by Ken Casper
“Uh-oh.” But there was humor, not concern, in the remark. “Do you expect her to have the kittens while you’re gone?”
“Probably not. She’s not due till late next week.”
“But things happen.” Gwyn could picture a broad smile on his face.
“I’ve noticed.”
“Not to worry. As I recall, cats have been having kittens all by themselves for some time now.”
“I doubt you’ll have any trouble, but I’ll leave you the name of the vet—”
“When can I bring Alanna over?” He sounded as excited as she imagined his daughter would be.
“Why don’t you come by after work—”
“We’ll be there about five-thirty.”
Gwyn hung up with a grin on her face.
JED DROVE to his office in Jefferson. No appointments today, which was why he’d been able to take Gwyn out to see the sunrise and share a leisurely lunch—leisurely until he’d read the paper. He had no doubt his employees would have seen it. The first article had whetted their appetites. This latest installment would have them salivating. He didn’t think any of them would bring up the subject to his face. He’d always frowned on gossip and made clear private lives were just that. But he knew they would be talking among themselves. Human nature. The question was how they would see him now.
He’d invited Gwyn back for dinner this evening, and she’d accepted. He’d kissed her this morning after sunrise, before they’d returned to his swamp boat and fished for an hour. The way she’d snuggled against him told him that if conditions had been different, they might have made love then and there. But dew-dropped wetlands, like fog-shrouded English moors, were hardly the places for lovemaking.
He’d asked June to prepare a light supper, something that wouldn’t demand attention. June, ever discreet, had said nothing to suggest she knew she was catering a tryst, but he didn’t miss the tiny smirk on her face as she ruminated over what to prepare.
It was after six by the time he returned to Beaumarais. Gwyn wasn’t due over until seven. He went upstairs and changed from his business clothes to casual chinos and a sage-green Polo shirt. What would she be wearing? he wondered as he pulled off dark socks, replaced them with white ones and donned casual Adidas.
He went to the kitchen to see what June had left. Chicken enchiladas. There was a note on the film covering the ovenproof serving dish to heat them for half an hour at 350 degrees.
Maybe Gwyn would wear jeans like this morning. A clinging blouse? Or maybe a simple dress. Easier to slip out of, he reasoned with a grin.
He turned on the oven and set it to the proper temperature.
Or perhaps she would wear loose-flowing slacks, the kind he’d seen in the fashion magazines at his barber’s.
The morning room was already set. June had even put a candle in the middle of the table. Definitely have to give that woman a raise, he told himself. Returning to the kitchen, he placed their main course in the oven.
Of course, Gwyn could always surprise him by wearing cutoffs and a T-shirt. He liked the picture, but she wouldn’t dress that way for dinner. Even at home. He’d never seen her legs, he realized, but he didn’t have to to know they’d be perfect. And smooth. He imagined himself running a hand along her thigh . . .
He jumped and his heart buffeted when he heard a tap on glass. He looked over, to see Gwyn standing on the other side of the kitchen window with a Cheshire-cat grin on her face. Did she know what he’d just been thinking? Of course not. She couldn’t . . . could she?
He motioned for her to come in and glanced at the clock over the sink. Right on time.
She was wearing chinos, too, with a dark-green blouse that wasn’t giving his heart much of a chance to settle down. And she was bubbling. Because they were going to spend an evening alone? His spirits soared but then leveled off when the gleam in her eyes told him she was happy about something else.
“Good news?”
She explained about the call she’d received from the jeans manufacturer offering her a good-size contract.
“You have to go out of town?” He couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice.
“Just for a few days. Romeo’s coming with me, and I’ve arranged for Riley and his daughter to take care of Cleopatra. I was wondering . . . if you’d . . . be willing to feed my horses while I’m away. It’s all right if you can’t,” she rushed on. “I talked to the vet. He can board them for me for the three days—”
“No need for that,” he said over his shoulder as he removed their dinner from the oven and placed it on the stainless-steel counter. “Besides, boarding a dozen horses would be terribly expensive.” He faced her with a smile. “Just let me know what they eat and when, and I’ll be glad to take care of them.”
“You’re sure?” He could hear the relief in her voice.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her to his side. Bending his head, he whispered in her ear, “I’m sure.”
She turned her head and gazed up at him. The words I’m sure, too were on the tip of her tongue, but they never got a chance to come out before his lips sealed them in. He shifted his stance, placed himself squarely in front of her and completed the kiss. Her hands slid behind his back and joined there. Her arms bracketed his lower rib cage like a vise.
Keeping his eyes open, he studied the way her lashes fluttered and closed as he deepened the kiss. He resolved not to let her leaving tomorrow interfere with tonight. It disturbed him, though, that she seemed so eager to get away.
Dinner was filled with laughter. She told stories about her animals and some of the antics they’d pulled—always at the most inopportune time, of course.
“I had a sponsor who wanted to use a dachshund in a hot dog commercial,” she explained between mouthfuls of spicy chicken enchilada. “Seemed easy enough. So I bought a pedigreed dachshund and took him to the studio. Would you believe the little rascal was such a nervous wreck in front of the camera that he wouldn’t stop shaking?”
Jed laughed. “Well, I guess if I was going to be the subject of dinner, I’d shake, too. So what did you do?”
“Bought another dog, except I tested this one out first to make sure he wasn’t the panicky type.”
“Double the expense.”
“Actually, it worked very well. We used Old Shaky, as he came to be called, for an antacid commercial. In fact, I made more on that contract than I did on the one for hot dogs.”
“And Old Shaky?” Jed asked.
She smiled broadly, pleased that he would ask. Most people laughed at the story but never asked about the dog. “I’m happy to say he’s retired now, living with an elderly couple in Kansas City.”
“Does he still shake?”
“Whenever a door slams or a stranger comes near him. But in between times, he seems perfectly content.”
“More wine?” Jed asked as he wrapped his hand around the neck of a bottle of zinfandel and splashed a few extra drops in both their glasses. “I thought we might go dancing after dinner.”
“Oh, where?” She really didn’t want to leave the house.
“It’s a place nearby called the veranda.”
“Hmm. Sounds lovely.”
They finished eating, piled their dishes onto the serving cart and wheeled it into the kitchen. Back in the library, Jed turned on a CD player and hit the switch that piped the music outside. He led her there.
A tango came on. He grabbed her right hand stiffly in his left, pressed his cheek against hers and paced her across the flagstone patio. Quickly they reversed and stepped lively to the Latin beat. He held her in a dip, whirled her around, then once more pressed his body to hers. They laughed when the music ended.
The kiss, when it came, was not like the one earlier in the day. This was not a kiss of affection but of passion.
A message of desperate longing, of unbearable need and a fumbling trace of frustration. He gathered her closer, recklessly assaulting her senses. At first he thought he tasted panic, but the resistance passed so quickly he couldn’t be sure. Her lips felt hot as they opened to the beckon of his tongue. His blood heated, raced, pooled. His arousal was complete, intense, unbearable.
He spread his feet, lowered his hands and molded her bottom. In response her arms rose and spanned the broadness of his back and wallowed in the heat of his skin beneath the cotton shirt. She groaned when he withdrew his mouth from hers. He pressed his forehead to hers, noses touching, their eyes locked.
“Would you like a tour of the upstairs?”
Desire and a hint of apprehension whirled and danced in her eyes. “That would be very nice.”
He extended his lips to make quick contact with hers. His hand clutching hers, he led her through the library, pausing only long enough to flick off the stereo, then proceeded to the main hall.
Smiling, he spun her toward him, bent, caught her behind the knees and gathered her easily into his arms. She clasped her hands behind his neck and practically giggled.
He turned to the right at the head of the stairs to dark-stained double doors. With hardly a shift in his carriage, he depressed the handle and threw the door open.
Her eyes widened as she looked around. “I’m impressed.”
It wasn’t at all what she had expected, though on reconsideration, she wasn’t sure what she thought she’d find. The room was high ceilinged, with molded cornices and elaborate woodwork around the doors. Built-in shutters were folded back from the sash windows, and heavy drapes bracketed a pair of narrow French doors leading out onto small balconies overlooking the lake. But it was the bed, a massive four-poster, that dominated the space.
Jed put her down and watched as she approached it. “It’s original,” he said. “One of the few pieces my uncle kept. He sold off most of the antiques over the years. But he was especially fond of this.”
“How beautiful.” Gwyn’s taste generally ran to the simple rather than the ornate, but this massive piece of furniture felt absolutely right in this room.
Jed’s hands reached around her waist from behind.
“But much too big for one person,” he whispered in her ear.
She tilted her head toward his. “Hmm. I can see how it might be.”
The heat of his body against her, the warmth of his arms caging her, had her breath slowing and deepening, her heartbeat racing. He nibbled her ear and she felt herself toppling into a world that had no dimensions, only limitations. His hand crept up and cupped her breast. Her nipples hardened.
“I want to make love to you,” he murmured in her ear. “Will you make love with me, Gwyneth?”
Her name in his mouth, on his lips, melted through her. She turned in his arms and gazed up. There had never been any doubt that her body wanted this man, and now she knew her heart did, as well.
“I have to leave in the morning,” she reminded him.
“In that case—” he began relieving the gold buttons of her blouse “—we don’t want to waste any time.”
She tugged at his Polo shirt, pulled it above his waist, then insinuated her hands beneath the cotton to the warm hardness of tight muscle. Her eyelids drooped as she snaked her way up his belly, along the sprinkling of hair to the firm ridgeline of his chest. His small nipples were peaked and pointy. He sucked in air when she ran the tips of her fingers around them.
He slipped her blouse off her shoulders, exposing her satiny bra. He bit his lip at the warm feel of her breasts. He brought his fingers to the front clasp, unhooked it and brushed the material aside. She let the garment fall to the floor. He tore off his shirt, then bent once more, gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.
Chapter Nineteen
GWYN WAS gone three days. Not a long time, Jed told himself, unless you were falling in love with her. He didn’t use those words, of course. He wasn’t ready to acknowledge the level of emotion and commitment they implied, but he couldn’t deny feeling something that went beyond the desire for another night of incredible sex. Incredible was an understatement.
He smiled at the picture that had arrived that morning in the mail, the one taken at the Anglers’ Ball. The photographer had captured the gleam in her eye as she gazed up at him. She looked so perfect standing beside him. He could still remember the feel of his hand on the small of her back and later, the smooth texture of her skin and its warmth against and around him.
She wasn’t on the pill, and he’d been very careful to use protection, but that caution in no way inhibited their touching, tasting, teasing each other’s bodies. He took immense delight in scaling the walls of her initial shyness, watching her eyes widen and glaze as he trailed his fingers along her skin, assailing the edges of her senses.
The second time they made love she’d dedicated herself to exploring his body. She’d made his heart pound, his breathing take on a long, slow labored ache, as she toured the surface of his skin, cupped and pressed, finding erogenous zones he didn’t even know existed, then mercilessly exploited them.
They agreed on the third excursion that they still had much to learn about and from each other. As he’d settled into her warmth and she wrapped her legs around his hips, he’d been tempted to suggest they spend the rest of their lives continuing the adventure. When he extended his arms beside her breasts, boxing her in, she’d draped her hands on his shoulders and looked up at him with smiling, wondrous eyes. But in their depths he’d seen the hesitation.
Don’t say it yet. I’m not ready for the next step.
He wasn’t yet, either, and he’d been grateful for her warning. Nevertheless, her wisdom also left him with a gnawing tug of guilt. He wanted this woman in his bed, and he’d been willing to say anything to keep her there. He’d never considered himself obsessed or even capable of so all-consuming a physical desire, a need, but he was becoming obsessed with Gwyneth Miller. He wasn’t indifferent to the allure of sex, but he’d never felt dominated by it. Until he’d met her. He knew now nothing he’d ever felt before compared with what he experienced that night with Gwyn.
Now he couldn’t get her out of his head. All day long he asked himself where exactly she was, what she was doing, who she was doing it with. Jealousy was an emotion he’d never fully understood, yet here it was tapping at his psyche. He wanted her, and the possibility of not being able to make love to her again was driving him crazy.
She called Wednesday afternoon to confirm she was on her way back from Dallas. After June left for the day, he sat by the bay window in the library, watching, waiting, annoyed that he couldn’t concentrate on anything but her. It was his greatest pleasure. The sun was casting long shadows when he saw her cranky Land Rover roll past his driveway. He jumped up, strode out the French doors onto the patio and from there ran along the path to her back door.
Romeo was the first to greet him with a friendly whimper and wagging tail. Absently he petted the frisky sheltie, all the time staring at the rear end of the woman dragging a suitcase from the back seat of the vehicle. He walked up behind her, arched over her and placed his hand beside hers on the luggage. Reflexes had her backing up, only to bump into him, her back against his chest, her hips caged by his. He inhaled the unforgettable scent of woman and floral shampoo. With a little mew of excitement, she stopped.
“Miss Gwyn, Miss Gwyn,” came an ecstatic child’s voice. They separated quickly and turned as one to see Alanna racing toward them from her house. “They’re here. They’re here.”
Rather than take the gate a few yards away, the four-year-old tried to scale the low chain-link fence. Alarmed that she might fall and hurt herself, Jed rushed forward and lifted her over it.
“The kittens?” Gwyn asked with open-faced excitement at the child and then at Jed.
&
nbsp; He smiled broadly and nodded.
“They was borned last night when I was sleeping,” Alanna prattled. “I went to feed Cleo this morning, and there they were. Six of them.” The girl was bubbling.
“Six?” Gwyn asked a little startled. “The vet said she probably wouldn’t have more than three or four. Six?” She got out her key and opened the back door.
There, in a corner of the kitchen was the newspaper-lined box she’d prepared before she left, and in it was Cleo, stretched out on her side, her new progeny snuggled against her. The cat eyed her guardedly but didn’t object while Gwyn examined each one.
“That’s my favorite,” Alanna declared when Gwyn picked up the last of the litter.
What made that kitten special was hard to tell. They were all perfect, all white. They would develop the characteristic markings and coloring of purebred seal points only later, as they grew older, but obviously something about that particular one especially appealed to the little girl. Gwyn found a piece of pink ribbon and tied it loosely around the kitten’s neck. She’d offer it to the child if Riley approved. She petted the proud mother, who purred when her tiny offspring sought her milk. “They’re all so adorable,” she remarked.
Alanna bounced up. “Daddy’s home.”
The adults hadn’t even heard his car, but a minute later the tall dark figure of Riley stood in the doorway. “Cute, aren’t they?” he said by way of greeting.
They talked about the surprise they’d had that morning.
“I’m glad it happened,” Riley insisted when Gwyn apologized for the inconvenience.” Every little girl needs to enjoy a litter of kittens.”
A few minutes later, father and daughter departed for home, Alanna promising to return in the morning. Waving goodbye, Gwyn and Jed went outside to unpack her Rover. Their bodies bumped when they both reached for the same piece of luggage. He steadied her at arm’s length and contemplated the weariness tugging at the corners of her mouth, the fatigue sagging her shoulders. But the glow in her eyes was vibrant and inviting.