she uttered a joyous cry as echoing waves of pleasure coiled through her and tore through him.
Awash in bliss, she floated down from their tangle of shared ecstasy and fell asleep with her head cradled on his shoulder. When she awakened hours later, he was wrapped around her still and gently combing her hair through his fingers.
Unable to devise a compliment that would do him justice, she was satisfied to simply snuggle deeper into his embrace. “Do you suppose we could go out on a date sometime?”
Luke yawned sleepily. “I remember dates. I’d have to wash my car, iron a shirt, buy you flowers. Do you like holding hands in the movies?”
“Hmm, I sure do.”
“How about romantic dinners in candle-lit restaurants where we’d eat each other’s entrees without noticing the waiter has mixed up our orders?”
“I’ve done that,” Catherine recalled dreamily.
“Moonlit drives along the beach?”
“That would be nice too.”
Luke hugged her tight. “For now, I just want to lie here and pretend nothing else matters.”
She understood him completely. “It doesn’t,” she assured him, and when he turned toward her, she expected the loving to be even better the second time, and incredibly, she wasn’t disappointed.
The first faint rays of dawn had just begun to lighten the room when Smoky’s insistent meow woke Catherine from an exhausted slumber. The irate tomcat was outside on the roof, peering through the window to noisily protest the fact he’d been forgotten. Chagrined to have completely overlooked her beloved pet, she slipped from Luke’s embrace to feed him.
She pulled on a silk robe, then paused at the doorway to appreciate just how comfortable Luke looked in her rumpled bed. The tension that so often marred his expression had been soothed away, and he appeared years younger.
Believing sex was most definitely a delicious fountain of youth, she went downstairs to feed Smoky, brought in the Los Angeles Times, and made coffee before she ventured back upstairs. When she found Luke had already gotten dressed and made her bed, she forced a smile and handed him a mug of coffee.
“I didn’t know if you took cream or sugar.”
“No, thanks, black is fine.” Luke nodded toward the framed photograph atop her dresser. “Is that your husband?”
Sam had been tall and blond with a grin that never failed to melt her heart. It had been months before she’d been able to glance at the precious photograph without sobbing. Now, she strove to remember the love rather than the eventual pain.
“Yes, that was taken in Las Vegas on our wedding day. My parents were nearly forty when I was born. My father was a history professor at USC and my inspiration to become a teacher. He was a wonderful man, but he had a weak heart. By the time Sam and I became engaged, he was quite ill, and we didn’t want a big showy wedding when neither of my parents would have been able to truly enjoy it. So, with their blessing, Sam and I eloped.
“I wanted an Elvis impersonator, but Sam insisted upon a much more tasteful ceremony.” She adjusted the placement of the photograph and wished with all her heart she’d known how brief their time together would be. “We had a wonderful marriage.”
“You were lucky, then.” Luke sipped his coffee, but his eyes were on Catherine rather than the charming photograph. He had shaved before coming to her house last night, and his beard barely shadowed his cheeks.
He seemed ready to go, but Catherine would have preferred to keep him in bed all day. “Would you like some breakfast?” she asked.
“You’re undoubtedly a marvelous cook, but I need to go home, clean up, and get to work. Are you coming in today?”
“Looks like we’re right back to where we began with my schedule.” She led the way downstairs, then took his mug and set it on the table in the entryway. She still felt warm all over and much too lazy to leave home.
She could barely find the energy to swing open the front door.
“No, not today,” she replied. “After last night, I’d be too distracted to get anything done.”
Luke leaned in to kiss her good-bye. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“Good, it was meant to be.”
She remained at the open door until he’d driven away, but after closing it, she leaned back against the polished wood and slid down to the floor in a disjointed heap. She was happy clear to her toes, but while Luke had been quite pleasantly relaxed that morning, he’d left without expressing any hope of seeing her outside of Lost Angel.
Perhaps he’d forgotten their late night conversation about dating, or maybe her wistful memories of Sam had put him off, but he’d soon wear out his welcome if all he wanted was sex. Joyce dismissed such rude men as “Midnight Creepers”, and while her friend had run into more than her share, Catherine wouldn’t tolerate even one.
While Luke certainly had a healthy appetite for sex, so did she, but she’d never trusted condoms. She wondered if it wouldn’t be wise to go back on the pill. But after all the years of avoiding pregnancy, the possibility of an unplanned baby was almost irresistibly sweet. She harbored little hope that Luke’s response would be as positive, however, for after losing his only child, she doubted he’d welcome another.
It was a wrenching thought, but Luke was simply too vulnerable for their future to be forecast with any accuracy, and yet she felt a compelling need to know just what was possible. She’d prided herself on learning to live in the moment; but while it brought fleeting comfort, after one night with Luke, she needed more.
Embarrassed to feel so pathetically needy, she shoved herself to her feet and tightened her belt. One wild night didn’t mean Luke and she would fall in love and remain together, but that she could even entertain such an intriguing possibility gave her hope that one day Luke could too.
The heavy volume of commuter traffic demanded Luke’s complete attention on the way home, but once he’d stepped into his shower and turned on the water full-blast, he began to shake. Grief had numbed his emotions for so long, but last night he’d felt a hell of a lot more than mere lust.
Catherine had such a deceptively innocent gaze, he’d never expected her to be so abandoned in bed. Nor had he displayed a shred of reserve himself. And now what? he agonized. Seize the moment, or back off before it was too late?
“Oh, hell, it’s already too late.” He propped his arms against the tile and let the water pound down on his shoulders, but all he got for his efforts was wet. He might be able to wash off the lingering traces of Catherine’s seductive scent, but her endearing presence remained coiled around his heart. He could still feel the sweetness of her caress and hear her soft moans of surrender. Best of all was the memory of how gracefully she’d welcomed him into her bed.
Stubbornly refusing to allow his thoughts to drift in that enticing direction, he shut off the water and grabbed a towel. Catherine Brooks invited all manner of entertaining daydreams, but he resisted making plans for the real world beyond a single day. She deserved better. Hell, so did he, but he no longer trusted life to be good.
The problem was, now that he’d tasted Catherine’s delicious affection, he ached for more, but it disgusted him to offer no more than eventual disaster in return. If he possessed an ounce of character, he knew he should be brutally honest with her now.
He didn’t want another wife, nor could he bear to father another child who might go skipping off to school one day and never come home. He could see it all so clearly. It might take a year or even two before his refusal to consider marriage and family would force Catherine to end their affair with pain-choked sobs, but the day would surely come.
It would be better to blow it all apart right now. He wiped the fog from the mirror with a hand towel and stared at his reflection, but all he saw were eyes so shadowed by loss that he wondered if Catherine hadn’t already guessed the truth he’d kept so well-hidden last night.
In his present dark mood, he’d be lucky to shave without cutting his throat, and it was a damn good thing that Catherine wouldn’t be volunteering today. He’d barely lathered his cheeks, however, before the brief sense of relief turned to despair. He missed her already, but he was determined to do the honorable thing just as soon as he could speak the words.
Catherine was weeding the backyard flower beds when Joyce knocked lightly on the gate. “Are you busy?” she called. “I need help.”
Catherine stood, brushed off her knees and yanked off her gardening gloves. “Come on in. The weeds will wait. What’s the problem?”
Joyce reached over the gate to flip up the latch and let herself in. “It’s Wednesday, and I still haven’t called Shane. If I wait any longer, it’ll look as though he’s my last resort.”
“God forbid. Would you like some lemonade?”
“Thank you, I sure need something.” Joyce flopped down at the patio table and waited for Catherine to bring the refreshments. The flavorful beverage was as cold and sweet as expected, but when Catherine raised her glass, Joyce noticed a purple smear on her middle fingernail.
“I’ve always admired your poise. Please tell me that you didn’t slam your finger in a door.”
“Sorry, but that’s exactly what I did, and it wasn’t only stupid, but painful.”
“I’ll bet, but where’s your wedding ring?”
A white band marked its usual place on her finger, and suddenly self-conscious, Catherine dropped her hands into her lap. “I decided it was time to remove it, and as I left the bedroom, I pulled the door shut behind me and caught my finger.”
“Sounds like a cosmic message to me,” Joyce exclaimed. When Catherine responded with a puzzled frown, she sat forward in her chair. “You made the decision to take off your ring, enter the next phase of your life, if you will. But part of you, perhaps subconsciously, clings to the past, and wham, you’re given a painful reminder that every choice has its price.”
Because Catherine had already linked the two events in her mind, Joyce’s comment made perfect sense. “Frankly, I thought it was Sam. Even if I can let go, it might be too soon for him.”
“I hadn’t considered Sam,” Joyce admitted, “but I’ll concede the possibility. Now tell me who prompted you to remove your ring.”
“First call Shane,” Catherine directed smoothly. “Use your cell phone.”
Annoyed to be reminded of the man, Joyce began to rummage in her oversized purse. “That’s why I’m here. I need you to tell me what to say.”
“This is scarcely a challenge. You’ll probably get his service or answering machine. Just give your name and number, invite him to the opening, and wait for his response.”
Joyce fumbled with his card then set it on the glass-topped table to dial with a fuchsia-tipped nail. “Hello, may I please speak with Shane?”
Catherine flashed an okay sign and sipped her lemonade. Joyce appeared to be handling the call calmly, but Catherine understood her apprehension and hoped Shane would be pleased to hear from her.
After a brief exchange, Joyce ended the call and slapped her cell phone shut. “That was his mother.” She moaned. “If she actually gives him the message, what are the odds that he’ll return my call?”
“If she answers his business telephone, she must be capable of forwarding a message. At any rate, I’m proud of you for trying. If Shane doesn’t respond, go to the opening alone. Maybe you’ll meet someone interesting there.”
Hunched over her purse, Joyce looked uttered crushed. “I should have kept count of the times I’ve done that and found every man in the room with his wife.” She consoled herself with a long sip of lemonade before she recalled Catherine owed her an answer.
“So, what’s his name?” she asked.
Catherine had already decided just how little she wished to reveal. “Luke Starns, he’s the director of Lost Angel, and I wouldn’t have met him had I not been so insistent about becoming a volunteer.”
Joyce’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Can you describe him in a single word?”
“How would you describe Shane?”
“Hot!”
Luke was definitely hot, but Catherine believed he deserved more than the provocative adjective implied. “Intense,” she said instead.
“Oh, lord. Please tell me he’s not one of those dark, brooding types.”
That was part of Luke too, but Catherine shook her head. “He’s complex, but he knows how to laugh.”
“And from the width of your enigmatic smile, he knows a lot more. I don’t suppose he’s in his twenties, is he?”
“No, late thirties. Now don’t you have appointments to keep or fabric to order this afternoon?”
Joyce checked her watch and leapt from her chair. “Damn, I procrastinated longer than I’d thought. I’ll let you know what happens with Shane.”
“Please do.”
Catherine finished her lemonade before going back to work on the flower beds. When she next took a break, she carried her book on CBEST test preparation outside to study. She wasn’t worried about passing the sections of the exam devoted to reading and writing skills, but it had been quite awhile since she’d taken a math class.
She’d just begun to study the book’s chapter on algebra when the telephone rang, and she hurried inside to answer. When she heard Luke’s voice, she leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed her legs.
“How are things at Lost Angel today?” she asked.
“Pretty good, actually. If you’re free Saturday night, I’d like to take you out to dinner.”
“Are you suggesting a real date?”
“That’s my intention.”
“Then I’m most definitely available.” She glanced at the calendar on the counter and wished he’d wanted to see her that very night rather than wait until the weekend.
“If you’ll come in tomorrow,” Luke coaxed, “we can tour the neighborhood. I’d like to show you the most promising possibilities for the mural.”