Destination Romance

by Barbara McMahon

  He glanced up, then away; a smile touched his lips.

  'Too late—I stayed out too long yesterday. I've got to stay inside today, I guess. What's there to do here, if you don't lie on the beach?'

  'For tourists, there's Hemingway's place, the old lighthouse, or the Old Town Trolley Tours. Those should keep you out of the sun.'

  'And sunset at Mallory Dock,' he said, standing as she drew on her shorts.

  She nodded, remembering how they had seen it together, sharing the same pleasure in nature's beauty. And afterwards how they'd gone to the picnic. She darted a swift glance at him. Did he ever think of that picnic? She remembered his kiss. Better leave that memory alone.

  'Buy you breakfast?' he asked.

  'No, I don't think so. I want to go home and shower off this salt water.'

  'I saw a bakery on my way here. How about I get some rolls and croissants and come to your place? I can be there by the time you're finished showering.'

  'No. I don't think so.'

  He reached out and gently turned her to face him, his hands light on her shoulders, his touch warm and caressing.

  'Hey, Katie, let's be civilized. We'll have one of those divorces where everyone stays friends. How about it? The bakery smelled delicious when I passed.'

  She wavered, looked into his eyes, and was uncertain at what she saw. His look was guarded, no hint to what he was feeling. Michael was a master at that. She hesitated, but didn't want to appear afraid to spend time with him. At last, reluctantly, she agreed.

  'Okay. But I need at least fifteen minutes.'

  She gave him directions to her apartment, watching him as he walked along the beach towards the center of town, wondering if she was doing the right thing. She followed him with her eyes until he was too far away to see. He moved easily, smoothly with just a hint of arrogance and assurance. Like a wolf on the prowl, she thought, unable to move as she watched him.

  When he rounded the corner, she turned, and moved slowly towards her apartment. She didn't want to be enemies with him, but was this a wise move?

  Katie took a quick shower, hastily towel-dried her hair, and pulled on shorts and a soft yellow cotton shirt, dashing from her bedroom to make sure the rest of her apartment was tidy. It was the first time Michael would see it and she wanted it to look its best. It could not compare with the expensive furnishings of their place in Boston, but that always reminded Katie of a museum. At least her place was warm and inviting.

  Satisfied by the time Michael knocked on her door, she looked around once more, wondering how he would like it. It didn't matter; it suited her.

  Nervously, she opened the door. If he said anything derogatory about her place, she would slam it shut in his face.

  He, however, merely handed her the bag of warm croissants, stepped in and closed the door. He stood for a moment surveying the apartment, his eyes swiftly assessing the clever ways of blending different furnishings to create a pleasant setting.

  Katie tilted her chin up at him, ready to defend her home if he said anything disparaging.

  With a gleam in his eye, he leaned over and kissed her, one hand tangling in the still-damp curls, his lips tasting of the salt air. She was breathless with the intensity of feeling unleashed at his touch, and her legs grew weak.

  He released her, and studied her face for a long moment.

  'You can't do that.' Her voice was softer than she had meant it to be. She cleared her throat.

  'Of course I can. We're still married. Besides, I like it.' Satisfied with what he saw on her face, he again looked around the room, his hand dropping to his side. 'It's nice, comfortable and restful. Is this what you wanted at our place?'

  She turned to the small kitchen. The sun streamed in the open window—the room was warmer than the rest of the apartment, which probably accounted for her own warm cheeks.

  'I wanted to make it more–I don't know, more comfortable, or welcoming or homey. I always felt it was like a museum.'

  She looked shyly at him through her lashes to see if she'd hurt his feelings. She'd always thought he took great pride in his house.

  'It's very like your aunt's. I thought you'd like it.' His face was impassive; he gave nothing away.

  'I always hated Aunt Margaret's house for the same reason.' She smiled ruefully. 'It's just me. Everyone else always admired it. I wanted something–warmer.'

  She measured the coffee into the filter, then pulled down two cups and three plates.

  'And how would you change it?'

  She glanced up sharply at this. 'Doesn't matter; I'm not going back.'

  Michael fell silent, studying the young woman before him. When the coffee was ready, he turned and opened her refrigerator and pulled out butter and jam.

  'You still take cream in your coffee?' he asked, balancing the small container with the others.

  'Yes.'

  Quickly Katie set the table, poured the coffee and sat opposite Michael. He opened the bag and dumped the rolls and croissants on the third plate. Their savory aroma instantly filled the small kitchen.

  Katie was confused. Michael wasn't getting any ideas of domesticity, was he? He moved around the kitchen as if it were his. They hadn't often gone into their own kitchen. Frances had always prepared anything they wanted.

  'When did the attorneys say the divorce would be final?' Might as well let him know breakfast changed nothing.

  'In a few months. They'll send you papers you need to sign.' He reached for a warm croissant.

  Katie waited expectantly for Michael to again urge her to change her mind, to stop the proceedings. But he calmly added strawberry jam and bit into it.

  She sipped her coffee. Had he really accepted her decision? His suggestion on the beach that they be friends indicated he had. Now, no comments about stopping the divorce. Good. She was relieved.

  Or was she? Deep down inside a small twinge of disappointment and sadness touched her.

  'Michael, what are you going to do? Here, I mean,' Katie asked.

  'Take a much-needed vacation, I guess. We never took a vacation, did we?'

  'No, business always came first. I'm surprised they haven't tracked you down here,' she said, striving for lightness.

  His look was enigmatic. After a moment he looked away. 'They don't know I'm in Key West,' he said, pouring another cup of coffee.

  'Don't know? Why ever not? How will Donovan Construction get on?' She was startled to learn he had, in essence, hidden out. She'd never known him to be out of touch before.

  Michael shrugged. 'If it can't get on with the managers I pay a good salary to, then I might as well let it fold. No one's indispensable in business.'

  Katie stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. She'd never seen Michael like this. Had he changed? Where was the ruthless business-orientated man she knew? It was almost as if he didn't care about business any more. Yet it had been his whole life.

  Again she realized how little she knew the man.

  'What's the matter? Think I can't take a vacation?' he asked her whimsically.

  'I've never known you to do so. Won't you get bored?'

  'No, Katie, I won't get bored. I have things to do. One very important thing.' He finished the last of his croissant.

  Katie shivered slightly, almost as if it was a warning. Catching sight of the clock, she hastily stuffed the last bite of her roll into her mouth.

  'I have to go to work,' she said. She swallowed the last of her coffee. 'Thank you for the croissants; they were delicious.'

  A gleam struck Michael's eye as he lifted a lazy smile in her direction. Katie felt the warmth of his smile touch her whole being. She was caught up in his gaze and couldn't break free. Her heart began pounding, and she felt a curious lassitude invade her body.

  'Maybe we can do it again one day.' He rose effortlessly and cleared his place, reaching out to take Katie's plate, too. She watched him, puzzled by his thoughtfulness, his attentiveness. What was he up to?

  He turn
ed from the sink and leaned over her, one hand on the table, his other on the back of her chair. Katie had to tilt her head back to see him. The blood roared in her ears at his nearness; she could feel awareness rise, conscious of his proximity, the faint lines radiating from his dark eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the smoothness of his skin. She tried to look away. Her fingers longed to touch him, feel the texture of his skin, the supple muscles moving beneath her. Dear God, much more of this would be madness.

  'You're sure, are you, Katherine, that you don't want to try again? We could pretend we just met, get to know each other, see if we like what we find.' His voice was low and seductive and sexy.

  Katie was drowning in unsuspected longings and desires.

  When his lips touched hers, she sighed softly as her whole body clamored for his touch. She'd been wanting him to kiss her. Eagerly she returned his kiss; the brightness behind her closed lids rivaled that of the streaming sunbeams, the warmth of his lips equaled that of the sun, the soft taste of sweet strawberries on his lips tilted her world.

  Michael's lips were warm, possessive, plundering the sweet softness of hers, giving pleasure, demanding a response Katie was only too willing to give. Michael's very touch was electric and she was shaken to her soul.

  He pulled back, his dark eyes glittering down at her, his gaze centering on her lips. She felt weak, defenseless, bereft. Was that what he wanted? She tried to read the answer in his face.

  'I want you, Katherine,' he said urgently.

  'No.' She shot back her chair, and pushed against him, shocked at how fast his heart was beating when her hand touched the hard muscles of his chest. Wanting to escape, escape the clamoring of her senses, the overwhelming desire he sparked, she stared up at him with angry, confused eyes.

  'No, you don't want me, or if you do it's only because of the challenge to get me, not let something slip through your hands.'

  'You're wrong; I want you for you. I've always wanted you. But I can wait. Wherever you are, there I'll be. When you turn around, you'll see me. What we have is too precious to let go.'

  He stared boldly down at her, his tone solemn and serious. This was the man she knew. Once he decided on a course, he didn't deviate from it.

  'No. I'm not going back to what we had, Michael,' she told him.

  'And I told you it needn't be what we had. We can discover each other all over and move on from there.'

  'There’s nothing to discover. I know you, and know how you operate. My leaving is only a challenge to you, a game.'

  'You're my wife and I don’t want to let you go.'

  'You have no choice, I left.'

  'And I want you to come back.'

  ' Leave me alone,' she cried.

  His hand encircled the hand on his chest and he drew it up to his mouth, placing a hot kiss in her palm. Folding her fingers closed, he let her go.

  'You going to work now?' His tone was normal; only the glitter of his eyes let Katie know his emotions ran as high as hers.

  Katie blinked at the change; she was trembling. She hardly knew what she was doing. Her equilibrium was shattered. She glanced around to get her bearings. How could so much happen in such a short time? Her kitchen looked the same, but was forever changed. She could never eat here again without seeing Michael, reliving his touch, his lips on hers, hearing the words that thundered in her mind.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to get control, seeking calmness and serenity. She'd had years of practice hiding her feelings, acting as appropriate for the situation–proper Bostonian behavior. It stood her in good stead now.

  'I have to go.' She grabbed her purse and keys and moved to the front of the apartment, Michael right behind her. She had to escape, had to get free of him. She couldn't think with him so close.

  'What time do you get off work? We could go snorkeling,' he said as she opened the door.

  'I have plans,' she bit out, afraid to even look at him. She was trembling inside. He was so determined; was she strong enough to hold out against him?

  'Maybe tomorrow. I'll check with you then,' he said easily.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Obviously his words had been figurative, said to make a point. He was not going to force himself on her. He couldn't make her want to return. It had taken all her courage to leave. She wouldn't be able to do it again. He had to let her go now.

  She took her bike to avoid walking with him to work. She needed to be alone, to recover from breakfast—to recover from Michael's overwhelming presence and the vague yearnings that she dare not give name to.

  His words echoed in her mind throughout the day. Katie tried to brush them away. It only worked for a few minutes at a time.

  There was really nothing he could do, she reminded herself constantly. The divorce was progressing. He certainly had never hinted that he’d oppose it. Things would work out—he'd get tired of vacationing and return to Boston.

  What if he didn't leave; what if he stayed?

  She shook her head. Impossible. Work would demand his attention, or he'd get bored doing nothing in Key West. He couldn't stay—could he?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Katie half way expected Michael to be waiting for her when she left work, so she wasn’t surprised when she saw him seated by the curb. She didn’t speak as she pushed her bike off the resort grounds and onto the street. The afternoon was warm, the streets full of bikini-clad tourists, their skin in various shades of pink and brown.

  'I've rented a bike.’ He gestured to where one lay propped against some bushes. ‘I can accompany you home,' he said.

  'What if I'm not going home?' she replied, studying his bike for a moment, then looking at him. He was tenacious, she’d give him that.

  'Then I'll go wherever you’re going.'

  'Leave me alone,' she said firmly.

  'You didn't always find my presence bothersome,' he said, trailing his fingers lightly down one bare arm.

  Katie jerked back as if she'd been burned.

  'Michael, why are you doing this to me?'

  'I want you to come home.' His voice was low, his eyes sincere as he gazed down into hers.

  'This is my home now.'

  She got on the bike and quickly stormed down the street, not looking right nor left until she reached her apartment. Only as she stopped and glanced around did she realize she was alone. That did surprise her.

  The phone was ringing when she reached her door. She hurried with the lock and darted across the room when the door finally yielded.

  'Katherine?' said the voice at the other end of the phone.

  'Aunt Margaret.' Katie was startled to hear her aunt's voice, and felt a little guilty. She hadn’t let her aunt know where she was. It had been five and a half months since she'd left and she'd not contacted her once. Not that they were close by any means, but she should have at least let her know where to find her.

  'Yes, your Aunt Margaret, the woman who gave you a home when your parents died, who raised you, giving you every advantage money could buy. The same aunt whom you've ignored entirely for the last six months.'

  Katie hated her aunt's martyred sarcasm, but it was part and parcel of her. And this time she had cause to be angry.

  'I'm sorry I didn't let you know where I was,' Katie said, sitting down on the chair beside the phone.

  'You didn't even see fit to tell me you were leaving town. I raised you better than that, Katherine. If life with Michael became intolerable, why not come home?'

  Katie thought bleakly of Aunt Margaret's house, furnished in the same opulent manner as Michael's; of her aunt's rigid social behavior, strict attention to duty as she saw it, no matter how unpleasant. Her aunt's sense of duty came first no matter what. It would not have been a sanctuary. Her aunt would have sent her right back to Michael.

  'I needed to get away from Boston,' she said.

  'Harringtons do not divorce, Katherine. When Michael told me that's what you wanted, I was shocked.'

  'I couldn't go on with the way thi
ngs were. I want more from life than what I had.'

  'Good grief, Katherine, Michael lavished things on you; there were no worries on that front. And you're on all the important committees in Boston.' For her aunt there could be no more.

  'Not enough.' Katie spoke more abruptly than she had intended, but a suffocating sensation gripped her throat.

  'I can't imagine why not,' her aunt snapped.

  'I want to do more than be on committees with a bunch of other women. I want to find out what I like doing, who I am; have friends who like me for me, not because I'm on the fine arts committee or because I'm married to the very successful Michael Donovan. I want a family, children who can run and play and not be so concerned to do everything just right, be utterly correct. I don't want to grow old and regret all I missed.'

  There was a long moment of silence then her aunt's voice changed. 'And are you finding that there?'

  'I'm having a wonderful time. I have a job. I’ve learned to snorkel. And I have some really interesting friends who are very different from me, yet we like similar activities and I’m learning lots from them. Actually, I'm really very happy here.'

  'You always liked the warmer climates.'

  Katie thought back to all the trips her aunt had taken her on. They'd visited all the renowned spots in the world, from the Cote d'Azur to Hong Kong. But one expensive hotel was very much like another, and Katie had been too closely chaperoned to wander the side streets of the places they visited to get a real feel for the country they were in. Lying on the beach had been the closest thing to freedom she'd enjoyed on those trips.

  'It's wonderful here, warm and sunny. I can't believe Boston is under snow. They've never even had a frost here on Key West,' she said. She wished she could convince her aunt that this was her future.

  'Where are you staying?'

  'I have a small apartment.'

  'Michael is at the Monarch, I believe.' Aunt Margaret's tone implied that was the only place to stay. Katie suppressed a sigh of frustration. Her aunt wouldn't change. She would always be old ideals, old money, old Boston.

  'Katherine, call me if you need anything. You're all I have in the world.'