The Burning Point

by Mary Jo Putney

  She was reaching for the doorknob when he drew her into a kiss. After a moment she pulled away. "You're in a very oral mood, and you know what that means."

  "More wild sex?" he asked hopefully.

  She tossed him the other terry robe. "Time to call room service and get some food up here."

  And what could be better than a quiet evening together, secure in the knowledge of the waiting bed?

  Later he couldn't remember what they talked about over their meal; he only knew that he was more content than he'd ever been in his life. Or perhaps when they were married he'd been content, but he hadn't recognized the feeling until it was gone.

  Gradually he realized that Kate didn't fully share his mood. While she was pleasant and didn't avoid his frequent touches, she spoke little and there was a shadow in her dark eyes that he couldn't read. He caught her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and drawing her close. "Is it still lady's choice?"

  She skimmed his face with her fingertips. "Your turn to take charge, I think."

  He untied her sash with a tug. "You know what I want to initiate."

  "In some ways, you haven't changed at all." A roll of her shoulders dislodged the robe. One whole wall was mirrored, creating two Kates, a multiplication of riches.

  Desire flared with unbearable heat. He felt as if he'd been dying in the desert for almost ten years, and his thirst for her could never be slaked. Cupping her face between his hands, he kissed her again and again, drinking in her essence until fever heat blazed through them both.

  Then he swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, laying her on the lace-draped bed. In the candle-lit darkness, he used skill and patience and intimate knowledge to keep her on the edge of culmination until she wept with urgency.

  They came together like wild creatures, rolling and writhing, losing and finding themselves together until all strength was drained and they lay panting in each other's arms. Yet though his body was sated, inside was an ache that wouldn't go away.

  He rolled to his side and cradled her spoon style. It was so good to hold her that he was tempted to keep silent, to deny what his instincts were telling him. But there could be no future in avoiding the truth. Softly he said, "You're not quite all here, are you?"

  "Maybe...I'm as here as I can be. Some pieces seem to be permanently missing."

  The piece called love? He nestled his face against her silky hair, inhaling a lingering scent of roses. "Are you still afraid of me?"

  "I...I'm not afraid of you, exactly. More like...unnerved."

  Despite her tactful reply, she clearly still felt some fear. He hated that she was afraid of him, yet he couldn't blame her. "I'd like to be able to swear I've outgrown dangerous anger. But I don't think I can. All I can promise is that I won't strike out. But physical blows aren't always the worst, are they?"

  "Too true. Trust is such a fragile thing. Easy to break, impossible, perhaps, to ever mend."

  Her quiet words struck like nails being hammered into a coffin. For a few hours, he'd felt that the past had been resolved, that all that remained was working out the details of fitting their lives together again.

  That hope had just collapsed. He tightened his arm around her waist. "I love you, Kate. That's never going to change."

  She turned her face into the pillow, and he realized she was crying. Gently he rubbed her midriff with a slow, circling motion, wanting to dissolve the tension he felt in her. "Are things that bad, cara? Surely not."

  "I'm a coward still, Patrick. You're so much a part of me. When you're cut, I bleed. But if I were to stay with you, it would destroy me. I can't imagine spending the rest of this year living together as lovers, then walking away. Yet now that we've slept together, how can we live under the same roof and not do it again? I...I think I should go back to California now, before things get any worse."

  He couldn't lose her now. Not again.

  He turned her so that she was facing him, drawing her close and rocking her a little. "Don't act in haste, Kate. We've come so far in two months. Further, I think, than either of us dreamed possible. Give us time."

  She didn't reply, but she didn't turn away. As he held her to his heart, he took comfort in that thought.

  She didn't turn away.

  Chapter 37

  Kate lay sheltered by a warm, solid body when the phone jolted her from sleep. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and to recognize that this wasn't a dream.

  Brrring! She grabbed at the phone. "Hello?"

  Luther Hairston's voice asked, "Is Donovan there, Katie?"

  The clock said it wasn't yet 5:00 A. M., and she and Luther were in the same time zone. Something must be badly wrong. "Yes, but if this is business, I'm interested, too."

  "It's business. There's been a gas explosion at Concord Place."

  "Damn! I'll get Donovan right away."

  She flipped on the bedside lamp. Holding the receiver against a pillow, she said, "It's Luther. Gas explosion at Concord Place. I'll get on the extension."

  She scooped up a fallen terry robe on her way to the living room, yanking it on without stopping. Behind her, Donovan swore under his breath, then lifted the receiver. "Anyone hurt, Luther?"

  On the desk phone, Kate heard, "No, praise be. Building Four was messed up pretty bad, though. About a third of the structure collapsed, and the part still standing is unstable as a house of cards. It'll have to come down right away."

  "Was the explosion accidental?" Donovan asked.

  "The fire marshal's office has only just started to investigate, so who knows? Gas lines do blow now and then."

  "But given the problems on that project, you think otherwise."

  "Does seem like an almighty coincidence. The gas company turned off service to the building when the tenants left, but it wouldn't have been that hard to turn back on."

  Could this be related to the other problems PDI had experienced? Since the protesters had wanted to save Concord Place, Kate couldn't imagine why one of them would try to blow the place up. But an anonymous explosives junkie who had brought down the Jefferson Arms and killed Sam might be itching to do more damage.

  Kate asked, "When can we get inside Building Four and start to work?"

  "Probably not until tomorrow. But I've already heard from the mayor's office. They're going to want that building down about ten minutes later, if not before," Luther said. "The mayor wanted this project to be a public relations plus, not a black eye."

  "By the end of today, I should be done with the explosives plan for the Hotel St. Cyr, so I can fly home this evening," Donovan said. "Kate can stay in Atlanta and supervise the prep work tomorrow. If I recall the master schedule correctly, Ted will finish his job in Chicago tomorrow afternoon. He can fly here afterward and take over at the hotel so Kate can come home."

  "Musical chairs." Kate made notes on a pad. Luckily, Sam's will had allowed Charles to make allowances for temporary separations like this one. "I'll call Janie's voice mail so she can get to work on the plane tickets when the office opens."

  After a few more minutes of shop talk, Luther hung up. From the bedroom, Donovan said, "I suppose before setting schedules, I should have asked if you're even going to be on the Eastern Seaboard."

  She sat on the bed next to him. "I once read that the flight or fight response is hard-wired into us, and a person doesn't know if she's a runner or a fighter until danger threatens. Based on the evidence, I have a flight response that would do a jackrabbit proud. Whenever I panic, the urge to head for the far horizon is almost irresistible. But I can't run away with everything unresolved. Not again."

  "Thank God for that." His hand dropped over hers in a warm clasp.

  "My staying doesn't mean everything is all right, Patrick. I...I really don't think it will ever be all right."

  "Are you saying that you can't ever love me again?"

  Her gaze dropped to their joined hands. His was large and callused, several shades darker than hers. A very capabl
e hand. One that had hurt a lot when it struck.

  Yet he had learned to deal with the demons that had driven him to abuse. Though he'd lost his temper several times in the last weeks, he'd always calmed down quickly without doing anything physical. But...

  "I don't know if I'm capable of letting go enough to fall in love," she said. "The mere thought of 'falling' makes me think of hitting bottom. Hard."

  "Love doesn't always hit bottom. Sometimes it soars forever."

  "More often it doesn't."

  He didn't pursue her statement any further, for which she was grateful. Saying she was afraid of an abyss in the center of her soul would sound even sillier than her previous comments.

  He put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. "Breakfast is coming at 5:30, so we have almost half an hour." Then he kissed her, untying her sash, bringing his naked flesh to hers.

  No point in wasting half an hour.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Kate's shoulders were tense when she entered the St. Cyr again, but within an hour her accident of the previous day was a distant memory, of no relevance. The night she'd spent with Donovan was far more vivid and distracting.

  Fortunately, he spent much of the day in the office on the phone or his computer, so she didn't see him more than a couple of times. When their paths did cross, though, the looks he gave her threatened to melt her bones.

  At the end of the day, after the laborers had left, he called her and Gil Brown into the site office and went over the explosives plan. When the meeting was over, Brown left but Kate stayed to say goodbye to Donovan.

  He pulled Kate into an embrace. "I'm beginning to find a light dusting of construction debris downright sexy. I wish to hell that you were coming back to Baltimore with me tonight."

  She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, much the way Dinah did. "Remember, any missed days during the year get added on at the end."

  "I don't want to think about endings."

  His taxi arrived before she had to answer. He gave her a swift kiss, then raced out, duffle bag in one hand and laptop computer in the other. A fine example of Homo modernsis, male variety.

  After Sam had barred Kate from the family business, she'd decided to finish college, then simply hang out around PDI until her father got used to having her there. Now Donovan, the sneaky devil, was following the same strategy, behaving as if they were a couple in the hope that eventually she'd simply accept it. They needed a day off from each other to slow this alarming slide into that old married feeling.

  Even though Kate knew that separation was good, the hotel suite felt very empty that night. She lay awake in the lace-canopied bed, her body burning with memories of the previous night. Even before they'd become lovers again, she'd become accustomed to having him close.

  Simply breathing the same air had become vital to her.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Kate dozed all the way back from Atlanta, and regretted that the flight wasn't longer. Though her day at the Hotel St. Cyr had been tiring, she had enjoyed being the boss. Her years as an architect had taught her that giving orders was much nicer than having to follow them.

  Her mother was waiting at the gate. "Mom, what a treat." She gave Julia a one-armed hug. "I'd been planning on taking a taxi home."

  "When Donovan called about your cat, he mentioned that you were flying in tonight, so I volunteered to pick you up. We can go through the city and pick up Dinah on the way to your house." Deftly Julia took Kate's computer case and slung it over her shoulder. "I learned with Sam that you have to create your own quality time."

  "I don't know if the quality will be that high. I changed my clothes in a restroom in the Atlanta airport, but I suspect that I smell like a goat that's been rolled in crushed plaster."

  "Ladies don't perspire, they glow, and they definitely don't smell like goats," her mother said with a smile.

  They entered the main terminal from a concourse Kate hadn't used before. Their path took them by a pedestal holding a giant stained-glass sculpture of a Chesapeake Bay blue crab. Kate regarded it with fascination. "How marvelously Maryland."

  "They say airports are all alike, but it's not true. Everyone has its own regional character. When Sam and I traveled..." Julia's words cut off.

  "How are you doing?" Kate asked.

  "Ups and downs."

  Kate wanted to ask more, but Julia's stoic mask was in place. The code of the WASP. They walked the rest of the way to Julia's car without speaking.

  After dumping her luggage in the trunk, Kate sank into the passenger seat. Her mind drifted as they left the parking garage and pulled onto the airport access road. The code of the WASP. Stiff upper lip. Strong emotion is vulgar, weak. Don't let it show. Anger is unbecoming, dear. The lessons of her childhood.

  The code had its points, which included strength and dignity and integrity. But sometimes repressing emotion was a mistake, and maybe this was one of those times. Kate and her mother were sitting side by side, both of them troubled. Maybe a little openness would benefit them both. Lord knew that Kate could use some wise maternal advice. But where to start?

  As they turned north to I-95, Kate said, "Donovan and I are sleeping together again."

  After a startled moment, her mother said, "How...how nice for you both. Does this have long-term implications?"

  "Probably not." Kate fingered her seat belt as she struggled to find the words to reveal herself. Yet if she couldn't speak honestly to her own mother, she was in bad shape. "You must have wondered why I divorced Donovan."

  "Of course. Obviously it had to be something that hurt you very, very deeply. I thought perhaps he'd had a fling with an old girlfriend, or a one-night stand on a business trip--something of that nature."

  "Patrick, unfaithful?" That was one thing she'd never worried about. For better and worse, he'd always made her feel that she was the only woman in his world. A pity that obsessive jealousy had gone along with that.

  It wasn't too late to back out of this conversation. But being a jackrabbit was getting her nowhere. "I left him because he was...violent. Not much at first, but getting progressively worse. At the end, it was....bad. Very bad."

  "Dear God!" Julia gasped. "I...I have trouble believing that Patrick would ever hurt you."

  "Believe it. Until finally I hurt him back, then ran like hell."

  "How could Sam and I have missed such a thing?" her mother exclaimed. "I know that Patrick had some rough edges when you first married, but he always seemed so devoted to you. He was--is--such a kind, considerate young man."

  "All true. A good heart, unfortunately paired with lousy impulse control. Meaning that sometimes he went a little crazy and hit me."

  Julia bit her lip. "Hence, California, and never coming home. And because you didn't want to talk about such a horrible situation, you wouldn't tell us why you left."

  "Silence seemed best for Donovan, for Sam, for everyone. Me most of all. I...I couldn't bear to publicly admit that I had gotten myself into such a sordid mess. Nice, upper-middle class girls don't get battered. It was easier to run."

  "If Sam had realized why you left, he never would have written his will the way he did. Now that I know, I'm amazed that you agreed to try to fulfill the conditions. What persuaded you?"

  "Despite my doubts, at heart I welcomed the chance to come back and join the company. Plus there was your very sensible point about dealing with the past. I was wary of Donovan, especially at first, but I knew that I could leave if there was even a hint of trouble."

  "Has there been trouble?" her mother asked.

  "So far, so good. His father was an abusive drunk, so it's not surprising that Donovan had a capacity for violence. After we split up, he came to realize that he was affected by even small amounts of alcohol, so he quit drinking altogether. The wonder isn't that he was occasionally violent, but that he turned out to be such a decent guy most of the time."

  "So avoiding alcohol might be all that's needed to prevent future violence," Julia sai
d musingly. "Does knowing that he's stopped drinking make you feel safe?"

  Kate sighed. "I still can't bring myself to fully trust him."

  "Which would certainly get in the way of a permanent reconciliation. Does either of you want that?"

  "Donovan might, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to make such a leap of faith. There's a big complicated knot tied in my psyche. And I can't quite get over watching for a fist whenever he raises his voice."

  "The mere thought of him striking you makes me ill. You're my daughter, and he's almost like a son. How could such a horrible thing happen?" Julia halted. "That's another reason why you never told me, isn't it? Because you didn't want to have to deal with my emotions as well as your own."

  "Well put."

  They came to the end of the interstate spur that led into the city and descended onto Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard. "That knot in your psyche. Is it fear? Anger? Or both?" Julia asked.

  "I'm not sure. Both, maybe."

  "Perhaps forgiveness is the key. It takes a lot of forgiveness on both sides to keep a marriage working. Sam and I might have separated after Tom revealed his orientation, but we managed to accept our differences even then, though it was terribly difficult." A light rain was starting to fall, so Julia turned on the windshield wipers. "If you can forgive Patrick his trespasses, it might banish the anger. Perhaps the fear would follow."

  "He never intentionally hurt me. Whenever anything bad happened, he was as appalled as I was. He's still drenched with guilt."

  The wipers slid across the windshield with a slow, hypnotic rhythm. "You may understand why he behaved as he did, but that comes from the head," Julia said. "Forgiveness is more than understanding, and it's more than just letting go. True forgiveness comes from the heart and is ultimately spiritual, I think. The mundane version of grace. It's worth forgiving Patrick for what he did not only for his sake, but for your own. To untie that knot in your spirit."

  "I thought Tom was in charge of theology for the Corsi family."

  "This is pragmatic stuff, Kate, not just theory. I learned the hard way that anger corrodes the soul. I suggest you think about it."