Interior Designs

by Pamela Browning

  She jogged on until she reached the jetty, where she turned around before heading back toward her apartment building. The swimmer was emerging from the sea, his skin slick and glowing in the light of the sunrise. She noted his regal bearing, his broad nose, his high, round cheekbones and full, well-defined lips—it was Drew. She jogged five more steps, counting them. And then she stopped.

  She wasn't prepared for the sudden lurch of her heart when she saw him wading toward her through the shallow water, and she smiled at him uncertainly. He'd made his intentions to pursue her clear enough, and though she was flattered, she was anything but comfortable about it.

  "We can't go on meeting like this," Drew said melodramatically, pulling a towel from a waterproof carryall at the water's edge and drying himself. She watched him pull the towel down over his shoulders, recalling how his muscles had felt beneath her hands. A thick mat of hair covered his chest and a formidable six-pack, disappearing into brief navy-blue swim trunks.

  She reluctantly pulled her eyes away from his body, looking off toward the horizon where blue met darker blue at the seam of sea and sky.

  "How did you know I'd be here?" she asked. Their meeting was too convenient to be an accident.

  "Turney senior told me that you like to run early in the morning. I like to start out my day with a swim, and even though I've been swimming every morning in the pool at my apartment building, there's no reason why I can't swim in the ocean. In fact," he said, shamelessly running his eyes down her figure, "there seems to be every reason why I should."

  "And what now?" she asked.

  "I have an idea," he said quickly. "I know another beach where the jogging is great. Why don't you run on back to your apartment and pick up a swimsuit?"

  "Drew, these new jobs I took on will take a lot of time and—"

  "Didn't we agree last night that it's best to delegate? Besides, it's Saturday. I'm taking time off, aren't I? You should, too."

  His arguments were good, very good. "Where is this other beach, anyway?" Without her realizing it, they had begun to walk toward her apartment building together. The towel around Drew's shoulders swung with each step they took. She avoided looking at it and at him.

  "Hobe Sound. It's about an hour's drive north, and I've got some property I want to check on, but I don't want to go by myself. You can come along for the ride. I'll bring food and drinks. And you may run on the beach to your heart's content as long as you don't run away from me." When she dared to look up, he was looking down at her with warmth and affection, and more than that, concern. He really did think that she worked too hard.

  She smiled up at him, thoroughly amazed by his caring. She never played when she should be working, and she always seemed to be working. For some reason, at this perfect moment on this glorious blue-and-gold beach, there was nothing she could refuse him. Suddenly her mind was made up.

  "Pick me up in half an hour," she said. Then, tossing her hair back over her shoulders, she walked briskly toward her apartment building before she could change her mind.

  The property Drew was going to check on turned out to be the beachfront house—an elegant and imposing place—that Drew had shared with his ex-wife.

  "I moved out after the divorce," he explained as he turned his Porsche off the oceanfront highway into the broad driveway shaded by two enormous banyan trees. "I found that an apartment in Palm Beach was better suited to my needs. I love this house, and maybe someday I'll feel like moving back here."

  Cathryn studied the house curiously as Drew opened the front door: cedar-shake roof, well-weathered by sun and salt air; St. Augustine grass, broad-bladed, clipped and edged, evidence of a gardener's expertise; tall hibiscus hedge with double red-ruffled blossoms; a spreading sea grape tree; a child's faded plastic beach ball, abandoned and forgotten behind a bank of wildly colored croton bushes. Wide-louvered shutters were tipped open at the bottom of all the windows, Bahamian-style.

  It was the kind of place she'd love to decorate. Had he been serious when he'd mentioned that he'd like her to design an interior for him sometime? Was this the house he'd had in mind?

  Inside, the shutters let in light but not sun, creating a cool, shadowy interior. Furniture was shrouded by white muslin dust covers so that it was difficult to discover anything about the decor. Spanish tiles felt cool underfoot along a wide gallery, and thick carpet cushioned her sandaled feet as they crossed the living room. Cathryn couldn't help a bit of rubbernecking, wondering if the furnishings reflected Drew's taste or his ex-wife's or a combination of both.

  Suddenly a scrap of bright red-and-white-striped cotton fabric behind a chair caught her eye. Curiously she stooped to pick it up, sensing that it was out of place in this formal room. It was a Raggedy Ann doll, well worn and well loved. She turned it over in her hands, then shot a questioning look at Drew.

  Drew saw her bend over. He stopped with a peculiar expression on his face and slowly, almost reluctantly, reached out to take the doll from her. His hands held it carefully, gently, as he stared down at it. He seemed unaware of Cathryn's presence, and very much alone.

  In the dim light of the shuttered room, Cathryn found the feelings that flitted across Drew's face almost embarrassing to behold: anger, denial, grief. She was an observant person. She had to be aware of emotions and feelings in other people in her day-to-day dealings with clients. She sensed that the emotion on Drew's face was very real.

  Neither of them spoke until Drew, with great effort, seemed to pull himself back to the present time and place. He looked at Cathryn almost as if he were surprised to find her standing beside him. His eyes revealed a raw suffering that she had not seen there before.

  "This is my daughter's," he said, looking down at the Raggedy Ann doll helplessly. "Selby's."

  The doll was a symbol, and it brought Drew up short at a time when he had been looking forward to what the day would bring. To what Cathryn would bring. The doll made him see that he still had a long way to go before he made peace with his past and, once and for all, laid it to rest.

  He lifted his eyes to Cathryn's. Her expression, so deeply warm and sympathetic, comforted him. An overpowering emotion, too strong merely to be called joy, grew in his heart.

  He had the growing hope that he was no longer alone. Whatever inner battles remained for him to fight, whatever was required before he could truly outgrow his painful tragedy, he would have Cathryn. He didn't know how he knew this. He simply knew, and it was with a great sense of exhilaration that he recognized her importance to him.

  For the first time in a long time, the future looked bright.

  Chapter 5

  For Cathryn, the moment was full of uncertainties. The way he stared at her, the impact of so many complicated emotions flitting across his face—she dared not analyze them, not here, not now. She only knew that what he was feeling was intensely private unless he chose to include her in his thoughts. What was important to her was that he felt something and that he made no effort to conceal the fact that he had feelings. Most men would have.

  She attempted to bridge the moment with ordinary conversation. She managed to speak quietly, calmly. "Your daughter never asked for her doll? Never missed it?"

  "I don't know. I—I haven't seen her since she and her mother left. It's been over a year."

  "You don't talk on the phone?"

  "Yes, but it's not the same. If I call, Talma says she's sleeping, or that she's with her play group or at school. When they were out of the country, there was the time-zone problem. I don't get to talk to Selby half as much as I'd like, and when I do, Talma's always listening. I wish it were easier."

  A silence. "You must miss Selby very much," Cathryn said carefully.

  "I feel as though part of my heart has been torn out," he said fiercely, and the anguish in his tone startled her. But she was also touched by his pained acknowledgment. What affected her so deeply was that Drew trusted her enough to her to pour out his heart. In her estimation, it took a lot of guts for
him to do that.

  There was nothing to do then but to reach out for him and somehow to share the pain. All the compassion within her welled up and went out to him, and her arms of their own volition opened up and clasped him in a strong and supportive embrace. He held on to her with a forlorn desperation as though she were all the things that he had been forced to relinquish. This strong man, who had impressed her with his commanding presence, was as vulnerable as she was.

  His dark head bent toward hers, and her warm cheek found its place against his. There was no evidence of sexuality in this embrace, only comfort. And although Cathryn was glad to be able to give this comfort, she felt even more relieved that this was a man who didn't feel uneasy about receiving it. His arms tightened around her, as if drawing strength from her body.

  "Let's put the doll away," he said quietly when they had held each other for a time, she didn't know how long. "Would you like to see Selby's room?"

  She nodded. "I'd like that," she said, touched.

  He took her hand in his and, holding Raggedy Ann in the other hand, he led her down a long hall and opened the first door on the right.

  In this room nothing was hidden by dust covers. Everything was clean and bright and ready, as though the room's occupant were only going to be out for the day and then return to sleep in the narrow bed as usual.

  The room was decorated in a circus motif, with a parade of clowns and elephants dancing around the wallpaper border just below the ceiling. The spread was a handsome handmade circus quilt, and big, bright throw pillows were scattered about the floor for informal seating.

  Drew set the Raggedy Ann doll carefully on the bed and looked at it for a moment before reluctantly pulling his eyes away. He led Cathryn to a framed photograph on the wall. It was of a little girl with glossy black hair and blue eyes, and she was laughing at Drew. She was perhaps six years old.

  "This is Selby," he said.

  Cathryn studied the picture. Father and daughter looked very much alike. In the long gallery she had noticed the portrait of a woman she suspected was Talma, but she'd averted her eyes when she saw it, so she didn't know if Selby resembled her mother at all.

  "Selby's extremely pretty."

  "Yes, she is. Of course, this picture was taken over a year ago. She lives in New York with her mother now. I have legal recourse but feel that a custody battle at this time might be too difficult for Selby. We were very close."

  He ran a hand over his eyes for a moment, then continued. "Her mother left me, presumably to pursue a career as an actress, but really to be with an actor, Alfredo Something-or-other, whom she met when he was working at the Palm Beach Theater. I'd give anything to have Selby with me. In fact, I'd prefer it, because I don't think Talma's a fit mother. As I said, I'm afraid of the effect a custody battle would have on Selby right now, so all I can do is negotiate to have her visit this summer, and I hope she will."

  Cathryn nodded. "Then will you open up this house?"

  Drew shrugged, and the sad expression behind his eyes grew even more intense. "I don't know. I suppose it depends on Selby. I'm not sure her memories of her final days here are pleasant ones. There was a lot of anger between Talma and me, and Selby cried inconsolably when we told her about the divorce. She was distraught by the time she and Talma finally left. Otherwise she never would have left Raggedy Ann behind. I wonder how Talma handled that. Selby wouldn't go anywhere without that doll."

  "Perhaps Talma bought her a new one," said Cathryn, trying to inject a hopeful note. It moved her that this man, usually so ebullient, was allowing her to see him defenseless. There was no sense of his wanting her pity, and there was no self-pity, either. There was just a trusting openness that was rare between two people and a humanness that she found endearing.

  "Perhaps she bought her a new one," repeated Drew, although he didn't sound convinced. He drew a deep breath. "Well. This isn't why we came here. Let's head to the beach."

  He took her by the hand again and led her through the dim house, and this time as she walked past the shrouded furniture, she almost thought she saw the slim line of a child's leg disappearing around a corner and heard the echo of a little girl's laughter in a faraway room. No wonder Drew hadn't wanted to come here by himself. The place was full of ghosts.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when they reached a large kitchen. Sun flooded the room, stinging her eyes but chasing the shadows. Here all ghosts faded, and Drew, with an effort, managed to look more like himself.

  Along the back of the house was a raised deck, screened and awninged and with a marvelous view of sand dunes and ocean beyond. Between the deck and the dunes grew one fabulous old scrub oak tree with wide branches that almost swept the ground in places.

  "This is lovely, Drew," she said.

  "I think so, too," he said. He slipped a casual arm around her shoulders, hugging her close.

  She welcomed the embrace. She felt emotionally drained, and she suspected that he did, too.

  "Let's take a blanket and lie on the sand," he said. "Do you need to change clothes?"

  She shook her head. "I wore my swimsuit under my shorts."

  They made their way down to the ocean side of the dunes, where he looked down at the gauzy strawberry-red top she wore over white shorts that showed off her tanned legs. She'd worn her hair pinned up for coolness and comfort. "Nice togs," he said. "Better than that heavy vest you wore this morning. Where is it written that runners have to look like the Pillsbury doughboy?"

  "It gets cool in the morning sometimes."

  "I know," he said. "Next time you're feeling cold, let me know. I'm sure I'll be able to think of some way to warm you up."

  "Warm me up, melt the ice," Cathryn said with mock exaggeration, glad that their mood had taken a turn for the better. "You can't seem to talk about anything else."

  "I can't seem to think of anything else," he said, helping her to spread the blanket and then pulling off his shorts and shirt.

  She thought he would look away as she undressed, but he didn't. He watched with interest but made no comment. Self-consciously she removed her shorts, feeling awkward under his gaze, and she sat down before she pulled off her blouse. This was ridiculous, she told herself. It wasn't the same as undressing in front of a man, say, in a bedroom, and she suspected that if it were a bedroom, she wouldn't feel nearly as modest.

  Stripped down to her white bikini, she settled herself beside him on the blanket, inhaling the tangy salt air and digging her toes into the warm sand. Little sandpipers scurried on matchstick legs ahead of the waves, looking for whatever it was they always searched for in the sand at the edge of the sea. Other houses, far apart, lined the beach, but she and Drew were the only people in sight.

  Drew lay beside her on his back, his eyes closed, his face at peace, all traces of emotional turmoil gone. It amused him that she'd been so inhibited about taking her clothes off. Obviously she wasn't used to putting on that kind of performance in front of a man, which he found reassuring. Despite her occasional coolness, he didn't think she was prudish. He'd found her too passionate for that. But it was clear that she wasn't the kind of woman who spread her favors around indiscriminately, either.

  Cathryn rolled over on her stomach and raised herself on her elbows. She'd never seen Drew in repose before. Until now, he'd always been filled with a dynamic energy that threatened to overwhelm anything and everything around him.

  Drew's chest muscles swelled with a definition that made her want to reach out her hand and touch him. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that seemed familiar, and she found that her own breathing, she didn't know whether consciously or unconsciously, was timed to his. His black lashes swept up, so long that they cast shadows across his cheekbones. What was it that she and Judy had done with their eyelashes when they were kids? Oh, yes, butterfly kisses. You batted your eyelashes against someone's cheek to give a butterfly kiss. Drew looked as though he would be very good at it.

  She should have known that he would open
his eyes and see her watching him, staring at him as though entranced.

  "What were you thinking about just then—no, don't pull away." He reached out quick as lightning and captured her face with his hand.

  "Butterfly kisses," she said.

  "Butterfly kisses," he repeated, as though the words were foreign words and made no sense. His pupils expanded, blending with the irises in incredibly dark pools, and he tightened his fingers on her face before bringing her closer with the sheer magnetism of his eyes. Then his arm was around her, pulling her across the top of him, so that the hair on his chest touched her breasts just above the tiny bikini top.

  Her left arm slid under his shoulder, so easily and naturally, and her other hand found a place on his chest. He said nothing, nor did she. Their eyes held, searched, found. In silent assent her lips parted and dipped toward his.

  Against the inside of her wrist, she could feel his heart pulse. His nipple stiffened and hardened beneath her fingertips, and easily, slowly she caressed it. When at last he released her lips with a low moan, she bent her head to touch his nipple with her tongue, sensing herself go dizzy with the feel of his chest against her lips. He eased his fingers through her hair until he found the barrettes and removed them so that the long, silken strands tumbled around her face and across his body.

  "So what do you say you give me one of those butterfly kisses?" he said.

  Slowly she lowered her head, and in the breathlessness that followed, she batted her eyelids against his cheek. Once, twice, three times, until he said, "Oh, Cathryn, what a delight you are."

  His hands, gentler than she would have imagined, caressed her spine, pausing at the small of her back to tickle the sensitive spot there, then rippling tantalizingly away again. She felt her breath rising in gasps, and he drew her into a long, deep, satisfying kiss to which she responded as she had never responded to any other man.