She did still love him, the way she loved cocoa in winter and peppermint ice cream and snuggly slippers. It was a real enough love, even an important love. But there was none of the excitement she felt with Will, none of the fierce loneliness when she wasn't with Will, none of the singing joy of life or the lusty pizzazz.
She couldn't treat Jason as an enemy, because he wasn't. But she wanted this conversation with him like a hole in the head, and he started in the instant she closed her office door.
"Kelly…on this vacation, I drank. Swam. Took a lot of time to think. I think you're making a mistake. I think we both are. I want you to give us another try."
She started shaking her head, but he wasn't about to let her answer. Not yet. He jammed his hands in his pockets and slowly stalked around her bitsy office like a wounded cat. "I don't care what you said. I know there was a guy. There just had to be a guy. because nothing else makes sense. So let's get that out in the open. I don't care. I mean, of course I care. But I still love you. I still think we can make a damn good marriage. Lots of people have flings before the wedding. Weddings make people panic. When people panic, they do crazy things. So maybe that's wrong and not smart, but it's still one of the mistakes people make."
She tried to interrupt him again, but he'd obviously prepared this whole speech, and he was already gulping for air between sentences. Her work phone rang. Then the song on her cell phone started playing. Her coworker two offices down-Myrna, the one getting the testy divorce-pushed open her door and started to ask a question, saw her with Jason, backed right out again.
And Jason kept talking. "We've known each other our whole lives. I know you love me. I love you. Maybe we forgot some of the romance because we knew each other so well. But both of us could take a fresh shot. We're invested in each other, Kelly. We have shared family, shared friends, a shared history. It's just plain crazy to throw that all away."
He'd been talking so steadily that she wasn't expecting him to suddenly move toward her, clearly intending to pull her into an embrace. She froze like a scared rabbit. "Jason," she said, "I'll care about you forever. I'll always love you. But not the way-"
She smelled the familiar scent of him, the familiar feel of his hands on her shoulders, the familiar way he approached a kiss and her stomach rolled. His lips came down, yet thankfully within seconds, he stopped, jolted upright.
He met her eyes. He looked sick. She felt sick, too. but there was no way to pretend a feeling that didn't exist.
"You can't even try?" he asked thickly.
"It doesn't take trying to care about you. Jason. But it's not there-the kind of love you want. My heart can't make it happen."
"That doesn't make sense. What the hell is the right kind of love, the wrong kind of love? Love is love. It changes over the years, anyway. So we hit a lull. So what? It doesn't mean we won't care for each other ten years from now. Or twenty."
Her office phone started ringing again. Another coworker. George, poked his head in and backed out faster than a fire.
Kelly sucked in air, thinking this was about as much fun as a case of leprosy. Slowly, carefully, she said. "We're not getting married. Jason. I hate hurting you. I'm terribly sorry. But I am one hundred percent positive that it isn't going to happen."
He put up his hands in an exasperated gesture of giving in, and finally started shuffling toward the door. "It's your mother's birthday party next week. I assume the neighborhood will put on a big block party, same as always. So if you think we won't be talking again, trust me, we will. But I can see there's no point in trying to get through to you anymore today.'"
Talk about a way to put a girl in a funk. Kelly couldn't reclaim her workaholic mood after that, couldn't get anything done. She grouched around her office until she finally gave up. Outside, it had turned hot and humid; South Bend traffic was as snarled and grouchy as she was, and once she deposited the bonus in the bank, she holed up at home.
Her room had no air-conditioning, so she stripped down to shorts and a tee. slapped together a peanut-butter sandwich and then sat at her laptop to pound out an e-mail to her father.
It was a waste of time, she knew. Her father didn't care, and pretending otherwise was getting a little ridiculous. But sometimes, Kelly figured, a woman was entitled to beat her head against a wall if she wanted to, and right then, she was definitely in that type of mood, which possibly affected the tone of her e-mail.
Hi, Dad. You haven't responded to any of my other e-mails and I suspect you won't to this one. But I'm still writing to you.
I'm really sorry you were a low-down cheater who never considered there might be consequences from your having a good time. But you affected my mother's whole life. And mine.
I always, always tried to be a good daughter, a good person. I never took chances, never did anything wrong if I could help it. I know, I know, you don't care, or you'd have written me back by now. But I'm trying to tell you that's who I've always been-a girl who was afraid of taking risks-and I think it's partly because I had no dad. No sense of someone who could pick me up if I fell really hard.
My mom has always been there for me. As I hope I've been for her. But there's always been a hole…a wondering how different my life might have been if I'd had a dad, known a dad.
And I do get it, of course. Why you haven't responded. My existence is just a nuisance for you. But I'm angry, do you understand? Angry at you. Angry at you for not knowing about me, for not caring enough to even find out if your actions created a baby. I'm angrier yet that you never even considered whether having a daughter might have added something good to your life.
I guess I've never been real to you.
I'm starting to understand that I was never all that real to me, either. But now there's a man I've fallen in love with. Real love. The kind of man I think I could spend a life with…except that I'm not sure of anything right now. I thought I was a "good girl." Now I'm doing some pretty wild things. I thought I was the daughter of a single mom. Now I know that's not true, either. I thought I knew myself- what I wanted, what I needed, what I was capable of. And all that seems in question now, too…
I know you don't care, so I don't know why I kept venting to you, why I…
Kelly startled when her cell rang. She didn't want to answer. Her mood had evolved from low to subterranean. Bleak, dark. Cry-close gloomy. PMS with thorns. She had absolutely no motivation to push that on anyone else.
But the phone kept ringing, too distracting to concentrate further on the silly e-mail that her father was just going to ignore anyway. Finally she jerked out of the computer chair and tracked down the phone in her purse.
"What?" she answered crossly.
"Kel?"
Damn. Just like that, a single syllable in Will's lazy tenor, and the nasty mood she'd been clinging to disappeared like dust in the wind.
"Yeah, it's me, Will, but-"
"Are you free this Saturday morning?"
"Yes. But-"
"Pick you up at ten. No questions."
"But-"
"Bring sunscreen. Sunglasses. A hat, if you have one. Otherwise, just think ultracasual. No-worry clothes."
"But-"
"Plan on the whole day. all right? Because I can't give you an exact time when we'll be back. Ten," he repeated, and then clicked off.
THE INSTANT Will pulled into the driveway on Saturday morning, Kelly flew out the door. She was dressed as instructed-a blue-and-white shirt and capris. a white hoodie for the cool of the morning. Her hair was freshly washed and held back with sunglasses and her tote carried the required sunscreen.
She had no idea where they were going and didn't care. When she climbed into the unfamiliar BMW convertible-which was satin-red and cuter than sin-she immediately pounced on Will about what mattered. "How come we're doing this?"
He looked her over with lecherous eyes. "Because I thought of a splendiferous way to spend a Saturday. Specifically with you."
"But you're mad at me. Remember?" She swallowed him up i
n a look. She hadn't seen him in a whole week, a stretch of time that seemed longer than months. Heaven knew what he'd been doing. His nose was sunburned; his right knee was skinned; his chin had a brush of blond whiskers and he looked edible-edible, jumpable and lovable-in frayed cutoffs and a Cambridge tee.
"I was never mad at you," he corrected. Two turns later, they were on the freeway headed north. "I was slightly aggravated at having dinner with my father. Being with my father, anytime, under any circumstance, is a guaranteed way of yanking my chain."
"But it was me you were aggravated with, not your dad. Because you thought I wasn't taking your side." At last she had a chance to get that out in the open. "But I am on your side. Will. Totally. Completely. It's just that being in your corner doesn't mean I always have to agree with you, does it?"
He shot her a quick look, then reached over faster than quicksilver and traced a fingertip down her ribs.
She convulsed. "Is that your way of avoiding a serious discussion, you varmint? Tickling me?"
"Yeah. My sisters taught me that trick. Besides-there are rules for today. It's a play day. We've both had too much family stress. No serious discussion allowed. This is a day for forgetting all the heavy stuff and refilling the energy wells."
"You think that's possible, huh?" she murmured. She wished it were but didn't believe it. Hiding from problems never got them solved. Taking a break made her feel she was running away and that a lightning bolt of guilt was going to slash out of the sky any second and catch up with her.
Still. The wind tugged at her hair; the warm sun beat down, and Will flipped to a radio station playing such god-awful, twangy, corny country songs that she had to either groan or hum along. He kept sending her lazy grins. She kept trying to hold on to a careful, wary, worried mood, but as the miles sped by, serious thoughts ebbed away.
It didn't take her long to figure out their destination, since 31 North led straight into Michigan, and in less than an hour, Will turned off at St. Joseph- an old-fashioned town built on top of a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan.
Kelly knew the town, had known the area for years, because the beach was fabulous and the shopping was fun. The long street was packed with little shops, lots of art. interesting jewelry, cafes, a blend of things to do and see.
Will bypassed the shopping section-no surprise. That left pretty much nothing to do but the beach.
"I know the temperature's warm out," she said tactfully, "but in case you've forgotten what the lake is like at this time of year, it's colder than ice. Maybe you could handle swimming, but I really-"
"We're not going to swim. We're going to sail."
"Sail," she repeated warmly, trying to treat the demented man with kindness. "The way I heard it, it's awfully tricky to sail without a boat."
He grinned at her teasing. "Luckily we happen to have a boat. A thirty-foot Sabre, in fact. Waiting for us."
She stared at him in confusion, until he turned into a marina called Harbor Isle. The place was more crowded than a zoo, with massive yachts and sailboats everywhere, a fancy crane operation going on where big boats were being hoisted into the water, and people wearing everything from painting clothes to jewels to anything in between. Will parked in front of a long, sleek white baby with a blue sail cover. The side of the boat read Soul Asset.
"It's not mine. It's my sister's. Or to be more accurate my dad's-he's the one who paid the bill- but, regardless, it's ours for the day. Tell me now if you tend to get seasick. I've got some-"
"No, not a problem."
"Good. And I've been sailing all my life, so don't start worrying I'm going to tip us over or strand us… that is, unless you want to be stranded. I stocked her up yesterday, so there's nothing you have to do but slip off your shoes and climb aboard. There are extra jackets below if it gets cold. And if you want to be busy. Til give you things to do, but the boat's set up for single handing so you can sit back and put your feet up and relax."
She wanted to say something-when had she ever been speechless? This was such a surprise. She'd expected an extra-nice lunch or dinner, maybe. A picnic. She never dreamed about spending a day doing anything like this.
Will zipped around the boat like an acrobat, untying lines, unbuttoning the sail cover, starting the engine. He unlocked the companionway to the cabin below, brought up thick white cushions and ice water, and then they were off.
"We're actually on the river here, and we have to go through two old-fashioned drawbridges before we reach the lake-and they're a pain." As they neared the first one, Will picked up an air horn, let out an earsplitting long toot and then a short one. 'That's the signal, asking the gatekeeper to open the bridge for us. As soon as we're out of the river channel, we can cut the motor and put up the sails."
It was Greek to her. She'd been on boats before, even a few sailboats-South Bend was so close to the lake that kids just naturally had a chance to enjoy it, growing up. But she'd never been on a beauty of a boat like this.
They passed a red-and-white lighthouse, piers and a white beach dotted with sun worshippers. Then civilization faded away, leaving nothing but an open lake with silver-hemmed waves. Will flipped a cleat and suddenly, a huge white sail zoomed up the mast. He turned the winch, cranking her all the way until the sail touched sky. then repeated the same procedure with a second billowing sail.
Last, he cut the engine, and suddenly there was silence.
Magic.
She didn't know what else to call it.
People and city sights and sounds disappeared. The wind cupped the sails and they flew across the water, the sun blessing her cheeks, the air brushing her hair like sensuous fingers.
"You want to take the helm?" Will asked her.
"Are you nuts? Do you want me to sink this gorgeous boat?"
He laughed. "You can't sink her. Promise. I'll be right behind you."
He was. Right behind her. Perched on the fanny of the boat while she stood at the wheel. There were dials-for water depth and wind and speed and Lord knew what else. But Kelly was conscious only of him. of his sun-warmed body just behind her. shirtless, his brown chest nestling against her back. The boat skimmed the water in a silent dance and unbidden, unexpectedly, she felt a burst of emotion. A feeling like freedom. Joyful. Easy.
"Did you know," she asked, "that I couldn't have needed a day like this more?"
"We both did." he said, and then snapped his fingers. "I forgot something. Just a second."
He peeled down the steps to the cabin, emerged seconds later with two Notre Dame sun visors. He perched one on her head, one on his. Then readjusted hers, to fit her smaller head, making her laugh- which made her accidentally turn the wheel too hard, which made the boat suddenly dip and the sails wildly flutter.
People and city sights and sounds disappeared. The wind cupped the sails and they flew across the water, the sun blessing her cheeks, the air brushing her hair like sensuous fingers.
"You want to take the helm?" Will asked her.
"Are you nuts? Do you want me to sink this gorgeous boat?"
He laughed. "You can't sink her. Promise. I'll be right behind you."
He was. Right behind her. Perched on the fanny of the boat while she stood at the wheel. There were dials-for water depth and wind and speed and Lord knew what else. But Kelly was conscious only of him. of his sun-warmed body just behind her. shirtless, his brown chest nestling against her back. The boat skimmed the water in a silent dance and unbidden, unexpectedly, she felt a burst of emotion. A feeling like freedom. Joyful. Easy.
"Did you know," she asked, "that I couldn't have needed a day like this more?"
"We both did." he said, and then snapped his fingers. "I forgot something. Just a second."
He peeled down the steps to the cabin, emerged seconds later with two Notre Dame sun visors. He perched one on her head, one on his. Then readjusted hers, to fit her smaller head, making her laugh- which made her accidentally turn the wheel too hard, which made the boat suddenly dip and t
he sails wildly flutter.
"Whoa there, lady."
But her heart didn't want to whoa. Her pulse was racing, chasing, as exuberantly as the wind. He smoothed sunscreen down her arms and neck when she had the helm, and she did the same for him when he took his turn at the wheel.
It was foreplay. that touching, the smell of Cop-pertone and water, the ripple of his skin under her hands, the responsiveness and heat of her skin under his. He knew. The way he looked at her. With invitation. With wanting.
With waiting.
They sailed the shoreline until around lunch. Will didn't stop the boat or throw out an anchor, but he did something with the sails he called "heaving to." Once the boat stopped, he gave orders. She was to close her eyes. Sit there. Not move. "And for damn sure, don't think."
"Hey." She put plenty of "insulted" into her voice. but he just laughed.
She closed her eyes, as ordered, heard him rummaging around, up and down the steps, humming an old rock song under his breath. She was aware when he finally stopped moving, because there was suddenly complete quiet-except for the sound of a distant gull crying in the sky and Will's shadow cooling her hot cheeks. And then something else. A sensation of something fluttery-light and soft and fragrant raining on her head.
Her eyes popped open. Everywhere, on her shoulders, her arms, the deck, were rose petals. Bowls of them, buckets of them. She wanted to laugh, and did, but something squeezed her heart-the gesture was so frivolous, so romantic. So Paris.
Suddenly he was watching her in a way she couldn't back away from. The way the wind ruffled his hair, the rush of heat in his eyes, the electric tension between them-every detail invoked a flush of memories of Paris. It was as if they were there again, in his bed, waking up to warm rumpled sheets and a patch of lazy sunlight and street vendors below, hawking flowers to lovers.
Lovers like they'd been.
Lovers…the way she still felt with him. for him.
"Lunch," he murmured. "French style. Baguettes. Cheese. Fruit. Wine. There's ice water, as well, because I figured we'd be thirsty."
She tried to eat. She was certainly hungry enough. Will wolfed down lunch easily, but then he stopped, poured the wine, hunkered down next to her on the long white cushion.
Blame It On Paris Page 17