"Did you love him?"
"No, but by the time I knew that it was too late. At first, I thought I did. Oh, damn, I told you I was stupid, so stupid." She turned back to stare at the ocean, pressing her cheek against his. "A couple of Ez's college teammates were playing pro ball out there, and they used to take me out once in a while. That's how I met Leon. He was big—even bigger than Ez—and as tall as you. Dark wavy hair and blue eyes. Not as blue as yours and he didn't really look anything like you, but his coloring was similar and he was kind of quiet. Oh, hell, it had been a long time since I'd seen you, and in some ways he reminded me of you, and I was a bit lost without Ez—it was the first time we'd ever really been apart—and I convinced myself I was in love with him.
"He helped matters along, too. He was affectionate, admiring, understanding—at least, he put on a super act. I found out long afterward that he had made the big play for me because he thought that other men envied him. He had an ego you wouldn't believe, and a mass of seething insecurities that he kept so well hidden nobody, but nobody, even suspected what a psychotic he was.
"Anyway, he romanced me to a faretheewell, and I fell for it all. I don't even remember exactly how we happened to decide to get married, but it was very fast. I did insist on calling Ez and waiting long enough for him to fly over for a few days, but it all happened in a couple of weeks—before I had time to think twice."
"Didn't Ez see any of this?" O'Mara asked. "He's always been very sharp about people."
"He didn't take to Leon, but there wasn't much time for him to figure out why. He arrived the day before the wedding, and I was floating around starry-eyed and not listening to anything anyone was saying to me. I was so happy when Ez got there, I guess he didn't want to bring me down on the basis of a vague uneasiness. He's suffered agonies of remorse since then for not following his hunch."
"So, what..." O'Mara's voice was a croak, and he cleared his throat before asking, "What happened?"
"It's so hard for me to say it all out loud. While it was happening, I didn't understand why—that came later. He...." She paused for several moments, trying to find the right words. "Do you remember that night we came so close to making love? I never went beyond a few kisses with anyone else—I never wanted to. Even with Leon, while we were going together, it never went beyond kissing. He seemed to hold back, and I wasn't sure enough of myself to encourage him. Oh, damn, to be honest, I wasn't excited enough I guess. It wasn't anything like it was with you, but I decided—in all my stupidity—that what we'd had was a fluke, a one-time phenomenon. I figured that it wasn't usually like that, and that Leon and I would manage just fine."
"Dumb." O'Mara kissed her ear and blew into it gently. "I wish to hell I hadn't stopped that night."
"So do I. You'll never know how many times I've wished it." Her voice started to break and her lips were quivering as she choked out, "You should have been the first. Oh, God, how I wish you had been. You wouldn't have hurt me... and you'd have... made sure I liked it... and... and you'd have loved me."
Her eyes were squeezed shut, trying to hold in the tears, and it was a moment before she felt the tight grip of his hands on hers and the flexing of muscles in his arms as he struggled not to clamp them around her. He bent his head to press his face against her neck, and she could barely hear his muffled words.
"Kitt... my lovely Kitt... how could anyone hurt you? What did that—" He choked off a gutter term that she barely understood.
She pulled her knees up further and wrapped her arms, and his, tighter around her body. The silent tears ran down her face, and her voice was barely audible as the disjointed phrases tumbled out.
"He raped me... horrible... tore my nightgown off and... he just... attacked me... I tried to fight him off... hit me... always like that. Except he didn't try to... very often... sometimes it was weeks and weeks... kept hoping he'd forget... he always said he was sorry days afterward... didn't know what to do... Ez so far away... afraid if I called... Ez would kill him... I didn't think anyone would believe me... so normal and charming all the time to everyone... except when he... begged him not to but he... so strong and I couldn't stop him... couldn't hide the bruises... he was so mad when I had to go... doctor saw... hit me with his fist... couldn't get away from him... knew my ribs were cracked... it hurt so... the doctor asked so many questions... didn't believe I fell... teethmarks... I couldn't hide them when he taped my ribs... told me... counseling clinic and
I ran and ran and... and they helped me get away... and then...."
She was panting for breath; her head was tilted to lean her cheek against the thick cushion of his hair. At first, she thought the wetness on her neck was from her tears. Then she felt the uneven motion of his chest against her back and heard the rasping of his breath.
She felt his agony and knew that it was feeding from her to him and back. They were sharing their pain as they had shared elation and joy and passion. And slowly it eased. Something hard and hurting deep inside of her seemed to dissolve and dissipate like smoke. At the same time, she felt the tension draining from O'Mara's body.
They sat very still, eyes closed, totally concentrated on each other. It was as if there were a channel connecting them, so real that she wanted to lift her hand to touch it. Love, caring, understanding—it all flowed from him and filled her being, spreading in a slow, glowing warmth along all her nerves, muscles and veins, seeping deep into the marrow of her bones. It filled her like an ever-rising tide, and as it overflowed she channeled it back to him, subtly changing its texture with the female aura of her own love and tenderness.
For those timeless minutes, they were in another dimension of existence. They had gone beyond physical need and awareness into a unique communion of mind, emotion and soul—the mutual surrender to each other of their individual identities, a total melding of self with self, and then a return to individuality. But now something of each one had become part of the other, and neither of them would ever really be alone again.
It was a rare and stunning experience, an act of total giving and receiving that few people achieve. Kitt and O'Mara were in a semiconscious state, unaware of where they were or why, utterly overwhelmed by the strength and wonder of the commitment they had just made to each other. It was long minutes before the sound of children yelling and laughing penetrated their dazed minds and brought them back to earth.
O'Mara lifted his head, and Kitt half-turned to look at him, seeing the wonder that she felt reflected in his face. They moved toward each other at the same moment. It was an undemanding kiss, very gentle, their lips soft yet clinging to each other's in a tender, loving affirmation of the incredible experience they had just shared.
Drawing back a few inches, Kitt smiled into his eyes and said softly, "In the immortal words of somebody or other, 'Oh, wow.'"
" 'Out of this world' might be more appropriate," he said, laughing. In a quick change, he became very serious and cradled her face in his hands. "That was the most beautiful experience I've ever had. It could only have happened with you, my Kitt." His voice grew husky as he went on, "Someday soon, we're going to share our bodies and passion and ecstasy, and it's going to be absolutely incredible for both of us. But nothing, not even making love with you, could be as unbelievably beautiful as what we just shared."
She tried to speak, but the words were locked in her throat by such a strong welling of emotion that it brought tears to her eyes. O'Mara smiled and rocked her head gently between his hands. "Idiot. Don't cry anymore. Come on, it's breakfast time. Let's get some food into you—and me—all this intense emotion is making me hungry."
"Men! Is there anything that doesn't make you hungry!?" Her laugh was a bit ragged, but at least it was a laugh.
Standing up, they brushed the sand off their jeans and turned to walk back along the beach toward the parking lot. There were more early morning strollers and joggers now, some with dogs, and Hero stayed close beside Kitt. Very naturally and without saying a word, Kitt reached ov
er and slid her hand into O'Mara's. He looked at her with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, said, "Breakthrough!" and started laughing. Her joyous laughter pealed out to join with his, and it was suddenly the most glorious day that either of them had known in twelve years.
Chapter 9
Over breakfast, they discussed O'Mara's books, and he told her about the new one he was researching. By unspoken agreement, they avoided any mention of what had happened between them on the beach. It was too soon to put it into words, to try to analyze and dissect a nearly inexplicable experience. Kitt felt bewildered; in fact, totally disoriented. It was as if she had been picked up off of solid ground, shaken hard, spun around and then set down on shifting sand. She knew that her carefully planned life had just been blasted apart, but she still wasn't sure what O'Mara had in mind as a replacement.
Looking at him across the table, watching his changing expressions as he talked about his work, she had a feeling of inevitability. It was as certain as her next breath that he loved her and that she loved him. It had taken less than three days for them to wipe out twelve years. Actually, it had taken less than three minutes from the time she had turned around Friday morning and seen him standing there watching her. But, she thought, let's face it—the twelve years weren't really erased, no matter how much she wished them to be. They had happened, Leon had happened, and now she could not have a natural relationship with the man she loved.
Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face. O'Mara broke off in the middle of a sentence and peered at her intently. He reached across the table and loosened one of her hands from its tight hold on her coffee cup. He held her fingers in a loose clasp, rubbing his thumb lightly over the delicate bones in the back of her hand.
"You're tightening up again, love." His voice was a soothing murmur. "Will you stop worrying about it? Oh, yes, I know what you're doing—going round and round fretting about this trauma of yours. I wish you'd concentrate on trusting me. Will it help if I tell you that I've got an idea of how we can overcome your little problem?"
"Little problem!" she cried, and then a flush tinged her cheeks pink as she realized that everyone nearby had heard her. She glanced around self-consciously and found several people gazing interestedly at them.
O'Mara's eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter as he teased, "You always did get overexcited about minor setbacks. Why, I remember once when—"
"Stop it, you beast," Kitt muttered. "It's not funny. How can you talk about 'little problems' and 'minor setbacks' when I can't even let you hold me without going to pieces—never mind being able to... do anything else?" She looked at him pleadingly. "Have you really figured a way to... what... cure me . . make me a whole woman again?"
"I'm not positive, mind you," he said, now very serious. "But, yes, I do have an idea." He shook his head when she started to speak. "No, I don't want to tell you yet. Let me think about it a bit longer, and then I want to discuss it with a friend of mine."
"No!" Distress was plain in her voice and her face. "Please... I don't want—"
She broke off as the waitress appeared beside the table, offering them more coffee from the steaming pot in her hand. Tightening his fingers around Kitt's to prevent her instinctive withdrawal, he said a quiet "Yes, please" to the waitress, and then waited for her to move away before speaking calmly to Kitt.
"It's all right, love. My friend is a psychotherapist, and he's an expert in the battered wife syndrome. In fact, Kenton Thorp has developed several of the therapy programs which are widely used in helping women in situations similar to yours."
He looked at her searchingly. "You do realize, don't you, that you're by no means the first woman who's been brutalized by her husband? There are thousands of wives in the same ugly predicament."
"I know," said Kitt, her smoky eyes showing traces of remembered pain. "The doctor who treated me sent me to a clinic that specialized in helping women who had been—" She stopped abruptly, her hand gripping his convulsively. Meeting his steady gaze and drawing strength from the encouragement she read there, she continued, "Once I understood that
I wasn't alone in having a... brutal husband, and that there were legal steps I could take.... Oh, Lord, you don't know what a relief it was just to find people who not only believed me, but who could help me, too."
O'Mara's mouth thinned to a grim line, and his eyes sparked with anger. "What about Ez's friends?" he growled. "Surely they'd have helped you."
"They'd have beaten him bloody," Kitt said bleakly, "and then they'd have called Ez—and he'd have killed him. I mean it literally, O'Mara, and you know it. Ez would have killed him with his bare hands. You've never seen him in a rage. I have. Once. And I hope I never do again. You know Ez—easygoing and loves the world—a big, happy bear. It's almost impossible to get him mad, but when it happens, he goes utterly berserk."
"I believe it. When did you ever see him in a rage?"
"Years ago. We were home on vacation from college and went into Boston one evening to see a new movie. Afterward, we were walking back beside the Common to the parking garage when we heard a girl scream. You know how dark parts of the Common are with trees and shrubbery, and how many weird characters roam around in there at night. Well, we couldn't see anything much except some movement, but the scream choked off and then we heard men's voices and a girl crying. Ez went charging toward the sounds, and I chased after him as usual, yelling at some people on the street to call the cops." She shook her head with a rueful grin at O'Mara's exasperated expression. "Don't say it. I know I should have stayed out of it, but it was an automatic reflex."
He grinned back at her. "I'm not surprised. You always did run at Ez's heels, no matter where he went." He reached across the table to tap her on the nose with a long tan finger, and laughed into her bemused eyes. "And mine, come to that."
Tilting her head, Kitt inquired in a mock-sweet voice, "Is that where you want me—at your heels?"
"Witch! You know it isn't. You'll stay beside me—all the time." He paused, and a wicked gleam sparked in the sapphire eyes while his voice dropped to a sensuous murmur as he added, "Except in bed... where you will definitely not spend all your time beside me."
He shook with silent laughter as Kitt's face flushed dark pink and her eyes widened in a delightful mixture of questioning apprehension and expectant wonder. She caught her lower lip between even white teeth and tried to think of something non-stupid to say. Good grief, I'm thirty years old, and I'm blushing like a schoolgirl and groping for words as if I'd never heard of sex.
"My Kitt," O'Mara chuckled, "you are going to be such a delight to teach, and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it." He leaned forward, raising her hand to his mouth, and gently ran his lips and the tip of his tongue across her knuckles. Holding her eyes with the blue flame of his, he said softly, insinuatingly, "You will, too."
Kitt was mesmerized by the blazing sensuality of the promise in his eyes and of his tongue tracing patterns over her fingers. The noise and light of the restaurant faded off somewhere into the background. All of her senses were filled with O'Mara's overwhelming male presence. Dazedly, she let a thought drift to the surface of her mind. God, how can he make me feel like this just by holding my hand and looking at me? Whoever would believe that his tongue tickling my knuckles could be so sexy? I wish he were—
She was jolted to awareness by his teeth nipping the end of her thumb. In what seemed like a cacophony of babbling voices and clattering dishes, their surroundings intruded and broke the heated, erotic spell.
"You... you great tomcat," Kitt exclaimed in exasperation. "Look at you. If you had whiskers, you'd be twitching them. And stop laughing at me!" she hissed. "You did that on purpose!"
"Of course I did, love," he said soothingly, trying to subdue his mirth. Sitting back in his chair, he released her hand and, with a very satisfied expression, watched her flustered movements as she fiddled with her coffee cup. "Since I can't court you yet, in the usual way, it's necessary
to devise alternate methods." One thick black eyebrow lifted inquiringly and the blue eyes widened in mock innocence. "I thought I was rather creative. No?"
"No... yes!... oh, you... you just wait."
"I am waiting," he answered, grinning, "but this is hardly the place for you to retaliate." He pushed back his chair and stood up, holding out his hand to her. "Let's go, love. You can finish telling me about Ez and the muggers on the way back."
There was little traffic on Route One at that hour, and they were pulling into Kitt's parking lot less than thirty minutes later. Hero leaped up the stairs ahead of them and, by the time they were halfway up, they could hear him "talking" to Ez. Stepping onto the deck, they found Ez and Midge seated at a card table, obviously having just finished breakfast.
"Did we return too soon?" asked Kitt, all innocence. "You did say you were going back to bed, brother, although you didn't specify when. Now, let's see, it's just after nine, and you had to get Midge over here, cook breakfast, eat it and, yes, it does look like you've had most of that pot of coffee, so you couldn't have had time—"
She dodged behind O'Mara as Midge and Ez reached for the last two muffins with a purposeful gleam in their eyes.
"Wait a minute!" yelped O'Mara, pulling Kitt around and holding her in front of him. "I wouldn't think of commenting on your domestic arrangements, Ez. If you can find someone to cook your breakfast and entertain you at this hour on a Sunday morning, I'm all admiration. Besides, it would be a crime to waste those muffins. They do look good."
Giggling, Midge put the muffins on a plate and pushed it, together with the butter dish, toward O'Mara. "Here. Pull up a chair and help yourself. Uh, I'll make another pot of coffee; this one seems to be empty."
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